by Jes Battis
“I’m here to collect you,” the equine demon said. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”
“You’re here to kill me, not collect me,” the boy replied.
“You will come with me, one way or another.”
“I’ll die first.”
The equine demon flexed its right hand. Blood sprayed out of its open palm, but instead of spattering the walls, it paused in midair, bubbling, turning to a mist like high-velocity spatter. It trembled for a second, a helix of dark fluid, dotted by particles of bone and mysterious limpid matter. Then it shimmered into the form of a long black whip.
It cracked the whip once, and curls of amber flame moved along its length. With all of the stainless steel in the autopsy suite, the reflections were dazzling.
“You’ll die no matter what,” it replied, holding the whip loosely. “But I can make it quick or make it last. That much is up to you.”
“First you have to catch me.”
The boy sprang backward. He leapt onto the counter, his movements so quick and precise that he didn’t even disturb a single instrument. He perched there for a second, bare feet pressed against the steel. His toenails were long and black.
The equine demon cracked its whip again, and this time the black rope stretched like a tendon, smashing into the counter. But the boy had already moved, and now he was balanced on the nearest autopsy table, where he’d been lying cold and inert only a few moments ago.
I noticed Dr. Rashid for the first time. He had taken his surgical mask and gloves off and was simply staring at the equine demon. I couldn’t tell if he was about to scream, faint, or both. But he didn’t move. He just stood there, absolutely fixed.
For a few seconds, nobody moved. Steam curled from the spot on the counter where the demon’s whip had touched.
Now would have been a great time for Selena to arrive with backup. But the hallway remained silent. Nobody was bursting through the door.
Lucian took a step forward. “The boy is under our protection.”
The equine demon turned slowly to regard him. “Return to Trinovantum, changeling. There’s nothing for you here but the longest death, and you’re too young to seek that.”
“Well, I’ve already died once, and it wasn’t so bad.”
The demon chuckled. “You’re funny. I enjoy funny things. They always amuse me when they expire.”
“That’s great. Were you planning to talk about that all night, or are you actually going to do something?”
I judged the distance between Lucian and the equine demon. About ten feet. I realized what he was doing. If he could get the creature to advance a bit, there’d be enough space for Derrick to throw the time bomb. It was dicey, though. If the demon moved too quickly, then the bomb would hit Lucian as well.
I looked at Derrick. He was reaching into his jacket slowly. He’d already anticipated Lucian’s plan. But the equine demon stayed exactly where it was.
“How would you like it, then, necromancer?” It smiled. Its teeth were needle-sharp and made of metal. “I could do it from here. Or we could get closer. Dance a little before I split you down the middle and set fire to your entrails.”
“Are you trying to frighten me or gross me out? Because you’re doing both.”
While Lucian was talking, the demon-boy had managed to inch forward slowly. The equine demon turned in his direction, about to say something. But before he could speak, the boy opened his mouth wide and spit out a jet of foaming green liquid.
The spray coated the larger demon’s face, sizzling on contact. It screamed and clawed at its eyes. The liquid kept foaming, and I watched in amazement as its face began to melt like wax.
“He’s like one of those little dinosaurs from Jurassic Park,” Derrick said.
The equine demon recovered quickly. Although obviously in pain, it didn’t seem overly concerned by the fact that its skin was bubbling. It reached for the boy, but the smaller demon moved too quickly, flitting out of the way.
Then the larger demon cracked its whip again. The black tendon snaked forward, catching the boy around the ankles. He cried out and fell to the ground. Fire began to move once more along the leathery surface of the whip, flowing from the handle downward. I could feel its heat, and so could the boy. He struggled to break free, but the whip held him tight. For the first time, I saw panic in his startling green eyes.
I looked around the autopsy room. Everything was completely sterile—the worst environment possible for conducting materia. Still, we were underground, and I could feel the currents of geothermic energy beneath my feet. They shied away from the fake tile and manufactured steel countertop, but they were still there, and I could hear them, subterranean lions growling absently in their sleep.
The amber light continued to flare along the length of the whip. I didn’t want to know what it would do when it touched the boy’s flesh, but I could imagine the result.
I reached beneath the tile, beneath the building’s foundations, and into the cold matter of the rocks and earth below. They were outraged. Who did I think I was? They tried to ignore me. But I kept reaching, deeper and deeper, until I felt the plane of my consciousness sink into a dark pool.
I let the materia rise within me, until it enflamed every nerve ending. My athame was throwing off a corona of heat. I tightened my grip on the handle of the blade, focusing the power down to an incandescent line. Then I channeled it toward the end of the whip, still wrapped around the boy’s legs.
Burst, I thought, with all of my might. Burst.
The tiles cracked.
A shaft of rock and molten material exploded upward from the ground, severing the coiled end of the whip. The flame stopped. The amputated piece of leather shriveled, then turned to dust.
The boy was free. Before the larger demon could crack the whip again, he leapt forward. I felt him gathering a surge of power, and then he hit the equine demon full in the chest, like a cannonball. A shock wave tore through the room. The demon stumbled, its four legs clawing at the ground. It fell onto its haunches.
Lucian pointed his hand at the fallen demon. A halo of red light coalesced around his fingertips. He shaped the light into a fizzing dart and then hurled it at the demon, like a Roman candle.
The equine demon raised its arm. I felt a vibration move through the floor, and then its power lashed out. The air in front of it went liquid, tracked with silver and filaments of icy blue.
For some reason, it made me think of being a small girl, sitting in the front seat with my mother while we went through the car wash. I’d always been captivated by the way that the soap moved down the windshield, coating everything in a soft, luminous pink, and making the glass seem to ripple like water.
Lucian’s missile struck the liquid and dissipated, scattering into embers that seared and blackened the tile wherever they fell. He swore.
I heard a commotion in the hallway. Finally, Selena had arrived with reinforcements. I started to yell something, but the equine demon suddenly swiveled its head, golden eyes narrowing. Obviously, it had better hearing than I did.
The demon snarled something beneath its breath and gestured toward the door of the autopsy suite.
As I watched, the metal frame of the door began to blister and crack. Smoking and bubbling, it turned first red and then electric orange, shifting to an igneous curtain that spread across the walls and floor.
Great. They weren’t getting through that anytime soon. Even if I could channel enough power to smother the flames, they’d still have to chip through all of the coagulated material left behind. The autopsy suite was an isolated, windowless room underground—no other points of entry besides that door.
We still had the power beneath us. Granted, if I channeled too much of it, I’d deep-fry myself. But as long as I was careful, I could keep borrowing from it.
Then something else occurred to me. Something I hadn’t thought of before.
The equine demon had recovered its balance. It kept it
s eyes on the boy, who maintained his distance. I saw that the flesh around his ankles where the whip had touched them was seared black. He must have been in pain, but his expression was mechanically focused.
I moved slowly and quietly toward Lucian. Neither of the demons was paying attention to me.
“Hey,” I whispered. “I have an idea.”
He looked momentarily startled to see me, as if he’d forgotten I was there. I saw beads of sweat standing on his forehead. Whatever he’d thrown at the equine demon must have drained him considerably.
“I hope it’s a good one,” he said. “That thing’s built like a Panzer tank, and it doesn’t show any sign of slowing down.”
“How many bodies are in the fridge?”
He stared at me. “What are you talking about?”
“The refrigeration unit at the far end of the room. It’s used to hold corpses. Is it possible for you to tell how many bodies are in there?”
He frowned. Then his eyes narrowed for a second in concentration. I wondered how his particular senses worked. Death sonar? Or could he smell the sweet reek of decaying flesh from here?
“Five,” he said. “It’s full. They’re all newly dead.”
“That’s amazing. You’re like a bloodhound.”
“What’s your point?”
“Once, you told me that your power came from dead things—decomposing flesh, cadaverine, and compost. Theoretically, you should be able to use those dead bodies in there like batteries. Right?”
His eyes widened. “That is possible. But drawing energy from the bodies could also consume them.”
“They’re going to be cremated anyway. Does it really matter?”
“It seems disrespectful.”
“Lucian, have you noticed that we’re getting our asses kicked by something that just stepped out of another dimension? This thing has enough power to flatten all of us. The only way for us to get the upper hand is if we can stun it, even for just a few seconds. An epic blast of necroid materia might be enough to do that.”
“I can try.”
He stretched out his hand toward the closed door of the refrigeration unit. I felt him reaching out with his senses, like tendrils of plasma reached out from the earth during a storm, calling the lightning.
Translucent green vapors began to flow from the steel door. The air around them turned instantly cold. I watched as the vapors swirled between Lucian’s fingertips, until his skin was rimed with frost. Cold sweat moved down his forehead as he continued to draw power, and the vapors flowed into his hand, up his arm, making his veins flare with sallow green light.
He gritted his teeth. “This is as much as I can hold. Step back.”
I did so.
“Please don’t miss,” I said.
Lucian leveled his arm. The vapors flared for a moment, like an undead star about to go nova. Then a lance of green light exploded from his outstretched palm. It screamed as it cut through the air, and the sound was chilling.
The light tore through the equine demon’s chest, blazing out the other side and striking the wall behind it.
The demon screamed. Blood sprayed from the glowing point of contact. It wasn’t red, since most higher-tier demons lacked the hemoglobin and iron that gave blood its rust red color. Instead, it was black, like roof tar.
Then the light shimmered and winked out, leaving a clear hole in the demon’s sternum. Foul smoke rose from the void in its flesh, and I could literally see through it. The demon staggered. But already the vessels, tendons, and bones were beginning to writhe and knit back together. We didn’t have much time.
Lucian panted, leaning with one hand against the wall. He was out. No more necromantic battery power.
It seemed like the right time for the howler.
I drew the small metal clapper from my pocket. This close to the equine demon, it was already humming with energy. I had no idea where the artifact had come from, but I hoped it wasn’t one of those things that went up in smoke once you used it. If we could replicate the technology, we’d have a dog whistle. Which was a lot better than our current strategy of Throw everything at it, including the kitchen sink, and try not to catch on fire while you’re doing it.
I pressed the two cymbals together. They didn’t make a sound, but their vibration grew more intense, until I could feel my fingers aching. Something like a low buzz started in the back of my head, never becoming entirely audible, but growing in density until I found myself wanting to squeeze my eyes shut.
The demon raised its head. It grunted. Then it began to twitch slightly, its eyes narrowing in silent pain.
My teeth were vibrating now. The demon made a sound like a snarl. It closed its eyes. Then it started to moan, clutching its head, as if it had a severe toothache. The howler was working.
“Derrick! Now’s your chance!”
He and Miles had been keeping to the sidelines. Now he gave me a sharp look, as if to say, I’ll tell you where you can stick that chance.
But he nodded, regardless. He was going to try, at least.
Derrick took a step forward. He kept eye contact with the equine demon, and I felt something flow between the two of them. The air around him stirred slightly as he channeled dendrite materia, which was what gave form to psychic energy. I’d seen his power in action many times before. He could pluck a thought lightly from someone’s mind, or drill into it ruthlessly, drawing out information by force.
The demon looked at him strangely for a moment, still distracted by the pain of the howler. Then it began to laugh.
“Really? You think you can break into my mind?” It licked its lips. “Go ahead, you pathetic reader. Give it your best try. I invite you.”
Derrick’s eyes narrowed. I heard him suck in his breath. The flow of power between them intensified, and his hands closed into fists. Miles gave him a worried look, but he needn’t have bothered. Derrick was beyond our reach now, searching the tracts of the demon’s consciousness for a way in, the smallest gap, something that the blade edge of his power could wedge its way into.
“Your mind is like compost,” the demon said. “I just have to squeeze, and all the sad, reeking bits of you will dribble out between my fingers. But I’m going to do it nice and slowly, so your friends can watch.”
Despite its bravado, I could tell that Derrick was wearing it down. The howler’s sonic energy was still throbbing in the air, and a few drops of black blood had begun to leak from the demon’s nostrils. It was weakening.
Derrick pressed on with his attack. He was also bleeding—a slight trickle was running down his face and onto his chin. Miles saw it. His eyes widened.
Tess, he signed. Stop him.
Derrick kept pushing. The demon grunted. Then it coughed suddenly, and a clot of blood oozed from its mouth. It began to snarl. I heard Derrick groan.
“Get out!” the demon screamed. “Get out! I’ll kill you! Xxch’krr nsh nng! Worm! Bag of pus and blood! I’ll kill you!”
“Nnnnnh. Fuck—you—” Derrick hissed.
Blood was flowing freely from his nose now, reddening his jacket and the shirt beneath it. Flecks of spit had appeared at the edges of his mouth. He leaned forward, as if bracing himself against an arctic wind.
“Enough!” the demon shrieked. “Get out!”
It flung its arm out in a wide arc. I felt a vast pulse of energy move through the air. A killing current.
“Derrick!”
I channeled everything that I could, reaching deep into the earth node. Desperation lent me strength. The power scalded me. It roared its defiance as it moved through my body, electrifying every cell, until I felt like a negative with deadly light pouring through it. I cried out.
I flung the power in Derrick’s direction, trying to deflect the energy that the demon had summoned.
It half worked. My attack sideswiped the demon’s, knocking the majority of it off course, but a fragment of the power still slammed into Derrick’s body. That was enough to send him flying backward. H
e sailed through the air, completely limp, the shock of the power having already knocked him out.
He bounced off the metal counter. I heard the crunch of bones breaking. Then he crumpled to the floor. His body lay still.
For a second, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe.
Miles, however, didn’t suffer from the same paralysis.
He drew his gun—which he’d kept in an ankle holster—and fired at the demon’s head. He kept firing, and each bullet ripped into the demon’s face, tearing off chunks of its scalp, lacerating its ear, shattering its jaw. Blood the consistency of coffee grounds coated the walls and floor.
For all that, the demon barely moved. Its flesh had already begun to regenerate. The bone and muscle flowed back together, and the mushroomed .40-caliber rounds fell to the ground.
The howler had ceased vibrating as well. Our window had closed, and the demon was back to full form. No diversions left.
It advanced upon Miles. It gestured with its blood-spattered arm, and Miles cried out as an invisible force swept him into the air. He hung motionless, five feet off the ground, his eyes bulging slightly.
“That was really quite brave,” it said. “Do you know what happens to brave boys? They get to die slowly.”
It closed its hand into a fist. Miles choked. His hands trembled at his sides, but he couldn’t move.
“For instance,” the demon continued, “did you know that the human optic nerve can stretch up to a meter before it snaps? That means I can pull both of your eyes out, and you’ll still be able to watch as I remove your heart. In fact, you’ll get a stereoscopic view of it all. I think that makes you pretty lucky.”
I saw a flash of green to the left of Miles. At first, I thought it was the demon-boy. Then I looked closer and realized that it was Dr. Rashid. I’d completely forgotten about him until now. He was slowly approaching the equine demon from behind. There was something in his hand.
A Stryker saw.
“Of course,” the demon was saying, “we could make this even more interesting. I could start liquefying your organs from the inside. Or I can pull your legs off. How long do you think you’ll survive as just a trunk with arms? I’m betting—”
