The Undoer

by Melissa J. Cunningham

  “You should kill him,” she whispers in my ear, too softly for anyone else to hear. “You could do it, and I could help you. I hate him also. More than you could possibly know. You would be doing the world good.”

  I feel the power in her words, and I believe her. I could do it… with her help. I could finally kill a demon. I could kill Brutus, and everyone would know that I really am a Cazador. It’s a dream come true in a way. Even though I love being a peacemaker and not a killer, there is a realization deep inside me that I am weak. I am inferior. It comes bursting to the surface, and shame fills me. I need to kill Brutus to prove I am strong. I am someone who can fight and win. I am someone Heidi will want!

  Weth continues to strengthen the fire inside me until I am near bursting, straining on my chains, the veins in my arms and neck bulging with the effort. And yet… there is a microscopic piece of my mind that tells me this isn’t real.

  But that doesn’t matter as she worms her way through my mind like a cancer. She keeps fanning the flames, and even though the emotions aren’t real, they feel real. She seems to read my mind as she stokes the embers of jealousy for Jag. Of his fearlessness, his fierceness. As my anger grows, so does another emotion. One I haven’t felt in a very long time.

  Hate.

  For Jag.

  I know, deep in my heart, that I am every inch the jaguar that he is. I, too, can be ferocious, wild, and a terrible force to be reckoned with. With uninhibited abandon, I growl, searching for a victim. He stands along the side wall, ugly and vile, his arms crossed over his chest, his lips turned up into a half smile.

  Mephistophilis.

  I hate him too. More than I’ve ever hated anything in my life. Like a jagged crevice of magma exploding out of the earth, the raw enmity boils so forcefully that I can think of nothing else. I want to kill him. I have to kill him!

  The very next second, when I open my mouth to shriek out my loathing for Brutus, Weth swirls, like a gray tornado of smoke, straight into my mouth and down my throat, burning her way to my lungs and stomach with the bite of dry ice.

  Everything stops as she barrels into the depths of me, my arms and legs stiffening and becoming frigid and immobile. I can’t move, let alone think straight or understand what is happening. Ice fills my veins, and I shiver uncontrollably.

  A cramp grips me around the middle, like a knife has slashed across my abdomen and my innards are falling out. Weth is cutting me apart from the inside out. I fall to my knees, retching. Weth explodes back out of me like the rancid vomit she is.

  I fell for her lies completely. I believed her ugly words and hate-filled sentiments. I felt the hatred growing in me like a solid oak tree, its roots digging deep into my soul. And I liked it. It had made me feel powerful. Vengeful. Righteous.

  The grayness of Weth slowly molds back into the form of a woman, and she pulls herself from the floor, weak and spent, barely able to support herself.

  “Well?” Coem asks, his eyebrows raised in question when she doesn’t answer immediately.

  “He… is not… possessable… at this time.” She stumbles back to her chair, no longer with the grace and elegance she previously exhibited. “Some innate element repels me.”

  “Hmm. Interesting.” Coem taps his lips, thinking and staring at me. I fall to the floor, exhausted. As soon as Weth leaves my body, so does the frigid coldness and intense anger. I just want to lie down and die. Never have I felt so tired. Okay, maybe I felt this way after getting beaten up, but still, this is pretty bad too.

  “Please, just let me go. I don’t know what you want.”

  “I don’t think so.” Coem flicks his wrist at someone on the opposite side of the room and I don’t bother to look at who it is. What’s the point? A gray man walks, or floats, up to me, his mouth a black, jagged line. Like all gray men, his eyes are black slits of endless darkness. This is no soul. It’s a fragment, the bare pieces of a damaged spirit, and the only way it will ever feel complete is to meld with another body.

  Without thought, my body recoils. My fear of this being is greater than the others so far. This is the kind of demon I see every night when Jag and I go hunting. These are the intruders of the bodies we are forced to kill. This is the face of evil in my nightmares.

  His dark maw stretches unnaturally into a grimace. A migraine begins, and I resist a sob of hopelessness as I try to stand. I will not go down without a fight.

  This gray man doesn’t speak, but Brutus does. He calls out across the room, “Vi-dar, Vi-dar, Vi-dar.” The crowd joins in, chanting the demon’s name. Again and again, the words throb through the room like a mantra, weakening me and strengthening him.

  Vidar places one giant hand on the top of my head. His fingers are so long that they reach all the way to the top of my neck. Our faces are only inches apart, his eyes fathomless pits of misery. I cry out when his fingers begin to squeeze. My knees give out and I fall, crying out when it feels like a nail is being shoved through my left eye socket.

  I’ve had migraines off and on my whole life, but this is a pressure without source. An ache that hurts everywhere at once. My neck crackles as I try to wrench away. He presses harder, the agony increasing, and I’m sure my skull will be crushed. Screaming fills my ears, and then I realize it’s me. My breathing comes in hitches and I grab for the gray man’s hand, but he’s as wispy as Weth and I can’t get a grip.

  I’m growing numb, and I thank God for this miraculous reprieve. When I open my eyes, I learn the truth. Vidar has let go of me and stands facing Coem, bowing slowly. He walks back to his place along the wall, never saying a word the entire time. I’d felt intimately connected to him, as though he could read my thoughts and memories. How is it possible to be violated in such a way? Could this fiend see into my soul and know my secrets? Will he now go after my friends who are my family?

  I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them break me. I have to find a way out. Jag and the others might not be able to find me, and if they can’t, then what? I realize in that moment that it’s up to me. I’ll have to save myself.

  “It looks as though you are a difficult body to inhabit,” Coem states, rising to his feet and strolling over to crouch beside me. I lie on the floor, the cement cool beneath my palms. I don’t care what Coem or anyone else thinks. My mind finds it almost impossible to comprehend this horrifying experience.

  “Please… let… me go.” I refuse to cry, even though tears press against the backs of my eyes. My head pounds and even the candlelight feels too bright.

  He tsks and lifts my chin with his finger. “We are not finished. The night is still young.”

  I don’t bother to keep my head raised. Two demons have pitted themselves against me so far, but they haven’t won… yet. I’m not sure I can survive another one of these strange onslaughts though. If they are going to kill me, I wish they would just get it over with.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Brecken

  When I wake, I stretch and roll over, expecting to see Heidi sound asleep on her side of the apartment. She is not there, and her bed is a mess. I glance over at the bathroom, which is only a few feet from the foot of my bed, but the door is open and the lights are off.

  I lurch to a sitting position. She wouldn’t leave without telling me. But then, yeah, she totally would. It’s not as if I’m her dad. She doesn’t have to constantly check in with me, but I really wish she would.

  Hopping out of bed, I hurry to get dressed, scraping a comb through my tangled hair. I leave the apartment with a sigh as I lock the numerous deadbolts I placed on the door. Heidi hadn’t locked any of them when she left.

  It’s a ten-minute walk to the church. Before I even get close, I see her and Jag visiting on the front porch. A strange twist reverberates in my chest, seeing them together. I don’t know why it bothers me, but it does. It stops me for a second, and it’s at that moment that she looks up and notices me. An expression of surprise flashes in her eyes, but it is soon replaced with a smile.

&
nbsp; “Hey, Bret!”

  I wave back, trying to figure out why they don’t seem to be in a rush to scour the streets for Dean. I would have thought Jag would be out, knocking doors and turning over every stone. He nods toward me, but that’s it.

  I stop before them, my hands in my pockets. “Any news?”

  Heidi tries to speak mid-gulp and chokes. Her eyes are wide and excited. “Yes!” She wipes spilled coffee from her chin. “Jag went out early this morning and interrogated a demon.”

  I figure if the news were dire or imminent, they would have already spit it out, so I keep my gaze on Heidi, not wanting to deal with Jag so early in the morning. Maybe I need coffee too.

  “How come you didn’t wake me when you left? We could have come together.” I sound parental and want to kick myself. She’s wild and untamable. Always has been. But as her older brother, I want to rein her in and keep her safe. There’s nothing she’d hate more. She’d rebel before I could blink. I know her well.

  She steals a quick glance at Jag, and he smiles as if he knows he’s won something I’ve lost. I grit my teeth. Something’s happened between them, and I can’t dig it out without looking like a jealous suitor.

  “Oh, I woke early and you looked wiped. I didn’t want to wake you,” she says with eyes downcast. She can’t even look at me? I can read her without even trying hard. She’s lying right to my face!

  I turn to Jag to keep from saying anything I might regret. Taking a deep breath, I focus on what Heidi has told me. That Jag interrogated a demon. He wouldn’t have gotten much. Even if he threatened to kill it, it wouldn’t have cared. It would just go into a different body because Jag doesn’t have the kind of weapon that will make it stay dead permanently. But if he tortured it first… that could be a different story. No creature likes to endure pain.

  “What did you learn?” I ask.

  “Not much. Only that the demons are organized, like an actual army.”

  He doesn’t meet my gaze either, but casts a glance at Heidi. I have to really focus to keep from grabbing him by the neck and smashing his head into the wall. If he’s done anything to her…

  I look back and forth between them, how close they’re sitting to one another, the familiar way Heidi glances at him when she thinks I’m not looking. The comfortable way Jag’s knee rests against hers. All sorts of things go through my mind. None of them good.

  As far as the organization of demons goes, I already know about that. I comment offhandedly since it’s the only safe thing to do. “Yeah. They are set up well. Generals, lieutenants, levels of advancement. The whole shebang.”

  They both stare at me, gaping.

  “How do you know that already?” Heidi asks.

  “You knew this and didn’t tell us before?” Jag asks at the same time.

  If they want info on demons, I can give them everything, but how to do it without making myself look suspicious or guilty… which I’ve just done? “You aren’t the only ones who know how to torture demons.” I stare back. “So,” I ask, intent on steering the conversation in a different direction. “Get any good info?”

  “Well.” Jag stands and crumples his Styrofoam cup. “I was hoping to learn if the demon knew who had taken Dean and what they’d done with him.”

  “And did it?”

  “No,” he says. “It only knew that something big was going on, but he hadn’t been invited to the party.”

  No, a low-level wouldn’t have been. They aren’t privy to important meetings. But if that is what happened… if Dean was taken by important demons and they are holding him for information… I wrack my mind for a solution.

  “We were going to try to find another demon to see if it has any more info to go on,” Heidi says, also rising and tossing her cup toward a huge garbage pile across the street. It’s overflowing, and no one has bothered to empty it for ages. The cup only makes it halfway across the street. Swearing under her breath, she saunters over to pick it up. She takes it all the way over and stuffs it inside the dumpster. It’s a mountainous pile that’s starting to stink.

  “You should really get that taken care of,” I say to Jag.

  He shrugs and starts walking away. Heidi hurries to catch up with him. Once again, I am left behind.

  “What about Owen and Doug? Are they coming?” I call after them.

  “I don’t know what they’re doing,” Jag says. “But I’m not waiting around for anyone.”

  Exhaling, I follow. We walk the few blocks into town, to the plaza that is surrounded by little shops and eateries. I grab doughnuts for Heidi and me. She flicks her eyes toward Jag and I receive her message grudgingly, buying Jag a doughnut too. He takes it and gives me a nod of acknowledgement.

  We sit down on the bench and wait, watching each passerby with a practiced eye. It isn’t ten minutes later that I elbow Jag and point to a guy on the corner of the plaza. He stands under a copse of trees, wearing a black leather jacket and leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette. He watches the plaza also, but he hasn’t paid any real attention to us yet.

  “I’ll circle around,” I whisper, hurrying in the opposite direction, hoping to catch the guy before he gets suspicious or leaves. I trust Jag to watch the front. There’s an alleyway off to the side, but Heidi will block it. I don’t like the idea of her being there at all, but obviously, I have no say.

  I creep close, the trees just ahead. The demon hasn’t noticed me yet. I move slowly, quietly, my Nephilim dagger at my side. It glints in the sunlight. In one swift motion, I have the guy around the neck and am pulling him into the shadows.

  Heidi and Jag spring forward, searching the guy for weapons. They find a pocketknife, which they confiscate.

  “Hey!” the demon cries out. “I didn’t do anything!”

  I slap my hand over his mouth, keeping my dagger at his neck. “Make one sound and I swear I’ll slit your throat. It’s Nephilim, so I’d stay quiet if I were you.”

  The guy’s greasy, blond hair hasn’t been combed in a while, and a foul smell wafts up from his unwashed body. Demons are so stupid when it comes to protecting and taking care of their stolen meat suits. They let them waste away quickly, all in the attempt to experience every awful thing they can before the body dies.

  “Who are you?” our prisoner asks in a panicked whisper.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I growl back. “What’s your name?”

  “I don’t have a name. They call me The Dog,” he says with a whimper.

  I’ve heard of him. A lesser demon who survives on the scraps of his superiors. How sad that the dregs of the underworld are allowed to come through The Door. “You demons have something that isn’t yours, and I want it back.”

  The Dog’s eyes are wide and terrified, and when Jag pulls out his runed dagger, Dog goes limp in my arms. “I don’t know anything. I swear. They don’t tell me nothin’.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Jag says, leaning in close. “I think you know plenty, and if I don’t hear the truth right now, I’ll cut off every one of your fingers one at a time… slowly.”

  Jag’s eyes, which always seem a little cold to me, are downright icy with hate, his teeth clenched. The chords in his neck stretch taut, and it seems to take everything he has to hold himself in check.

  “Jag, I got this,” I say, growing uneasy at his abrupt reaction.

  My legs suddenly grow warm and my stomach knots. Disgusted, I swear under my breath and smack The Dog on the side of the head. He peed on me! Now I’ll smell like urine all morning. And even though I’m sure he’s terrified, The Dog smiles.

  Jag scowls until he notices the growing wet streaks on the guy’s stained and soiled khakis. A smile grows on Jag’s grimacing lips also. “Sorry.”

  I don’t think he means it.

  The Dog sags against me as Jag presses the tip of his dagger into his chest. The demon screams in agony and starts to cry like a baby. “Please don’t kill me. I just got this body!”

  Jag actually laughs in The Dog’s
face. “Like I care how long you’ve had it.”

  The demon, although terrified, has the guts to actually spit in Jag’s face. That is the wrong move on a variety of levels. The saliva drips down Jag’s cheek before he wipes it away slowly… with a smile. He doesn’t say another word, just plunges the dagger deep into the demon’s chest.

  “Great,” I say as the body disintegrates into ash. “We needed him. Now we’ll have to find another.” I stand there staring at my filthy clothes, glaring at Jag. I’m pissed at having to work with someone so hotheaded and angry. I can’t depend on him to keep his cool. He doesn’t think a demon’s life has any value. He hates them. No questions asked and no excuses.

  I hate demons too, but for different reasons, because I know something Jag doesn’t. Demon lives have purpose. The world needs what they bring to the table. It’s all about opposition. Ying and yang. There can’t be good if there isn’t bad. But there are rules for both sides, and the demons are breaking theirs. They aren’t supposed to completely suppress the human’s soul. They aren’t supposed to take over and kill their host. There are a certain number of evil spirits and demons that are allowed in this realm at one time, and they aren’t following that particular regulation.

  “It’s fine,” Jag says. “They’re everywhere.”

  I know they are, but now, we’ll have to spend time catching one. Most often when daylight comes, they go underground like vampires. Only the stupid ones stay out. Maybe we’ll get lucky and run into another stupid demon.

  But I doubt it.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Heidi

  It’s almost noon and sun shines brilliantly overhead. I wish I’d worn my old baseball cap to keep the scorching rays off my head. I’m a soggy mess, and my hair soaks up a ton of heat.

  We sit in the park, moving from park bench to park bench, waiting for another demon to rear its ugly head, but none do. We eventually mosey down the street a few blocks to catch a bus to the Down Quarter. There has to be a fiend or two there, since it is their stomping ground.