by Ann Aguirre
“What does the mouse do?” I asked, after he finished.
“Increases stealth.”
“Really?”
“How often do you see them?” he pointed out. “But they’re everywhere.”
“Fair enough. Are you set?”
He looked tired, but not as drained as he had been from the working that let me into the ghost cottage, and he still had the Glock. There was no question Booke would be the heavy hitter on this run while I provided backup as best I could with touch, Taser, and blade. That had to make him happy, as he’d spent so many years playing a support role. It was past time for this guy to be an action hero.
“Yes, let’s go for a drive, Corine.”
“We need to work on your heroic verbiage,” I told him.
“Not fierce enough? Shall I try again?”
Laughing, I shook my head and led the way out of the trailer. I’d remember this place, if I needed to lay low again. The Pinto blended right in, so none of the neighbors would pay any attention. Even Barachiel might lose track of me here.
Okay, probably not. He probably has a magickal LoJack on my soul.
The mood darkened as I drove out of the trailer park and cut toward the highway. Booke read the directions to me as a better-than-automated form of GPS, and bonus, his voice didn’t go all demonic in pronouncing street names. By this time, it was getting late, the sky heavy with sunset, and I clicked on the lights. Other cars passed while I searched for the turnoff.
“Here,” Booke said at last, but the road was so close by then that the car fishtailed when I slammed on the brakes.
I checked the rearview, found no traffic behind me, so I reversed twenty feet and hung right. This reminded me a little of the final battle between the Montoyas and me, but I wasn’t alone this time, and I wouldn’t solve my problems by calling Dumah to eat anybody’s soul. Expedience had driven that decision but I wouldn’t repeat it.
“How far do we have to go?”
“Five miles. We’re heading north, parallel to the border.”
Nodding, I drove on, my stomach tight with fear. Crazy as it seemed, I had a wizardly World War II veteran as my point man on this operation. Sometimes my life was just too weird for belief. Worried thoughts carried me to our destination; the gravel road had ended long before, making it tough going for the Pinto. This was 4WD territory, but the car had heart, and the suspension was already shot. Chuch wouldn’t care much. I hoped.
I parked, climbed out of the vehicle to survey what lay ahead. By this point, the moon was high, throwing a silver sheen over the remote landscape. The rock formation matched the one I’d glimpsed in the vision Kel shared—moreover, I recognized the honeycomb nature of the site. People had lived here, ages before; folks still lived in the quarries in France, tunneling into the soft limestone cliffs. Here, the rock had a forbidding, desolate air, as if blood had been spilled, and then soaked into the stones themselves.
His door slammed; then Booke joined me. “It’s quite dreadful, isn’t it?”
“We shouldn’t waste time. It’s taken too long already to get to Kel.”
He nodded. “I can imagine few things more horrible than being trapped, unless it’s being imprisoned and at someone else’s mercy.”
Yeah, you didn’t have that, at least. To my mind, loneliness was almost as bad. I put aside my fear and jerked my head toward the stairs cut into the side of the mesa. They were so old that they looked like they might only be safe for mountain goats, but I had to try. With every fiber of me, I wanted to call out to Kel, give him some warning we were close, but I was afraid that might tip off his captors. He’d said the host punished him for insolence, including a stint in prison, but this . . . well, the dead man’s hands running up and down my spine had little to do with the weather.
I strode forward, shoes crunching over loose gravel that created a makeshift parking lot, perfect for loading shipments. Nothing I saw here made me think the cartel was still using this place as a staging ground; it simply felt abandoned, not even a lingering hint of old gas or machinery. Instead, I could only smell sage and saguaro, the crisp nip of air sweeping down from the mountains.
Using my hands for purchase, I scrambled up the weathered stairs, as erosion had left them crumbling beneath my feet. Booke swore behind me, his hand on my shoulder to steady me when I slipped backward. My heart thudded in my ears. I hated heights, hated closed spaces. In saving Kel, I would face both.
This is too much, I thought. I never wanted this.
But maybe if I didn’t think about it, I could do it. Heroes never went around in capes; they just did what they had to. And so would I.
Above us, the first entrance loomed, dark and narrow, like a slit of a mouth in the rock. I clicked on my flashlight and slipped inside. Once, I wouldn’t have needed it, but my light spell didn’t work anymore. It was dark here, quiet, no hint of occupancy. This was just a shallow room with a shelf cut from the wall, and it reminded me of Greydusk’s home in Sheol.
He died for you. Like Chance. Like your father.
The wave of pain swamped me, crippling in its intensity. I hadn’t wanted that, never asked for it. Sometimes the worst fate was being left behind, being asked to deal with what other people had given up for you. In this case, everything. I wasn’t so special that I deserved any of this; and so I was a mess, crawling from one catastrophe to another.
“This was somebody’s home,” Booke said quietly. He was holding a shard of pottery in his hand, the paint faded but still perceptible.
“That makes it even worse, what the cartel did here . . . and what’s being done to Kel now. Let’s move.” I forced myself to sound fierce and determined when my knees wanted to buckle.
Fake it ’til you make it. One of these days that strategy would fail me in spectacular, horrifying ways. Until then, it was all I had.
Killing Ground
Booke and I explored a number of similar spaces before locating a natural room that had an opening at the back of the wall, a natural cavern connected to the man-made spaces. From deeper within, I heard movement. When I glanced at Booke, he wore an intent look.
“Thoughts?” I asked in a whisper.
“It’s time to break out the mouse.”
Incredibly, I knew what he meant. He retreated far enough that crushing the statuette shouldn’t alert anyone deeper within, and as he did so, the magick swept over us at once. It was subtler than witch workings, but the first step I took into the tunnel made no sound at all. I crept over loose stones, expecting to turn the corner at any moment and run into something horrible. As I went deeper, the smell increased: not the sulfur and brimstone stench that marked demonic presence, but something sharper and sweeter, like old blood mixed with burnt sugar.
A rasp in repetitive cadence echoed softly against the stone to the point that I couldn’t place where the sound was coming from. The tunnel sloped down, and I had the terrifying thought that Kel could be in Sheol. What if this led to a natural gate? Greydusk—the demon who helped me save Shannon and died in the attempt—had said that there were places where the barrier between the planes was thin, but to open the way, I would need a sacrifice in order to save Kel. My inchoate fear slid away when I realized I could see the back of the cave ahead. It was fairly deep in the mesa, but it didn’t look to be so far underground as to lead to hell. And the panting noises were punctuated by groans of pain.
Kel was here—and they were torturing him.
I crept forward, Booke at my side, to get a better view of the scene. In order to plan a strategy, we had to see what we were dealing with. Kel lay on a natural stone table, shimmering bonds of energy holding him in place. An unfamiliar male whom I took to be another member of the host stood over him with a shining silver knife, similar to the one Kel used. So I guessed the torturer was Nephilim as well; otherwise, he’d have a bigger blade, à la Barachiel. The huffing sounds came from the creatures pacing around his feet. They bore a rudimentary resemblance to Rottweilers yet they
were so dark that their fur seemed to drink the light, with coils of plumed smoke swirling about their legs, and when they turned their massive heads to scan for intruders, their eyes glinted bloodred.
“What the hell are those?” I whispered to Booke, so soft that he could scarcely hear me inches away—and yet that noise made one of the animals prick up his ears.
He put his lips near my ear to make his reply. “Legend would call them hellhounds, but they’re ordinary animals possessed and corrupted by the Klothod.”
That made sense. I had some experience with that phenomenon, as demonic monkeys had tried to kill me in Catemaco. They hadn’t been easy to destroy either, as I recalled. During that fight, I used my inherent Solomon power for the first time. Unfortunately, I could no longer bind or banish demons through the might of a demon queen chained to my DNA. Dammit.
But that brought up a more salient point. “If this colleague of Kel’s is using bound Klothod, doesn’t that substantiate the claim that they were all demons at one point and that the ‘host’ has simply changed its backstory?”
Booke nodded. “This doesn’t look particularly angelic, does it?”
A hellhound broke away from the other two, its nails clicking on the stone as it sniffed in our general direction. I froze, willing it not to find us, willing Butch not to make a sound. Sometimes my dog could be inappropriately confrontational, barking when he had no hope of winning a fight. This time, however, he cowered like a pro at the bottom of my purse, so I guessed he knew how high the stakes were. We’d get only one chance to take these guys out.
“What’s our play?”
Booke was searching silently through his pockets, seeking a spell. Gods, I wished I could be more useful in a fight. Though I didn’t miss the incredible power for myself, magick would come in handy at times like this. No use in wishing for the moon, however; I could only use the skills the trip to Sheol had left me. At best, we faced two-to-one odds—three ferocious hellhounds, plus a Nephilim, wielding a knife that would kill anything, from what I’d seen. He probably had Kel’s fast healing abilities too, but there had to be some way to incapacitate him.
“No creature, however powerful, can function without its head.”
“Cockroaches can live for weeks without their heads,” I pointed out.
Booke aimed a sober look at me. “These aren’t cold-blooded creatures, except in the moral sense. Which means my strategy is sound.”
But before we could tackle the Nephilim, we had to take out the Klothod-powered dogs. The one sniffing toward us decided there was something hiding in the shadows, breaking away from the others to investigate. I didn’t have the ability to destroy the hosts by banishing the demons, but there were fewer Rottweilers than there had been monkeys, so maybe if we killed the animals one by one, it would have the same effect. I backed away from the main chamber, letting the natural shadows of the tunnel swallow me. The spell Booke had used earlier helped in that regard, but the hellhound knew we were there. It could smell us; the creature just couldn’t see or hear us, which might permit my impromptu plan to work. I tightened my grip on the Taser, signaling that I had this.
I hope.
Booke crab-walked back behind me, not bad for a guy who could barely move, period, a few days ago. He was ready with a spell just in case, but the premise was sound. As soon as the dog rounded the corner, I pressed the button and the sparking filament leapt between us. I poured full voltage into the animal—and as I’d hoped, its host body couldn’t handle so much electricity. It dropped in spasms, rendering the demon temporarily helpless. At best, we had seconds.
I sprang forward with the knife and opened its throat. The stink of sulfur and brimstone boiled out. This animal had been possessed a long time, as it reeked of death and decay—and even in this faint light, I could see the blood wasn’t red anymore; it looked more like tar, black as pitch and just as sticky. Booke motioned at me to be careful as midnight smoke rose up from the corpse. Instead of dissipating, as I’d hoped, it sped off toward the other dogs.
“Run,” Booke whispered.
He didn’t need to tell me. As soon as the Klothod joined its brethren, they’d know we were here, and then the next dog we faced would be twice as strong. As I ran, I fumbled in my bag, fingers brushing Butch’s shivering body, while I searched for a fresh cartridge. The Taser only offered one shot as a distance weapon. Though I could still use it as a stun gun otherwise, I didn’t like my odds of survival if these two monsters got close enough to bite me.
An awful, blood-curdling howl echoed through the caverns behind us. I stumbled as I ran, scraping my palms on the rock; fresh blood prickled my hands. Booke scrambled out ahead of me and spun in search of better ground. Outside, there were only rocks, dirt, and darkness, no staging ground for a fight of this magnitude.
Please let the Nephilim think these demon dogs are chasing squirrels. Give us time to deal with them, before we have to fight him.
“Take the left,” Booke ordered.
I hoped he had a plan for the one on the right. At his command, I planted my feet, aimed the Taser . . . and missed, as the monstrous Rottweiler leapt at me. Impact rocked me back, and the thing sank its slavering fangs into my upper thigh. Its jaws clamped down, savaging the muscle, and my leg buckled. I went down as Booke threw something at the other monster. The statuette shattered, freezing the creature in place. I slammed the Taser against the hellhound’s throat and stunned the shit out of it, probably more volts than it needed—but no. It still didn’t let go. Shocks ran through the animal’s body, but it must have twice the demon-enhanced power, so it only bit down harder. I swallowed a scream, determined not to be the weak link. Some dogs wouldn’t let go until their prey was dead or they were. My leg hurt too much for me to remember if Rottweilers were among them.
“Your blade, Corine! The spell won’t hold forever.”
I tossed the knife at Booke—or tried to, but it dropped from my trembling fingers. Now I could feel the Klothod draining me through the host animal. My life essence trickled away like the blood running down my thigh. My vision went gray and sparky, and I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. With my last burst of strength, I rammed the Taser against the hellhound one last time. The resultant shock finally dropped it, but it still didn’t let go. Booke came in with my dagger in hand, and he stabbed it repeatedly in the neck. At first, through dizziness and pain, I thought he was in a rage, but when he kicked it hard in the skull and the monstrous head popped off, I realized he had been perforating the thing. With gentle hands, he opened the inert jaws and removed the teeth from my leg. I fell back onto the rocks, sick and woozy with shock.
“We don’t have long,” he said. “Soon the Nephilim will notice that its guardians have gone missing and come to investigate.”
“I know,” I managed to say.
My jeans were shredded and sticky with blood; he cut part of the material away from my thigh, and I bit down on my lower lip to keep from screaming. His hands were gentle, and I imagined him in a trench during the Second World War, tending to his comrades. Clearly he had some first aid experience, but Booke wore a ferocious frown.
“I brought a couple of healing spells, but if I use them on you, we won’t have any left for Kel, and I don’t know whether he’ll be able to walk out of here without them.”
“Don’t worry about me, just wrap it up.”
“I could numb it for you.”
“Then do it. Fast.”
This wasn’t a spell, apparently, as he drew out a stoppered vial full of white powder. He poured some into his palm and blew it against the wound. Immediately it stopped hurting, though I could tell it wasn’t any better. The flesh was still torn; blood still oozed sluggishly from the punctures. I took Booke’s hand, allowing him to pull me upright. Yeah, this would do for a stopgap measure.
“I hope I haven’t crippled you,” he said worriedly. “That’s not meant as a first aid treatment.”
“What is it, then?”
�
��A spell component from the binding spell I used on the third dog.”
Seemed logical. At last the animal didn’t feel any pain when Booke cut its throat. I took an experimental step, found that my leg would bear weight. I’d deal with potential muscle and nerve damage later. For now, I had to focus on getting Kel out of here.
I’ll just go kill a Nephilim now, no problem. After nearly getting my ass kicked by a demon-enhanced Rottie.
That was kind of sad, actually. In Sheol, I had thrown down with the best of them, spells flying fast and furious. But then, that wasn’t really me either. Sometimes those memories got tangled in my head, until I couldn’t remember what had been Ninlil and what had been me. There was still a huge hole inside me where she had been. Barachiel had told me that feeling came from paring the demonic taint from the Solomon line. What that meant for future offspring, I had no idea.
With grim determination, I got the last cartridge out of my purse and loaded the Taser. It was unlikely this would work on an opponent of the Nephilim’s caliber, but maybe keeping Kel on the torture table had weakened him, and that was why he had guard dogs to watch his back in the first place. I could dream anyway. I didn’t know if I had the stamina for a knock-down, drag-out fight.
“Keep your head down,” I told Butch, who didn’t look interested in doing anything else. Then I fell behind Booke. “I think we have to use his own knife on him. Kel can heal from anything else almost immediately.”
He caught on at once. “But the damage the other Nephilim is inflicting isn’t going away as fast.”
“Yeah, exactly. Is the mouse spell still in effect?”
