Heaven's Door (Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter Book 6)

by John G. Hartness

  Contents

  Freebie

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Freebie

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Also by John G. Hartness

  Falstaff Books

  Changeling's Fall

  Pawn's Gambit

  This Giant Leap

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  Chapter 1

  “You’re trying to tell me that last night’s murder is the beginning of a plot to open the gates of Hell? Real, literal, lakes of fire and little bastards with pitchforks Hell?” Detective Rebecca Gail Flynn sat on my couch gaping at me. I’d just spent half the night telling her the story of me and my guardian angel Glory stopping a Cambion, a half-human/half-demon/all-psychotic, from doing that exact thing seven years ago.

  “Yeah, that’s about it. Normally, I’d follow that up with an ‘I know how crazy this sounds,’ or some shit like that, but I do know how crazy this sounds, and you helped me fight the Four Horsemen of the goddamn Apocalypse without batting an eye, so why should a little demon mischief flip your switch?” I was tired and a little grumpy that Becks didn’t seem to believe me.

  “I get it, Harker, I really do. I can feel how much you believe this shit. And I’ve never seen you actually scared, so that means something, too. But…Hell? It’s a lot, you know?” She leaned back on the couch and blew out a long breath. Without taking her eyes off my apparently very interesting ceiling, she said, “Okay, who’s the new dead guy?”

  “His name’s Pat Dugan. He’s a software engineer for Red Hat.”

  “What did he do?”

  “I just told you, he was some kind of computer nerd.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Now she looked at me. “I mean, how did he die? Was it like the others?”

  “Kinda,” I said. “His throat was cut, and his blood was partially drained, but not completely. And he was beaten before he was killed. And I mean beaten like he went five rounds with Mike Tyson, not just thumped on the head a few times.”

  “Tortured?” Flynn asked.

  “I don’t think so. There was none of the normal kinda stuff I associate with torture. His fingers weren’t broken, one tooth missing, but that corresponded to a split lip, I couldn’t see any electrical burns, or smell any charred flesh, no—”

  “I get it,” Flynn interrupted me. “There are a lot of ways to torture someone, and none of them were used on Dugan.”

  “Apparently not. The only reason I know he’s involved in this case is because I saw the wings.”

  “The wings?” Becks asked.

  “Yeah. When I looked at the body with my Sight, there were golden wings. He was a Nephilim, no question.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “What?”

  “Why were you at a random murder scene in the middle of the night, Harker?” Becks asked. “This is the kind of thing that I would have arrested you for two years ago. The only reason I don’t suspect you now is that I know you didn’t do this thing. Or if you did, you’re having a psychotic break and don’t know you did it. I’m not sure which of those is worse for the surrounding area.”

  “I’m pretty sure having a mystically enhanced wizard go batshit crazy in the middle of a city is about as ‘worse’ as it gets, Detective.” But she was right. I didn’t have anything to do with Patrick Dugan’s murder, and if I did, Becks would know about it. Ever since I gave her some of my blood to save her life, we can’t keep secrets from each other. It’s hard enough just keeping my thoughts private, much less any impressions that come with deception. That just wasn’t gonna happen with anyone as deep inside my head as Flynn was now. Truth be told, most days I didn’t mind having an unbreakable mental bond with her. Kept some of the shadows at bay when the nights got real dark.

  “You’re avoiding the question, Harker. Why. Were. You. There?”

  “I told him to go.” Glory walked out of my kitchen and sat down on the couch next to Flynn. She handed her a glass of orange juice. “Good to see you, Rebecca.”

  “Hello, Glory,” Rebecca said, accepting the glass. “We were just talking about you.”

  “I heard,” my guardian angel replied. “He didn’t even leave out any of the really bad parts. That was good, Q. A solid recounting, if uninspired.”

  “Oh, I was plenty inspired, Glory. Inspired by being scared out of my shorts of this shit starting up again.”

  “You should be. You didn’t beat Orobas last time, you just beat his minion, and even that barely.”

  “And not without cost,” I said. My friend Dennis died because I brought him into my fight. That was just one of the reasons I didn’t sleep well at night.

  “No battle is won without cost, Q,” Glory said, then looked a little abashed at her tone. “I’m sorry. This is just scary for me, too. I don’t know if we can beat Orobas. And I don’t know how much I can intervene without risking…”

  “Risking what, Glory?” I asked, standing up and starting to pace my living room. “What happens if you break the rules? Just this once? I mean, what’s the worst thing they can do to you? You’re an angel, for fuck’s sake, it’s not like they can—”

  “They can,” Glory said, her voice small. “They can, and they have before. To one of the greatest of us, one of the Father’s favorites. His golden, glowing son. Remember the Lightbringer? The Morningstar?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Him.”

  “Yes, Quincy, him. So if you want to know what is the worst thing that the Heavenly Host can do to one of their own who rebels and causes problems, look no further than the case of God’s favorite angel, Lucifer. And since I’d rather not end up condemned to never see the face of my Father again, I’m going to tread lightly. If you don’t mind, of course.” All the angels in Heaven and I get the sarcastic one. I guess that fits.

  “So where do we go from here? We have a dead half-angel, we think we have a demon returned to rezone Charlotte as a suburb of Hell, and neither of us have slept all night,” Flynn asked, downing her OJ and standing up.

  “Keep talking, I can hear you!” she called out over her shoulder as she went to the kitchen and rinsed her glass. “I’m putting on some coffee. Glory, you want some?”

  “No, thank you, Rebecca. Caffeine and divine power do not mix.”

  I looked at her, then shook my head. “Yeah, all we need is you to get jittery and inadvertently save somebody.” I sat back down in my chair, leaning forward toward Glory. “So what’s next? Where do we go from here?”

  “Well, you have a detective, so I’d suggest you work on solving the murder of Mr. Dugan. And since this isn’t your first run-in with Orobas, perhaps there are people who would know about it if the demon were back in town.”

  “That all sounds good, but first things first. I need breakfast and a shower,” Flynn said, walking back into the room with a plate full of doughnuts and two mugs of coffee. She put the doughnuts on the coffee table, handed me the mug that read “World’s Greatest Granny!” and kept a souvenir mug from Epcot Center for herself.

  “Where the hell did you get these coffee cu
ps, Harker?” Flynn asked, sitting on the couch beside Glory and grabbing a doughnut.

  I took a sip of my coffee and reached for my own doughnut. “Where does every bachelor shop for kitchen supplies? I went to Goodwill.”

  “So what do we know?” Flynn asked after we each knocked back a couple of Krispy Kremes.

  “We know that Patrick Dugan is dead, exsanguinated, and a half-angel. We know that likely means Orobas is back in town—”

  “But we don’t know that Orobas is back. One dead Nephilim isn’t enough to prove that,” Flynn countered.

  “Are you willing to let another one die just to confirm my suspicions?” I asked.

  “I’d rather not, but I am a homicide detective, Harker. I deal with dead people all the time. And sometimes, there has to be more than one person dead before I can be any good at my job. They don’t do task forces for simple murders; for us to get the resources we need, someone else is going to have to die. But in the meantime, I’ll go hit up Paul in the crime lab to see what he found at the scene. As soon as I take a shower and put on some fresh clothes. I might have to go to work on no sleep, but at least I can look like I’m well-rested.” Flynn stood up and walked to the door of her bedroom. She stopped and turned to look back at me.

  “Harker?”

  “Yeah, Becks?”

  “Is this really as bad as you’re making it out to be?”

  “If I’m right, it’s nowhere near as bad.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “No. Because if I’m right, it’s way worse than we can even imagine.”

  Chapter 2

  “You know we don’t do a breakfast menu, right, Harker?” Christy asked when I walked into Mort’s. Mort’s was a bar owned by a demon, and Christy was his bartender, bouncer, enforcer, information merchant, and the maker of the best Bloody Mary’s in Charlotte.

  “You lie like a rug, you beautiful succubus,” I said, leaning over the bar to kiss one cheek.

  “Not even close. And not terribly original, either. Why can’t you believe that I’m just a normal, run-of-the-mill human, Harker?”

  “Because I’m a normal, run-of-the-mill human, and you’re not even close.”

  “Yeah, if normal humans have vampire DNA and throw spells around like a Dr. Strange comic.”

  “I have never once called upon the Eye of Agamatto.” I grinned as I slid onto a barstool. Christy and I had a running game going—I tried to figure out what kind of supernatural creature she was, and she didn’t tell me. I don’t know if she would tell me even if I got it right, but it was a cute little diversion, so I kept it going.

  “Where’s Mort?” I asked. “Back room?”

  “Yeah, but you can’t go back there right now. Seriously, Harker, don’t even stand up off that stool until I tell you it’s okay. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”

  “That’s good because I don’t want to be shot. Let him know I’m here, and I’ll just sit here and have breakfast until he’s ready to see me.”

  Christy nodded and reached for the vodka. I don’t usually drink until after lunch, but since eight a.m. Charlotte time is three p.m. Moscow time, it was after lunch in Russia. Perfect time for vodka, by my logic. As Christy tossed ingredients into a glass for my Bloody Mary, I took a look around the bar at the other inhabitants.

  There was a vampire in a booth in the back, passed out face down on the table. He’d be there until after sunset, but when he woke up, he’d probably be hungry. And have a hellacious crick in his neck. A couple of lycanthropes in human form shared a table by the door, but I could smell the fox on them from where I sat, and their narrow faces and long noses were dead giveaways, along with the flaming red hair.

  I couldn’t see the three tables down the hallway near the bathrooms and the back door but decided it wasn’t worth snooping over. A huge human sat in one corner booth with a beautiful woman who looked way out of his league. I opened my Sight just a little bit, and sure enough, she really was a succubus. I almost got up and went after her until I remembered two things—first, the sign over the bar declaring it Sanctuary and the vehemence with which Christy enforced the rules about not hassling the other supernatural beings, and second, the fact that she almost certainly wasn’t going to kill the dude, and he might be enjoying it. Shit, for all I knew, he asked her to feed off his life force in exchange for getting off. I’d seen weirder shit on the internet, so why not? As long as his kink didn’t hurt anybody but himself, he could do what he wanted.

  And I really didn’t want to make Christy pull out the sawed-off double-barrel she had tucked away under the bar. She nodded at me as she sat my Bloody Mary on the bar, then said, “I’ll go tell Mort you’re here. No promises on whether or not he’ll see you, but I’ll tell him.”

  Mort and I had a love/hate relationship. I loved the information I got out of him but hated having to consort with a demon to get it. But my job very often isn’t pretty, and the pesky thing about hunting demons is that they don’t often show up at Mass.

  Sometimes, but not often.

  Christy came back about a minute later and motioned for me to follow her. I went through a small door at the end of the bar into the back room. The last time I was there, Mort had a demon magician doing tricks for his amusement. I took exception to the tricks and killed the stage show. Mort wasn’t pleased. This time I stepped through the door into a bouncy castle.

  A bouncy castle. One of those big inflatable rooms that kids get for their birthday parties. Except huge, tall enough for me to stand up in. Christy stood in the doorway, hand extended palm up.

  “Give me your shoes,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Your shoes.” She pointed at my feet for emphasis. “Boss doesn’t want any street shoes fucking up his balloon house, so give me your shoes.”

  “You first.” I looked at her feet and saw a pair of black leather boots with three-inch stiletto heels.

  “Fuck off, Harker,” Christy replied, but I heard the smile in her voice. It was mirrored on her face, but she wiped it off fast. “You’re cute, but I don’t date humans.”

  “That’s fine. I think we’ve established that I don’t qualify.” I was stalling until I could get my sea legs under me. It had been decades since I was on a boat, or any other floor that moved very much, and I wanted as much balance as I could muster before I dealt with Mort. He was a naturally unnerving fucker, and I didn’t want to give him any more edge than that.

  “You’re close enough to human for me to use the easy out. Now give me your shoes. The wind in here messes up my hair, and that makes me grouchy. You wouldn’t like me when I’m grouchy.”

  “Angry,” I corrected, sitting down to unlace and pull off my Doc Martens, not the easiest thing to do when the floor keeps moving underneath you.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The quote is ‘you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,’” I said.

  “I know what the TV show said. I also know what I meant. You wouldn’t like me when I’m grouchy. You’d fucking piss yourself if you ever saw me angry.”

  I looked in Christy’s eyes and saw the truth there. I still had no idea if she was human, demon, angel, or some other kind of monster, but I knew she had power and that I didn’t want to piss her off. So I shut the fuck up and handed her my shoes.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll have these behind the bar for you. If Mort kills you, I’ll send them to Goodwill.”

  “Seems fair. You want to send them out to be shined, too?”

  “They’re suede, you dick.” She turned and went back into the bar, laughing.

  I turned and wandered farther into the bouncy castle, which was more like a bouncy maze. Imagine wandering through a giant, squishy, red and blue tunnel, where the floor has way too much give, and the noise of the fans keeping the building inflated made hearing anything more than a few feet in front of you impossible. I walked the red-tinged halls of Mort’s inflatable house for a good five minutes, traveling a lot farther t
han I would have been if we were in normal space, and walking through seemingly endless plastic-lined corridors.

  Finally, I turned a corner and stepped out into a room the size of a basketball court. Mort sat in a recliner in the center of the room in front of a bank of televisions. On each screen was a different room, all apparently in the bouncy castle. Some screens showed people wandering aimlessly, lost as hell trying to get out. Some showed people in a bouncy arena, either dueling or wagering on duels. And some screens showed people and monsters doing what they usually do when they don’t think anyone is watching them. With some monsters, and pretty much every single type of demon, that is not something you want to see with any food on your stomach. My Bloody Mary made a run for it, but I managed to keep down breakfast.

  “Hello, Quincy! So good to see you again!” Mort stood up and gave a florid bow. The last time I’d seen Mort, he was possessing the body of a little boy. The time before that he was riding along inside a low-budget porn actress. This time he was an athlete. I cocked my head sideways, trying to see if I recognized him from somewhere, but I couldn’t place him. He was tall, African-American, and good-looking. He had muscles on top of his muscles, and nothing on but his boxer briefs, so I could see exactly how muscular he was. And pretty much how blessed he was in other areas, too.

  “Hi Mort,” I replied. “New suit?”

  “Yes, someone made a poor decision in wagering on the Super Bowl, so I get to wear his body during the offseason. Too bad training camp is coming up. I promised him he could have control back by then.”

  “And what else is he going to have when he gets his body back?”

  “Oh, nothing much. A little chlamydia, but he could have gotten that anywhere. I wasn’t allowed to do any permanent harm to his body, reputation, or career during my tenure in his body, but I was allowed to get laid. A lot. I missed sex, Harker. I spent three years wearing that kid, and you’d be amazed how few women actually want to fuck a prepubescent boy. I expected it to be a much more popular kink, but not so much.”