The swordsman reared back and swung his blade as though intending to hit a home run.
I dodged. The top of the blade passed over the crown of my head. I might've lost a few hairs in the deal, but it didn't matter. With a playful jab, I struck the guy square in the navel. The blow sent him reeling. The sword was out of his hands, clattering to the floor, and he sailed into the nearest wall with a gasp. “That was just a love-tap,” I said, standing upright. “But it may have burst your diaphragm. What shall I break next?”
It took only a moment of gloating for Kanta to wage a counterattack. While I focused on her downed buddy, she picked up his badass sword and quickly thrust it upward, where it met my shoulder and parted my flesh with a sizzle.
Silver.
I recoiled with a hiss while she helped the panting swordsman to his feet. A second slash, this one directed at my leg, carved deep into my thigh. I stumbled, palming at the gash, and fell down as the two of them fled. They darted through the door, thundered down the stairs, and were gone by the time I'd healed up enough to give chase.
Frothing with rage, I spit on the floor. A spot of carpet in the corner was eaten away as the acid went to work. I didn't feel good about letting my quarry get away. Right about then I should've been bathing in their blood.
Pacing around the empty room till my wounds had fully healed, I quickly marched downstairs, back to Ken's place. I wasn't sure how much time had passed or what state I might find Joe in, but I poked my head in the door and singled him out in the living room, where he still sat between a pair of drunk guys singing along to a song on the stereo. He seemed to sense my gaze, because he stood up at once and began sauntering to the door, abandoning his half-full beer bottle on the nearest table.
I waved to Ken. “Great party, man. Let's do it again sometime.”
Ken was pretty buzzed and raised his cup to me in reply. From somewhere in the room I heard someone ask, “Hey, where did Kanta go?”
Where indeed? I wanted to say. Joe followed me outside and the two of us cut through the parking lot in silence. He could tell from the sour look on my face that things hadn't gone well for me.
“So,” he said after a time, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, “how'd it go? You get lucky like you wanted?”
I bit my lip before responding. “Not quite.”
Joe nodded. “Well, it ain't all bad, you know? I learned something valuable tonight.”
“What's that?” I asked.
“That your friends throw shit parties and I probably shouldn't tag along again,” he said with a smirk.
FOUR
I spent the night, as well as most of the afternoon, in bed. When I awoke I made a quick trip to the grocery store, where I procured some dietary staples like bacon, Maraschino cherries and Funyuns. While there, I also picked up a beautiful German chocolate cake from the bakery section.
It was while I sat in my living room, trying to decide whether to eat the entire cake in a single go, that my black work-issue phone began to ring. Cursing, I rose from the sofa and took hold of the buzzing clamshell, flipping it open to find an incoming call from none other than Chief Kubo. “Yeah?” I answered, licking a bit of chocolate ganache from my finger.
It'd been a little while since I'd seen or heard from Kubo. After the werewolf job had been completed he'd disappeared into the shadows of the Veiled Order's HQ like he always did, promising that he'd get ahold of me when the time came for another job. Trouble was, I didn't exactly feel like working. Kubo's timing was shit.
“Lucy, I'm going to need you to get to HQ, stat. We're about to have a meeting with Amundsen. A mandatory meeting. Get here as soon as you can.” Kubo was always a stern guy, and his manner seldom betrayed anything of pleasantry or amusement. He was as kind and understanding as an enraged drill sergeant. But this time, I found a certain gravity superadded to his tone. He wasn't giving me a hard time like he usually did, and something about the way he uttered that word, “mandatory”, made it clear we weren't meeting to plan the company Christmas Party.
I feigned annoyance, scooping another fingerful of frosting into my mouth. “Damn, chief. Sure you can't just sum it up in an email?”
Kubo wasn't in a mood to play along. “Get here. Fast,” he said. And then he cut the line.
I shut the flip-phone and stashed it away in my pocket, looking down at the cake on the table mournfully. “What's the big rush?” I wondered aloud, stepping into my shoes and seeking out my keys. A short drive in the Corvette sounded mighty agreeable. It was after sunset, and if I stuck to the side roads I could speed there like a bullet train without garnering too much attention.
Amundsen was going to be there, too. Since signing on with the Veiled Order, I'd seen less and less of him. This whole Demon-Heart thing had been set into motion thanks to him; if he hadn't sent me out to an abandoned house to retrieve a little curio then I would never have been killed by witches. I'd learned a little more about him in the past few weeks; mainly that he served two functions in the organization. First off, he handled all kinds of administrative work at HQ, toiling on behalf of the senior leadership... whoever they were. Second, he was the guy in charge of the small army the Veiled Order had under its control. In Detroit alone, there were at least one or two hundred guys directly under the Order's employ, and he was the one who ordered them around. If Kubo and I needed a helicopter to scope out a location ahead of time, or wanted an armed escort, Amundsen was the guy who set it up. What were we doing in a meeting with him, though?
Hopping into the driver's seat, I queued up a Stooges album, Fun House, on the car stereo. The evening was warm and soggy; there'd been scattered showers throughout the day, and they still asserted themselves in the form of an omnipresent vapor that made it a little hard to breathe. I turned the AC knob all the way to its maximum setting and idled in the parking lot till the interior of the car had cooled down.
Bobbing my head to “Down On The Street”, I pulled out of my spot.
When the apartment complex was out of view, I really let it rip and tore down the street like a cheetah towards HQ.
***
Pulling through the black gates and shuffling through the unusually crowded parking lot, I pounded on the metal exterior door and was admitted at once. I couldn't remember the last time I saw the HQ building so packed this late.
Guess Kubo wasn't joshing me. This could be something big.
The attendant at the desk waved me on towards a hallway nestled just beyond the elevator banks. I knew several large conference rooms to dwell there, and I wasn't one step past the elevators when I heard the swell of many voices in heated discussion. I didn't even have to ask where to go; following the sound of the crowd, I stepped into the nearest conference room and found it packed. Standing room only. Kubo and Amundsen were at the front of the room, and both caught sight of me at the same moment. Suddenly, a hush stole over the assembly.
Don't get me wrong, I love the limelight. But when everyone in the room suddenly goes quiet at your entrance and just stares, well, it's enough to make even a demon shy.
“'Sup,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall. Every eye on the room was on me just then. Some of them I recognized; Kubo and Amundsen, of course. Joe was sitting near the front, and he gave me a little wave. The rest, though, were all Veiled Order commandos.
Up to this point I hadn't worked a whole lot with the Veiled Order's troopers. I mean, I didn't even know what to call them. Stormtroopers? Soldiers? They were the big dudes in all black, the same ones that'd stormed the witch's sabbath when Agatha and her cronies had killed me out in Flint. After we'd taken down the coven they'd stormed the old church and collected us from the scene, too. Aside from that, all of my interactions with them had been kind of icy.
The gazes that dissected me from all around the room were, on the whole, rather hostile. These guys looked at me like I was covered in dog shit, their noses crinkling with barely-veiled disgust. So
me of them muttered curses at sighting me, and those closest to the door moved further away from me as if to build distance from the filthy Demon-Heart.
This wasn't the first time they'd given me dirty looks and treated me like crap. The Veiled Order's troops weren't exactly fond of me, and Amundsen had once told me why. He'd explained that they were used to hunting demons, rather than working with them. Taking their natural aversion to my kind into account, as well as the fact that they'd probably lost a boatload of guys in tracking down Gadreel and carving out his heart, I couldn't altogether blame them.
I jerked forward, throwing my hands out and loosing a loud “Boo!”
I'll be damned if half the commandos in the room didn't jump just then. These NFL-sized assholes about fell out of their chairs.
Snickering, I slumped against the wall and looked over to Kubo and Amundsen. “Well, what's up, guys?”
Kubo was wearing a black suit, but had taken off the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to reveal a pair of boulder-like forearms. His broad shoulders shifted in apparent discomfort. Something was bugging him. I'd spent enough time with him to know his usual behavior, and this wasn't it. Whatever he'd dragged us all in to discuss, it was serious.
Amundsen was dressed as was his custom; tailored suit with a silver pendant featuring prominently over his tie. That pendant bore the Seal of Seven Waters, a magical mainstay I'd learned a bit about since joining up with the Order. The Swiss Army knife of magical seals that could be augmented to fit most any function. He combed a hand through his thin hair, which was grey at the temples, and pursed his lips. He didn't seem too keen to start the discussion, either.
Kubo looked to Amundsen and then began. “Right, I think everyone's present. You have all been assembled here to address a new threat. The leaders of our organization have asked us to conduct a thorough investigation of the city's graveyards due to recent incidents.” Kubo's eyes narrowed.
“Why the graveyards?” I asked, standing on tip-toes so that I might be better seen from behind the wall of would-be linebackers.
Amundsen crossed his legs and sighed. “Because it appears that the dead are coming back to life in this city.”
FIVE
It took a little while for those words to sink in. The dead coming back to life? I love George Romero films as much as the next guy, but come on. What, were we talking zombies here? Undead creatures in search of brains to eat? I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the thought. But the longer I sat there and the more pensive both Kubo and Amundsen grew, the less I felt inclined to write them off.
After a bit, Kubo continued. He switched on a large projector and directed everyone's attention to a white screen, which flashed with images taken from a local newspaper. The headline read VANDALS DEFACE GRAVES IN DETROIT. “As you may have heard,” began the Chief, “reports of grave-robbing have been on the rise throughout the city. This, coupled with certain sightings, has led us to fear the worst. There is death magic of some kind at work, and the leaders of the Veiled Order want us to get to the bottom of it.” The image changed to the familiar-looking gates of a local cemetery. “One graveyard in particular has been targeted more frequently than the others. Woodlawn Cemetery. We're going to be starting our investigation there. Tonight, we'll be sending a small team out to gather clues, led by Joe and Lucian.”
He was using my full name. This was the real deal.
Amundsen picked up from there. “Lucian, Joe, the two of you will head to the cemetery tonight with a truckload of men. Any clues you find as to the source of this necromancy would be very useful to us. You must be careful, however. In the world of death magic, there is no such thing as an amateur. Keep your eyes peeled for seals or totems... we don't know precisely what we're looking for in this case, so anything that stands out ought to be noted. Furthermore... should you encounter any of the living dead, they are to be cut down with extreme prejudice.” He really wanted to drive this point home. “Kill them on sight.”
There was a stir in the room. All around me the troopers were talking amongst themselves in whispers. Joe looked back at me, his expression muddied with apprehension. The job sounded pretty simple and not nearly so dire as these guys were making it out to be, but I still had a few questions. I raised my hand. “So, uh, are these like the zombies in movies? Do they eat people? Can they run, or go out in sunlight? Do we have to kill them with headshots?”
A few troopers snickered, eyeing me with derision.
“Not quite,” replied Kubo. “Though the undead vary in strength and ability, the few that our operatives have encountered have all been similar; that is, physically powerful and tenacious. They don't appear to be capable of speech, but they can certainly run after you. The only methods of execution we're going to allow on this one are complete burning or decapitation. Anything else is too risky. Can't let these things live, so don't take any chances. The troops will come with you for support and reconnaissance purposes, however the bulk of the fighting will have to be carried out by the two of you if any zombies turn up. You've been chosen because your abilities should work well for the job.”
Sure. Joe could light them all up like candles and I could pop their heads off, no problem.
One trooper in the room cleared his throat, nodding to Kubo. “Must we really head into the field with him?”
By “him”, the guy was referring to me, naturally.
“My men and I aren't going to be willing to take orders from a demon. The Demon-Heart's a loose cannon, and if he turns on us we'd hate to have to put him down. I think we should find someone else to lead, sir.” The trooper turned towards me, sporting a savage grin. “No offense,” he added.
Amundsen came to my defense before I walked over there and socked the commando in the face. “Now, that's no way to address a team member,” he said sternly. “This is an order. Lucian is trustworthy, a powerful member of our organization, and is well-suited to this mission. Moreover, he needs leadership experience. It has been decided that he and Joe are the best fit, and you will follow his orders in the field. Do I make myself clear?” The pendant around his neck threw off a silvery glow as he stood there, stone-faced.
Apparently Amundsen's talk wasn't enough to make them look forward to working with me, because a number of them continued to voice their displeasure through groans and side-eyes. “Hey now,” I said, raising my hands. “It won't be so bad, guys. Tag along with me tonight and maybe I'll teach you a thing or two!”
One of the commandos to my right leaned in so close I could smell his dinner. “Looking to get your ass kicked? Maybe we'll take turns beating your skull in once we get out there,” he barked.
The demon in me isn't easily intimidated, and when this guy started running his mouth, Gadreel couldn't resist the urge to make an appearance. He pushed himself to the fore and used my lips to crack a smile. “I'd like nothing better,” I said, my pulse shooting up in anticipation of a fight.
“Goddamn it, that's enough,” shouted Kubo. “Don't make me come along.” He jabbed a finger at me. “I'm trusting you with this, Lucy. Don't fuck it up. You and Joe are in charge on this, and if you shit the bed things are going to get ugly. Got that? Don't mouth off or get these guys riled up. I know you like to be a smart ass, but this ain't the time.”
I sighed. “Yeah, all right. When do we leave?”
“Ten minutes,” replied Amundsen matter-of-factly. “The SUV's have been gassed up and loaded. There will be two vehicles in total. The guard in charge of the cemetery has already been informed of our arrival and you should encounter no resistance in entering. It is a very large cemetery, mind you, so you may have to search for a few hours. Anything you find should be recorded, gentlemen. The troops are outfitted with radios they can use to relay information back to us here at headquarters. Any other questions?” He looked around the room.
“All right, get ready to set out,” said Kubo. The troopers shuffled out of the room slowly, begrudgingly, their bl
ack outfits and scowling faces making them look like a herd of angry black sheep. When they'd all gone, Kubo pulled me and Joe aside. “Lucy,” he said, patting my shoulder with more than jovial firmness, “this is important. The higher-ups are watching. They want to make sure you can work within a team, that you aren't a walking mess. Got it? You need to come through for us here. Don't do anything brash.” He turned to Joe. “Keep him under control, will ya?”
Joe grinned. “No promises. You know how he gets.”
“Look,” I replied, “I can handle myself. This'll be a cakewalk as long as the thugs don't talk shit on the way. If I kill any of them,” I added, “it'll be their own fault.”
Amundsen frowned. “Lucian, I don't want to hear that kind of talk. They need to get used to you, that's all. Their bias against demons isn't exactly unwarranted. Lead them in this investigation without incident and they should warm up to you.” With that, he led the two of us out of the conference room, through the lobby, and to the exit. We stepped out into the humid parking lot where a pair of SUVs idled. A swarm of commandos bustled around them. These were the big, black SUVs the Veiled Order used on all of their missions. Tinted glass, monstrous tires and no license plates. The troopers were stowing away trunks of who knew what in them, and were now carrying huge-ass guns. I winced a little. A silver slug out of one of those would hurt like a bitch.
Amundsen reached out and shook our hands. “Gentlemen, I eagerly await your report. Cut down any threats you encounter, and be sure to let us know if you find anything incongruous. Best of luck.”
One of the troopers whistled loudly. “We're ready to go.” Throwing open one of the doors, he waited for Joe and I to get in.
Roaring Blood (Demon-Hearted Book 2) Page 3
