Roaring Blood (Demon-Hearted Book 2)

by Ambrose Ibsen

  We entered the alley, quickened our pace, and then hooked a sharp right into the inter-dimensional alleyway that led to Mona's cottage.

  I don't know if “inter-dimensional alley” is really that accurate, but let's go with it.

  During my first trip into the Underground, I hadn't encountered anything that I couldn't handle. Joe and I had had a run-in with a not-so-friendly lizard-guy and some others, but the minute I'd revealed my demonic nature they'd dispersed. The way we were heading in now, all together, was sure to bring a lot more attention to what was most certainly supposed to be a discrete errand. Why hadn't Kubo gone solo, or with a single partner? Marching the whole army down the street was going to raise some eyebrows.

  He was likely expecting us to meet resistance.

  I cracked my neck as we walked, ready to throw down at any moment. If that lizard-guy or his ilk presented themselves again, I wouldn't hold back...

  We arrived at the trapdoor in the floor, but before he knelt down and threw it open, Kubo took to fussing over his paper seals. He whipped one of them out, the surface of it obscured in intricate ink, and muttered a few words under his breath. There was a puff of smoke, like something a stage magician might utilize to serve as a distraction between costume changes. When it cleared, there stood Kubo draped in a black cloak. But that wasn't all. What little I could see of his face, too, was different. His usually strong jaw had been filed down to something feeble-looking, and one of his eyes was a different color, sort of white.

  He'd disguised himself.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked him. “Should we all have worn disguises?”

  Kubo smirked, displaying jagged, yellowed teeth that weren't actually his. When he spoke, though, the voice was all him. “See, there are more than a couple of things waiting for us down there that know my face. Better to be safe than sorry. The rest of you should be all right. I just don't want everyone and their mother knowing that an officer with the Veiled Order is poking around in the Underground. Ready?”

  “Hold on a second,” said Germaine. Slowly, the spider crawled through the collar of my shirt, his furry bulk pressed to the base of my neck. I shivered and protested all the while. “There we go. I oughta stay hidden, too. Just in case.”

  We took turns jumping into the chasm, and found ourselves standing in the woods outside Mona's. Kubo wasted no time leading the party down the necessary path, and even adopted an exaggerated limp. Behind him, Kanta and Percy stuck together, which left Joe and I at the rear.

  Oh, and Germaine, too.

  “Get the hell off of me,” I said, every hair on my body standing upright. I could feel the awful critter shifting against me as he struggled to stay put. “Just walk alongside us, for Christ's sake. Do you have to torture me every step of the way? Is this fun for you?”

  A long leg teased the nape of my neck. “Better shut up, Demon-boy. Else the folk in the Underground are going to think you're talking to yourself.”

  Joe hadn't said much of anything since we left my apartment. He looked down at his feet as we wandered on, lost in his thoughts. Come to think of it, the two of us hadn't really had a chance to talk one-on-one for a while now. We'd had our fight, but hadn't gotten the chance to patch things up yet.

  “Hell of a mission we're on, huh?” I said, hoping to break the ice. All the while, I reached back and smacked at the arachnid under my shirt.

  Joe nodded. “This guy might be something of a god. Pretty wild.” His voice was vacant, dreamy.

  “I can't believe Kubo wants me to sit the big fight out.” Once more, I reached back and smacked Germaine. Finally, he'd had enough, and he burst from the collar of my shirt.

  “Asshole,” muttered the spider, leaping onto the ground and speeding alongside us.

  Joe shrugged. “Makes sense to me. If you can't control your pridefulness when you aren't one-hundred percent possessed, then I'd hate to see you out there when the demon comes out to play. You'd probably try killing us all, like last time.”

  “Oh, come on.” All right, so he was still mad at me. “Its not like that. I'm not trying to be the hero here. Sure, I'm bitter about losing to the necromancer, but I've made peace with the fact that Kanta's our ace. Whatever. I just don't want to sit on the sidelines.”

  Smirking, Joe glanced at the spider, who was charging on ahead at great speed. “You just don't think we can do this without you. There was a Veiled Order before you came along, you know that? And we did just fine without a Demon-Heart on our side. I think we'll take care of things neatly when we have this sword, even without your help, Lucy.”

  I was conflicted; I wanted to plead my case and convince him that I wasn't just seeking glory, but I also wanted to punch him in the head. “Dude, I never said that. So you guys can take care of things without me. That's great. But when push comes to shove, does it really make sense to leave me out of it? I want to work with you guys. I know you're all capable fighters and that it's going to take a team effort to take down Agamemnon. And I've known it the whole time. I was just being prideful... I wanted to be the Davy Jones to our Monkees. But it doesn't have to be that way. We can all be Davy Jones. Just quit shutting me out, man.”

  Joe slapped me in the arm. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about, or what it has to do with monkeys, but it isn't up to me in the end. It's the Chief's call. Maybe you've learned your lesson, Lucy, but I'm not convinced. You've messed up a lot, and I don't want to be the guy who just follows you around, trying to explain away your mistakes.”

  “You don't know who the Monkees are? You're a Philistine, you know that?” I paused. “Anyhow, I get it. And I want to prove to everyone just how things have changed. But I can't do that if Kubo locks me up for the final fight. And... what if you guys can't handle Agamemnon without me? Then what?”

  Joe kicked a pebble off of the trail. “Then I guess you can manage our funerals.”

  We left Mona's place behind and entered the Underground. Our surroundings were transformed, and for a minute I fancied John Wayne might make his entrance from around the corner.

  But instead of John Wayne, I found myself surrounded by alien creatures.

  Percy and Kanta kept their gazes low as they pressed on behind the Chief. Germaine was riding Kubo's coattails, clutching the edges of the dusty cloak he wore. Without even looking at him, I knew Joe was holding onto his lighter.

  “Where exactly is this armory?” I asked no one in particular.

  Kubo turned back to look at me. “Keep your voice down.”

  Germaine clued me in, fixing his eight eyes on me and speaking quietly. “It's a pretty short trek. A mile or two.” He scampered further up the cloak that Kubo wore. “Would be much easier if someone would just give me a ride.”

  “Not if my life depended on it.” I buried my hands in my pockets, doing my best not to look at the curious figures walking by. We passed the brothel, the bookstore where we'd picked up Germaine, along with scores of weird-ass creatures. In the corner of my eye I glimpsed an animal of some kind. It was roughly the size of a dog, but its limbs were vaguely humanoid. I looked the other way to keep from taking the whole thing in, and caught sight of a leering werewolf. The wolf walked by, not bothering to conceal its true form in this place. Its fur was brown, its eyes yellow and fangs not altogether white. The dash of pinkish blood along the tips of its canines told me the thing had just enjoyed a meal.

  I pulled my eyes away and just kept on going. I'd ruined things for everyone back at the park, drawing the attention of the horde with my lightning trick. I wasn't going to slow us down here, though. I'd learned my lesson. The sooner we got to the armory, the better. Up ahead there was a large fountain. It gurgled with crystal clear water, and upon its edges were seated a number of people bound up in discolored rags. They spoke in a grating tongue; the syllables reminded me of the magical language the witches in Mater Agatha's coven had spoken.

  There were more bars along this stretch than anythi
ng, by the looks of it. Joe and I hadn't ventured this far down the road during our last visit, but every third or fourth building now seemed to house a tavern. Each sounded full of drunken revelers, and the noise of breaking glass emerged repeatedly like a poorly-timed cymbal crash. There were open storefronts, too. Some of the things on offer, hanging from hooks and lengths of string, are probably too indecent for description, but sellers specializing in tinctures, supplies for magic and other oddities were many. Now and then Kubo would linger over the wares of one of these merchants and appear to consider a purchase. Whether he was genuinely interested in their goods or simply wished to look the part was difficult to say.

  None of us talked. We were just interested in blending in, in getting to our destination without trouble. Kubo had mentioned the possibility of encountering some of Agamemnon's guys down here, but I hadn't noticed anything even remotely zombie-like in the place. The sun was down, and the streets were lit by a series of hanging paper lanterns. Some storefronts boasted neon signs; still others were illuminated by large torches. The further we went, the more I started glancing into the dark alleys between establishments. If Agamemnon had sent some of his cronies down here, then they would probably stay hidden, out of sight, until an opportunity to attack presented itself.

  I wondered if Agememnon's forces were comprised solely of zombies. It stood to reason that his death powers only allowed him to hold sway over the dead, though it occurred to me that an avatar of Thanatos might have a couple of zealous, living groupies. We hadn't encountered any yet, but it wasn't out of the question. Looking past Kubo, I hoped we were getting close to the armory. I wasn't sure what this Dennis guy would look like, but--

  Kubo had stopped, and the rest of us nearly bumped into one another as he came to a halt.

  There were two figures standing in front of Kubo, blocking his way, and a third coming up from behind us with heavy steps. I turned, only to find the werewolf from earlier, teeth bared in a low growl. I nudged Joe with my elbow, but he was already aware of the new arrivals.

  “What is the meaning of this?” asked Kubo in a low voice that was almost unrecognizable to me.

  The two figures standing in front of us were wearing grey robes, and were in the process of pulling their hoods back. What I saw underneath them disgusted me.

  Lizard men.

  I don't know if that's the proper species name or anything like that, but they were man-sized things with elongated, scaly heads. Take a gecko's head and stick it on a man's body and you'll kind of know what I'm talking about. Actually, don't do that. It would be grotesque.

  These two guys looked awfully familiar to me, from the narrow, piercing eyes, to the black claws they boasted on their stubby, reptilian fingers. Joe and I had been hassled by one of these things during our earlier sojourn into the Underground. Apparently creatures like these flourished here.

  Reason one-hundred-and-one for why I don't think I'll ever vacation in the Underground.

  “That one, there,” said the werewolf on our flank, approaching quickly. “With the sword.”

  We all turned and looked to Percy, whose stance stiffened noticeably at being called out. He turned to the werewolf, sporting an uneasy grin. Combing a hand through his sandy hair, he motioned nonchalantly to the weapon on his back. “What of it?”

  The werewolf sneered. “It looks awfully familiar. I don't suppose you're a hunter, are you? A Sterling, perhaps?” The creature's yellow eyes narrowed and the growl in its throat began growing in volume. Imagine a big, brown wolf standing on two legs, but with an extra twenty or thirty pounds of muscle. This thing looked nasty, a good bit beefier than the two werewolves I'd helped take down during my last case. “One of my brothers was killed by a hunter with a sword like that one. Rumor had it he was done in by one of the Sterlings.” He cocked his head to the side. “You wouldn't happen to be Percival Sterling, would you?”

  Kubo put up his hands in a feeble show to the lizard men before us. “Now, now, I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding. My friend here has no quarrel with your kind. We are just looking to go on our way, off to visit some friends, so if you'll excuse us--”

  “Can it,” muttered one of the lizard men, shoving Kubo to the ground. Germaine was nearly flattened in the Chief's descent, and sprang out at just the right moment. A shame; I wished he'd been turned into a spider pancake. That would have been about the only good thing to come out of this fight that was about to break out.

  The trio was closing in on us. Kanta's hand was locked around her braid. All she needed to do was pull one of those hairs out and she'd have a big, gleaming trident to thrust into the bodies of these ruffians. She hesitated, though. She didn't seem to want to fight until combat became an inevitability. A wise move.

  Percy, though, had other ideas.

  Can I just say that it feels great not to be the guy who fucks everything up for once? I didn't even have to open my mouth, didn't have to make a boast or throw a punch this time. Instead, it was Percy who got things started, despite Kubo's harsh stare telling him to back down.

  “As a matter of fact, I think I remember your brother,” said Percy, his hand slowly moving to the hilt of the sword. He touched it with two fingers, meeting the werewolf's steely gaze. “Though, it's hard to remember. My family has cut down so many of your kind over the years, and you all look the same to me.”

  That did it.

  With a savage roar, the werewolf launched himself at Percy.

  The street was alive with hushed murmurs as all hell broke loose.

  With a quick, practiced movement, Percy wrapped his fist around the hilt and whipped the blade from its scabbard, swinging it downward just in time to separate the werewolf's fist from its arm. The monstrosity's cries tore through the night, and a jet stream of blackish blood doused the ground. Percy wasn't through yet, however. He reached out and knocked the werewolf in the snout with the butt of his hilt. The creature stumbled to its knees.

  The lizard men were on the move. Where Kubo had initially hoped to play it cool, he knew now that there was no choice but to fight. Before the first of the lizard men could approach Percy, Kubo reached out towards its neck.

  The sound of gunfire made everyone in the street, myself included, duck for cover.

  I watched as a couple of silver bullets sailed through the lizard man's throat. Its eyes shot open and a stream of blood trickled down its scaly lips. It was dead before it hit the ground.

  Its partner, crouching low, tried to make a break for it, but before it could build any distance, I caught a whiff of burning fabric. It was on fire.

  Joe's lighter was on, sticking out of his pocket just enough to be seen, and he'd tossed a few sparks onto the creature's cloak, igniting it. The faster it ran away from us, the faster the fire spread, until it was a screaming fireball rushing for the fountain we'd walked past.

  Kubo lowered his hood, the illusion he'd cast to hide his appearance suddenly falling away. “We need to move. Now.” Dressed now in his suit, silver gun in hand, Kubo charged ahead. Kanta and Percy followed, running after him. Joe made sure the lizard man was burnt to a crisp before continuing on, and Germaine quickly darted up my pant leg, stationing himself on my shoulder.

  I didn't even have time to protest.

  “How far are we from the frigging armory?” I asked the spider, running behind the others.

  “It's still a little ways away!” gasped Germaine.

  Damn. We'd attracted a ton of attention. I hoped that the lizard men didn't have friends watching that scuffle, else we could expect to tangle with more of them. Kubo's disguise was gone, too; if anyone recognized him as a Veiled Order operative like he'd feared, then we might end up fighting through a crowd to get to the armory.

  We turned right, following Kubo, whose face was covered in fresh sweat. “There it is,” he said, panting. “The Celestial Armory.” He slowed down just a bit as we rounded the corner, falling into a jog. He tucked his gun back into
its shoulder holster and wiped at his brow. “We need to hurry. Cat's out of the bag, and anyone out here might recognize me. Germaine, is your friend going to be there?”

  “Oh yeah, Dennis will be there,” replied the spider. “He's reliable, and I told him to get there early, in case we got held up.”

  The building Kubo had pointed out was enormous compared to everything we'd hitherto seen in the Underground. It was made of stone, for starters, and was topped in a large, white dome. The entire structure was held up by pillars, and even from here I could see its enormous doors. It was a couple of blocks away, but it really stood out from its surroundings. There was something elegant about it, something that called to mind the stonework of ancient Rome. This building, I guessed, had been constructed centuries, perhaps millennia ago. It wouldn't have surprised me if there were ancient works of art stashed inside along with all of the mythical weapons-- which were works of art in their own right.

  I almost asked Germaine about what else we'd find in there, but thought better of it.

  Now was not the time to geek out over art or architecture.

  We booked it through a narrow alley, breaking out onto a wide, busy street. Kubo ran past a number of riders on horseback, nearly getting himself trampled, while the rest of us darted and weaved through the foot traffic. We made it to a tall gate, a combination of stone and thick, wrought iron, which restricted access to the armory and effectively blocked out the riff-raff.

  There were guards posted there; big guys in suits of armor. I didn't know if all of them were human, but they wore intense-looking plate like something straight out of a bedtime story. “The fuck?” I asked Germaine. “What, does King Arthur live here?”

  Germaine jumped off of me and skittered towards the gate, where a lone figure was propped up against a stone support, smoking a Lucky Strike. The man was, surprisingly, incongruously, human. He wore a black polo shirt with the TGI Friday's logo on the breast.

  This was our guy.

  “Dennis!” shouted the spider. “There ya are!”