Silence.
“Are you sure? I’d be happy to let you have a go at it,” Terry said. “You could walk in there yourself.”
Armen headed to the right, following the fading red smoke.
“Nah,” Johnson answered with a shake of his head.
“I didn’t think so.”
A short, sharp whistle pierced the air, and Armen stopped to look back at Terry. She hated it when he did that. She furrowed her brow and nodded in the direction of the shaft. Terry shook his head, and Armen wrinkled her nose in a mock growl. He couldn’t see the red smoke.
“ARMSTRONG!” The shout came from behind him, and Terry and Armen both jumped.
Armen threw her hands up. “Damn it!” Why bother staying silent anymore? She was the only one doing so. It’s not like any of them knew what they were dealing with, right? Of course not, because they’re human. “Idiots.”
“What in God’s name is she doing here? I’d recognize that damn Jeep anywhere! Unless you’ve got a damn corpse on your hands . . . .”
“Shit,” Terry said and waved Armen over to him as he turned to face his boss. “Captain, you got here damn fast. I thought the freeway was closed?”
“You’re full of shit, you know that?” Captain Brian McNeil walked up and quickly scanned the scene. He froze when he saw Armen standing near the shaft. She barely refrained from waving. “Get her out of there. She’s cluttering up the crime scene.”
Armen crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. Opening her mouth was not a good idea when it came to the captain.
“She’s trying to find the trigger so we can save this guy,” Terry said.
“The hell she is.” Brian took a step toward the scene, past the track of the sliding metal door.
The hanging man screeched in agony. He slammed his head back against the wall.
An unseen force grabbed Armen’s arm, her flesh beneath sizzling like it had been touched by the fires of Hell, and yanked her backward into the shaft. She hit the steel elevator cables, and a loud twang echoed as she descended into darkness. The victim’s screams followed her down in a garbled mess as she struggled to control her fall. Her leg banged against the side, and a scream of her own ripped from her throat before she landed hard at the bottom of the shaft.
A dust cloud mushroomed around her. She coughed out a moan and covered her mouth and nose, keeping her eyes closed until the dust could settle.
She could hear the captain’s shouts. “For Christ’s sake, what’s happening to him?”
Terry’s voice sounded over some racket she couldn’t quite place, like metal rapidly moving against a hard surface. “I’d step back if I were you. We don’t know the razor wire’s purpose.”
It was too dark to see past the opening she’d fallen through. She attempted to stand, but her leg wouldn’t hold her. Not wanting to risk the elevator car rushing down to crush her, she pulled herself out of the shaft, dragging her bum leg out of the doorway.
“Armen,” Terry yelled.
She felt along the floor, crawling to a nearby wall and leaning against it, rocking her head back, and biting her lower lip to keep from screaming again from the pain shooting down her leg. Rattling from a metal gate reverberated down the shaft before she heard Terry‘s voice. “Shit.”
A beam of light penetrated the darkness of the elevator shaft, sweeping its walls. For one heart-skipping moment, the beam hit red scales.
“ARMEN!”
Armen gasped, stunned by the revelation of what had pulled her down.
“Son of a . . . .”
“Get everyone back,” Terry shouted.
A flashlight clattered out of the shaft, bouncing and spinning, offering glimpses of her surroundings. Large square columns, three across and at least four deep, marched across the cavernous cellar.
A growl, a shout, and a curse later—and a large shadow detached itself from the darkness.
“ARMEN!” Terry’s shout came from within the shaft this time, the cramped space emphasizing her name like a bullhorn.
Armen closed her eyes. Idiot. As much as she’d like to, it would be a mistake to tell him to shut the hell up. She knew what had pulled her down here, but not who.
She surveyed the landscape around her in the small amount of light the flashlight emitted. Each brick column was two feet wide and nine feet tall, spaced about thirty feet apart. Their shadows created an impenetrable pool of darkness in the windowless room. Dirt and debris littered the stone floor. The decades-old building reeked of urine and feces, along with that distinct scent she’d smelled upstairs.
The skittering faintly sounded from a far corner to her right. She tensed. Given the distance of the sound, the cellar had to be about half the size of one of those super stores owned by the family on her List.
“Azel,” a whisper came in an ancient tongue. The voice surrounded her, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Staying quiet didn’t matter anymore. It knew exactly where she was, and apparently who she was.
Armen scanned the darkness to no avail before replying in the same language. “Who speaks such a name?” Azel was her last name in reverse, for the reversal that had taken place.
“Forsaken one,” the voice whispered in her right ear.
She turned her head to the right.
“You have become flesh,” it said in her left ear.
She cocked her head back to the left. “No shit. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Armen?” Terry emerged from the shaft.
A sibilant hiss quivered through the air and Armen slapped around her ears. “I have come to claim you.”
But Armen knew demons lied. “You cannot claim me. I am in the Light now.” Or so she thought. It was the only explanation she had for her flesh.
A giggle, then a sigh. “You think one insignificant deed places you in the Light?”
She could be wrong. “If it were insignificant, I would not be flesh.”
“Yet, the flesh shall make it easier to take you, my sweet,” the voice answered.
“Sariel,” Armen growled. No one else called her that. “I should have known it was you behind the torture of these humans. What is your purpose?”
Laughter filled the room. Terry picked up his flashlight and shined it around, hitting Armen in the face with the light.
She squinted. “Damn it, Terry,” she said, raising her left arm to block the light. “Are you trying to blind me?”
“Sorry,” Terry replied and lowered it. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she answered. “Stay where you are. I’ll come to you.”
He complied, though confusion crossed his features. His compliance wouldn’t last long, however. Shock from whatever happened upstairs still held him. Once it wore off, he’d try to play hero again.
Armen leaned forward and whispered to the demon. “Leave this place, Sariel, or I shall be forced to banish you!”
“You no longer hold such power, Azel.”
“Who are you talking to?” Terry asked, shining the light around.
“No one important.”
Bright red light flashed through the room. Sariel’s red demon flesh glistened in the light, his scaled face right in front of hers. “No one important just saved your life, forsssaken one.”
Yep, she’d upset him. But why would he save her if he was there to claim her? The hint of a smile curved her lips when she looked him in the eye.
“Is that so?” The sight of demon flesh had never bothered her, nor had looking into Sariel’s ancient red eyes. She’d done so on many occasions, some of which she wished had never happened. “I think you’re lying, but then, that’s what you’re good at. Isn’t it?”
“What the hell is that?” Terry’s voice was too calm. He aimed his weapon at the creature.
The demon spun to look at him, and he hissed again.
“Lower your weapon, Terry,” Armen said. “It’s of no use now.”
“You can’t be serious,” he said, voice still steady.
Curious.
The demon took a step forward.
“Lower your weapon, Terry,” Sariel mocked Armen’s voice, but in an inhuman tone that did not belong to Armen. She hoped Terry picked up on it.
“Why don’t you shut the hell up?”
“Poor human, your life is so fragile.” It moved away from Armen and slipped around one of the large columns. “It must pain you to know that your lifespan is but a blink to me and mine.”
“I’m sorry, are you comparing your eternally damned life to my meager human existence?” Terry asked with a grin. “I’ll take the meager existence, thanks. At least I have a chance for salvation.”
The demon jutted its head forward, mouth open, sharp, pointy teeth glistening in the low light. On the bright side, Terry was keeping him distracted. On the not-so-bright side, Terry may get himself killed before she had a chance to banish the pest.
Armen chanted in an ancient tongue, whispering words that hadn’t passed her lips in ages. Terry’s distraction wasn’t good enough as the demon whipped around and slithered toward her, slashing its clawed hand across her face. She flung up her left arm to block too late, and its talons scored gashes down her cheek. Blood began to trickle and she covered the burning wound as an unexpected shriek shot from her mouth. Terry fired multiple times, the gunshots deafening in the empty echoing space. The demon disappeared in a burst of fire and smoke.
“Terry!” Her own voice sounded muffled in her ears, and she finished off her spell in a whisper of tongues before the demon could return. She tried to push to her feet and growled in anger when she fell to the floor again, a bolt of pain shooting down her right leg.
“Sorry, it’s instinct.” He ran to her, holstering his gun. “Let me help you up.”
She slapped at his hands when he reached forward. “You’ve done enough, thank you.”
He pulled her to her feet. “You’re hurt,” he said as she stumbled.
“And you yanking me to my feet isn’t making it any better. I’m deaf now, by the way. Thanks.”
“Hardly, if you can still hear me.”
She scowled and pulled her arm from his grasp, wobbling as she teetered away from him.
He grabbed her arm again. “Sometimes I love your stubbornness, Armen, but not tonight.”
“You shouldn’t love anything about me.” Armen tried to push his arm away as it snaked around her waist to support her.
Terry took a deep breath. “What was that?” He jerked his head in the direction where the demon had been. He probably hoped the subject change would subdue her anger.
“A demon, what did it look like?” Sarcasm froze the edges of her words. She was never at her best when pain took hold.
“That’s the answer I didn’t want to hear.”
“Then you shouldn’t have asked.” She looked up at him and he angled his flashlight toward the ceiling. He’d at least learned one lesson tonight. “You normally wouldn’t be able to see them, but you interrupted something and he decided to show himself.”
“That’s who you were talking to?” he asked, and she nodded. “What language was that?”
“The language you saw written in blood up there.”
He gave her a sharp look. “Do I want to know why you would know such a language?”
“I’m guessing my expertise in the occult isn’t going to satisfy that question.”
“Not when you were talking to the thing like you knew it.”
“Then probably not, and I’m not in the mood to discuss it.” Armen really didn’t want to tell Terry what she had once been not so long ago.
“How about discussing what you were talking about with a demon?”
Armen shook her head. That wasn’t up for conversation, either.
“Very well, then. Let’s try to get back up there.” He moved toward the shaft to see if there was a way to get up to ground level. His flashlight lit the area, moving from side to side, scanning for openings before he finally brought it down and shined it on her face.
“That looks pretty nasty. You need medical attention, but I don’t know how I’m going to get you up there. I don’t think there’s any other way up.” He swept the light around the room again. “I’m not sure what this damn room was used for.”
“Storage,” she replied. “I think, other than housing the homeless for a while.”
He gave a short nod and walked her to the wall. “You stay here. I’m gonna go see if there’s another way out.”
Great. She was by herself, injured, perfect prey for a demon who wanted to get her back to Gehenna. But why? What did Sariel want with her? She didn’t have a clue and she couldn’t have meant that much to him; certainly not enough to pull her back. But apparently enough to save her life? She shook her head lightly. Nah.
Terry’s footsteps grew closer, the flashlight’s beam sweeping across the floor back and forth, occasionally hitting a column. “No other way out. This place should be condemned.” He stepped up to her and looked down. “You all right?”
“Good as can be for the moment.”
“We’ll have to climb up.”
Armen looked up into the shaft. “My hands and arms are fine. I can climb the cable.” Hands and arms weren’t the problem. Her skin burned where the demon’s talons tore through, and it took everything she had to withhold the scream.
“You’ll need a leg to support you.”
“I still have one good leg.”
He frowned. “You have a damn answer for everything, don’t you?”
She half-smiled, though it hurt like a bitch. “Usually.”
Terry looked over his shoulder into the darkness. “That thing’s not coming back, right?”
She stared at him for a space of three heartbeats, raised a brow, and blinked. “You just walked through the underbelly of this building in near pitch black and you’re asking me that now? His work is done here . . . for the moment.”
His glare lingered a moment. “Christ, Armen, what the hell is going on?”
“I assure you, He has nothing to do with it.”
“You and I need to have a long talk.” It was a stern demand, not a request.
“You’re hurt.” She reached down and grabbed his wrist, turning his palm up. “How are you going to climb up with this?” The skin on his palm was shredded.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Answer the question.”
“I’ll manage it,” he said. “But you and I are still going to have a long talk.” He gently pushed her forward, toward the cable, and aimed the light up the shaft. “Climb.”
Armen hopped from her good leg and hoisted herself up the cables. She damn near dropped onto Terry when her bad leg hit one of them too hard, but she gritted her teeth and powered through. One hand up, then the other, her good leg wrapped as best she could around one of the cables. Terry’s climb would be much more difficult. She could already hear the strain in his grunts. The fact that he climbed up directly behind her didn’t help her grasp on the cables much.
“Stop moving so damn much. You’re going to make me fall on top of you.”
“Go,” he commanded, and let her get to the top before moving again.
He would be a gentleman about it. Asshole.
After making her way up the cable, she shimmied her foot onto the landing and pulled herself free of the shaft onto her good leg. Terry caught up and soon he stood next to her, supporting her once again with an unwelcome arm around her waist. They stood motionless, staring at the carnage. Blood and body parts had splattered the warehouse. Armen wished she still had the coffee to subdue the scent of blood.
“What the hell set it off?” Armen surveyed the aftermath, careful not to get too close.
“I’m not sure, but I think it was the captain,” Terry replied. “He stepped inside right when you went into the shaft. Next thing I knew, the razor wire unraveled.”
Armen blew out a frustrated breath. “Utterly brilliant.” It was a mortal trigger; when a human stepped
inside, the trap engaged. Armen wasn’t exactly born human, so it wouldn’t go off for her. But she couldn’t tell Terry any of that.
“Last I saw, the razor wire nicked his arm,” Terry said. “That should make you happy.” He moved forward with her. “Watch your step.”
The floor was slick with bodily fluids the human eye should never see. They moved near the wall and sidled along to the open door. A horde of officers stood slack-jawed at their appearance. None dared to enter in case the carnage wasn’t over.
“Any paramedics here?” Terry asked, helping Armen through the doorway and away from the horrific scene.
“Yes, sir,” one young officer replied.
“Fetch ‘em, please.” The officer darted off and Terry helped Armen sit down on a crate. He looked at her face again, inspecting it briefly. “Jesus, Armen, that looks worse up here.”
She eyed him. “Would you please stop using His name in conjunction with mine?”
Terry frowned. “Who, Jesus Christ?”
“Yes.”
“Devout, huh?”
Armen sighed. “Not quite, and you’re actually cursing with His name.”
He just blinked at her. She bit the inside of her cheek, not knowing any other way to explain her relation to the man they called Jesus Christ.
The paramedic approached. “What the hell attacked you, a big cat?”
“More like a dragon,” she mumbled.
“Well, whatever it was, he got you good.” He inspected the wound and cleaned it.
“Her leg’s hurt too,” Terry said.
Armen growled when the paramedic straightened her leg to inspect it.
“Watch out, she bites.” Terry’s jaw tightened as another paramedic cleaned his hand. He didn’t make a sound, though, tough macho cop that he was.
The paramedic continued his inspection. “Think I can pull this pant leg up? Or do I have to rip it?”
She yanked the pant leg up; just the idea of having the paramedic looking her over annoyed the hell out of her. She’d fix everything once she got home. Well, maybe not the leg. That would have to heal normally. Damn, sometimes she hated being human. Though she healed a bit faster, it still took time.
Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1) Page 2
