Dusk of Death: an Armen Leza, Demon Hunter novel (Armageddon Trilogy Book 1)

by N. L. Gervasio

  Armen arched her right brow. “Is it unlike the normal dribble?”

  “These days? Not really.” He summoned her closer but held up a hand. “Wait, you’ll contaminate it. Go change first.”

  “Fine.” She wandered off to their small locker room and changed into a spare set of scrubs before returning to the table. When she took a step toward the body, she looked down into the gaping hole. Art had marked the original opening before beginning the autopsy.

  “See anything?”

  Armen leaned forward and searched the specimen by eyesight only. Noticing something, she reached for a pair of nitrile gloves and pulled them onto her hands with a snap. She pulled back on the flesh carefully.

  “He’s a fresh one.”

  Art nodded with a hum.

  She peered closer, inspecting the incision not made by Art’s scalpel. “Sword?”

  “That’s what it looks like, doesn’t it?” He studied the wound through his bifocals. “But it’s not the same sword as the last one.”

  “Honestly, who dies by a sword these days?”

  “I can count two people so far. So it’s not all that far-fetched.”

  She looked up at him and arched her brow once more, and he chuckled. “When did he come in?”

  “‘Bout twenty minutes before you got here.”

  She tried to hide her expression, but Art’s eyebrows rose higher.

  “What’s up, Armen?”

  She shook her head and peered inside the body again, slipping her hand through the layers to feel around. “His liver is missing.”

  Art smirked. “Good job. But the question is how was it taken out? Aside from the wound, he was intact when he got here. There’s no evidence that someone reached in and cut it out, and a liver just wouldn’t fit through the original opening. Not without liquefying it, and I don’t see any evidence of that, either.”

  Art was correct. No one would have the ability to pull a liver out of such a small opening—except demons. “I’m more concerned with where it’s gone.”

  “You would be.”

  Armen frowned.

  He chuckled again. “You never cease to amaze me, Armen. I mean, emotion? Wow.”

  “Glad I could amuse you.” She withdrew her hand when the doors opened.

  “Anything important?” Terry asked from the doorway. “Because that shit on the news is a mess we can’t clean up.”

  “Definitely.” Armen looked at Art and pulled the gloves off. “I need to use the lab to test a specimen I picked up in the field. Ice this guy. Don’t examine him anymore.”

  “Since when did you become my boss?” Art asked with a snort.

  Armen looked straight into Art’s eyes, not faltering for a second. “Art, trust me, please, just this once.”

  He stared at her for a few heartbeats, and then finally gave a short nod. “With all the weird shit going on around here lately, I’ll trust you.” He pulled up the sheet to cover him, and then wheeled him over to the open box.

  Armen headed toward Terry.

  “You wanna help me with this before you head to the lab?”

  “Of course,” she said and turned on her heel as time slowed. “Sorry abou—”

  She barely caught the transformation of Terry’s face: his eyes going wide, his jaw growing slack, and the twitch in his hand before it moved to his side, reaching for his weapon of choice. Then as she turned, her eyes fell on Art, who had stopped the gurney and reached for the tray inside the box. He hadn’t noticed the sheet move, or the one standing behind the gurney. Before her hair settled from her turn, before her lips could part to shout a warning, the blade of the one who had taken her demon life seared through Art’s neck.

  Time caught up in a rush.

  Art dropped to his knees, headless, before she could take a step forward. His head fell onto the tray and rolled inside. Her shout came as gunfire rang through the chilled room. A hand grabbed her arm and yanked her back, but the demon already held his hand up, palm facing them. All that traveled to Armen’s ears was a loud pop, and she and Terry flew backwards through the double doors. Terry clipped Dante’s shoulder before bursting through the office door and hitting the wall in the corridor. Dante dropped to his knee and went for his gun. Another strident pop and Dante slammed to the floor unconscious. Armen and Terry lay in a tangled heap in the hallway. She dared a peek inside the room. Agares walked forward, slow at first, then with inhuman speed, alternating back and forth in a jerky motion that screamed Japanese horror movie.

  She jumped when Sean slammed the tip of the shillelagh against the floor, cracking the linoleum. “I have a weapon this time, demon.”

  “And I am much stronger than when we last met, wrangler.” Agares’ deep voice rang through the corridor, stopping the influx of officers that ran down its wide walls for a brief moment of speculation. Soon, the sound of cautious footsteps made their way to Armen’s ears, rounding the corner not thirty feet away. Two officers scuttled over to her and Terry, and got an eyeful of the demon standing inside the room. Agares mocked their widening eyes before his hand shot up and sent them tumbling back to their co-workers. His quick movement made his still form look like only a lingering shape that made one wonder if he moved at all. His laughter ensued shortly thereafter.

  “Stay back.” Sean focused on the demon. “By the Light of God, you shall leave this place, demon.” He slammed the tip of the shillelagh to the floor again, cracking the linoleum even further, a bright white light going super nova in the small room.

  “Do you think yourself a wizard with that stick, wrangler?” Agares took one long lazy step forward that measured the equivalent of three human steps toward the office. His bright yellow eyes, contrasting his red armor, slowly swept the floor, taking in Dante first, and then out to the corridor where Terry and Armen remained motionless. A smirk unnaturally hitched the right corner of his mouth. “Your son, perhaps?”

  “I have no son,” Sean spat at the young-looking man who stood before him. Those yellow eyes moved rapidly to meet with Sean’s.

  Terry carefully turned his hand in Armen’s until he could grasp a few of her fingers to let her know he was conscious. She returned the squeeze.

  “You try to deceive, wrangler; however, you do not accomplish your goal.”

  “I have no son.”

  Armen tapped Terry’s finger three times, telling him she was able to move and ready to do so, and he returned the tap once.

  “I am a master of deception, wrangler,” Agares said. “You fail miserably.”

  Armen tapped again three times, and Terry jumped up to one knee when she pushed herself off. Terry brought his gun up and fired at the demon. Agares took a jolted step backwards. Terry rose from the floor, gun still aimed at the demon, and fired again. Agares jerked back. Terry fired again and again, and each shot forced Agares further into the dismal, chilled room. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered briefly before sending down a shower of sparks and going out while Sean yelled his incantation. Armen crawled around the corner of the broken door to Dante’s side. She looked him over and tried to wake him, but received no response. Terry continued firing, edging closer to the doors.

  “I hope you’re keeping count.” Armen scooted across the floor to her desk. Sean stood in the center of the office, holding his shillelagh as though he were some grand wizard. She reached for the duffle bag she’d brought in earlier.

  “Out soon,” Terry responded between shots.

  “Any more?”

  “No,” he replied.

  She pulled the bag to the floor and slid back over to Dante, who remained unconscious. Then she grabbed his gun and slid it across the floor. “At your feet.”

  Terry squatted to the floor with a click of his gun and snatched the other one up quickly. “Scepter!”

  “Working on it.”

  Neither of them knew how many bullets were left in Dante’s gun.

  “Hurry.”

  “I’m trying,” she muttered and unzipped t
he bag. She dug inside and searched rapidly. It wasn’t there. “Shit.” She pulled everything out, throwing her gear aside without thought, as well as the small satchel with the vial inside. “I can’t find it.”

  “What?” Terry fired again into the darkening room. Agares let out an angry yell. The lights flickered once.

  “It’s not here.” Armen looked around in the mess, picking up coveralls and dropping them in a different spot. “Where the hell is it?”

  “The car,” Terry shouted.

  Armen slapped her thigh. “Damn it.” She crawled to Dante and pushed him under her desk as best she could. Then she jumped to her feet. “I have to go get it.”

  The hammer clicked into silence. “I’m coming with you.” Terry dropped the gun, turned, and grabbed his father’s arm on the way out the door. Armen ran with him. “Go, go, go!” he shouted to the officers blocking their path, waving his free arm at them. The blockade broke into many feet running down the corridor.

  Armen ran past Jasmine’s office hoping Jazzy had already left or was out in the field. “We’ll have to take the stairs,” she yelled and ran toward the stairwell door. She slammed into the door, flinging it open just as the other officers ran down the hall. When Terry pushed his dad forward, she yanked Sean into the vestibule. A few officers hung back, taking cover in open doorways, their weapons drawn. Gunfire erupted when Terry jumped inside the stairwell. Before the door closed, one officer was thrown past them.

  Armen stared through the door’s window, captured by the scene.

  “Armen,” Terry shouted from halfway down the first flight of stairs, grabbing her attention, and she quickly ran down after him. Once they reached the garage level on the next flight down, Terry flung the door open and pushed his father and Armen through. The door from the first floor exploded into the stairwell.

  “If he’s a demon, why doesn’t he just appear in front of us?” he asked, running through the garage.

  “He enjoys destruction,” Armen said gruffly. She ran up to the passenger side of Terry’s squad car and yanked on the door handle. “Unlock it!”

  Terry pulled his keys from his pocket and fumbled for the remote. Sean took a few steps away from him. Terry hit the button, unlocking the car before noticing. “Dad?”

  Armen looked up to find Sean in the center of the garage. Terry spun on his heel, prompting Armen to scan the area. All shadows were still, but her gut told her to stay sharp, and she had a feeling Terry felt the same thing.

  “Armen, hurry up.” His tone quieted and his eyes scrutinized the landscape.

  Armen pulled the scepter from the car.

  “He is here,” Sean said.

  “One of these days, Armen, I’ll have to start lis—”

  Armen let out a yelp when Agares clutched the back of her neck.

  Terry quickly spun around again. “No!”

  Agares laughed and squeezed harder, and Armen whimpered. Her grip on the scepter loosened and it slipped in her hand.

  “I shall not toy with her as Sariel so enjoyed.”

  Several seconds passed before Terry responded. “Good, it’ll save us a lot of time.”

  Sean stepped up next to his son and glared at the demon. “It’s me you’re after,” he said sharply. “Leave them be.”

  Agares chuckled. “You are not the only one I am here for, wrangler.”

  The scepter slipped until Armen held it with only her fingertips.

  Terry dismissed him with the wave of a hand. “Yeah, yeah, something about eternal darkness.”

  “Do nae provoke him, son,” Sean whispered.

  “It’s the only way,” Terry replied out of the corner of his mouth. He stared at Armen and once she made eye contact, he looked down at her feet, attempting a signal. When she lowered her gaze to the ground before him, he shifted his foot. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of those ancient religious daggers on you, would you?”

  Sean shook his head. “Naw.”

  Terry leaned into his father and spoke words unheard by either Armen or Agares, but Armen was able to read their lips after Terry pulled back enough that she could watch his mouth moving.

  Sean shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “Ye can nae run in his presence.”

  Terry frowned. “Then how in the hell did we get down here?”

  “Ye injured him temporarily. ‘Twas enough to dispel his power for a short time.”

  “Then use the shillelagh—”

  “Enough!” The echo of Agares’ yell reverberated throughout the garage, setting off car alarms. Agares’ distraction caused him to loosen his grip on Armen.

  “Well, now he’s pissed,” said Terry.

  Agares leaned closer to Armen, his unnatural flesh brushing against her ear. “Who is he, Azel?”

  “Knight,” she whispered.

  “A knight?”

  “Yes.” The scepter was about to slip away. She tried to gather it back up into her hand, but it was sliding from the tips of her fingers.

  “For whom?”

  “Father. He killed Sariel.”

  “Sariel is the Angel of Death.”

  “Well, now he’s a dead demon,” Terry replied, watching the scepter closely.

  “Ask Samyaza,” Armen whispered, looking up at the side of his face.

  Agares closed his eyes, and Terry widened his as a signal. The scepter slipped from her fingers. It hit the lower part of her shin, and with a quick enchantment, the cylinder rolled down her pant leg to the top of her foot, and she swung her leg forward, launching the weapon into the air.

  The jolt from Armen’s body disturbed Agares’ concentration. He lost his hold on Terry and Sean, and his grip on Armen weakened.

  Terry bumped his father’s arm and jumped forward. Sean lifted the shillelagh and threw it at Agares. Terry caught the scepter in his right hand, brought it down in a roundabout motion, and clicked the trigger forward when Agares stepped to the side, away from the staff as Armen twisted out of his grasp in the opposite direction. The scepter’s blades shot out at both ends, and Terry landed in front of the demon. He leapt once more, bringing one blade forward as the other blade rested near his arm.

  Armen scrambled away from the car and ran over to Sean, who stood watching his son. “You good, Sean?”

  He replied with a nod. “Look at him,” he said after a few seconds. “My boy.”

  Armen turned her attention back to Terry, who had successfully administered a nice slice to Agares’ left arm. “Yeah, he’s pretty amazing.” Then she saw Agares going for his sword. “Terry, switch the scepter’s blades.”

  He jumped back, pulled the trigger down and pushed it to the side. The blades regrouped inside the cylinder and shot back out in one long sweep of silver-coated steel. Terry smirked at Agares. “I’m willing to bet you think you can’t die. Sariel thought the same thing.”

  Agares chuckled and swept the air with his sword. “I am not ignorant, such as my brother was.”

  “Of course you are; otherwise, you wouldn’t be standing in front of me.” Terry countered Agares’ low position with his own sword, and then raised the weapon, keeping the blade hovering above and pointing at Agares. Terry summoned the demon forward with a smirk spreading across his lips and a quick upward nod.

  “Boy, he really knows how to win them over,” Armen whispered to Sean.

  The only sign of Agares’ temper shone in his eyes, which flickered with flame around the yellow edges of the iris.

  “He’s usually as slow as a corpse,” Armen said loud enough to reach Terry’s ears. “But can move swiftly when he needs to.” Terry already had him backed into a corner at the start of this, between car and wall. It was a good advantage.

  Agares engaged Terry’s sword high overhead, and the clanging metal echoed in the garage. Once more their swords connected, low this time, and Agares deflected Terry’s blade, redirecting it into his car so it sliced into the tire. The rubber hissed when Terry withdrew his sword and he jumped
backwards to avoid the point of Agares’ blade as it traveled in his direction.

  Then, the demon vanished.

  Terry spun in a frantic circle, and he scanned the garage. “I don’t like this so much.”

  “It’s different when they have a weapon and can disappear on you, huh?”

  He turned to her, disbelief layering his face. “Is that supposed to be funny?” He stepped away from the car, moving closer to Armen and Sean.

  Armen nodded once. “Behind you.”

  Terry turned quickly, bringing his sword around to block Agares’ bold thrust. The demon made one more jab at him before vanishing again.

  “For your information, I knew that.”

  “Riiiight,” she replied. “Don’t get too far out in the open. He’ll be able to come up on you from anywhere.”

  “Then I suggest you and Dad do the same.”

  “Good point.” She grabbed Sean by the arm, walked over to the shillelagh and plucked it from the garage floor, and then pushed Sean up against the concrete wall. “Stay put.”

  “I am a demon wrangler, ye know.”

  “Oh, I know. But experience isn’t what’s going to get us out of this.”

  Sean arched a brow, and he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it and nodded, as though hearing an answer Armen never spoke.

  She tilted her head. “Dad?”

  “Aye.”

  “Is He going to help?” She examined the shillelagh.

  “Naw,” Sean replied.

  “Figures. How’s this thing work?”

  The left side of Sean’s mouth hitched upward in a half-smile. “Well, hit the bloody bastard with it an’ find oot.”

  Armen grinned when her eyes met his. “Is that so?” She turned to Terry, who’d just finished another scrape with Agares. “Get him between us if you can.”

  “Oh, sure, no problem.”

  Armen detected something else in the garage—shadows moving like waves over the concrete. “Minions.”

  “Ah, hell.” Terry turned slowly in a circle.

  Agares suddenly appeared to their side as they stood back to back. “It shall be your home soon.”