by Lisa Medley
“I will be as soon as I change. Rambo here has a hard-on to go.” Nate laughed and shut his bedroom door in Kylen’s face.
“Ruth?” Deacon asked.
“I know, I know. Stay here. Hold down the fort. Yada, yada, yada. You’re lucky Olivia is here to keep me company.”
Deacon walked over and bent to kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for staying.”
“Keep living the dream,” she said and smiled up at him. He just shook his head as he walked toward their bedroom to gather his own hunting gear.
Ruth looked up at Kylen, who looked even fiercer than usual, “Are you feeling better, Kylen? You were a mess this morning when you brought in Olivia.”
“Fine,” he mumbled.
Another Kylen special.
“Olivia. That’s such a pretty name. Well, I’m so glad you’re here. This house is swimming in testosterone if you hadn’t noticed.” Ruth laughed. “When did you wake up? I’m sure you were terrified. But don’t worry, this is a safe place.”
“So I’ve been told.” Olivia shot Kylen another glance.
“Oh good, so Kylen has brought you up to speed?”
“Not exactly. In fact, he hasn’t answered any of my questions. Not one.”
Ruth laughed again. “Well, that’s Kylen all right!” She winked at him, hoping to goad him into some sort of response.
The man was like a stone statue of some war god. And just as mute. Except for the frown lines crinkling his forehead, he was completely unanimated.
Always so serious and intense.
Something was going to have to lighten the guy up, or he was going to combust.
She’d tried to cheer him up for months, flipping through satellite channels and trying to get him caught up on pop culture. She’d even coaxed a few private smiles from him with her elaborately detailed reenactments of old Seinfeld episodes. Kylen had missed so much quality television.
“Don’t worry, Olivia. I talk far more than he does, and I’ll have all night to get you caught up. By the time these guys get back, you’ll know more about us than you ever wanted to know.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Kylen asked—the longest question she could recall him asking for at least a few weeks—taking a step forward.
“Yes. I do. I’ve already spoken with Deacon about it. Considering…well, we think she deserves to know.”
Kylen shook his head and walked over to wait on the demon trap, but his eyes never left Olivia. Something big was going on here.
Nate emerged from his bedroom wearing his backpack and joined Kylen on the demon trap without comment, staring a hole through Ruth. His message was clear. She had almost told Deacon about the baby, but for some weird reason she liked the idea of doing it at home. Tomorrow. She’d definitely tell him tomorrow. Ruth shrugged her shoulders in answer to his silent question.
Mercifully, Deacon emerged from their room moments later, breaking the tension.
Grinning like the Cheshire cat, he laid a big kiss on Ruth’s mouth. “Later, baby. Be good.”
“Always am.”
Deacon stepped onto the demon trap and stood in the middle of the other two, setting his hands on their shoulders. “Lead the way, Kylen.”
The three of them swirled and shimmied until they dissolved into the consecrated subway.
“What the hell was that? Where did they go?” Olivia asked, jumping up and reaching out toward where they’d been standing seconds before, her face a mask of confusion.
Ruth looked up at her. “Lesson one: supernatural travel can be fun.”
Chapter Twelve
A light mist was raining down when the men landed in the downtown cemetery. Kylen shrugged from Deacon’s hold and made his way to the street, not bothering to see if they were being followed. He could already smell the sulfur from the nearby alley where the imps had dispatched of the bodies. Following the demon’s trail would be easy. What disturbed him was the intensity of the trail. More than one demon had been through here since he’d left…and recently.
Nate surveyed the alley. “Is this where you found Olivia? What was she doing here? What were you doing here?”
“She was volunteering,” Kylen said sharply.
“Volunteering for what? To be possessed?” Nate asked, confused.
“No, asshole. Cooking at the homeless shelter next door.”
“And you?” he pressed.
“None of your business.”
Deacon looked down at the ground where the prostitute’s body had been gobbled up by the imps. A black stain, muddied by the rain, ran across the pavement and under the Dumpster.
“And the bodies? Here?” Deacon asked, pointing to the stain.
Kylen sighed. Enough with the inquisition about the bodies. “I’ve got a bead on more than one demon. Let’s concentrate.”
That got their attention. Deacon drew his scythe, and Nate pulled out a tiny BC-41 knuckle-duster.
Kylen shook his head. “Are you kidding me with that?”
“What?” Nate asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
Kylen had let him select something from his own personal stash of blades, and that was the one he’d chosen. The idiot didn’t even know what he was holding. It was vintage. Kylen had picked it off a British commando on some WWII battlefield after his demon poached the grunt’s soul. He should probably feel a little worse about that than he did.
Thankfully, Nate was at least proficient enough with the piece to keep himself alive…so far, anyway. The jury was still out on whether or not he healed like a reaper.
“Lay on, Macduff,” Deacon said, ignoring their bickering.
* * *
They made their way through the alley, Kylen leading the way. Three-quarters of the streetlights were broken along their path. Kylen noticed with regret that his vision had once again faded back to gray. Of course, in the misty darkness, he doubted the other two were faring much better.
They walked several blocks before he caught a glimpse of an imp peeking over the rooftop ahead of him before vanishing. Another scurried straight up a wall across the street and then slid through a broken window. A third hung precariously off the corner of an abandoned bread factory like a gargoyle. Soon, they were popping up everywhere like gophers.
“Company,” Deacon said. “And considering how many of them there are…it may be a nest.”
“A nest?” Nate asked.
“Sometimes demons hunker down in a hole somewhere together,” Deacon explained.
“They’re social?” Nate asked, flexing his grip on the BC-41.
“Not exactly. They’re consolidating their power. It means they’re expecting us.” Kylen said, tuning in to Hell’s network with the demon’s residual connection. “There are five of them in the basement. There.” Kylen pointed to a small, street-level window. He was pleased that Olivia’s attacker was among them.
It was a poor point of entry. He’d have to go around and find the main door. It wasn’t consecrated ground, so Kylen couldn’t flash into the building alone or he’d already be in there. Either that or he’d have to tag along with the other two.
“We’ll flash in together. A back-to-back formation will give us the best angle for our attack,” Deacon said.
Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious.
God, he wished he could do this without them. Unfortunately, Deacon was the only one who could kill the damn demons. And oh, how Kylen wanted to kill them. All of them. With his luck, one of the hosts would be some teenage girl, and Nate would get all squishy about killing it. Nate was the biggest bleeding heart he’d ever met.
Nate and Deacon turned and pressed their backs together, preparing to flash. Kylen forced himself to turn and do the same. They formed a triangle, their backs touching enough that they could travel together in formation and immediately spring into action upon entry.
“Ready? On three. One, two…three.”
* * *
Olivia could not get over her shock. The men had disappeared be
fore her eyes. It was the craziest thing she’d ever experienced. Until Ruth started talking, that was. She discovered that she remembered very little of what had happened in the alley after seeing the skinny boy drag someone’s limp body behind a Dumpster. Had she spoken to him? Yelled at him? Cried for help?
She didn’t know. All she did know was that she’d experienced a choking sensation and a horrible upwelling of terror, and then…?
Then she’d awakened here wearing some strange girl’s nightgown in a bed and a house she didn’t recognize. And that had been the normal part.
The explanations Ruth had been giving her for the past hour went way beyond normal: supernatural highways, demons, reapers, angels? It was surely all a bad dream. No wonder Kylen hadn’t wanted to answer any of her questions.
Yes, that must be it. It’s a dream. I’ve fallen into a coma from my illness, and this is the end. It’s the result of the really good drugs the doctors have pumped into me. Or bad drugs?
Except.
Except. Every time Ruth grabbed her hand, explaining some new horror in an excited voice, Olivia was jerked back to this new alternate reality.
“So, Kylen didn’t tell you any of this?” Ruth asked.
“No. He’s not very…verbose.”
Ruth clapped her hands together and shook all over with laughter.
“Oh my God! That’s the biggest word anyone has used in this house since the guys moved in. God bless you, Olivia. And no, he is definitely not verbose.”
“What’s wrong with him? Why is he so angry? And grumpy? And bossy?” Olivia asked, worrying the hem of her T-shirt.
Ruth smiled, an almost sad look playing across her face. “Kylen would hate it if he knew I was talking about him. But he’s been through so much, Olivia. Believe it or not, he’s a thousand times better than we had any right to expect. Up until four months ago, he was possessed by a demon. That’s what he saved you from, Olivia. A demon was trying to enter you, and he stopped it from happening.” Ruth shifted on the sofa, breaking eye contact with her. “You’re the first one who’s survived…other than him.”
Well, wasn’t that ironic. Kylen had saved a dead woman. What kind of hero did that make him?
She laughed.
“What?” Ruth smiled.
“I was thinking how funny it was that he saved a dead woman from dying.”
“I knew you were ill the moment you arrived. Your aura is white, Olivia. White means impending death.” Ruth reached for her hands, taking them into hers.
“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know, Ruth. I have end-stage cancer. And I’m at the end of my prognosis. The autumnal equinox is my six-month date, so anything past that is…a bonus. I’m at peace with it, so there’s no reason for you to feel bad.”
“The equinox? Oh, Olivia! Let’s have a party. Nate is Wiccan, a real witch. He was already planning a Mabon celebration tomorrow night for the equinox. We’ll celebrate your life, too.”
It all seemed a little over-the-top for a group of folks who had just met her, but considering she didn’t have any close friends or relatives to throw her a wake or a funeral…why not? Why shouldn’t she enjoy a party of her own? At least this one she’d be able to attend.
She’d been so careful to let the emotional ties of her life slip away, so eager not to cause wounds in those she left behind. A friend here, a coworker there had faded away over the past six months. People had busy lives, and if you stopped calling, emailing and texting, it was surprisingly easy to fall off the radar. Only one coworker knew the ins and outs of her situation and had stayed in touch.
“Um, okay…I guess. I’m still not sure I believe in magic, although seeing the men disappear before my eyes was certainly compelling evidence.” Compared to all of the other insanity Ruth had told her, magic seemed pretty tame, actually.
“Ha! My first supernatural travel was to Purgatory. But that’s a story for another time. You don’t have to believe. It’s like prayer, Olivia. It can’t hurt you. It can only help. Think of it as a party if you want and nothing more. Enjoy it. Nate already did most of the shopping. All we have to do is cook and bake!” Ruth jumped up from the couch, as eager as the bunny in those battery commercials. She seemed as starved for human connection as Olivia was.
“Well, I’m good at both of those things.” Olivia smiled and followed her into the kitchen.
* * *
They landed in the center of the nest. The room was nearly pitch-black, and only the thinnest rays of light illuminated the north wall from the dirty basement window. Kylen’s eyes adjusted within seconds and his grayed-out vision crystallized the sharp contrasts provided by the bit of light. He drew a six-inch push blade from his forearm, wielding his scythe in his other hand. Doubly armed, he surveyed his quarry. All of the demons were contained in male hosts, he noticed. The observation gave him some comfort as the enemies approached. They were outnumbered, five to three.
The demons had not only been expecting them, they’d also prepared by stockpiling substantial weaponry. Knives slashed through the dappled darkness, preceded only by grunts of exertion and the whisper of air as the demons attacked. Hand-to-hand combat was very satisfying in general, but this battle was feverish—facing five adversaries in this small, unfamiliar room, they were at a decided disadvantage.
Kylen targeted Olivia’s demon and drew back his arm, his forearm and biceps coiling until his shoulder reached its limit, and then slashed forward in a long arc, drawing his weapon through the neck of the host in front of him. The blade of the scythe sliced through flesh, tendon and bone easily and without resistance. The host stood motionless, not even realizing he was dead until Kylen planted his boot in his chest and kicked him across the room, the head falling forward as the body flew back. Vindication bloomed in the black void of his heart. This was almost too easy.
The next two hosts approached, and he oscillated the scythe left then right, felling both of them without ever leaving the original formation. Having run out of adversaries, Kylen turned to check on the others. Deacon and Nate were not faring as well as he had. Deacon had bested his host, but Nate was struggling with his, blood running down his arms from the demon’s attacks.
Black smoke roiled from the necks of the fallen hosts, and Deacon sent out a burst of light, filling the room with illumination and power. One by one, the demons streamed toward Deacon’s sternum, drawn in by the black hole of his power. Still struggling, Nate slashed and stabbed the BC-41 toward the last host, slicing through little else but air.
Kylen stepped forward and finished the job for Nate, and then watched with satisfaction as the last of the demons entered Deacon.
“Thanks,” Nate gasped.
“You’re gonna need a bigger knife.”
Nate nodded. Maybe he’d take Kylen’s advice more seriously next time.
The glow intensified, drawing their eyes back to Deacon. Dozens of light gray streams poured from the bodies. Souls. There had to be at least thirty of them, and they were flowing into Deacon’s mouth and through his throat chakra. They would meet a very different fate from the demons.
Deacon fell to his knees. It was the most demons—let alone souls—Kylen had ever seen him consume. He’d only ever seen a Valkyrie carry more. Deacon’s body bucked and convulsed before settling to the ground. He dropped his head in exhaustion for a moment, but then pushed to his feet. Nate rushed to his side to help steady him.
“Holy shit,” Nate said. “What was that all about?”
“There were more than thirty souls poached by the demons. Deacon consumed them all.”
“Whoa. You Scooby-Snacked five demons and thirty souls? Isn’t that a new record for you?”
“Yes,” came the weak reply.
“Impressive.” Nate held Deacon’s shoulders, blood dripping off his elbows from his own injuries.
“The bodies,” Deacon said. “We need to clean them up.”
“We’ll take care of them,” Kylen said. “Go to Purgatory.
We’ll meet you at…Ruth’s.” Even now he was hesitant to call it home.
Nodding, Deacon withdrew from Nate’s hold and pulled himself to his full height. He closed his eyes and flashed to Purgatory, leaving Kylen and Nate alone with the dead hosts.
* * *
The place was a bloodbath. Black ooze spread across the concrete floor like oil, making walking a hazard. Nate sighed and eased off his backpack, removing yet another tarp and tape.
Knives lay scattered around the floor of the basement room. Kylen collected each one of them. If he had a hobby, collecting knives was it. Sharp knives were the weapons preferred by most supernatural entities, since guns generally just managed to piss them off. Beheading was the one way to ensure that a beastie or reaper wouldn’t rise again. Demons were the exception—behead a host and the demon could stream out and find another host, perpetuating itself for eternity if it so desired. But now they had Deacon to take care of that little problem.
He was their ace in the hole, the Dyson of demon cleanup.
Still, he and Nate had a roomful of dead bodies and blood to take care of before they could declare this mission a success. Kylen had a way to take care of that, but he didn’t want to fill Nate in on the imp situation.
“Well, that was…” Nate hesitated.
“Satisfying?” Kylen finished.
“Messed up,” Nate corrected. “I can’t take you back along with all of them.”
“Take one at a time, I’ll stay with the rest.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“All right. It’s going to take a while, but I’ll go ahead and get this one started,” Nate said as he surveyed the carnage. “Christ, it’s going to take days to get rid of this many.”
Nate unfurled the tarp, rolled the first body onto it, and taped up the ends while Kylen sensed the imps were gathering outside through the small, street-level window. There were dozens.
Hoisting the body over his shoulder, Nate gave another frustrated sigh. “No, no, don’t bother helping. I’ve got this.”
“Good,” Kylen answered, not bothering to make any other form of acknowledgment. After all, Nate might not know it, but he was going to save him plenty of work.
