by Ryan Talbot
“The kids are sacrifices,” I warned Rachel. “Probably spellbound.”
She nodded as she continued forward. Her head turned slowly from side to side and her lips moved in silent prayer. Too late, I realized that she was looking for something. The movement came from my left, it looked like clear ice moving through the air. In the second that I realized it was a person, I threw myself to my right knee as I brought up my left hand to defend my face. A flash of jet black hair and dark eyes, the little girl was too quick. Her face was a mess of fresh scars bound shut with dark yarn, and her rotten teeth were broken and sharp. I screamed as she bit off the last three fingers of my hand.
Jerking backward, I kicked her in the chest with my right foot as my shoulders hit the ground. I crab crawled away from her, making a pathetic mewling sound. She stood slowly, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She smiled as she chewed on my fingers. One-handed, I fired two rounds into her throat. My pistol locked open. I sobbed out a curse. I scrambled to my feet, and dropping to a low crouch, tucked my pistol behind my right knee, then crouched lower to hold it in place. Throwing my jacket out of the way, I yanked my semi-full magazine out from my belt. I kept my mangled, Marked hand high and out in front of me, my eyes darting all over the room, unwilling to get ambushed like that again. I seated the magazine in place, careful not to unlock the slide. Yanking the pistol free, I slammed the butt of the magazine against my thigh to ensure it was seated fully. As my thumb clipped the slide release, I realized I was surrounded.
At least twenty-five of them. Tiny little girls in school uniforms, each more scarred than the last. Teeth and eyes ripped out, wounds sewn shut with leather, yarn, or barbed wire. Each girl was more horrifying than the last, and they kept coming. The tops of their bleached white knee socks still wet with blood.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” He said. His voice had a faraway quality to it.
I jerked my head to face the speaker. “What the fuck did you do to them, you sick bastard?” I screamed.
He stepped out of the center of the heptagon, dressed in a slender pinstripe black and gray suit, his tie as red as the girls’ blood. His hair was as dark as jet. Flawless, slicked back in even lines, and his beard trimmed to highlight the angles of his face. He was the picture of a gentleman. His eyes were an unnatural shade of red, and the paleness of his skin lent to the image of albinism. But, the black mark on his forehead, just between his manicured black eyebrows, it seemed to devour the light, and pull the shadows closer to him.
“I made them perfect,” he said, his lips bending into an enchanting smile. “That’s why they’re here.”
“You bastard,” Rachel yelled. The children swarmed her as she threw herself at him.
“Leah,” he said. “You always were my favorite. Come to bounce on my knee again?” He smiled lecherously. “Your sister, she was a firecracker, but you? Oh, you were always so sweet!”
“I’ll kill you,” she spat, her lips white and foaming. Her eyes were wild and unfocused.
“Stop now,” I said, cradling my wounded hand close to my chest. “And you might die cleanly.”
The girls pressed in around us anew, smiling horrible smiles, their black tongues tracing lines across their jagged teeth. They moaned, pressing in closer and closer. Bloodthirsty creatures all look the same in the midst of their lust, hyper-focused and at the same time, far away. It’s always a clear indicator that it’s time to go. As they pressed in tighter and tighter, I realized that ship had sailed.
“It would be better if you were still,” the man intoned. “It’ll hurt quite a bit less.” He smiled good-naturedly.
“You,” I said as understanding hit me, elbowing back the encroaching girls. “You did this to Thorne!”
“So I did!” He admitted, bowing his head slightly. “It’s nice to have my work recognized.”
“And you made all of those Skull-Kids for him,” I accused.
“Skull-Kids?” He looked confused, then laughed. “You mean my Desolate Sons. Yes, they’re mine. They’re wonderful, aren’t they? So obedient.”
“Why?” I snapped. “Why do this?”
“Really? I mean, is this normal?” He asked. “Do your enemies usually do this? They just open up and tell you everything? I’m sorry, but you’d make a piss poor therapist.”
“Fuck you,” I growled. “None of you pricks do this for shits and grins. You’ve all got some goddamned grandiose reason, some underlying mental fuck-up that makes you do this shit.”
“True,” he said. “But that’s none of your concern. The only thing you have to worry about, cousin, is staying alive.”
“You will pay,” Rachel interjected. “Like the heathens of Gomorrah, and the Midianites, you will burn!”
Instinctively, I shoved my mangled, Marked hand out in front of me. I’d heard that tone before, and I was in no shape to play along this time. The cold embrace of Perdition flowed from my Mark, it’s blue flames forcing back the hungry mass of starving, undead children. I spun a tight circle, again tracing the outline with my blood. Ignoring the pain, I slammed my Mark against the floor and whispered his name.
“Master,” I said in a pained whisper. “A little fucking help, please!”
Rachel opened her hands to the sky. “You are an abomination before God!”
I dropped to my stomach inside the circle an instant before the lightning hit the building. The roof was torn away as pure golden hate rained down from the sky. Moonlight filled the room, warring with the flashing blasts of lighting illuminating the hall. Small bodies exploded with each blast, showering the room with gore. Rachel stood like an ancient idol, tall and impassive as the hell of the scene unfolded around her. As each child died, I watched the black aura of shadow that surrounded the Toymaker grow stronger and stronger.
“Rachel!” I screamed over the horrendous noise of the slaughter. “Stop!”
The Toymaker laughed, holding his right hand over his heart as if he’d just heard a grand joke. He turned to me, speaking for all the world as if this were a normal day, under normal circumstances.
“She won’t listen,” he smirked. “She’s always been headstrong.”
The little girls around me surged against my wards, trying to both get away from Rachel, and to get to my blood and soul. I poured everything I had into my wards. If they got through, I’d be torn apart in a matter of seconds. I spoke a Word of healing and gritted my teeth as the magic took hold of my hand, undoing what the creature had done to me. Lightning crashed in front of me, splintering my wards and ripping the kids to shreds. I felt a pulse as their souls flowed through my wards, through me and toward the center of the heptagram. The Toymaker’s grin grew larger and the darkness in his aura grew deeper. The girls chained to the pillars began to chant anew. Their harsh voices screaming words that defied translation, and withered every ounce of hope within me. Guttural phrases and screeching intonation invoked beings that should have been dead, cast beyond the walls of reality. Little girls, untouched by the Toymaker’s sick hands, were summoning a darkness greater than the world could hold.
“Your move,” the Toymaker grinned.
Rachel screamed out Hymns, blasting the monstrous Dolls. Lightning arched and flared around her, tears pouring down her face as she brought mercy to the children she’d failed. The lightning flashed and struck around the Toymaker, but never hitting him. He polished his nails on his pinstriped coat and clasped his hands behind his back, looking for all the world like a bored aristocrat.
None of Rachel’s power could touch him, and I was cowering inside my wards. He grinned like an idiot as the world burned around him. We were playing into his hands, but what was he getting out of all of this? What was he protecting? What was he summoning in the center of that heptagram? This was getting us nowhere. I sprinted forward, careful to avoid Rachel, her lightning could end me the same as the Dolls. Electricity blazed all around me, I hit the ground and rolled, coming back to my feet at a sprint anew.
/> I whipped my pistol up and double-tapped the Toymaker, one to the chest, the other to the head. He staggered and fell backward, more in surprise than in pain. Inwardly, I groaned. I was getting sick of her memories being bulletproof. I jumped as I reached him, throwing both legs out from under me, I kicked him in the chest. He flew backward, the air rippled as he passed through the ring of pillars and out the other side. I hit the ground flat, and slammed both hands onto the floor, trying to arrest my forward momentum. He’d crossed wards. Gods only knew what those wards would do to me if I touchedthem. The slick tile gave me no purchase and I slid into the heptagram.
34
My skin tingled like a million scorpions were crawling over me, and my soul felt as if it were tearing. Like a cold shock, reality hit me and I threw up. Blood and bile poured out of me onto the floor.
“Emissary!” Satan’s voice roared through my mind. “There you are!”
I felt the quiet shadow of his wings cover me. For a moment, all was still.
“What the fuck?” I wondered aloud. “What the fuck just happened?”
“You were lost to me, my son,” Satan said. “Through the realms of gods and men have the servants of Perdition searched for you with no word, save the mad ravings of Leviathan.”
“Leviathan?” I asked.
“Yes,” I felt Satan’s mental nod. “The Black Dragon has been wroth, thrashing beneath frozen Cocytus. His ravings full of warnings and portents, all of them involving you, my Emissary.”
I turned, seeking anything that would betray my location. All was darkness. I smelled old blood, and the reek of decay. I lifted my hand and summoned flame into my palm, and regretted it instantly. It was the room I’d just left, except for the chains which hung from the rafters. Chains that ended in meat hooks, each holding a dead little girl. Thirteen girls in total, seven hung in the inner circle just outside the pillars, six in the outer circle which ringed the room. In the center of the heptagram, where I stood, the remnants of a human body lay sprawled across the runes of summoning. I knelt to get a closer look.
“Master?” I called aloud. “Are you still there?”
“Always,” he said.
“I need help,” I admitted softly.
I stared down at the body, broken with decay and the horrible event which preceded her death. Her eyes, desiccated and black, stared back at me. Her deep red hair, pulled taut against the tight skin that clung to the skull belonged to only one person in the world. Manacles bound her wrists to the ground and leg irons secured her ankles. I brought my flame closer to the femur of her right leg. Tiny scratches marred the surface from end to end. Living among the Ghuls lent me a certain expertise in the area of human anatomy and what can occur to a body after death. These weren’t ordinary scratches; they were teeth marks. Human teeth marks. And based on the deep scratches in the bone at the wrist and ankle, she’d been alive when they did it.
“My son,” Satan’s voice grew grave. “I will send you assistance, but it will take time for it to reach you.”
“Let’s hope I’m still alive when it gets here,” I said. “I’m going to have to cross back over. Rachel is alone over there.”
“The Heavenly Emissary?” Satan sounded confused. “What concern is she of yours?”
“Your pal Thorne’s buddies are trying to kill her.”
“Should she die at his hands,” Satan warned. “YHWH will surely place the blame at my gate.”
“I’ll get her out, Master,” I said. “I don’t have any interest in another war.”
“Resuming open hostilities would be imprudent,” Satan agreed. “Yet, to move against me when the balance is far in my favor would be foolish. Even he must concede that.”
“With the friends that Thorne brought to the party,” I said. “I’m not sure who’s got the upper hand. These people are twisted.” I opened my mind to him. My memories flashed through my head as he saw the events of the last several hours.
“Blacke,” he said. “Each of them marked.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Rachel said that the Woman was called Anastasia Blacke.”
“The Menagerie is in motion again,” he said. “Satariel should know of this.”
“It’s that big a deal?” I asked.
“The Blacke family is…” he hesitated. “In bondage to the Beggar Lord. They are his vassals.”
“Umbral worshippers?” I said. “What kind of idiot worships the end of everything?”
“The kind with the power to move between realms and bring the mighty low.” Satan fell silent for a moment. “This is not what I had anticipated.”
“You want to change your plans?” I asked.
“No, Thorne must die.” He went quiet again. “Take extra care to avoid entanglements with the Blackes, Emissary.”
“Kind of in the middle of one now,” I said.
“Then end it decisively,” he replied. “Leave nothing alive, and burn all that remains.”
“What I don’t get,” I said. “Is how they’re crossing through dreams and the real world. I thought that was a memory of Rachel’s I was in?”
“There are places where the Waking World and the Dreaming Realms cross.” He sighed. “Seek Thorne, he is the key to this madness.”
“No offense, Master,” I ran my hand over my mouth in a futile attempt to hold in my anger. “Can’t you just tell me what’s going on? Why the mysterious bullshit? Wouldn’t it just be eas—”
“Enough!” He roared. “Do not mistake my concern for your wellbeing as weakness. An affront to you is an affront to me! You have your assignment, Emissary. See that you do not disappoint.”
“Yes, Master,” I bowed my head.
“Prepare yourself,” he said.
The scorpions came back and all went dark.
35
The fabric of the dream slid open, like the strands of a web before a blade. The Toymaker held the corpse-skin face of Anastasia in his right hand, and a rag doll with an infant skull for a head. As he brought his hands together, the dead skin in his hand twitched with new life and wrapped itself tightly around the skull.
“This is the true sacrament,” he said, caressing the face of the doll. “To serve, to exist beyond mortal constraints. To bow before the End of all Endings.”
“You are an abomination,” Rachel struggled against the mass of Dolls. “You are a creature of the Devil!”
The Toymaker backhanded her. A gout of blood splattered against the wall. “I am no such thing!” He shook out his hand. He opened his mouth to speak and caught sight of me in his peripheral vision.
I shot him in the face. A fissure tore in the skin of his cheek and he swooned. “You don’t belong here.” I said firmly. I shot him in the balls, and stepped on his throat. “You or your bitch girlfriend.”
“You can’t kill me,” he laughed wheezily. “You’re wasting your time.”
“I gave it some thought,” I knelt, forcing greater weight on his throat. “Why all of the theatrics?” I gestured to the Dolls. “These things, they’re memories. You ripped them from Rachel’s head.”
“I put them…there!” He struggled against my weight. “I…huhn…I am the architect of her madness.”
“You’re an asshole with a god complex,” I snarled. “She’s here waiting for you to kill her,” I gestured at her with my pistol.
“She…is mine!” His hand gripped at my ankle, impossibly strong. “Only I can kill her,” he hissed.
“Precisely my point,” I said. I pulled the trigger. A perfect hole formed in the hollow of Rachel’s throat and the light in her eyes winked out. She collapsed and the Dolls fell on her, tearing and shredding her with their hellish fangs.
“No!” The Toymaker hurled me away from him. He leapt to his feet, his eyes glowing wildly. “She was mine!”
I rolled back to my feet and smiled at him. “No,” I laughed. “Your boy Thorne made sure of that.”
“What?” He snapped. “What’re you talking about?”
&nb
sp; “I’m here,” I grinned. “And if anyone’s gonna kill Rachel, you stupid fuck, it’s me.”
“You’re going to pay for this,” he snarled.
“Pick up your dolly,” I pointed to Anastasia. “And go home. Or I’ll show you just how much I’m willing to spend.”
“I’m in control here!” His voice broke as he shrieked at me. “This is my place! Mine!”
I pointed at one of the girls chained to the pillar forming a gun with my fingers. “Try me.”
“You wouldn’t!”
I spoke a Word of conflagration. The shockwave blew him off of his feet. A bloody hand landed in front of me. I swallowed as I knelt and picked it up. It had Weight. Imagine picking up a feather and finding it as heavy as a brick. This had been a living child. This was no dream Doll. I just killed someone’s little girl. With a gun finger and a smirk, I’d murdered an innocent. My heart went cold, and I stopped breathing. The Toymaker snatched Anastasia from where he’d dropped her, his eyes wild and panicked, he raced toward the center of the heptagram.
I screamed a Word of force, blowing him off of his feet again. He flew across the room, slamming against the far wall. The Dolls surged at me, presumably from a mental command from him. Another Word of force and the mass of them blew apart, landing all over the room in piles of tangled limbs. Rage burned within me and the pressure behind my eyes threatened to tear me apart.
“You son of a bitch!” I screamed. “You vile fucking animal!”
“If you kill me,” he frantically pointed toward the heptagram. “The pattern will collapse on itself, dragging you to oblivion with it.”
“Why?” I screamed. “You fucking tell me now.” I slammed my Mark on the ground, and ice-white flames roared through the room.
This close to the tear in reality, Satan’s will manifested itself. The Dolls thrashed and rolled as the Lord of the Fallen shredded the spells that bound them and gave them their twisted life. The nightmare roiled and began to tear itself apart. The Dolls unraveled into the diaphanous stuff of dreams, and darkness began to devour all.
