Redeemer

by C. E. Murphy

  "You think I would've gotten so mad if I didn't know that?" Jean's voice remained muffled. "What'm I going to do, Rosie? What are we going to do?"

  "We're going to clear the demons out of here as fast as we can. We're going to do everything we can do. And you're going to keep putting one foot in front of the other no matter how hard it is, because the only way out is through."

  Jean laughed, sharp even through the pillow. "Aren't you supposed to tell me we can't do anything and everything happens for a reason? That God tests us but doesn't give us anything we can't handle?"

  Rosie's reflection in the vanity mirror turned harder. "I used to think that was true, but I'm not sure anymore. I mean, when we were little, we never even dreamed that we could go work in factories like the men, right? And look at us. We can. So we can do something. Maybe whatever it is we're facing, we can always do something. And right now, we can fight. Maybe it's not enough, but it's something. And I guess if everything happens for a reason, then sometimes that reason is just life isn't fair and bad things can't always be stopped. And if God tests people like this, then he's just a son of a bitch. I don't think that's very comforting."

  Jean lowered the pillow, just a movement in the edge of the mirror. "That's blasphemy."

  "I guess it is. I think it's true, though." Rosie twisted on the bed to face Jean. "So do you still want to help?"

  "You know I do."

  "Yeah." Rosie got up and went to offer Jean her hands, pulling her to her feet. "I know running off to hide is the only way to get through it sometimes, too."

  "As long as I don't do it when we're facing down demons." In the kitchen, the phone began to ring. Jean sighed from the bottom of her soul, and Rosie hugged her quickly.

  "I'll get it. Are you home?"

  "I'm sleeping."

  Rosie nodded and hurried from the room, catching the phone on the fifth or sixth ring. Irene said, "Jean? Is Rosie there?" and Rosie said, "No, it's me," then shook herself. "I mean, this is Rosie, not Jean. Rene? Aren't you at work?" She looked for a kitchen clock and didn't find one. "What time is it?"

  "Four thirty. The supe is trying to get hold of you and called me off the line." Irene sounded strained. "He wants to talk to you, Rosie. Will you talk to him?"

  "Yeah, sure." Rosie shook her head as she spoke, though, wishing Irene could see her. "Rene, are you all right? You sound funny."

  "Rich is here, Rosie. The supe called me off the line, and when I got to his office, Rich was here. He said the supe called him in to talk about what Rich had said yesterday and … that's not why, though, Rosie. That's not what the supe wanted. He … we're …"

  "Rich? Rich is there? What did the supe wa …" Rosie's knuckles whitened around the phone as suspicion rose in her. "Put Doherty on the phone, Irene. I'll talk to him."

  "I'm sorry, Ro." Irene's strained breathing went away from the phone to be replaced by Superintendent Doherty's smug "Miss Ransom."

  "I'm going to Redeem you," Rosie whispered. "What do you want, Doherty?"

  "Oh, you're not going to do anything to me, Miss Ransom. You're going to meet me at the Pennicott premises in an hour. I know an Enforcer who would like to meet you."

  Surprise pulled a laugh from Rosie's throat. "Why would I do that?"

  Doherty sighed happily. "Because your friends here just look so delicious, Miss Ransom. Especially the girl, a real beauty. I'd say I'd hate it if anything happened to her, but that just wouldn't be true." His voice darkened. "An hour, Redeemer. After that, I'm having your friends for dinner." He hung up, and Rosie let the handset fall from numb fingers. It cracked against the table and fell to the floor, a plastic corner chipped off.

  "What is it?" Hank stood in the kitchen door, Jean half-hidden behind him, her fingers wrapped around his biceps hard enough that her knuckles were white.

  "Doherty has Irene and Rich." Rosie said the second name incredulously. "He called Rich to—he said to talk to him about—Rich went in yesterday to plead my case," she said with a hard little laugh. "The supe called him in, said he wanted to talk about what Rich had said. He called him after lunch, Hank. We shouldn't have let him go."

  Hank muttered, "Too late now. He's got them?"

  "He's got them both, and he's taking them down to the factory. The old Pennicott factory, Hank. He says the Enforcer wants to see me."

  Jean let go of Hank's arm, stepping around him. "Well, you can't go. It's a trap."

  "I know it's a trap. Of course it's a trap. But what else can I do? If I don't, they're going to kill Rich and Irene."

  "Stop for weapons." Hank's voice sounded thick. "If we leave right now, we can get to the library and pick up some primed Artifacts before we have to go to the factory."

  "‘Primed'?"

  "Simple art," Hank said. "Line drawings, almost finished. If you can press one against a demon and draw the last line, it'll capture it, if the demon isn't too strong. Doherty, at least, if not the Enforcer. Him …"

  "Him, I'm going to have to get my hands on." Rosie reached up to tighten the kerchief around her hair, as if that little thing made her ready for a fight. "Do you think your dad will be there?"

  Hank gave a short, hard shake of his head. "It sounds like the Enforcer is trying to clean up the mess, maybe before Da—before the daemon rex hears about it, or knows how bad it is. Of course, if it's Haas …"

  "If it's Haas. If it's your dad. If if if," Rosie said. "Let's just assume if, okay, Hank? Because that's pretty much as bad as it can get, right? If it's Haas, if it's your dad, then they know everything already. They know I'm a Redeemer, they know you're helping me, they kno—"

  "They don't know about me." Jean met both their gazes, her eyes bright with greed. "They don't know about me, Rosie. They know about you and Hank, maybe they even know about Hank's empathy, but they don't know that I'm helping you. You gotta give me as many of those things as you've got, Hank. The architects?"

  "Artifacts."

  "Those, yeah." Eager color built in Jean's cheeks. "They'll be looking for you two, not me. I can take out some of the weaker ones, at the very least. I might even be able to get a knife or a—"

  "Piece of rebar," Rosie said with a faint smile.

  Jean nodded. "Rebar. A sword. A bullet, something, into some of them. Earn Rosie enough time to do her thing. I could help, Hank. I could be your ace in the hole."

  Hank lifted his hands. "Into the car. We'll talk about it on the way."

  ✪ ✪ ✪

  The burned-out factory's gates stood open just enough to admit a car, like an invitation. Rosie and Hank parked on the street, though, figuring the gates could be closed and trap the vehicle inside, but that there were places they could squeeze out if they remained on foot. Besides, even open, the tilted, scraped-up bars managed to look less inviting than the broken section of fence Rosie and Hank had crawled through earlier. The factory beyond loomed forbiddingly, burn shadows multiplied and much deeper. It cut a rough skyline against the failing light, with no hint of activity or life inside. Rosie shifted her shoulders, feeling the totally unaccustomed weight of a sword strapped across her back, and wondered why her hands itched with the impulse to hold a weapon she hardly knew how to use.

  Hank had a gun. Two, in fact, but when Rosie had asked for one, he'd asked if she had any experience with them. She hadn't, so he handed her a sword, pointing out it would be almost impossible to accidentally kill him with it as long as he stayed more than five feet away. Rosie hated his logic but couldn't argue with it. She murmured, "At least this time we're coming in the front gates," as if she could reassure herself somehow.

  Hank chuckled. "Most of us."

  "Is two enough for a ‘most'?"

  "It's going to have to be. We have about three minutes to get in there. Are you ready?"

  Rosie nodded, lower lip caught in her teeth. "As ready as I can be. Are you going to be able to do this, Hank?"

  "I'm not going to have any choice." His mouth thinned. "I can't feel many of them in the
re, Rosie. Not like this afternoon, when they felt like a pit, once I knew they were there. Either most of them have cleared out or I'm being blocked even more strongly than before."

  "Why would they clear out?"

  "The Enforcer might want to make sure he's the only one who looks good." Hank took a breath. "There's also a chance they're afraid."

  Rosie brightened. "Really?"

  "Redeemers are the monsters under the bed to the monsters under the bed," Hank murmured. "If you can defeat the Enforcer, that's going to cause a lot of chaos. Not enough to bring a hive down, but if the rex falls, then everything that's holding the hive together goes to pieces. They might turn on each other. Clearing them out, separating them early, before things get really bad, might leave enough pieces in place for a successor to step in."

  "You mean they might be scared enough to lay in a contingency plan?" A smile pressed its way through Rosie's teeth. "I'd like that. I'd like to not be the only one scared spitless here."

  "Are you?" Hank glanced at her. "You do a good job of hiding it."

  "It wouldn't do much good for me to be sitting in a corner wailing, would it? It'd just invite them to come after us." She straightened her shoulders, feeling the sword's weight again, and nodded. "Let's go."

  They passed through the gates and a door that stood mostly off its hinges, the metal twisted from heat. Rosie had never even held a sword before a few days earlier, but she reached up and checked it in its scabbard, making sure she would be able to pull it easily, and felt comforted. Dips and pits in the floor, worse for Hank than Rosie, were still more treacherous than they'd been in daylight, and they crept in, testing each step. They hesitated at every door, Hank stepping through to make sure the next room, fire-torn as it might be, was clear before Rosie followed him. They'd argued about that on the way over. Rosie figured she'd be safer going through first, since her touch could be deadly to a demon, but Hank figured a ranged attack could take her down and then they'd have no chance against the Enforcer.

  He lifted his hand suddenly, stopping her creeping pace, and over the silence of her held breath she heard men's voices, taunting echoes in the darkness. Hank gestured with his chin, indicating a door in a mostly intact wall across what seemed like an impossibly vast stretch of junk-littered floor. "They're in there." His voice was hardly even a whisper, more just shaped words in what little moonlight filtered through filthy windows and open roofs.

  "They're gonna ambush us," Rosie whispered back, with a nod at the empty space ahead of them. Hank shrugged one shoulder, as if to say What can we do? and Rosie pulled her sword free of its sheath. Hank's eyes went very blue, even in the faint light, and a smile crooked one corner of his mouth. He didn't move otherwise, though, just gazed down at her. Rosie's own smile of anticipation fell away into a heart-thudding awareness of his presence and the likelihood that they were both about to die. He lowered his head, just as he'd done earlier in the day at the library, and this time, Rosie began to lift her own.

  A bone-ringing clang echoed from beyond the far wall. Rosie took a sharp breath, looking across the big room. Rich might be on the other side of that door. Rich and Irene both. Rosie breathed, "Let's go," but Hank had already moved, a gun she hadn't seen him draw held ready in his left hand.

  The shadows stayed shadows, no monsters breaking free from them, until Rosie began to feel silly for creeping around with a sword in one hand. Other sounds, more than just voices, were audible from beyond the door: fists hitting flesh, grunts and curses, the sounds of men fighting. Rosie's heart beat harder, worry for Rich clouding her thoughts until she forgot to be cautious and broke into a run. Hank hissed, "Rosie!" after her, too late.

  She didn't even see it, the thing flowing from the shadows, not until she'd stepped in it. Claws grabbed her ankle and oil surged up her leg, coating her in cool slippery nastiness. Terror flooded her, leaving her unable to even take a breath as the stuff pulled her to her knees. A face appeared in the slick surface, but she couldn't tell if it was her own or someone else's. She didn't exactly drop the sword, because her hand landed on its hilt when it clattered to the floor, but she couldn't pretend she'd set it down on purpose, either. A squeak of fear pushed out of her lungs, and without the magic, she knew she would be dead.

  The power responded like it had at the factory, though, with Goode. It rose instinctively, spilling out of her to separate a demon's staining influence from the human soul it worked to devour. Pools of light shuddered to life under her hands, sizzling through the oil she knelt in. It seemed like everything burned this time, fire cleansing away corruption, because nothing else remained. A thin scream bubbled from the oil, and even in flames, it tried crawling up her arms, looking for a way into her. The fire didn't hurt her at all, although she could feel its heat licking the fine hairs on her arms. It burned only the demon, without rot rising in a mist and separating from the rest. It felt like it lasted forever and only a few seconds, all at the same time, and when the power winked out, Hank had only just reached Rosie's side. She stared up at him, wide-eyed with shock. "What was that?"

  "A dying demon. It had used up the body it had and needed a new one. Too bad for it that it tried taking on yours."

  "It was … there wasn't anything left," Rosie whispered. "No human soul left to save. Just the corruption to burn. How long does that take?"

  "Depends on how tough the host is and how strong the demon is. Remember, I told you the really powerful ones can keep a body living for decades. And probably wouldn't chance a Redeemer even as a last-ditch hope for survival. Can you get up?" He curled his hand around her arm, encouraging her to her feet. He'd been doing that the whole time he'd been talking, Rosie realized. That, more than his efforts, got her up, her sword in hand, though she ended up staring at her shoes and dungarees, looking for signs of the oil that had just burned away. There were none.

  "I thought they had … the ochim was a singer, you said. Or a composer. And the empathy comes from music too. I thought that was how they attacked, with …" Rosie started moving, mostly because Hank pulled her along, but then he answered and she stayed with him of her own volition, wanting to hear.

  "With their muses? Again, the powerful ones can do that. Helen Montgomery just threw herself at you—"

  "Screaming," Rosie pointed out.

  "People seem to yell a lot when they're on the attack," Hank said, almost under his breath, before continuing in a more normal tone, since they didn't seem to have snuck in unnoticed after all. "Most of them are faster, stronger, and—" He flexed his right hand around his cane, like a cat putting claws out.

  Rosie volunteered, "Pointier?" and he cast her a brief smile. "I was thinking claw-ier, but pointier probably works better. And pointier than humans. They're dangerous, but most of them can't attack with magic. They just are magic."

  "Which makes them almost impossible to kill." Rosie stopped moving forward just long enough to press her eyelids together hard and recollect herself. "That's probably something I should have known before, Hank. The not-attacking-with-magic part."

  "I'll put it in my notes for next time."

  Rosie barked a quiet laugh and shrugged his hand off her arm. "Where'd you put your gun?"

  "Away." Hank took it out again as they reached the door at the far side of the broken-down room. Rosie looked back at where they'd come and whispered, "Why was there only one of them waiting for us?"

  Hank shook his head. "I don't know. I think the one left didn't have any choice."

  "You mean the Enforcer told it to stay?"

  "I mean I don't think it had enough body left to move out even if it wanted to. I've never seen one that far gone before. Another few days or weeks and it would have eaten even what was left of that body, and died."

  "You keep telling me they can't die and then mentioning another way they do," Rosie muttered.

  "I keep telling you humans can't kill them, which is different," Hank muttered back, and Rosie, instead of arguing about it, kicked open the door an
d swept in to meet their enemy.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Harrison Vaughn wove around a boxing ring, fighting for his life. Superintendent Doherty danced around him, throwing punches not with Vaughn's expertise but the lazy confidence of a predator that knew it couldn't lose. Vaughn, under hot lights dangling from a raw-girdered ceiling, sweated profusely while Doherty kept his cool far more convincingly than he had just that afternoon. There were no other lights: the boxing ring stood in a pool of brightness, not unlike the one at the Vaughn estate, but the shadows crawling up to this one seemed far more sinister.

  Rosie, instead of storming in, stopped short so close to the door that Hank ran into her. For a heartbeat they were both silent, captivated by the battle going on in front of them, before Hank swore and jolted past Rosie in a run.

  Rosie snatched at the back of his shirt, missing by a fraction of an inch, and didn't go after him. Two Vaughn boys ought to be able to take care of Doherty by themselves. She heard that thought like it came from the distance, and had a look at it from that distance. Harrison Vaughn definitely wouldn't be in that ring if he was Detroit's daemon rex, probably wouldn't be in it if he was a demon at all. The sword, held in her loose fingers, felt heavier than before, as if righteousness had gone out of it and left it nothing more than a hunk of metal. Maybe it had been Haas all along, and demons like Goode had been left to run wild while he was in DC playing politics. Maybe Doherty was the Enforcer, after all.