Echoes of the Past (Demon Squad)

by Tim Marquitz

  The receiver dinged every time I fed a coin, and I waited as the phone processed the amount, and then gave me an emaciated dial tone. I reached up to punch in Karra’s number when a shimmering light fell over me, nearly blinding me with the reflection from the window. I spun around to see a figure hurl a ball of fiery blue energy. It screamed straight toward me.

  Too late to get out of the way, I willed my magic to protect me as the hookers and dealer scattered. A wall of energy popped into place right before the ball hit. The thing exploded as it collided with my shield. It felt like a bucket of hammers fired from a cannon. Dozens of impact points slammed across my body and crumpled me into a ball, the force hurling me backwards. I hit the window and smashed through it. Shards of dirty glass sliced my skin worse than if I were being felt up by Edward Scissorhands.

  The patrons inside the bar screamed and scrambled for cover as I bowled them over. Tables and bodies went flying, my wayward tumble causing me to commit the terrible crime of alcohol abuse in mass quantities. Dionysus would be so pissed. I hit the ground and rolled, pieces of broken bottles and wooden splinters grinding into my already shredded flesh. Fortunately, the antique jukebox against the far wall took pity on me and stopped my momentum. My skull rang from the collision with its steel frame, but it was just my luck the Lady Gaga song played on without skipping a beat.

  I got to my feet and brushed away some of the wreckage while I willed my power to life. No gun, I was gonna have to wing it, and I wanted to be ready.

  “Go out the back,” I yelled at the folks in the bar as they got to their feet. They were dazed and confused, but the sudden appearance of a glowing figure floating outside the shattered window reinforced my words. They bounded over the broken tables and made a mad dash for the back door.

  I could feel the power emanating off the figure as it watched me from outside. The drunks weren’t the only thing scrambling for the rear exit.

  Human-ish, but formed entirely out of mystical energy, the figure—which I guessed was a specter, a spirit leashed and turned semi-tangible—had the body of a man but the head of a Jackal. Dressed in Egyptian garb, flowing Schenti leggings and sandals, it was naked from the waist up except for an ankh-shaped necklace, which looked like it was made out of poorly hammered gold. It carried an oaken and decorated staff that it held at the ready. The specter looked vaguely familiar, but damned if I could place it beyond its general mythos. It was Anubis or Set; one of the puppy gods.

  A low growl rumbled from its throat. It hovered a couple feet off the ground, but the specter probably stood about six feet and change. Thin and wiry, it crooked its fingers to draw me out.

  “Do you work for the DSI?” I asked.

  Another blue fireball was my answer. Since I saw it coming this time, it was easier to avoid. I ducked low and dove toward the window. The magical energy flew past and exploded behind me, engulfing what was left of the bar in shimmering flames. I breathed a sigh. Fortunately, everyone had taken my advice. The place was empty.

  “Was that a yes or a no?” I couldn’t recall having pissed off any Egyptians recently, so I was more than a little curious why Mutzilla was trying to take my head off.

  I rolled through the wreckage and leapt out the empty window frame as the specter hurled more fire about. In the street, I ducked behind a parked car and cast a quick glance around. The specter followed.

  Downtown was a graveyard. Baalth’s premature incineration and the recent storms had the whole town spooked. At the first hint of supernatural hijinks, everyone within spitting distance disappeared; except for me, of course. At least that meant I’d be the only one to die if I didn’t take the specter out. That was just one more heroic quote in a long line of possible epitaphs waiting to be engraved on my headstone. Whoever buried me was going to have a hell of a time choosing one.

  The roof of the car went up in flash, black smoke swirling as the vinyl top burst into flame. Once more I jumped away, my eyes scanning for anyone else who might be around before I was forced to engage the spirit. No more than puppets, specters were the equivalent of a supernatural video game. Whoever summoned it, and held its leash, controlled its actions. More often than not, the summoner was the weaker of the pairing, the energy needed to tether the spirit but a fraction of that possessed by the specter.

  People with real power didn’t need to hide behind such magical parlor tricks. Why send a poodle to do a pit bull’s job? That said, I couldn’t risk get caught up tangling with the spirit. They only take a little bit of concentration to control, so, while I was busy scrapping with the sock puppet, I could be taken out by its master.

  As quick as I could, I unleashed my senses, but the specter didn’t give me time to decipher anything. Its wooden staff whistled in the air above and I just barely got out of the way. It clacked against the asphalt, a burst of heat following in its wake. The blacktop bubbled, drops of scalding tar flung about as the specter whipped its staff back to ready.

  I grinned. At range, tossing fireballs at me, the specter could have kept me on the defensive, giving me the hot foot until it wore me down. Up close, that was a different matter. Certain I couldn’t hurt with my bare hands, it was time to improvise. Still a novice with my newfound magical powers, I didn’t have a lot of experience at using them on the fly. Fortunately, magic is all about imagination and willpower, and I‘ve plenty of both.

  Falling back on what I do know, I closed on the specter and threw a left hook, right straight combo, willing my power to envelop my hands like mystical boxing gloves. Well, more like comfy-fitting cinderblocks. My left crashed into the specter’s jaw. It felt like punching a ’57 Chevy, but its head snapped to the side, and it stumbled back a step. My right caught it flush on its cheek and sent it flying.

  The staff tumbled from its hand and vanished in a crackle of energy as the specter hit the ground. The spirit slid a few feet across the asphalt, roaring as it dug its fingers into the blacktop and brought itself to a stop. Before it could get up and resume its ball-tossing, I followed after it. A shield of energy encasing my right foot, all the way up to the knee, I soccer kicked the specter in its head. My shin went numb when it hit, a crack of thunder sounding at impact.

  I struggled to keep my balance as the specter was flung into the air, shrieking. It tumbled head over heels, about ten feet up, but the thing wasn’t out just yet. With nothing resembling aim, it loosed blue fire from its hands, eyes, and mouth. Tendrils of power spewed in every direction like a teenage boy experiencing his first erection. Too much magic being flung about, I ducked behind a car to wait it out. I heard the meaty thump of the specter hitting the ground, but the assault continued.

  All around me the street was taking an ass-whuppin’. Bolts of energy tore into the nearby buildings, blasting through stone and cement. Windows shattered across the block, a storm of rock and glass raining down. It felt like I was romancing a fire ant mound, millions of fiery bites erupting across my skin. Car alarms screeched, adding to the avalanche din of collapsing building facades.

  It didn’t take me but a second to realize I couldn’t sit back while the specter leveled the block. I threw a shield over me like an umbrella and jumped from behind the car. The specter was getting to its feet, a feral grin on its face. It clearly had no intention of stopping its barrage, though it did seem intent on zoning in on me.

  Wishing I had my gun, though not really sure it could even hurt the thing, I improvised. I flung a fistful of magic at the specter, willing it to explode like jagged buckshot. Sharp spears of power ripped through the specter and drove it onto its heels. It crashed into the crumbling wall at its back, bringing pieces of it down around it. The specter growled and swatted the falling debris away. That gave me all the time I needed.

  My fist once more encased in energy, I shaped it into the form a spike and threw an overhand right with everything I had. The spirit looked up at me as I closed. I sunk the point into its widened eye. My hand tore through its skull and the specter vanished in a disa
ppointing crackle of energy. My fist crashed into the building, with the spirit gone, and sank in to the shoulder. Unable to stop my momentum, I turned my face just before the wall scraped away a couple layers of skin from my cheek and chin.

  Not exactly an Einstein moment, I was too worried about the specter’s master to care how stupid I looked. I yanked my arm out of the wall and scurried away as the front of the building collapsed in a roar of crumbling stone. A choking cloud of cement dust followed, obscuring my vision. Back in the street, the ground trembling beneath me, I covered my mouth and nose against the cloying smoke and turned my senses loose. I caught a flicker of magical energy that faded just as I caught a whiff, leaving the scene empty of anyone supernatural besides me.

  After a few minutes, the dust settled, and I was able to see just how much damage the specter had caused. It was substantial. The bar was in shambles. The plate glass window was gone, as was the door, and half the front wall. Small fires flickered inside and black smoke wafted out of the building. The shops next door hadn’t fared much better. Neither had the small video store across the street. A single story shack, it hadn’t survived the brawl. DVDs and VHS tapes were scattered about in the ruin of the store, twisted and mangled amidst the rubble. Shredded paper and ruined movie signage was scattered across the wreckage.

  Sirens sounded in the distance and my heart sank. It probably wouldn’t be long before the DSI goons showed up. For all I knew, the specter could have been one of them. Regardless, given what they’d find, I had no doubt they’d see it as sufficient justification to put another bullet in my head. I didn’t want to be anywhere around when they arrived, but I knew I needed to do what I could to minimize the damage. Humanity was on shaky footing when it came to supernatural shenanigans. I couldn’t blame them, but I damn sure didn’t want to be the poster boy for the anti-demon movement.

  I glanced around looking for a way to contact DRAC when I spied the pay phone I’d tried to use earlier. The receiver swung at the end of the silvery cord, but the phone was still in one piece. I went over to it and lifted the receiver to my ear. The crackle of a faint dial tone sounded inside. It still worked.

  You don’t get that kind of service with a cell phone.

  I couldn’t help but laugh as I dialed one of the toll-free contact numbers for DRAC and fed the answering service the codes that would mobilize a cleanup crew.

  Sirens growing louder, I crawled off and found a seat on a nearby roof to watch the emergency crews roll in.

  It was turning out to be one hell of a day.

  Chapter Five

  “It’s only been a couple of hours, Frank. Glad to see you’re staying out of trouble.”

  I didn’t need to turn around to recognize the sarcastic Barry White imitator that teleported in behind me. “Hi, Rahim.”

  DRAC’s resident badass, and newly-made furry, walked up beside me. He glanced over the edge of the building. Tall, dark, and ominous, he looked like I remembered him when we first met. Darth Vader had nothing on Rahim. While creeping into his late fifties, he was well over six feet of aged muscle, his bald head catching the sunlight and seeming to absorb it. He had his serious face on, but he looked healthy. There was no trace of the spinal injury that had crippled him and drained the life from his eyes. He looked vibrant.

  Becoming a werebear suited him.

  Michael Li shuffled up to the ledge a moment later. A telepath, receptive to all the emotions and thoughts of the world around him, Michael didn’t look anywhere near as vigorous as Rahim did. Dressed in jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt, he had a couple days of scruff on his chin and the gray was showing. The fallout from the war in Heaven was taking a toll on him. He looked beat.

  “Hey, Mike.”

  He waved and followed Rahim’s eyes to the chaos below. A quiet sigh slipped from between pursed lips. “I managed to deflect some of the incoming 911 calls to make it look like this was a gas explosion, of some kind, but there’s nothing I can do about the witnesses. It’s only a matter of time until the general populace realizes this was yet another supernatural incident.”

  “What happened?” Rahim asked, turning to look at me.

  I’d been wrong about how he looked. There was sorrow in his gaze; deep pools of it, which settled heavy in his dark eyes. Thoughts of Abraham came to mind unbidden. We were carrying on like nothing had happened, but it was a lie. Abe was dead and everything he had made DRAC to be was crumbling.

  I cleared my throat, not wanting to think about it. There was nothing we could do to bring Abe back. Even my dating a necromancer couldn’t fix dead. Not in the ways that mattered, so there was no point dwelling on it. I stuck to the business at hand. “I think it was a specter. It came out of nowhere and hit me while my back was turned. The thing never said a word or claimed any kind of allegiance, and I wasn’t able to pinpoint its controller.” I shrugged. “It could have been a government agent.”

  Rahim’s eyebrow lifted. “Why would you think that?”

  “I had a visit from a group called the Department of Supernatural Investigation.” I rubbed my forehead where the bullet had gone in. “They made quite an impression.”

  “The DSI?” Michael shook his head. “They’ve been around for a while, but they’ve never done much beyond sniffing at the tails of paranormal investigator frauds and psychic scam artists.”

  “Well, it looks like they’ve got a new agenda, and Uncle Sam has opened his checkbook to them; wide. Worse still, they’ve got their foot in the supernatural world. Their head honcho is a wight.”

  “Really?” Rahim glanced up at the cloudy sky. “I guess that would make sense given what’s happened, but this really isn’t a good time for them to start digging deeper into our affairs.”

  “Tell me about it. They seem to think I had something to do with the storms. They’re just waiting to find an excuse to play judge, jury, and executioner on my ass, and whoever else they think is involved. DRAC is probably in the crosshairs, too, so keep your eyes peeled.”

  Rahim’s shoulders sank as he turned to Michael. “Have you heard anything about them recently?”

  Michael shook his head. “They’ve never been a concern, but I’ll look into them deeper. If they’ve got a legitimate source in the supernatural, there’s no telling what they could dig up on our people and resources. They could cause all sorts of trouble for us.” He looked to me. “Other than trying to get to the bottom of the storms, did they say what their focus was?”

  “Only that they were sanctioned to defend the U.S. from supernatural threat.” I laughed. “Maybe we can take a vacation now that the para-cops are on the job.”

  “Doubtful,” Rahim replied. “Sounds to me like they’ve an open-ended agenda; one that doesn’t exactly bode well for any of us. If they’re looking to police the supernatural realms, we can expect them to be involved in everything we do from here on out.” He growled as he looked back to the streets below, his voice sounding like his counterpart bear. “We don’t need this shit right now.”

  Amen, brother. We had a hard enough time keeping the supernatural bullshit down and out sight as it was. Now with a government agency diving into the pool to muddy the waters, things were gonna get more difficult. Even better, since the U.S. formed a supernatural swat team, you could bet your ass the other major players in the world had enough information and motivation to do the same. Given the fluidity and hazy boundaries of the other realms, it was pretty damn likely we’d be stumbling all over these groups every time we stuck our big toe over the U.S. border or into another dimension.

  “Go see what you can do to keep this quiet a little longer,” Rahim told Michael. The telepath nodded and walked off. After he was gone, Rahim pulled away from the ledge and waved me along. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. “I don’t know how to say this, Frank, so I’ll be direct and hope you understand it isn’t meant to be personal.”

  With an introduction like that, how can it be bad? My shoulders sunk a little.

  Rah
im shuffled, looking at me but not really meeting my eyes. “DRAC is going through a rough time, not that I need to tell you that, but…Rachelle is taking Abraham’s death very hard.”

  We all were, but I knew what he was getting at. Abraham died because I couldn’t save him, and I’d chosen to take the blame for our not telling Rachelle until after the battle. She needed Rahim way more than she needed me, so it only made sense. I knew there’d be backlash from the decision, but I wasn’t sure what it would be…until now.

  “She doesn’t blame you—“

  “Sure she doesn’t.”

  “She’s just hurt, Frank,” he countered, his voice speeding up. “No matter how close any of us were to him, Rachelle had his heart. He was her life. It’s only natural for her to be angry. She’ll see things true once things calm down some.”

  “What are you asking of me?” I had a pretty good idea. Despite it all, I could feel my cheeks warming. It was something I didn’t want to hear.

  He swallowed hard. Always so confident, so certain, it worried me. “I think it best if maybe you took some time away from DRAC, let things settle a bit.”

  There it was. My punishment for letting Abe die was banishment from the cool kids club. I started to argue, but clenched my teeth and bit back on the disappointment that threatened to spew out. For all her oddness, Rachelle had never been anything but kind to me, and I knew Rahim was right in asking for this. I certainly didn’t want to rub salt in the wound of Abe’s death. I’d be a constant reminder of what she’d lost, and that was simply cruel. Rachelle didn’t deserve that.

  “Fine.” I couldn’t bring myself to be more diplomatic.