The Price of Brimstone

by Allie Gail

  “Yeah? I never pegged you as an animal lover. What kind of dog you got, Price? One of those yappy little poodles with the pink painted toenails?”

  “Oh, better than that. I have your half-witted girlfriend on her hands and knees in a shock collar!”

  “Piece of shit, when I get done with you-”

  “Shh. Both of you.” Dipping his thumb into the bloody water, Max leans across the table to trace some sort of symbol on Loc's forehead. “Silentium falso plurimus ore deus...verum peto, et ita factum est...”

  Loc's eyes dart frantically to me before clouding over with a cadaverous white haze. I watch in amazement as the antagonism disappears from his face, replaced with a blank trance-like calm.

  “I think it's working,” I murmur in quiet awe.

  “Holy jumping palomino on a pogo stick...” Russ gapes at him in wide-eyed disbelief. He seems just as surprised as me. Apparently he'd had his doubts about this, too.

  Reaching for a handful of ebony hair, Max snatches the cambion's head upward and searches the vacant eyes. “Will I get the truth from you now, demon?”

  I feel a sharp stab of pity, unwittingly recalling the last thing he said to me. I'm not the monster you think I am. Try to remember that, won't you?

  The responding voice belongs to Loc, but it comes out sounding all wrong. Flat and monotone, devoid of emotion. “If it's the truth you seek, then yes. I'm afraid my knowledge is at your mercy.”

  Yelping an exultant whoop, Max releases him and turns to give my brother a triumphant grin. “Mission accomplished! Check it out. He's all yours, dude. You can take it from here.”

  “Now that's what I'm talkin' about! Holy shit, you are the man. I owe you big time.” Brimming with excitement, Russ steps up to take charge without further hesitation. “All right, you soul-sucking boar hog. Listen up. You and me are about to have a little heart-to-heart. Starting with, where the fuck are my friends, motherfucker?”

  “Which friends might you be referring to?” The milky eyes stare blindly at nothing. He looks like he's been zombified. It's the creepiest thing I've ever seen. How long will the spell last, I wonder?

  “Quit stalling, you slimy afterbirth of a whore! You know damn well who I'm referring to. Now answer the question. Where ARE they?”

  “If it's the blonde and her male companion you speak of, then I don't know.”

  We all exchange panicked looks. This isn't the answer we were looking for.

  “What do you mean, you don't know?”

  “I don't know. This term is used to express either a lack of understanding or the fact that one does not have the requested information. In this case, the latter definition would more aptly apply.”

  “Did I ask you for an English lesson, puke bucket? What I want to know is where on the fucking map of this fucking world my fucking friends are! Where? I need a location! Give me an address! Some coordinates! Anything!”

  “Their precise location is not something I am privy to. Hence, I don't know.”

  “Goddammit,” Russ hisses under his breath. “Okay. Let's try this again. Are Skylar and Owen even alive?”

  “Last I heard, they were. I would imagine they still are. They won't be much use to anyone dead.”

  From where I'm standing behind my brother, I can see his shoulders slump with relief. I give his arm an encouraging squeeze. If nothing else, we at least have that.

  After taking a moment to compose himself, he wipes the nervous sweat from his forehead and continues with the interrogation.

  “How can I find them?”

  “You cannot. Not without my assistance.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Your friends are being detained by subordinates of Leraje.”

  Your father? I almost blurt, catching myself just in time. This is information I shouldn't have.

  “While it is true I was initially aware of their location...” he continues, “...as I recall, they were in the process of being transferred just before my capture. I was not told where they were being taken, nor did I ask. I had no interest in their whereabouts. However, should I be permitted contact with my brethren, I could easily find out.”

  The look that passes between Russ and Max is transparent as glass. Allowing Price contact with any of his demon cronies? Not a chance. Might as well send up a giant flare signal in the shape of an arrow pointing down at our house.

  “And if we allow that?” Max demands. “What assurance do we have that your friends won't be able to track you here?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “So what you're saying is, that move would basically be suicide for us.”

  “Oh, yes. Most assuredly.”

  I shiver at the cold, detached way Loc confirms what we all feared. This, I suppose, is his true and unfiltered personality. It must be. And yet, last time I saw him he seemed less like a monster and more like a damaged and vulnerable human being. Someone attempting to hide the scars of his past behind a wall of ice. Could he really be that accomplished at faking emotion? Could anyone?

  “Hang on a minute here.” Raising one leg just enough to situate his backside on the table, Russ makes himself comfortable there. I can see the wheels turning in his head. “If you aren't the one who snatched them, then...this other asshole. The one who did. What'd you say his name was?”

  “Leraje.”

  “Yeah. Whatever. Why the hell hasn't he been here looking for you? Seems like it would be pretty fucking obvious who dognapped your mangy ass. And it ain't like I'm that hard to find.”

  “Likely he isn't even aware of my absence. It isn't as if we keep in regular contact. It could be weeks, perhaps months before I am missed.”

  “Good to know. And believe me, I intend to make every last day of your stay here as memorable as possible. Feel free to rate the accommodations online if you like. But in the meantime, I gotta ask – why take them in the first place? This Leraje character hasn't tried to contact me, so far as I know. What's he want with me?”

  “You?” The chalky eyes blink before attempting to focus on my brother. “Do you really possess such an inflated ego that you've convinced yourself everything is all about you? Please. It was merely a coincidence. Their abduction had nothing to do with you. Several of us just happened to be enjoying an evening out that night. Leraje was bored and in search of entertainment and your friends were simply, as they say, in the wrong place at the wrong time. As for myself, I saw an opening for my own means of entertainment. So I approached you. I knew who you were, even if no one else did. All I did was take advantage of the situation. And I must say, playing upon your ignorant assumptions has proven to be quite the delightful respite.”

  “Oh, I'll bet.” Russell's eyes stray across the room, over to the wobbly TV tray holding the assortment of blades. I know what he's thinking. Being that one of his fists is already out of commission, he's searching for a more suitable implement to use.

  I didn't come down here to watch a reenactment of Marathon Man. Biting my lip anxiously, I take a step forward to protest.

  Thankfully, as if reading my thoughts, Max interjects. “We don't have time for that. I don't know how long the spell will last. Keep going.”

  My brother's jaw sets stubbornly. “Tell me how to get my friends back, you festering maggot!”

  “I've already told you.”

  “Not good enough. There has to be another way. One that doesn't involve you ratting us out.”

  “I know of no other way. In order to locate Leraje, I would first have to make inquiries in the underworld. This is something only I can do. Humans do not have the capacity to breach the barrier between this world and Hell.”

  “Is there any way we could force you to keep your fat trap shut?”

  “No. Being part human, I possess the same survival instincts as you. I will do everything I can to facilitate my escape. A single word from me, and this place will be overrun with demons. Trust me when I tell you, they won't let you die slowly.”

  R
ussell's stony expression never falters. “What if we were to promise to set you free, with no repercussions whatsoever, once our friends are returned safely? Would that be enough to convince you to play nice?”

  “It would not. Even if I were foolish enough to believe you. As far as I'm concerned, you are a dead man walking, Russell Sterling. Nothing but a ghost living on borrowed time.”

  I can feel a nervous knot tightening in my stomach, and even Max appears uneasy, but the threat of death doesn't seem to daunt my brother one bit.

  “Fair enough. Here's another pop quiz for you. Can you be destroyed?”

  “Yes. Rather easily, if you know how.”

  Max and I exchange looks. His errs more on the side of relief, while mine is...I'm not sure what mine is. I don't know what I'm feeling right now. I should be glad to hear that revelation, glad that we will be able to take him out if need be, but I feel like my emotions are being swept in all different directions.

  “Good. Very good.” Russ smiles coldly, his eyes gleaming with an exultant light. “Then enlighten me, why don't you. How do I kill you?”

  “A blade of solid gold blessed by a priest. Use it to pierce the heart. Then bury the remains in consecrated ground. Quite simple, really.”

  “That's it?”

  “As I said. Simple.”

  Pausing to absorb this, Russ taps a finger against his lips as he thinks. “This Leraje. Is he a half-breed like you? Or is he a demon wearing some poor human schmuck around like a rented tuxedo?”

  “He is a demon. As far as I know, I am the only cambion currently in existence. There have been others, but they were before my time.”

  “Well, isn't that special. Kudos to you, freak. I'll give Guinness a call and let them know, first chance I get.”

  Loc merely stares at him with the void countenance of a sleepwalker.

  “Okay. Let me get this straight. The only way to locate Skylar and Owen, never mind get them back, is to grant you the means to communicate with Hell. I'm assuming we would have to free you in order for you to do that?”

  “Correct.”

  “Great. Just peachy. Tell me something. Do we stand a chance against your little demon pals, should they decide to show up and go all Rambo on our asses?”

  “It is possible. The bodies they occupy will be as vulnerable as any other human. Kill them, and the inhabiting spirit will return to Hell.”

  “So what you're saying is, we'd have to slaughter a bunch of innocent people.”

  “Not necessarily. I suppose you could find some other way to subdue them. Long enough to escape, perhaps. Or to perform the ritual of exorcism.”

  “Ri-i-ight.” The wheels are turning inside Russell's head, and I wonder what he's contemplating. Given our father's history, you might assume that one or both of us would know a thing or two about exorcising evil spirits. Nothing could be further from the truth. For the most part, we were shielded from that part of his life.

  As for Russ, I don't think he's even set foot inside a church since the double funeral that rocked our small town.

  Funny. We spent every Sunday morning sitting next to our mother, squirming on the hard wooden pews of the tiny Methodist church. Trying our best to behave and pay attention while Dad delivered his weekly sermon. It was as much a part of our lives as school and six o-clock dinners and summer vacation campouts.

  But after the murders, the only thing either of us saw in that little white frame church was one heartbreaking eulogy. And two brass caskets blanketed in roses, carnations and ivy. I only went back a few times after that. Russ, never.

  “One more question,” he persists. “Did you have anything to do with what happened to my parents?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who was responsible?”

  “No.”

  “You have no idea which one of your demon cronies murdered them?”

  “No.”

  Wait. No?

  I jolt to attention, my mind scrambling in an effort to put together pieces that don't fit. No? He doesn't know who was responsible? That isn't what he told me. Far from it. So either he made up that whole story about Belphegor being the culprit, or...

  ...or he's lying now.

  And if he's lying now, then we can't believe a word of any of this.

  “I think we're done here.” Russ slides down off the table, his mouth set in a grim line. “Nice talking to you, sporto. Oh, and for the record, you should know that I may consider letting you make that collect call to Hell. If it'll get us the information we need. But you might want to rethink getting your friends involved. I'd kill you long before any of them had a chance to find their way here. And believe me when I tell you, I'm really going to enjoy watching you die.”

  Abruptly, he turns his back and storms off with an air of melodrama, leaving me and Max to stand there looking at one another uncertainly.

  Clearing his throat, Max shifts from one foot to the other. “Well. Ah...I guess that about covered it, don't you think? I can't really think of anything else. Can you?”

  “We could always do this again if need be,” I point out.

  “True.” He glances at Locryn before looking away quickly, as if the very sight of the cambion is making him uncomfortable. “Anything you want to ask him?”

  I shake my head wordlessly. Oh yes, there are a million things I want to ask him, but that can wait until later. I can't bear to look into those dead, empty eyes any longer.

  “Come on. Let's get out of here.” Touching my elbow lightly, Max guides me away from the long farmhouse table that's become so familiar to me. I follow him up the stairs, pausing for only a fraction of a second to look back over my shoulder.

  The eyes that just moments ago were glazed over with white are now as clear as a bright blue sky.

  One corner of Locryn's mouth curves up as he looks straight at me and winks.

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter Fourteen

  We've just been played like a fiddle.

  The guys are blissfully unaware of this fact. Armed with an arsenal of useless knowledge, they're convened in the living room right now, debating which course of action to take next. Russ, naturally, is all gung-ho to jump in with both feet, whatever the outcome. His reasoning is that we'll find a way to deal with the potential fallout later. He's become a man obsessed. I'm not heartless, I understand that he's desperate to save his girlfriend, but if you ask me he's not thinking clearly. And hasn't been from the start.

  Max, being the more levelheaded one, is trying to convince him to slow down and weigh every option. To look for a more rational approach. He fears, and not illogically, that Russell's impulsive actions are going to get us all killed.

  As for myself, I'm barely even paying attention to the conversation anymore. What's the point? I don't know how many of the details provided were accurate, if any at all. The accountant in me knows that it's a waste of time trying to find a solution using bogus data.

  The guilt is weighing on me. For not saying anything. For letting them falsely believe they stand half a chance. It seems almost cruel. Even though I started out with the best of intentions, or at least that's what I'm trying to tell myself, what I'm doing is deceitful. It's gotten all twisted somehow. Warped. And so far, I don't have a thing to show for it.

  I have to come clean and tell them everything I know. Fill them in on what little I've managed to learn. Right down to the last detail.

  Tomorrow.

  But first, I plan to confront Loc and find out just what the hell he's trying to pull. Decide for myself whether he ever had any intention of furnishing the truth, or whether he's just been stringing me along as well. I'm tired of playing his games. This has all gotten way out of hand. One way or another, it has to end.

  Angling for an excuse to leave, I offer to drive into town and get us all some Chinese takeout for dinner. I need some fresh air. A few minutes alone to clear my head. To not have to think about any of this for a while.

  The momentary re
prieve helps, some. Cranking up the car radio, I roll down the window and drive with the crisp November wind in my hair, losing myself in some Aerosmith.

  It's at the Gas 'n Go on Main Street, while I'm propped against the side of my car filling the tank with unleaded, that I see him.

  I don't think much of it at first. He's just a fixture off in the distance. A tall, thin man coming out of a liquor store two buildings down the street. Really, the only reason I notice him at all is because of the elegant way he's dressed. Three-piece suits aren't the norm around here, unless you're headed to a wedding or a funeral.

  I scan the area around me absently, more out of boredom than anything, just killing time waiting for the pump to kick off. But for some reason my gaze is drawn back to the thin man.

  He is no longer in front of the liquor store.

  Instead, he's standing just beneath a street light between the convenience store and the auto parts place next door, casually lighting up a cigarette.

  How did he move that far, that quickly?

  I don't know what it is, but there's something about the gaunt figure that sends prickles down my spine. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because he's wearing dark shades, in spite of the fact that it's eight o'clock and the sun has long since set. Being a classic music buff, I know Corey Hart made it trendy for a while back in the eighties, but this ain't the eighties and wearing sunglasses at night is just...

  Well, it's weird.

  He doesn't do anything particularly concerning, per se. Just stands there dragging on his cigarette. But even with the shades concealing his eyes, I get the impression that he's staring straight at me. It's probably just paranoia. I'm a young woman alone at night, and strange men lurking about are definitely something to be wary of.

  Feeling a sudden chill, I use one hand to pull my windbreaker more tightly around me. The night air is cold.

  The automatic shut-off clicks, and I quickly remove the nozzle and shove it back into the pump's holster. I almost drop the gas cap in my haste to get it screwed back on. The sooner I'm locked in my car and away from here, the better.