My aim was terrible.
I could blame a number of factors: my concern for Regina, sweaty hands, my completely reasonable fear of demons, a lack of experience in live-fire scenarios. I was still more than thirty feet away and I’d aimed high, subconsciously afraid of hitting Regina with a stray. I fired rapidly, giving myself no chance to correct for the recoil.
Still... there was no excuse for fifteen shots and only four hits.
A bloody mist erupted from Oliver’s shoulder and thigh while a spray of cement dust and bits of cinderblock rained down from the wall several paces behind him. Shots to the chest and abdomen quickly darkened his grungy hoodie, the force sending him backward.
He fell over his heels, bending maladroitly. The obsidian and brass knife twirled out of his hands and shattered on the ground to the right. Oliver’s arms bounced off the ground and his head lolled to one side. My heart pounded for a few seconds before I lowered my empty gun and hurried forward.
In a more serene state of mind, I might have acted differently, but I heedlessly crossed through the invisible, intangible planes of magical energy created by the complex sigil drawn on the floor to reach Regina. She stared up at me tearfully as I reached her side. Kneeling, I holstered my Glock and fumbled my multi-tool out to cut her loose.
The serrated blade chewed through the nylon rope, quickly freeing one of her hands. I immediately shuffled around to work on the other while she tore at the dirty gag. In my peripheral, I noticed Oliver’s foot twitching. That wasn’t something they showed on TV.
Regina got the gag off just as I severed the second binding. “W-what’s going on?”
I gritted my teeth at her terrified and hoarse voice. She must have screamed for hours while locked in the Civic’s trunk, wondering what she’d done to deserve this. I had no way of explaining anything to her at that moment.
Swirling auras of mystical energy set my nerves on fire with unease bordering on panic. Stopping the ritual prematurely or disturbing the sigil—probably some combination of the two—had unintended consequences. Whatever the result, I was sure we didn’t want to stick around.
“It’s okay,” I lied as soothingly as I could, having no idea what the maelstrom of magical energy might do. I cut the rope tied to one of her ankles. “Let’s get you out of here. It’s over.”
If I could get her clear of the building, maybe we would be alright. No sacrifice, no soul to crack open the mortal realm and expose it to the Outworld. Time was certainly a factor, so I hurriedly moved to the only remaining tether.
“It’s not over,” rasped an inhuman voice out of Oliver’s mouth.
I nearly jumped out of my skin as Oliver’s head snapped up to regard me with solid black eyes. I cursed vehemently and dropped my knife in shock. Regina screamed but had the presence of mind to snatch up the blade and start sawing at the last binding around her ankle.
Pulling out my gun, I squeezed the trigger... with no effect. Still empty, you idiot! I berated myself. Shaking from adrenaline and fear, reloading proved incredibly difficult, especially when I refused to take my eyes off the possessed man.
“I will feast on your flesh!” Berith roared with a combination of it and Oliver’s voice, the man’s lips spread to bare his teeth in a vicious display.
Psychotic grin fading, he threw his head back, thick gray smoke erupting from his nose and mouth. Oliver spasmed as his possessor freed itself. I saw gaseous claws stretching out, reaching up to the maelstrom of whirling dirt and mystical energies. It wanted something desperately enough to leave its host, its only physical form on the mortal world.
The Gate spell had failed, though not gracefully. Bryce had warned me about that, about how the resulting chaotic energy could be dangerous. He hadn’t said how though exactly. I thought I was about to find out.
My hair stood on end as miniature arcs of emerald lightning crackled down randomly from the rafters. All the magical energy gathered for the Gate had no outlet. A vortex of dust and fog formed over the summoning circle, spinning rapidly.
The spiritual essence of the demon writhed wildly as it left the wounded body behind. In horror, I realized what it was after. The demon wanted a fresh body.
I didn’t know much about possession, despite my status as a warlock. If Father Miller ever spoke to me again, maybe he would shed some light. I wondered if he’d preside over my funeral after what I’d put him through.
Don’t be an idiot, I told myself. Nobody’s going to bury you during the apocalypse.
Regardless of my ignorance in such matters, I could be sure of one thing. I didn’t want Regina anywhere near a rampaging demon spirit looking for a new body. I couldn’t handle it if Berith possessed her and used her against me.
“Come on!” I screamed, helping Regina to her feet as she finally cut through the rope. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Quickly holstering my Glock, I fumbled a hand into my coat pocket to grasp Regina’s pendant. Wincing as it burned my skin, I press the symbol of faith into her shaking hands. “Put this on as soon as you can. Now, go!”
Gaping incredulously, Regina moved as quickly as her stiff, exhausted legs allowed, her arms held out for balance. I returned my full attention to the swirling Exiled spirit and backed away slowly. I twisted my ankle and stumbled as my heel came down on a rounded onyx runestone, barely managing to keep my feet under me.
Oliver went still as the mist finished exiting his body. I expected it to go racing after Regina. Instead, the vapor spiraled up in a column over the center of the summoning circle amid the flashes of lightning. The bolts were too small for thunder, instead snapping loudly.
I stared, my mind desperately trying to figure out what I saw. The only fact I was sure of was that I’d missed some key piece of information. What the hell is Berith doing?
The swirling vortex of chaotic magic gained speed, lifting dust and trash from around the factory floor. I raised a hand to shield my eyes. The smoky, incorporeal form of the demon floated in the eye of the small storm.
Though transparent, the roiling gas more or less congealed into the shape of the Exiled responsible for this whole debacle. My stomach fluttered as the ambient energy switched frequency. The realization hit me in the stomach like a sucker punch.
The Gate spell had two distinct parts. The first phase used a sacrifice to create a stable rupture between the Outworld and Earth, a conduit capable of sustaining the transport of countless demons. Essentially, it was a mega-version of the same ritual by which I summoned a fraction of the essence of the demon Ipos.
But the difference of the Gate spell was giving the demons form—bodies with which to wreak destruction. I had disrupted the first part of the ritual, but Berith had somehow completed the second. The demon didn’t need Regina to host it. It had salvaged enough of the ruined spell to make its own vessel.
I became aware of Regina in my peripheral vision. She stared in a mix of disbelief, confusion, and fear. Seeing my own feelings reflected in her face forced me to work past them. I opened my mouth to tell her to run once again, but a surge of magical energy drew my attention back to Berith.
The vaporous form solidified at each place the sickly green lightning hit. Half tangible, the bizarre mix of reptile and insect roared. In a flash of emerald light, the rest of the body filled out, leaving a hulking beast a few dozen feet from Regina and me.
There was a moment of silence as I gaped. Eight red orbs with black slits for pupils stared at me and I forget everything but the sheer primal terror that its eyes evoked. This was the real deal and I had no aces up my sleeve.
I snatched my keys out of my pants pocket and ran over to Regina. “Take these and get out of here! Just get as far away as possible!”
She stared dumbly for a moment before complying. I watched her dash away and desperately wanted to run after her. But if I did, the demon would just chase us both down. I had to stand my ground.
I locked onto that idea with the sort of desperation that bypassed my r
ational mind. If I could just hold on a little longer, I’d be fine. Someone would come help me; an archangel or Fallen lord or... someone. When hell freezes over.
Plates of chitin covered the newly formed demon and it waved a barbed tail around idly. A multi-part jaw opened to reveal dozens of tiny mandibles that each ended in a serrated fang. No pact protected me from this creature or the razor-like talons at the end of its fingers. No magic circle stood between me and the ire of that foul creature.
I was ready to wet myself.
I came to the cold, hard realization that I was on my own. If I didn’t want to be ripped apart by Berith in the next few seconds, I had to do something about it. I clenched my jaw and stared at my foe, trying to summon enough anger to overcome my fear.
The demon rolled its shoulders and stretched its long clawed fingers. The brief test of its new body was the only reprieve I got. Eight eyes glared at me, blinking at different times. A sinuous black tongue dangled from its mouth lazily, dripping vile slime.
Just then, the metallic boom of a door being slammed open echoed through the factory floor. Regina had made her escape. Berith turned and I could almost hear the demon’s thoughts as it considered going after her. If it wanted to try another Gate spell, it still needed a sacrifice.
That was the push I needed to tip my emotional scale from fear to anger. There was no way I was going to let Berith take her again. But if I was going to do anything to the hulking creature, I’d need one of the most universal and primal weapons: fire.
I stood close to my duffle bag, so I stepped quickly while Berith was distracted by Regina’s escape. I knelt down and ripped open the accident kit. Pushing most of the contents aside, I found the quart of motor oil I’d used earlier. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
I twisted the cap off and slammed the plastic container on the ground on its side, sliding it across the smooth concrete like some weird game of shuffleboard. Oil gushed out of the spout and pooled when the quart came to a rest. With a shaking hand, I reached into my pocket for my trusty Zippo.
With terrified caution, I struck it to produce an orange and blue flame. Taking a deep breath, I dropped the lighter into the oil and stood. In my left hand, my gun felt like a fifty pound dumbbell.
The oil caught fire, though it wasn’t anything spectacular. I could have walked faster than it spread and the flames didn’t even reach as high as my ankle. As a barrier, it left much to be desired. But in the presence of a warlock, the humble trail of orange fire was lethal. And Berith knew it. The flames might only last a minute, but the ploy would buy Regina enough time to get to my car and get away. If I achieved nothing else, I could go to Hell knowing that much.
The fire garnered the attention of the great fiend and it faced me. I could feel the anger and hatred radiating off the demon like a fetid furnace. Ridges on its torso shuddered and broke away to reveal four additional arms, each trailing strands of mucus. It stretched out all six arms and fanned its claws.
With the fearsome display, I expected some speech about the fate of my eternal soul.
Instead the creature leaned forward and roared. The unleashed sound vibrated my chest and reminded me of Jurassic Park. Then Berith lunged at me with incredible speed. Black claws bit into the cement and powerful legs pivoted counter-clockwise, whipping its morningstar-like tail at me.
I dove over the steadily diminishing line of flame into a surprisingly agile roll. Without looking, I willed my warlock power into the fire, transforming it into a curtain of hellfire that jumped off the ground hungrily. I came up into a crouched position just as scarlet light erupted.
The flames jetted up and latched onto Berith eagerly just as its tail collided with me.
Luckily, I hadn’t jumped far enough away to put me at the spiky end of the tail. Instead, the thigh-thick portion just below the spiny end slapped me across the chest with the force of an entire baseball team attempting home runs. I went airborne for a brief moment before hitting a cinderblock wall.
I bounced hard and landed on my face, the taste of stale dust and hot blood in my mouth. I remembered how to breathe after several moments. When I finally got some air into my lungs, sharp pains stabbed me across my chest and back in a dozen places.
Dazed, I coughed up blood and tried to get to my knees. I ended up writhing around on the ground, but it brought Berith into my blurred field of vision. In what I assumed was a lapse of sanity, I grinned fiercely.
The Exiled beast roared in anguish as crimson flames spread on its tail where the appendage crossed the line of hellfire. But my satisfaction was short-lived. Using its multiple arms, Berith thrashed at the base of its tail and yanked on the end, tearing it from its body without a second thought.
The demon flung the severed tail aside and glared at me, eyes burning with vicious hate.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I hurt badly, muffled whimpers escaping with each breath. Certain that several ribs were broken, I tasted blood in my mouth. It dribbled out and down my chin. I spread my lips in a grisly smile that Berith couldn’t see.
Finished dismembering its own tail, Berith stalked around the rapidly waning line of fire, watching me. The sheer enjoyment of my suffering and its triumph invigorated the beast. Apparently, rending off one on its limbs was naught but a minor inconvenience to the Exiled creature.
Physically unable to move, I knew I was done for. Part of me sought comforting thoughts. I gave it my all. I stopped the ritual. Regina got out. I sort of won. But I was headed for Hell after whatever tortuous death the demon gave me. To see good ol’ Ally.
My heart skipped a beat. That was the answer. I had a chance.
Alastor, I called desperately. I need your help.
Time seemed to slow, the beats of my pounding heart stretching out. Berith paused midstride, the swirling dust and dancing flames coming to a halt. My patron answered my plea and altered my perception of time to give us an opportunity to chat.
Pulled by my patron, I receded within my own mind into an illusionary dreamscape that resembled my living room with the image of Berith frozen on my TV as if I’d paused my VCR. Suddenly, I was standing between the TV and my sofa. Turning slowly, I noticed the cracks in the drywall and broken windows. The ceiling sagged ominously.
My patron sat on my black leather sofa, one cloven hoof propped up on a knee. With its wings absent, it lounged comfortably, one scarlet skinned arm draped over the back of the couch. “You beckon me once again when I have nothing to offer.”
Sick of that bullshit, I replied, “You mean you have nothing you’re willing to offer for free. You want another bargain.”
The Fallen were really into the whole survival of the fittest thing. As someone who typically worked as part of a team, I didn’t subscribe to that philosophy. Waving a hand at the TV screen, I said, “I need some help here. This demon is going to kill me. Give me something.”
“I have given you all I ever will,” Alastor said with disdain. “If you want something from me, pay the price for it or take it. Earn your power, thrall.”
“Pay for it? What do you even want?”
The Fallen made a show of rising to his feet. Though his bizarre features only vaguely resembled a human, I got a sense of strained patience. He said nothing as he walked to the window, clawed hands clasped behind his back.
I paced about, glancing at the TV screen. It didn’t look like Berith had gotten any closer, but I didn’t want to waste more time. My patron had restored my broken body before. I needed the power and I needed it immediately.
Alastor finally spoke, sounding as if he was thinking aloud. “I want what I’ve always wanted from you. A capable thrall. You’ve been rather lackluster as a warlock. Would an infusion of power even help you?”
My harsh retort died on my lips. He was right and I hated him for it. If I hadn’t ignored and denied the supernatural, I would have been better off. I might have even stopped Berith before he had gotten so far.
“I’m going to die.” M
y stomach churned uncomfortably. “That’s not some melodramatic complaint. I can’t move. I don’t know if a power boost will save me, but it’s not going to hurt my chances.”
Alastor frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose you need access to my Aspect, at least for a short time. That and a flood of my power ought to get you on your feet.”
“Good! Let me end this fight. I can win,” I said with far more conviction than I felt. “One solid hit with some hellfire—”
“But you aren’t offering me anything,” Alastor interrupted. “That’s how these things work. I offer something. You propose a payment.”
I stared incredulously. “I don’t have… What can I do? I…”
“Make your offer quickly, thrall,” Alastor said. “I cannot hold you in this mental stasis forever.”
I was going to die and it terrified me. Alastor had the solution for me. I just couldn’t pay for it. If I didn’t agree to some sort of deal, I’d be dead mere moments after returning to my body. What choice did I have?
“I’ll play your game,” I said, “Be a good little warlock. I’ll practice with my powers. I’ll study up on magic. I’ll keep tabs on the supernatural community. I won’t half-ass it anymore.”
“And in exchange, I will give you the strength you need to finish your spat,” Alastor clarified. “Very well. I agree to your terms.”
“What, that’s it? No haggling? You’re just going to take my word for it?”
Alastor laughed. “Landon, I know you. To the marrow of your bones. To the deepest recesses of your mind. To the core of your soul. I know you and I know what you’re going to do. By your nature, you will uphold this bargain.
“So, yes. I’ll take your word for it. As you are so fond of sports metaphors, I will put it this way. All I want is for you to get your head in the game and give it a hundred and ten percent. After what’s happened to you, I doubt you do anything else. Assuming you survive.”
Graves Pact (Landon Graves Book 1) Page 21
