Holy Socks And Dirtier Demons

by J. A. Kazimer

  skin; however, I was far from cold. I fisted my hand in her hair and lifted her

  head to meet my eyes.

  “We don’t have much time.” She raked her nails down my chest.

  Yellow eyes flaming orange as her breath turned shallow, lungs straining

  against her rib cage.

  “It doesn’t take me much time at all.” I traced my fingers along each

  rib. Somewhere in the back of my head, it registered that she was short one

  rib, but it hardly mattered now.

  From years of practice, I unhooked her black bra, freeing her breasts

  and flinging the contraption into the front seat. It hit the dashboard with a

  ping.

  “You do have skills.” Lilith straddled me, tugging my jeans to my

  knees. The boxers came off next, as did the skin-tight cargo pants clinging to

  her toned legs.

  I released a harsh breath. “I’m good with my hands.” And I began to

  prove my claim.

  She sucked in a breath, letting out a moan. “Condom. Now.”

  “Right. Jean. Pocket.”

  Her hand plunged into the aforementioned pocket, and pulled out a

  breath mint, two cents, and the Holy Grail, an unopened foil packet.

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  “Thank God,” she grunted.

  “Let’s not bring Him into it.” I stroked her with the pad of my thumb.

  Her face tightened. Jackpot. I captured her mouth, and finished the job.

  Seconds later, she screamed and a bright white light exploded from

  the center of her chest. I closed my eyes against the glare, which lasted for

  thirty seconds before dimming to a yellowish glow. She collapsed on top of

  me, smashing my nose in the process.

  “We’re not finished yet,” I said as my teeth shredded the condom

  package.

  Lilith’s cell phone blared: Please allow me to introduce myself...’

  Sympathy for the Devil. Funny.

  “Shit.” Lilith climbed over me toward the front seat, and her jacket.

  She flipped open the phone. “What?”

  I kissed the back of her knee, running my tongue down the tendons.

  She kicked me in the jaw and crawled out of the driver’s side door. Naked. In

  the snow.

  My head dropped against the itchy carpet of the hatchback. Cold air

  swirled inside the open door, and parts of me began to regret the invention of

  cell phones and wintertime.

  Lilith stuck her head back inside and reached for her pants. “Get

  dressed.”

  The tone of her voice left me cold. “What happened?”

  She turned her back to me. “They found a child’s body. A crucified

  child.”

  82

  Twenty Three

  We drove the forty minutes from Coney Island to The Clinton in

  silence, a painful, regret-filled quiet that widened the wedge between us.

  My stomach rolled as I pictured the kid’s last seconds of life. While I

  was getting my rocks off, he was stapled to a pile of wood. Some fucking

  protector I was. An ache grew under my breastbone. I rubbed at it, but it

  refused to ease.

  Rage swamped my grief. White-hot, self-destructive rage. My body

  vibrated with it. I would hunt down his killers, and they would discover the

  meaning of hell.

  “Stop it.” Lilith cranked the wheel of the Gremlin as Trfying to

  escape the automobile, Tyrfing, my newly purchased sword, shot from the

  hatchback, missed Lilith by millimeters, and embedded itself in the

  dashboard. The Gremlin let out a groan, and carbon dioxide poured from the

  wound and into the interior.

  Lilith turned to glare at me. “Damn it, Jace. Control your tempter

  before you kill one of us.”

  What the hell was she talking about? “I didn’t do that.”

  “Yes you did.” She hauled the Gremlin to the curb, pulled the sleeve

  of her jacket over her hand, and heaved Tyrfing from the dash. “This sword,”

  she rattled it at me, “slays the possessor’s enemies. It feeds off your anger.

  Basically, it stabs whoever ticks you off. Whether they die or not depends on

  how angry you are.”

  “That’s why it stabbed Dante.” I nodded. Not a bad weapon.

  “But didn’t kill him. You were annoyed, not homicidal. But you must

  be very careful.” She dropped the sword into the backseat. “Tyrfing doesn’t

  discriminate between passionate anger, and a killing rage.”

  “What else don’t I know?” I shook my head. God had entrusted the

  wrong man to protect his son.

  Lilith’s eyes softened. “I’m so sorry, Jace. You never asked for any

  of this.”

  “Save your pity,” I cracked my knuckles, “for the bastards who killed

  the kid.” A hum echoed from the backseat, as Tyrfing readied itself for

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  battle.

  “Jace, please.” She touched my arm. Fear radiated from her. The

  scent of it heightened the predator instinct inside me.

  Kill. Destroy. “Don’t get in my way.” Her eyes widened and wetness

  swelled at the edges. I took a deep breath, softening my warning. “I don’t

  want you to get hurt.”

  ~ * ~

  Lights flashed, blue and red, off pools of melting snow. Cops

  directed traffic past the small church on the corner of W. 49th Street. St.

  Malachy’s church. The saint of prophesies. The church for actors. Douglas

  Fairbanks married Joan Crawford within its stone walls. Had the sainted

  Malachy predicted that?

  Lilith stopped the Gremlin a block from the yellow crime scene tape.

  She touched my hand with icy fingers. “You don’t have to come with me.”

  Yeah, I did. I shot her a sad smile, opened my car door, and stepped

  into the frigid night.

  The church hid between skyscrapers and landmarks. Its steeple

  welcomed the faithful, but not this night. I patted my nine-millimeter and

  stepped under the crime scene tape. A brown-skinned cop held up a hand to

  stop me, but I shoved him aside.

  “Hey, buddy.” The cop charged me, his hand hovering over the gun

  tucked safely in its holster. With a glance, Lilith froze him in place much as

  she’d done to Hades the night before. She whispered to him, “Now is not the

  time.”

  The cop gurgled with what I assumed to be agreement, and Lilith and

  I disappeared inside. Entering the church, I half expected her to burst into

  flames, but not even a hair on her head appeared out of place.

  “It’s not like in the books,” she said, reading my thoughts.

  I nodded, but a white sheet draped over the wooden cross at the alter

  drew my attention. I raised my eyes to heaven and cursed. I cursed God, who

  sacrificed his son twice. I cursed the bastards who killed an innocent child.

  And I cursed myself. The kid had trusted me and I let him down. What kind

  of man failed a child? I was no better than the man who’d fathered me and

  walked away.

  I pictured the kid’s chubby cheeks, and his random ‘miracles’ like

  making his pooh dance in the toilet during potty training, or raising fleas

  from the dead after I bug bombed the apartment. I’d miss him.

  A plainclothes detective stepped in front of me, snapping me from

  my memories. She wore an ugly blue suit with wide shoulder pads and a

  butch h
aircut. Her demeanor screamed cop, but her clothes yelled for a dry

  cleaner. Her eyes drifted past me, to Lilith, and back to me. “You can’t be in

  here,” she said.

  “He’s his guardian.” Lilith gestured to the wooden cross.

  The detective raised an eyebrow. “Really? Is that what they call it?”

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  Lilith frowned at the woman, but I ignored her. Instead, I walked

  toward the cross. My stomach knotted. I wanted to puke, to rid myself of the

  grief and guilt. Bile crawled up my throat, an acidy burn that stayed with me

  even as I swallowed it down.

  Gripping the edge of the sheet, I closed my eyes and took a deep

  breath. The fabric felt rough, prickly against my fingertips. It was an

  unworthy blanket for the kid underneath.

  Lifting the edge, I peered at the body of God’s only son, and started

  to laugh. I couldn’t help it. Mirth bubbled from deep inside me, exploding

  from my lungs with gales of laughter.

  Catching my breath, I peeked under the sheet just to make sure. Yep,

  a two-foot, transvestite Chinese hooker dressed in black leather and holding a

  riding crop stared back at me. His dead eyes twinkled like twin black holes.

  As suddenly as my laughter started, it died at the sight of the black

  book in his hand. My Bible. The one I’d left on the street the night before. I

  glanced around the church. Was this a warning? Or a setup?

  “Are you all right, Jace?” Lilith stroked my shoulder as if I’d lost my

  mind. Was she offering me comfort or looking for a place to stick a knife?

  Was my paranoia showing?

  No, I wasn’t okay but now was not the time to discuss it. Relief

  warred with my growing paranoia. Wherever I went, an unknown force

  followed, always one step ahead of me. I shook my head, and motioned to

  the Bible in the dead guy’s hand. Lilith’s eyes widened and she let out a

  small gasp.

  The detective shot us a questioning look. Shit, it was time to go. I

  reached for Lilith’s hand and headed toward the front doors. For once, she

  didn’t argue but meekly followed my lead.

  “Wait.” The detective held up a hand to stop us. “I need to see some

  identification.”

  “Now would be a good time to use that freezing thing,” I whispered

  to Lilith out of the corner of my mouth.

  She winced. “I can’t. Hallowed ground.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. I turned to smile at the detective. “I lost my wallet.”

  She rubbed her chin. “You look a little like a suspect we’re looking

  for. Jace Miller? He’s traveling with a black haired woman with tattoos.”

  “Really?” A wrinkle arched in my forehead. “Can’t say I’ve seen

  them.”

  She pulled out a pair of thick steel bracelets. “Mr. Miller, you’re

  under arrest for murder.”

  “What?” I backed up a step. “Of who?”

  The detective smirked. “The man founded incinerated inside your

  apartment, and your girlfriend’s,” she waved to Lilith, “ex-husband, the

  reverend Adam Just.”

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  Twenty Four

  Lilith’s eyes flashed to mine. “Did you really kill Adam?” She

  stepped between the detective and me, and gave me a hard shove.

  “Hell, no.” I pushed her back, and she, arms flailing, fell into the

  detective. The impact knocked the shorter woman to the floor. Her eyes

  rolled around like dice in her head before settling on snake eyes.

  “I’m so sorry.” Lilith reached to help the woman up, but instead of

  assisting her managed to take the detective’s handcuffs, and shackle her to

  the nearest pew.

  “Time to go.” Grinning, I grabbed Lilith’s hand and we ran for the

  front doors. Lilith frowned, but didn’t slow her steps. “And just when things

  started to get fun.”

  We flew down the church steps, pushing through the crime scene

  tape and across the street before anyone tried to stop us.

  The buzz of a taser sparked to life behind us. “Stop or I will be

  forced to apply non-lethal force in the form of a taser. A taser is a handheld

  electrical device that propels twin prongs into the skin of the person of

  interest. These prongs act as conductors to a specified amount, the amount is

  adjusted in accordance with the state and local regulations, of electricity or

  volts, if you will. Following application, you, as the person of interest will be

  rendered…”

  I glanced back, eyeing the same cop I had assaulted earlier. He

  readied his taser while reading off a list of warnings and side effects. “A taser

  can cause burns, epilepsy, and even death. It should not be used on persons

  who are pregnant or may become pregnant.” He flipped the card over.

  “Occasionally an erection lasting four or more hours can occur.” He paused

  before reading further. Lilith and I stopped running, and stood waiting for the

  poor guy to finish.

  “The use of the taser does not imply guilt. By acknowledging the

  taser warning, you agree to forgo all legal right to sue the NYPD, or any of

  its subsidiaries, for any and all harm perpetrated by your tasing. Do you

  understand these warnings as I have just read them?” The cop looked

  expectantly at me.

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  I shrugged. “I do?”

  He nodded and aimed the taser. I wasn’t stupid, so I took off again,

  running at full steam to the Gremlin parked a hundred feet ahead. Fifty feet.

  Ten.

  The buzz of electricity sent chills up my spine, but I didn’t feel

  anything. No zap of pain. No frequent burning or irritation. Nothing.

  Ahead of me, Lilith stopped, and my momentum carried me over the

  top of her. “Look,” she said, pointing to the cop. My eyes followed her finger

  to the cop, who stood in the middle of the street covered in burnt angel

  feathers. The angel, his face black with rage, hovered a few feet off the

  ground berating the poor officer.

  “I should smite you.” The angel wagged a wing at the horrified

  policeman.

  “Ummm… Angel?” I cleared my throat. “No smiting. Pick up

  your—” I pointed to the feathers on the ground “—stuffing and let’s get the

  hell out of here.”

  He glared at me, but did as I ordered; scooping up bits of burnt angel,

  licking it, and sticking it back on. The cop bent over to help, and together,

  they glued most of his feathers in place.

  “Sorry about that,” the cop muttered. “They warned us in the

  academy never to use a taser on a bird.”

  ~ * ~

  I stretched out on Lilith’s white sheeted bed and stared at her white

  painted ceiling. Her entire apartment lacked color with its white walls, white

  furniture, and white cat, a white cat currently chewing on a napping angel’s

  wing.

  “Bodhi, no.” Lilith waved the cat away. “If you get an angel ball

  mommy will be mad.”

  The cat hissed, swatted at Lilith’s hand, and scampered off. To do

  what, I wasn’t sure, but I planned to sleep with one eye open just in case. The

  cat all but purred pure evil.

  “What’s with the white?” I turned on my side to watch Lilith. She

  was making up a spot
on the couch for me to sleep, but I had other ideas.

  Tossing a pillow on the cushion, she said, “I like white.”

  “Okay, but why?” I chuckled. “Aren’t you supposed to decorate in

  sacrificial blood and black leather?”

  “You’re one to talk.” She fluffed the pillow, and added a blanket. A

  white blanket. “The best decorating ever done to your place was a three

  alarm fire.”

  “Started by you, by the way.”

  She shot me a dirty look. “Was not.”

  “Was too, but I’m not going to argue the point. I do, however, have

  to ask.” I sucked in a breath. “What the fuck was Adam doing in my bed?”

  “You’re irresistible?” She sauntered toward me, running her hand

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  across her colorless comforter. “He couldn’t control himself?”

  “That’s a given.” I reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “But

  why was he there? Did he know something about the kid?”

  Lilith sat on the edge of the bed. Not close enough to touch, but the

  scent of her tickled my lust. She gave me a measured look. “I don’t know.

  And your Bible, how did it wind up in a dead hooker’s hand?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Not how you think.”

  “Maybe we’re going at this all wrong.”

  Frowning, I said, “How so?”

  “Instead of searching for J.C., why don’t we make him come to us?”

  “And how do you suppose we do that?” I crawled across the bed, my

  hands and knees sinking into the softness.

  “He does like to raise things from the dead...”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Jace. It will be fun.”

  “Fun? ” I grabbed her shoulder and knocked her back onto the bed.

  “Killing me does not sound like fun.”

  With a laugh, she said, “It does to me.”

  88

  Twenty Five

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” a priest said as the first clumps of

  Earth crashed against the coffin. My body lay inside, choking on wood chips

  and dirt. A chorus of amens and wailing followed. The wailing came from

  my mom, and the amens from Lilith. Sweet Mary and the angel rounded out

  the attendees at my mock funeral.

  The angel, too busy comparing himself to the statue of an angel on

  the grave next door, failed to respond to my death glares from the cloud