by Debra Dunbar
“Spiderman can’t keep us safe from the bad man who cuts off ears,” he told me somberly, waving the plastic superhero he clutched in his hand. “The green cat with six legs captured Batman and is torturing him, but there is no one to protect us from the ear man.”
“I don’t know what Miguel has been letting him watch on TV,” Mrs. Perez lamented. It’s no wonder he’s waking up with nightmares, all this talk about ears being cut off and torturing.”
“I will keep you safe,” I assured the little boy. “I won’t let anyone cut off your ears. Ear man quakes in fear at the mention of my name. You tell him I’m coming for him.” Maybe that would help this cute little kid sleep at night.
The plumber struggled to his feet and heaved the toilet from the floor, laying it on its side in the tiny bathroom. The smell of raw sewage wafted up from the exposed pipe. Shining a flashlight, he peered down into the depths.
“The ear man took Patsy. He took Pancake Joe. Soon he’ll start taking us, too.”
“Angelo,” Mrs. Perez scolded.
She shook her head at me. “A couple of the local homeless have gone missing. It happens. They wind up in jail, their families stick them in rehab, or they find another spot and move. I don’t know where he is getting this fantastic story of someone nabbing them and cutting off their ears.”
“The cat told me,” Angelo insisted. “The green cat with six legs. She sees everything. She is a ghost.”
A ghost cat. And an ear-obsessed serial killer that would put Ted Bundy to shame. Human children had the best imaginations.
Angelo turned to me. “Will you really protect us? Protect me? I don’t want him to cut off my ears.” Faith shone from his dark eyes.
Something roared from deep inside me and the world narrowed to nothing but the trust in those dark eyes. His life was in my hands. I’d just vowed it. Mine. He was mine and I trembled with fury at the thought that another would dare try and take what I claimed.
I shook my head to try and rid myself of the feeling. I’d lied so he’d feel safe and not have nightmares. It was a lie, not a vow. I was a demon. It’s not like I was going to start beating up playground bullies all over town, let alone go chasing down a ghost and some guy with an ear fetish.
“A-ha,” exclaimed the plumber triumphantly, forestalling any further conversation on this intriguing serial killer, the extra-limbed feline ghost, and my personal responsibility to defend the city.
The plumber was bent over the toilet, flashing us at least fifty percent of his posterior as he yanked on something stuck within the labyrinth depths of the porcelain bowl. Finally, with a large amount of jiggling flesh, he withdrew a twisted black object.
“I do not want to piss off the six-legged, green cat ghost if this is her idea of torture,” I commented, staring at the mangled plastic Batman figure.
Angelo squealed and rushed to grab the toy. “You saved him! Batman has escaped.”
“Oh no!” His mother held him back by his shirt collar. “We are throwing that thing away. Unfortunately, Batman did not survive his torture of being drowned in pee and poop.”
Her pronouncement triggered a flood of tears from Angelo who threw himself on the ground, devastated at the tragic loss of such a heroic character. Faced with such inconsolable grief, Mrs. Perez had the plumber place Batman in an old saucepan where he would be hopefully boiled clean. Or perhaps forgotten long enough to obtain a replacement.
Pale with the thought of the cost, Mrs. Perez assured me she would pay for the plumbing fee since this clearly fell under her lease as a repair she was liable for. I had no intention of sending her the bill. Such entertainment was well worth the money. I even slipped Angelo a twenty to assist with the costs of Batman’s recovery. He’d certainly need a good therapist after that ordeal.
I was so happy to see Wyatt in my kitchen when I’d arrived home. He wrinkled his nose at me when I went to greet him.
“Sorry. Batman lodged in a toilet. Very fragrant rescue.”
“Do you want to grab a shower?” He sounded funny, like he had a secret and was trying to be casual so as to not give it away. I didn’t care; I was thrilled to see him after our argument. “I brought some lunch over for us. And your brother has been ringing your mirror off the wall.”
Sure enough the red light was frantically blinking. A nagging worry chewed in my gut as I pushed the button.
“Mal, will you try again to get this artifact for me? Haagenti scheduled another meeting. It’s in Atlantic City, and we’ll arrange a nice hotel for you and some comps. You and your toy can go and have fun fucking and gambling, so it won’t be a waste of your time. I really need this favor. Call me back.”
Dar sounded subdued. It bothered me.
“Atlantic City?” Wyatt put Styrofoam containers on my table. “There’s a gaming tournament there next week I was thinking of doing. Maybe we can combine the two trips? It could be fun.”
I ran up to take a shower and think about it. Wyatt seemed amenable, and I really wanted to get back into his good graces.
“When is your tournament?” I asked as I came downstairs from my shower. “I do want to go. We can drive up in the Corvette and enjoy the comps and nice luxury hotel suite. You can do your tournament, and I’ll get business done, and we’ll have some fun, too.”
Wyatt told me the dates, and, with a sly smile, handed me a plate. It was loaded with hot wings.
“I love hot wings.” I laughed.
“Good thing since it will probably take me a week to get over this craving you’ve forced on me. I figured if I was going to have a steady diet of them, you should share in my misery.”
I looked at the table. He had buffalo style, a dry rub selection, barbeque, and one that looked like it had a Thai sauce on it. Nothing else. Just hot wings. I grabbed him and kissed him, trying to balance my plate in the one hand, relieved that he was seeing the humor in this. I appreciated that he never stayed mad at me long, never held a grudge, always came back. He was my favorite human. Ever. I loved Wyatt. No, no I didn’t. Demons don’t love. It was probably just gas or something.
We ate the wings and discussed the tournament in Atlantic City. This one involved a military shooting game with aliens. I hoped Wyatt wouldn’t be at a disadvantage since he primarily only killed zombies. We packed the leftover wings in the fridge, and I told Wyatt that I liked the dry rub ones so much I would eat them cold for breakfast the next morning.
Then I called Dar.
“Mal.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “The meeting is in Atlantic City this Saturday.”
“Nope, it’s not.” I could actually feel his panic through the distance at my words. “I have plans this weekend.” I gave him the dates for Wyatt’s gaming tournament and told him to let Haagenti know that the meeting would need to be rescheduled for one of those two days. “And there is a price. There are two things I want beyond the hotel room and the comps if I’m to do this.”
“I’ll ask Haagenti, but I can’t speak for him.” Dar was very nervous and it definitely worried me.
“What I want has nothing to do with Haagenti. First, I want you to place your household underneath mine for the next two hundred years. Effective immediately.”
There was silence. I knew I’d insulted him. To put his household under the control of mine would be to announce to all demons that he considered me significantly above him in the hierarchy. He would, in effect, be bowing down before me in subservience. Normally this kind of bold request would have Dar frothing at the mouth, screaming obscenities at me, and threatening me with bodily harm. The silence on the line meant that he was far enough up shit creek that he was weighing the benefit of my protection against the humiliation this action would cause him.
Folding his household under mine would mean that Haagenti would need to go through me before pummeling Dar. Not that I would be much deterrent to one of Haagenti’s level, but it would be a distraction and possibly buy Dar time to pull his ass out of the fire. Besides, I was over
here indefinitely, and Haagenti could do little but verbally harass me and mine until I returned. Or he could come here and beat my ass. I was betting that he wouldn’t cross the lines to come get me. And if he did, I was betting that I could run and hide behind an angel. If the fucker would bother to come to my rescue.
“Mal, I. . .,” Dar hesitated.
“Immediately,” I interrupted him. “And tell Haagenti that any future requests he makes of you need to be made to me through my Steward. It’s appropriate protocol. Also tell him if he has a problem, he can come over here and kiss my lily white ass.”
“I hate you, Mal.” There was relief in Dar’s voice. “I hate you.”
“I hate you too, Dar,” I told him affectionately.
“Cut the fucking love fest and let me know what your other demand is,” Dar ordered in a more cheerful tone.
“I want a hunt. I want permission from the vampires to hunt in their territory without reprisal.”
I had desperately needed to kill something for a long time. I was longing to Own again too, but the urge to kill was strongest right now. The hunt for Althean this summer had been fun, but rather unsatisfactory since I hadn’t gotten to kill him myself. Gregory had forbidden me to kill as part of the price I paid for remaining here, so I hadn’t done anything since then. The need had been gnawing on me for months and was beginning to occupy more than its usual share of my thoughts. If I didn’t hunt soon, I’d be more liable to kill someone accidentally on purpose. I’d heard the vampires were willing to orchestrate a kill and carefully cover it up. There was probably a price. I’d let Haagenti pay the price.
“I don’t think that will be a problem, as long as you limit the number. They are probably not going to give the nod to you collapsing a building on three hundred people, but they’ll be ok with a targeted kill of their choosing.”
“Tell them no fish in a barrel, and no sheep.” I didn’t want an easy, boring kill. I needed something that would fight back.
“Got it.” Dar signed off, and I turned to see Wyatt looking at me warmly. I was really feeling the love today.
“He’s in trouble, and you’re protecting him. I’d expect a demon to refuse to help, to abandon him and even laugh at his plight.”
“Dar has been a good ally in the past. Having his household in mine will bring increased status to me, and they’ll be very useful. I’m not being altruistic here. Besides, Haagenti is a total ass. Even though he’ll mop the floor with me when I eventually return, I’ll really enjoy taunting him from over here.”
“Don’t give me that.” Wyatt smiled. “You were outraged this summer over how the angels were treating the werewolves, and now you’ve jumped into the line of fire protect your brother from this Haagenti bully. You’re the demon hero, Sam.”
I wasn’t sure whether he was teasing me or not. All I knew was that I was not hero material. Ick.
“Are you going to let me help?” Wyatt asked. “Am I just going to be eye candy in Atlantic City, or do I get play too?”
“It’s not just the vampires, Wyatt,” I told him. “It’s demons, too. What I just did is going to cause a shit storm of trouble. Haagenti is going to send people to get me, and they won’t care if you get killed. In fact, they might deliberately kill you or use you as a hostage to get me to go with them.”
“I shot an angel for you, Sam. What do I need to do to prove myself to you?” Wyatt was getting angry. Here we go again.
“Yeah, and I admire the balls it took to do that, but what mistakes did you make? What should you have done?”
Wyatt looked at me in surprise and considered the question.
“Well, I should have had more distance between us, so he couldn’t grab me, although I’ll bet he’s pretty fast, so I’m not sure how much distance. It’s not like I could use a sniper rifle from a mile away in that situation.”
“And?” I prompted.
Wyatt sighed. “I should have unloaded the weapon on him. I just shot once and paused to see if it was enough.”
“Not just unloaded the weapon. You needed to beat the fucking shit out of him with the empty gun, grabbed whatever was nearby without turning your back on him and kept going until he was a smear of red. Then thrown salt on the smear and burned it.” I had no idea if that would work. I was just trying to impress on him the need for extreme force.”
“You’re right,” Wyatt admitted. “You’d think with all the zombies I’ve killed I’d know this by now.”
“Ok. Let’s say you’re home and Dar knocks on your door. He’s looking for me and I’m not home. What do you do?”
“I call you and tell you that your brother is looking for you?”
“He makes you feel uncomfortable, but he smiles and asks to wait inside your house for me. You might let him in. You sit here now and say ‘no way,’ but you were brought up to be polite and he’s my brother so you might let him in. You might let him get so close that it’s too late to do anything when he grabs you. I come home to you broken on the floor, and Dar so sorry that he got carried away.”
“What should I do, Sam? Just shoot him on the doorstep?” Wyatt’s tone was sarcastic, but he was right.
“Yes, exactly. Have your gun when you answer the door and shoot him. Tell him to go back to my house and wait or you’ll blow his head off. He’ll whine and you’ll feel guilty, but you’ll be alive.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Demons don’t like to take too much damage over here because fixing it sends out an energy signature that alerts angels of their presence. He’ll weigh the risks of taking huge damage and being dusted by an angel against the enjoyment of taking you apart and decide it’s not worth it. But you can’t just threaten. You’ve got to show that you are able and willing to carry it out by shooting him first.”
Wyatt nodded. “What else do I need to know?”
“We’ll talk more about plans and scenarios this week before we go,” I told him. “The good news for me is that Haagenti’s goons won’t be going for my death unless they feel they are in mortal danger, so the key is to avoid capture and annihilate them quickly before they decide they need to kill or be killed.”
“So are we partners?” Wyatt smiled.
He was going to get killed. He was a cute, smart, gutsy human with weapons, and he was going to get killed.
“Partners,” I affirmed.
Wyatt walked over and kissed me thoroughly, wrapping his hands around my waist and pulling me against him. “Weren’t you going to apologize to me in a very special way for making me gorge myself on chicken wings? I’m ready for that apology now.”
I apologized for a good hour. It was the best apology I’d ever delivered, if I may say so myself. Wyatt seemed to think so, too.
Chapter 13
Here I was, once again, wandering Columbia Mall. Dar had not had an easy time returning home after our encounter and begged me to help him get through the gate this trip so he could deliver a bribe for the vampires. It seems Haagenti hadn’t originally been thorough in his research, and vampire custom required a gift be given in exchange for handing over the artifact. I wasn’t convinced the lack of gift was the reason they’d been running me all over the place, but was intrigued to see what Haagenti’s idea of a suitable present would be. Dar was to deliver this gift to me, I was to take it up to Atlantic City, attend a meeting with some bigwig vampire, exchange the bribe/gift for the artifact they supposedly didn’t want and were eager to unload, then return home and await pick-up from either Dar or one of Haagenti’s minions.
I was contemplating refusing to allow Haagenti to use Dar to pick up the sword. It would be great fun to have Haagenti tear around at the last moment trying to find a courier willing to cross the lines for him, one that he could trust not to snag the sword and run for the hills. He’d probably also want to find one sufficiently high enough up to smack me around a bit while over here. He was furious that I’d protected Dar from him, and absolutely livid that I kept insisting he direct all h
is communication through my Steward. That was the sort of thing for those below, and Haagenti was far above me in the hierarchy. Normal protocol would have him delivering messages via his flunkies straight to me, not him personally dealing with my Steward.
Although my Steward was enjoying all the drama, he’d warned me that I was in for a bad time of it as soon as I returned. He strongly advised I immediately take Ahriman up on his offer in the breeding petition, not only to protect myself and my household, but to further put Haagenti’s nose out of joint. I’d thought with satisfaction of Ahriman’s petition, defaced with the dark ink and an angel’s vehement opinion. I’d just have to endure Haagenti’s wrath upon my return because I didn’t plan on accepting Ahriman’s offer. Of course, I didn’t tell my Steward that. It’s always good to keep an alternative on the back burner, just in case things get desperate.
I’d parked in the deck this trip and meandered my way around the mall enjoying some shopping time while Dar anxiously cooled his heels. After adding a few items to my shopping stash, I finally found the gate. It was in the shoe section of Nordstrom’s. I checked out the fall boots and pumps while I looked for the gate guardian. The shoe section was always packed, so it wasn’t easy to pick her out. I was thinking of trying on an awesome pair of royal blue leather platform pumps when I spotted her.
Instead of the gaudily dressed old lady, this time she was a twenty something professional with a nicely tailored grey pants suit and white tank top. As I walked toward her, she swiveled, identifying my race, and honed in for the kill. Checking herself before she’d taken two steps, she paused and frowned in exasperation, then continued to walk toward me at a more leisurely pace, looking me over, top to bottom.
