Angel Souls and Devil Hearts

by Christopher Golden

  George Marcopoulos hung up the phone, and heard the gunshot.

  The car was running, and over it he could see Joe embracing the police officer, his mouth on the man’s neck. The clerk opened the door of the station to get a better look, then shut it quickly, locking it behind him. George watched as the man stepped behind the counter and picked up the phone.

  “Joe,” George shouted, “we’ve got to go!”

  But Joe ignored him. Pushing the cop away, Joe Boudreau stepped over the man where he fell, and ran across the parking lot so fast that George could barely follow him. By the time he reached the glass door, Joe had transformed himself into the form of a large wolf, and George couldn’t help but note his reliance on the traditional vampiric forms—he was young, yet.

  A crashing noise was followed by the sound of the clerk screaming, and then silence from behind the counter. George couldn’t see either of them anymore. After a few moments, Joe reappeared in the window, human once again, and rifled the cash register. When he emerged from the station, he had a big bag of pretzels and two big bottles of Coke in his arms. He trotted across the lot, but George was already at the running car. In seconds, they were on the road.

  George looked back at the police officer, sprawled on the pavement, then at Joe, and finally down at his hands.

  “They’ll both live,” Joe said. “I won’t kill anyone I don’t have to.”

  It seemed important to him that George understand, and unfortunately, George did.

  “And now at least you’ve eaten,” he said, and Joe nodded in return.

  “We’ve got to assume he’ll identify me,” George said, “but I don’t think I’ll be much of a priority.”

  “You don’t think so?” Joe looked unsure.

  “No,” George sighed. “I’ve just realized that this is bound to be happening all over the world right about now, humans confronting vampires, and most with far less pleasant results than we left back there.”

  “Back to square one,” Joe said, just as they crested a hill, and the sun truly broke over the horizon.

  “No,” George said sadly. “It’s much worse than that.’

  Salzburg, Austria, European Union.

  Wednesday, June 7, 2000, 9:29 A.M.:

  Martha was desperate. Her brother’s blood-son, Isaac, was dead, consumed by a dark thing, a Nachzehrer, which Liam Mulkerrin had summoned to the fortress from elsewhere. Will Cody was buried beneath the rubble of an entire wall that Mulkerrin had dropped on him. Of the dozens of vampires who had stormed the fortress intending to destroy the sorcerer, less than half remained, led by the Shadow Justice System deputy she knew only as Stefan and by Martha herself.

  Mulkerrin hovered, borne aloft by his hold on the ephemeral, essential tethers of the world around him, by magic, shielded from attack. Apparently, Will Cody had somehow become immune to the effect of magic on his person, but not on his surroundings, which was how he had come to be buried. Already quite mad when he escaped from his exile in Hell, Liam Mulkerrin appeared to be growing more insane with every passing moment. Martha only hoped that her brother Lazarus or John Courage would return soon with help.

  Even as she and Stefan gathered their forces for another attack, Martha had to admit that they’d had some success. After all, they had battered at the madman’s defenses until he could no longer control the ghost warriors who had taken over the bodies of tourists at the fortress, nor could he hold open the many doorways from Hell he had created. Mulkerrin was using all of his concentration to repel the vampires’ attack, and he hadn’t summoned any other creatures since Isaac had been killed. Martha thought that meant that such summonings drained the sorcerer. He’s weakening, she told herself, and could only hope it was true. Otherwise, they would all be dead before help arrived.

  “Come to me!” Mulkerrin called in a deep, less than human voice, which resounded within the crumbling walls of the fortress. “Come and be purified. Your kind must be cleansed from the Earth before the purification, and the redemption of humanity, may occur. It is inevitable. It is God’s will. Come to me!”

  From everything her brother had told her, Martha knew that Liam Mulkerrin had once been an extraordinarily evil man. But no longer. Now he was merely insane. She signaled to Stefan.

  “Attack!” he yelled at her gesture, and the forty odd vampires left alive in the fortress surrounded Mulkerrin Those who had the ability to become fire did so, attempting with their great heat and less mass to penetrate his magical protection Those who could not blaze became bats and great birds of prey, battering against the field with their wings and bodies, doing their best to weaken the sorcerous shield at any cost. Martha admired their valiant efforts.

  Meanwhile she met Mulkerrin’s eyes, saw the fanatical fervor there, saw the mission that the former priest had set himself upon, and redoubled her efforts. She had seen such eyes before, and the memory frightened her.

  “Yes! Come to me!” Mulkerrin shouted, and then more softly, he chanted: “Gibil Gashru Umuna Yanduru; Tushte Yesh Shir Illani U Ma Yalki!”

  The sorcerer lifted his hands, and the greenish glowing sphere of magical influence that surrounded him, protected him, kept back the attacks by the vampire warriors burst into a green flame of its own. This blazing new fire leapt out and scorched hawks, bats and eagles, who burnt in the mid-morning sunlight falling on the debris-strewn courtyard. Several turned to mist, or returned to their human forms and fell to the broken stone ground in pain, but the rest wailed in agony as the green flames engulfed them. Then their own flames—yellow, orange and red—burned even brighter, and they exploded, one by one, a fireworks display, into a shower of cinders, which fell to the stone like blazing snow.

  The shadows who were already fire when Mulkerrin’s green blaze erupted were themselves engulfed. Most were driven back, away from the sorcerer, but several were absorbed into the green flame, their orange light winking out merging with the magic, creatures meant to destroy the sorcerer now part of his protection.

  Martha held back from the attack, searching for vulnerabilities in the shield, in the sorcerer. The murder of half their number happened so quickly that she could not have helped even if she had an idea how to do so. In moments. Stefan and seventeen others stood with her, recovering from their struggle with the green flame, and she was at a loss as to their next move. Martha looked to Stefan for his help and suggestions, but he could only stare at the fireball that now hung in the air, with Liam Mulkerrin as its unburning center.

  Amazingly, Martha thought, they could still see him.

  And then there came a cry from behind her, quite unexpected. She whirled to see that a large portal had opened up, a doorway to Hell. Martha could see her own reflection in the silvery, shimmering vertical pool that led to a terrible fate. It was huge, the largest she had seen, and Martha knew then that they had no hope. If the sorcerer was still powerful enough to open such a portal, then they had merely distracted him before, rather than weakening him. His power had not diminished, only been distracted for a moment. As soon as he felt like it, Martha thought, it was likely Mulkerrin could do it all again, anytime he wanted, anywhere he wanted—the ghostly soldiers, the hellish beasts, the earthquakes—all over the world.

  “No!” she shouted, but Mulkerrin was already rushing toward them, rushing toward the huge portal, which hung against the rubble where a wall had once stood, a wall which now lay on Will Cody, who might or might not still be alive underneath the debris. Trapped between the green fire that had killed most of their comrades and a doorway into Hell itself, Stefan and the others attempted to dive away, beyond the range of the portal. Martha did not move, knowing it was going to be too wide for such an escape.

  Several vampires ran straight ahead, preferring to face the fire, to die while attempting to reach Mulkerrin, and they made it part of the way through the field before being nearly vaporized by the green flame. The rest were caught between the fire and the portal. Faced with certain death on one hand and the unknown on
the other, they chose life and backed through the liquid silver of the door to Hell.

  Knowing she could not dodge the flames, Martha simply lay down, just before the fire slammed into her, and dug her hands into the rubble, searching for some kind of grip. The green flames blasted over her, charring and cracking her skin. She shut her eyes tight, but they would not last long under that onslaught. There was terrible pain in her legs, as if one of them were being torn off from the knee down, and she turned back and opened her eyes to see that the force of the blow had pushed the lower half of her body through the portal. Her hands had dragged a pile of stones three feet as she tried to save herself.

  And now something beyond that door was ravaging her. She was overwhelmed by the sadness of the knowledge that those of her people who had already passed through would be destroyed by what lay beyond. It yanked at her, began chewing on her, and Martha was dragged farther even as she screamed.

  Then, finally, she found a solid handhold under the debris, between two large stones in the courtyard. She pulled herself forward, ignoring the gnawing tug on her leg from beyond the door. She had dragged herself out as far as her waist, when she remembered Mulkerrin . . . and then his shoes were there, in front of her, and she looked up to see him smiling. He had given up all but a glowing aura, which hung from him like a suit of armor, and now he sat on a rock to watch her struggle and suffer.

  Martha was dragged back several inches by a terrible tug, and she felt the muscle tear away from the calf of her good leg. If she could turn to flame herself, she might escape the portal and destroy whatever it was that was preying upon her, but in all her pain, she did not have the concentration for it. If it was her time, she would accept it and gladly go to meet God. She only wished that she could have sent Mulkerrin on ahead of her, especially now, as the smile spread across his aging face.

  And then she saw it, beyond him, a low mist rising from the rubble where Mulkerrin had tumbled a stone wall onto Will Cody. Martha knew what it meant, who it was. Will had survived, of course, and had allowed himself a few minutes to recover before turning to mist and floating back up through the rocks to rejoin the battle.

  “Will!” Martha shouted in her pain, and Mulkerrin snapped his head around to see the mist floating toward them. “Get out of here! Retreat! Find Courage and return to destroy the madman when you have a hope of surviving!”

  And Martha smiled as the mist became a hawk, and the hawk sped up and over the wall of the fortress. A tendril of green fire arched out from Mulkerrin’s upraised palm, surrounding the hawk, but nothing happened. Cody was immune to the magic. Huge stones lifted from the floor of the fortress and shot after the hawk, but it was out of range. As it dropped below the wall of the fortress, out of sight Martha laughed.

  “You will not prevail, madman,” she said, even as something tore into her buttocks, pulling her back into the portal up to her breasts.

  Mulkerrin glared at her, then the aura around him extended once again, and he rose from the ground, floating within the magical field, above the wall, preparing to pursue Cody. Martha winced with pain, but gritted her teeth against the scream that lodged in her throat as the sorcerer called over his shoulder to her.

  “God’s work is never done, Defiant One. At least, not until I say it is.”

  And then he was gone, and the portal closed, cutting Martha in two.

  As the portal closed, Stefan’s hiding place dissolved leaving him vulnerable. He had been the only one to escape the press between fire and Hell, and had jumped behind the shimmering portal, onto the crumbling wall. He stepped down now and went to Martha’s side. Her already burnt flesh was beginning to char further in the sunshine and soon there would be nothing left of her but ashes.

  Stefan shapeshifted into a black raven, a change reflecting his sorrow, and took flight. Far behind, he followed Mulkerrin’s slow progress. He would rejoin the fight as soon as Cody did, and die if he must. For there was no place for the shadow people in a world with Mulkerrin as its master.

  Hell.

  One Hundred Sixty-Seven Days,

  Fifty-Five Minutes After Departure:

  “I’m sorry,” Peter Octavian said softly, and fell to his knees, sticking his hands out to keep from landing on his face. He slumped back, took a deep breath, then looked up at Meaghan, his eyes empty of life, filled with despair.

  “It’s been . . . so long,” he said, and Meaghan’s heart crumbled.

  “It’s okay,” she said, kneeling by him. “I can’t claim to understand what you’re feeling, but it’s okay now. We’re going to go home.”

  Peter nodded, not even attempting a smile, and then turned to where Lazarus was standing, flipping through The Gospel of Shadows, searching for the spell that could take them back to their world. Meaghan had expected Peter to have a lot of questions, especially for Lazarus, who he had once hoped had all the answers. But the questions never came.

  “Peter, this whole time I’ve been trying to talk to you, in my head, and I get nothing,” she said as she helped him to his feet, partially supporting his weight. “Have the years taken that contact away from us, or were you blocking me?”

  Peter shook his head slowly, then stretched, as if waking from a long sleep. Finally his eyes began to take on a small spark of life, a slowly dawning awareness of his situation.

  “I don’t . . . No, I wasn’t purposely keeping you out,” he said. “In fact, I wasn’t sure it was really you, since I didn’t hear you in my head.”

  Peter looked at her, then—the old Peter, though weak and haggard.

  “How long were you trapped here?” Meaghan asked him as she stepped back, giving him room to stretch further, to test his strength. “Were you aware of the passing of time?”

  She sensed a stirring from Lazarus, but he said nothing. Peter looked thoughtful, but confident again.

  “I’ve been here nearly a thousand years.”

  Meaghan wanted to be shocked, stunned at least. But she had already whispered these things to herself, guessing Peter’s fate based upon the time she and Lazarus had spent in Hell. Still, it was horrible to hear the truth of it, to sense even a tiny bit of the suffering. And yet Meaghan had long since acknowledged that, if they did find Peter alive, things would never be the way they were. Alexandra’s death only widened the gulf between them. As such she gained some comfort from the elapsed time, knowing that Peter could not possibly feel about her the way he had when he had crossed over into Hell, so long ago.

  And then she wondered again why he asked no questions. That wasn’t like him. Once upon a time he had fancied himself a detective. Curiosity had led him into his first confrontation with Liam Mulkerrin. Maybe after all this time, Meaghan thought, he doesn’t care about anything anymore.

  “Peter,” Lazarus spoke to him for the first time, “how did you come to have the book?”

  He held it forward, to be certain Octavian understood him, but Peter did not respond.

  “We arrived here just over five months ago,” Lazarus said. “You can’t have been here, trapped in the crystal, for longer than that, because we had the book up until then. Where did it come from?”

  “I don’t know,” Peter said after a moment’s consideration. “But we’ll need it to get out of here.”

  Lazarus harrumphed, indicating that Octavian was stating the obvious, and wasn’t helping matters any, then he when back to scanning the book

  “What’s going on back home.?” Peter did finally ask.

  Grateful for the question, Meaghan told him everything all that had happened in his absence, while they thought he was dead. She told him of the Shadow Justice System and the new world order, of Allison’s new jobs and Cody’s return to filmmaking and mass media shows, of their search for Lazarus and his timely arrival . . . of Mulkerrin’s return, with extraordinary new power. In the silence that followed, while he digested all of this new information, Meaghan also told him that she and Alexandra had become lovers, and that Alex was now dead.

&
nbsp; “What?” he asked and blinked, then turned to face Lazarus, pushing the book from his hands to get the elder’s attention.

  “You son of a bitch,” Peter said coldly. “You knew I was here, knew I was suffering, and you didn’t do a fucking thing about it. Then your friend Father Mulkerrin returns, and suddenly you need me. So you drag the two people who are most important to me down into Hell with you and you let one of them die!”

  Peter was furious, his lips drawn back, his teeth gleaming. But Lazarus only stood, staring passively back at him, as Meaghan came to his rescue.

  “No, Peter, it wasn’t like that. Lazarus didn’t know, he only guessed because Mulkerrin had returned, and so we all hoped that meant you were still alive as well. And he couldn’t have saved Alex; I was there.”

  “I don’t give a damn!” he roared, turning on Meaghan now. “And why are you so chummy suddenly with this traitor?”

  “Octavian,” Lazarus said quietly, attempting to soothe, to calm, to command respect with his reserve. Peter wasn’t having any of it.

  “Listen, you bastard,” Peter snapped, turning back to Lazarus, “we both know that your friend the Stranger knew I was down here, and didn’t lift a finger, so don’t even try to—”

  Peter’s voice trailed off as Lazarus held up a hand, a command really, to stop speaking. The older vampire’s face became suspicious, his right eyebrow lifting as he turned his head.

  “What do you know of the Stranger?” Lazarus asked. “You sent your loved ones on a worldwide search for me, to find out about our race, about me. You know nothing you did not learn here, in Hell. So I ask you plainly now what Meaghan would only dance around: what happened here when you and Mulkerrin arrived? What happened between you? How did he escape? Why haven’t we been attacked while trying to rescue you? Where did Mulkerrin come by his new abilities and you your new knowledge?

  “Who are you, now, Octavian? Who have we come to bring home?”

  Meaghan was staring, slack-jawed at both of them.