“What is this?” Chester asked, peering through his eye at the oncoming car.
William answered with that mix of resentment and anger that was becoming all too familiar from him. “Demon hunters.”
*
Hendricks was in the SUV inside of a minute of his motel phone ringing, heading toward Fleer Street, though he wasn’t exactly sure where that was. He’d gotten the general description from Arch, that it was somewhere off the Jackson Highway, and it was only five minutes or so from him, and he figured that was all he’d need. Besides, the sheriff, Arch, and Alison were already on their way, with Erin and some of the others gearing up in case shit went down. Hendricks figured that was enough for daylight hours. How bad could it be, after all?
*
“Well, lookee what we’ve got ’ere,” the dark-skinned man said in a British accent that, to Chester’s ears, sounded terribly unsophisticated. “I think this is a demon, it is.”
There were two others with him, both squat creatures that reminded Chester of pit bulls following a master. “I think you are mistaken,” Chester managed to get out.
“I suspect it’s been a long time since this piece of lumbtwaa has had an actual thought of his own,” William said, and the anger was audible in his voice.
The demon hunter’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. “Did you ’ear that?” He seemed to be speaking to his two associates. “That was two separate voices, it was.”
“I suppose you would have to ‘ear’ it,’” Chester said dryly. “As your entire race seems incapable of listening beyond the sound of things.”
“Think that’s funny, do you?” the demon hunter asked, his good humor disappearing. “I knew da moment I laid my mince pies on you that you weren’t normal for around here. I got a nose for these things, don’t I?”
“Ears, eyes, nose, yes, you have them all,” William said dryly. “But not for much longer unless you take a pass at us.” He waved his hand at the demon hunter.
“You have never faced our sort before, old boy,” Chester said, trying to step up and defuse the situation before it escalated into violence, which he did not care for. Why, the last time they’d had to take a life had been over a hundred years ago, in that cave, when that other excavator had tried to shoot them. “We mean you no harm, but if you intend to visit it upon us, you will end up regretting it.”
“More than you know,” William vowed, and there was something about the way he said it that set Chester’s side of the stomach to churning.
“Well, see, ’ere’s how it is, boys, girls, whoever’s in there,” the demon hunter said. “My name’s Mart Lonsdale, and I’ve got a reputation.”
“Do you?” William asked. “Can’t say I’ve heard of you.”
“I don’t let demons walk away,” Lonsdale said, smirking. “Dat’s why you’ve never ’eard of me.”
“And I thought it was because you were an inconsequential sort of gnat,” William said, adding, in Chester’s opinion, unnecessary fuel to the fire.
“There is no need for this to become a fight,” Chester said, putting his own hand up. William, however did not raise his. “You are, I presume, here to keep the dangerous elements in check in this hotspot, and I do not begrudge you nor any of your sort that right. I, am, however, entirely peaceful unless provoked, as you can tell by the fact that I have yet to show you my true face nor attacked you in spite of your provocation.”
“That’s a bit of a head scratcher,” Lonsdale said. “I just assumed it was because you were a Frankie Howerd.”
“That we are … a comedian?” Chester asked.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Lonsdale muttered. “That you were yellow of the belly. Chicken, you see.”
“We are restrained in the face of stupidity that is now bordering on incredible folly,” William said.
“Your appended labels are of little consequence to us,” Chester said, trying to speak reason in this. “You may think what you wish; we mean no harm to others unless they intend harm upon us—”
“Well, lad,” Lonsdale, said, drawing what was surely a holy blade out of his coat as the two behind him did the same, “I am here to tell you … harm is intended.”
“You fool,” Chester whispered.
“Now it is settled,” William said, and there was a hint of triumph in his voice. “Shall we, Chester?”
With nothing but regret, Chester had to agree. “Yes. We shall.”
*
“What do you think it is?” Alison asked as Arch kept a lead foot on the gas pedal, sirens blaring as they shot down Old Jackson Highway. The sun was in his eyes but not too bad, just a general overhead glare that was outside the reach of the visors above him.
Arch pondered his response as the heavy heat blew out of the vents right in his face, drying his already parched sinuses. That was the problem with fall and winter for him. “I don’t know. Could just be strangers picking a bad time to get in a scuffle.”
“You don’t believe that.” She sounded so sure.
“I really don’t,” Arch agreed, subtly adding a little more pressure to the gas in hopes that he could get to the answer just a little quicker.
*
Chester abhorred violence, finding it just a step above the feral savagery of animals. If they were meant to do things this way, then what was the point of civilization? What was the point of all those years of climbing out of the mud, of going from using stone tools to build things and defend against wild predators to creating a civilized society with electricity and factories and progress if the desire to violently harm others was still the first resort?
He knew for a fact that this demon hunter and his ghoulish associates meant both he and William and all their many fellows harm. The leering, the drawn sword proved it beyond a doubt, and inspired a sense of caution in him that William apparently did not feel. To split their efforts was not simply foolhardy in this case; it would be suicidal. Although they had inhabited this human body for the last century and more, Chester was acutely aware that a holy blade applied to the flesh could still drive them out in exactly the same manner as any of their shelled brethren. A cut to the arm, and they would, all of them, be dragged back to the bowels of darkness and fire.
Not there! came thousands, millions of voices within. Chester heard them, a unified chorus, and he knew William heard them from his as well. It was a raging uproar, the fury of their entire constituency given voice, and Chester had no wish to disappoint any of them, even those he found personally irritating.
“You’re not going to fight me on this?” William asked, steeling them both.
“Oh, I’m going to fight you,” Lonsdale said, stepping forward. “Make no mistake. I’m gonna end you—”
“Do as necessary,” Chester said, and they sprang into motion, William at the helm.
The demon hunter Lonsdale did not see them coming; he had his sword raised in a pathetic guard, low and ill-suited to anything but someone jumping and impaling themselves upon it. William had learned swordcraft in its early days. Chester had lost his taste for such fighting after the Battle of Hastings, before they’d been imprisoned in the vase. He knew how to move, how to fight, but leaving it to William ensured a continuity, allowing him to fully control every function, every maneuver. And as William slapped aside the ill-placed sword and jabbed Lonsdale in the throat hard enough to stun the man and set him choking, Chester felt assured his decision was right.
The other two seemed taken aback by the suddenness of the attack. William did not leave them long to form that impression. Chester watched as William struck the first in the throat, but harder than he had Lonsdale. This time, there was a distinct sound of cartilage failing under pressure. He slapped away the demon hunter’s blade and shoved the dying man to the ground to meet his fate.
The last of the trio managed to spur himself into action while William was dealing with the second. He came in with a low thrust, the sword gleaming in the sunlight, shining with danger on its holy edges.
William spun like a dancer, moving inside the demon hunter’s defense and well past the point where the blade would be able to harm him. He lashed out with a hard palm strike to the hunter’s forehead, and the snapping vertebra echoed over the cold morning.
The last demon hunter’s eyes died, rolling back in his head as he lost all bodily control. William whirled to a stop, taking a deep breath. Their body was tired; the sudden exertion of demon power through human flesh always took a toll. Chester kept mute, watching in some small amazement; William had dealt with all three within five seconds.
“You didn’t have to kill those two, you know,” Chester said quietly.
“They weren’t the sort to leave us alone after a simple thrashing,” William said, breathing hard, breath fogging the cool morning air.
Chester could not deny the likely truth of this. “Then why leave the last alive?”
William’s answer, when it came, was pained, as they both stared down at the felled demon hunter, on all fours, his sword knocked aside. Lonsdale was choking, trying to get his breath after the hard strike to his neck. “Because I’m not done with him yet.”
“No, William,” Chester said, reasserting his control over his half of the body. “We will not stoop to torture.”
“I didn’t intend torture of any sort,” William said, his anger rising. “And I tell you this for the last time—my name is Bill now.”
Chester’s slow curiosity suddenly gave way to a stark sense of terror. It alerted the other voices, his constituency, who had descended to revelry after the battle was won. “William … Bill … what do you mean to—”
But the answer came more quickly than Chester could ask the question, for William dragged him down with all the strength of his half of the body—and seized the demon hunter Lonsdale by the ankle.
*
Arch turned onto Fleer Street and saw Hendricks coming up over the hill a quarter mile away, heading toward him fast. The cowboy looked like he’d be getting to the scene about thirty seconds behind them, and that suited Arch just fine. He reckoned Reeve wouldn’t be too far behind, which was another reassurance.
Fleer Street was a mostly residential street in the older part of Midian. The houses had a mishmash feel to them, some from back in the antebellum days, maybe, others from the 1900s sometime. It was hard to tell which was which, because he knew at least one of the houses on the block was new yet constructed in a very gothic style, with high gables and a turret.
“Right there,” Alison said, pointing through the windshield at the van parked on the side of the road. There were four guys littered around it, only one of them standing, and he was all leaned over grabbing another one, who was holding a sword and screaming to the heavens like he’d just gotten kicked in the nuts.
*
“Don’t do this, William,” Chester said, but he already knew in the moment that it was too late. Pain surged down his hand and suddenly Chester found himself utterly in control of the body that they’d shared for the last century and more. He stared down at the demon hunter’s bared ankle, and considered throwing himself down into it as well, following William on to his new digs, but—
William, taking over Lonsdale’s body, kicked loose of his grip and got to his feet, the sword in hand. “I know you would have preferred to keep going as we were, Chester … but really, we’ve reached a parting of the ways. Somebody had to leave.”
“I don’t believe that for a second, William,” Chester said, then, lowering his voice, wounded, said, “Bill.”
“It took us leaving for you to remember that,” Bill said with a faint smile. “Chester … we want different things. Now you can go back to Queens. Your lot can have things your way, and we can have things ours. No more bones of contention, no more argument and anger.”
“No more of each other, either,” Chester said, staring in muted shock at him. “We’ve been together for tens of thousands of years, the whole lot of us … to just … cast it asunder like that without even saying—”
“You weren’t listening,” Bill said, still smiling faintly. “We’ve been talking about this for years. You had things your way for a long time, and now that we’ve finally managed to move along somewhat, to stir you out of this rut and make progress, we realize that your hearts aren’t in it.” He lowered his voice. “Go home, Chester. All of you. You never wanted to be here to begin with. You wanted a nice, quiet life, with—”
Squealing tires interrupted them, forcing them both to look up as a police SUV came bouncing up, mounting the curb. The door flew open and a black man came out in a rush. “Nobody move!” he called.
*
Reeve saw Hendricks turn onto Fleer Street just ahead of him, and sped up a little on the turn, causing his tires to screech in protest at the bare hold on the asphalt blacktop. Reeve didn’t like to drive this fast, even with his lights on, but in this case he didn’t want to leave his people high and dry without backup, either. He knew Arch was likely first on scene, and that was confirmed when he finished his tight turn, the Explorer he’d given back to the man parked up on a lawn. He couldn’t see much of anything else, though, between the Explorer and Hendricks’s SUV, so he just hurried on up behind the cowboy.
*
Chester watched the new arrivals with a rising sense of frustration that felt like a welling tide within. There was an anger burning at him like the wind when it whipped through, chilly and raw. He stared at the back of William’s new head, where he’d taken over Lonsdale’s body. The hair was different than his own, curlier by far, and Chester felt an urge to reach out, to expel himself and the others with him into it, unasked. It felt wrong to be without William and his lot, even though Chester disagreed, most violently, with almost every decision they thought right.
“Just keep it cool!” the lawman shouted, his khaki uniform a garish display against the black and white police SUV. When he came out from behind the car door, Chester saw the sword hanging on his belt, and it took his breath away.
“William,” Chester said.
“There’s no need for violence, officer,” William said, dangling the sword gently from his fingertips, letting it hang down as though ready to surrender it, “I mean you no harm.”
“Is that so?” the lawman asked. Chester could see his nameplate from here, and it said STAN in etched letters along its front. “Then drop the sword, lace your fingers, and place them atop your head.”
“As you wish,” William said, and Chester knew in that moment that he was lying to buy time, “sir.” He dropped the blade and it plunged an inch or two into the soft grass and stood there, tilted just a bit.
“On your knees,” Deputy Stan said, advancing from behind his car door. Chester already had his hands up and was unarmed. He started to sink to his own knees, worry about what William planned to do enveloping him. Either one of them, acting alone, could remove this deputy from being any sort of problem. Chester had a sneaking suspicion that William intended just that, but Chester felt frozen in place, unable to move or cry out.
William got down on his knees and laced his hands behind his head as another car came screaming up, and another still. Men poured out of them, and for the first Chester realized a woman had arrived with Deputy Stan. She had been standing behind the hood of his SUV quietly the entire time, a gun drawn and covering them both.
*
Alison got the feeling something was real wrong with these guys from the jump, but she didn’t have much to say about it until Arch started to advance on them, gun in one hand and the other hovering over his blade. “Arch!” she said, loud enough and commanding enough that he stopped, but didn’t take his eyes off them to look at her. “Just hang on. Hendricks and Reeve are pulling up.”
“All right,” Arch said. Her husband was a real terse man, but he got a lot across in those two words, and the message she got out of them was, Yep, best to wait, you’re right.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Reeve shouted out over the scene. He’d parked on the other s
ide of the panel van, out in the middle of Fleer Street, cutting the non-existent flow of traffic and circling around the front of the van to come up behind the two guys left standing. Alison hadn’t gotten a real clear look at the two that were down, but she knew by the tongue hanging out that at least one of them was dead as a barbecued pig.
“The hell are you doing, Lonsdale?” Hendricks asked, coming around the Explorer behind Arch.
“You know this guy?” Arch asked, keeping his distance from the two suspects.
“Yeah, this is Mart Lonsdale,” Hendricks said, nodding at the black guy up front. “He’s a demon hunter.”
“Explains the sword,” Reeve tossed in from where he stood behind the suspects. “Doesn’t explain the corpses, though, does it?”
*
Chester was feeling the strains of panic. He and William were both on their knees, clearly somewhat at the mercy of a police department armed with what was almost certainly anti-demon weaponry. “Officers,” Chester said, hoping desperately to explain, “we mean you no harm.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment,” said the man coming up behind him. Chester looked back and caught a glimpse of his nameplate, which read REEVE.
Chester’s mind raced, the voices within him screaming suggestions so loudly that he could not concentrate on any one of them, or indeed, even his own mind to form an idea. We came here at the behest of our brethren to find a peaceful life, Chester said within, trying to quell the dissension. “Please,” he said aloud. “There is no need for violence.”
“Come along with us peacefully and there won’t be,” the man named Reeve said from behind him. “We’re going to have to take you back to the jail, though, and you’re going to have to do some explaining about these dead men here.”
Legion (Southern Watch Book 5) Page 15
