“Oh yeah?” I said. “What’s that?”
“You, and others like you,” Eli said. “The chosen. The illorum. Your sword was forged in the fires of Heaven for your hand alone, for a single purpose. To exact God’s will and banish the condemned to the abyss.”
“And for that we get attacked by demons on a daily basis and possibly killed?” I asked. Calling it a raw deal hardly scratched the surface. “Why us?”
“Penance,” Eli said.
“For what?”
“For the sins of your fathers.”
“That’s not fair.”
Eli slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “The Lord is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, forgiving iniquity and transgression, but He will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, to the third and the fourth generation.”
“Old Testament. The book of Numbers, verses fourteen through eighteen,” Tommy said.
Right. The Bible. What’d I know? “But you guys help, right? The angels help us.”
Tommy snorted. “Can you say, hell no?”
“I am here only as your teacher, your magister,” Eli said. “I will train you to fight and share what knowledge I am permitted. But the rest will be up to you.”
“And by ‘the rest’ you mean…?”
He looked confused. “Dispatching the Fallen.”
“All of them?”
“Until you find and dispatch the angel who spawned you. Then your penance is paid.”
“You mean our fathers? My father, specifically? Perfect. How hard could that be, when no one even remembers he existed?” I got up and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Tommy asked.
“Where do you think? I’m calling my mom. See if she remembers talking to any angels.”
CHAPTER FIVE
I love my mom. And from outside the family, she seems almost…sane.
I checked my watch. She and my sister were only twenty minutes late, which meant I still had another fifteen or so minutes to wait—according to Hellsbane time. My family takes being fashionably late to a whole new level—myself included. It’s one of our long-running jokes.
“You done?”
I glanced up at the potbellied guy standing next to my table, white paper-wrapped sandwich and matching Styrofoam cup in hand. “No,” I said. “Plus I’ve got people coming to join me. So…sorry.”
The big guy huffed, angry, and waddled off mumbling, “This ain’t no TGI-friggin-Friday’s, lady. Eat and get out.”
I don’t have a problem sitting alone in restaurants or going to movies by myself. Sometimes I actually prefer it. But I’d been getting dagger stares from the other customers since I’d dared to sit down at one of the busy restaurant tables with just a Coke and order of fries.
The Primanti Brothers restaurant, in Pittsburgh’s Strip District, had started life as a lunch cart, then moved to the brick-and-mortar location still holding to a kind of lunch counter mentality. Over the past seventy-eight years it hadn’t changed much. They’d added a wait staff, but locals knew for the fastest service it was best to place their order at the counter—using as few words as possible—get their food, and, with any luck, find an open table or seat at the bar on their own. It’s not that the wait staff wasn’t good, but trying to get a server to notice you in the busy place could leave one…frustrated.
You were supposed to eat your food and get out. People were constantly moving, tables filling and emptying. That’s the way the regulars liked it. And today was no different. The place was busy, seating was at a premium, and I was taking up space. Oh well.
I wasn’t sure if it was the hater vibe being focused on me or something else, but the longer I sat there, the more my stomach felt like it was trying to make the US gymnastics team all on its own. When my belly gave a particularly strong roll that made me feel like it was in my throat, I decided to take a quick trip to the bathroom before I gave Primanti Brothers back their fries.
I zigzagged through tables and customers to the back hallway and pushed the door on the right marked ladies.
“You always make a target of yourself, lass? Or do ya just have a death wish today?” A weird little guy was beside me, when he hadn’t been an instant before. He leaned against the wall by the door.
I’d backed away too fast and slammed against the other side of the hall. My stomach roiled, my heart thumping in my throat. “Where’d….How—Who are you? What do you want?”
“Relax,” he said, folding his arms and crossing one ankle over the other. “If I was here to take your head, I’d have it by now. Believe me.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Aye, but it’s what you were thinkin’. At least for a wee bit there in between the ‘How’d he do that?’ and the ‘Should I make a run for it or just scream?’ thoughts.” He leaned toward me and winked. “I don’t recommend either.”
His accent made me think Irish, maybe Scottish. Couldn’t tell which. He was only two or three inches taller than I was, which made him pathetically short for a man, and his cockiness totally unjustified. He had the kind of red hair that’s more brassy, almost orange, and he wore it long to his chin, with kinky wild curls and enough freckles to make me think boy rather than man.
But his mannerisms, the way he held himself, moved, and smiled, with a wise glint in his green eyes, belied the first-glance impression, adding years to his age. I figured he was a year older than I was, maybe two. And judging by his rumpled clothes, a brown leather vest, T-shirt, loose jeans, and battered work boots with broken shoestrings, he wasn’t a nine-to-five kinda guy.
“You read my mind?”
“Aye. Wasn’t hard. You’ve got no shielding a’tall. Bess to work on that. Been reading you since you walked in the door there. Couldn’t help it if I’d tried. You’re like a bloody bullhorn.”
“What are you?” Crap, two days as an illorum, and I was already about to be hacked to ribbons for a second time.
His hand dropped to the hilt of a sword at his side. I hadn’t noticed it until he touched the silver pommel. “What do you think, lassie? Right now, I’m what’s standing between you and certain death, I am. Where’s your sword?”
His gaze dropped to my side and my hands flexed. There was nothing to grab. I’d left my sword in the Jeep. Sue me. The thing kept poking me in the ribs or the small of my back when I sat. There was no good place on my belt to keep it.
“Near enough,” I said.
“Is it now?” He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us. My stomach’s reaction to another illorum had calmed, but the invasion of my comfort zone had it clenching all over again. “Take a whiff, lassie. A deep one. Smell anythin’ rancid, do you?”
I inhaled. “Rotten eggs. A demon,” I said, scrunching my face at the smell. I’d breathed too deeply; the taste coated the back of my tongue, filled my lungs, and churned through my stomach. I turned and went back to the end of the hall, scanned the restaurant.
Everyone looked normal. “Where is it?”
The illorum shrugged. “I’d say that’s somethin’ you should be knowin’. Should be spottin’ them on yer own if you mean to live past the day.”
“See, that’s just not helpful. Why are you bugging me if you’re not going to help?”
He smiled. It was a nice smile, with straight white teeth and dimpled cheeks that gave him an odd appeal.
“It’s been a while since I’ve come across someone so new to the ranks. And…” He shrugged, almost bashful. “You’re not so harsh on an old man’s eyes to be lookin’ at.”
“You’re hitting on me?” Puh-leeze.
“And warning ya,” he hurried to say. “Don’t be forgettin’ that. I saw ya sittin’ there, not a scrap of metal to defend yourself. You were demon bait if I ever saw it. What kind of eejit goes around unarmed?”
Okay, so fighting demons I couldn’t even pick out of a crowd had me a little panicked. But shutting down
horny guys? That I could do in my sleep. “Listen. Normally I’d find being called an eejit such a turn-on. But I’ve recently been quite thoroughly bitch-slapped by life, and I’m really not looking to date.” And I don’t do leprechauns.
“No leprechauns? Ya sure ’bout that?” His smile turned lecherous. “Not even if I promise to show you me pot of gold after ya stroke me rainbow?”
Um…ew. It took me a moment to overcome the gross-out and realize he’d said “leprechaun” when I’d only thought it. “Hey. You’re not allowed to do that.”
“Do what? Read your thoughts?” He snorted. “Who told you that rot? Your magister?”
“As a matter of fact.” Technically, he’d said only a person’s deeper thoughts were verboten, but I didn’t want this guy anywhere inside my head.
“Figures.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms and ankle again. “They don’t want us to realize our full potential. To know we’re the best of both worlds. Jealous bastards. They’ll get us all snuffed.”
“Who, the angels? You think angels are jealous of us?”
“That’s right. Don’t you know what you can do?” He shook his head. “The prick didn’t show you bollocks, did he? ’Course not.”
“Who are you?”
He straightened, held up a finger telling me to wait, and then vanished. A gust of wind tousled my hair, and a blur of movement too fast for my eyes to track rushed by me. A second later, the same rush of movement blew past in reverse, and the leprechaun dude was standing by the ladies’ room again. Only now, he was holding a Styrofoam cup.
“The name’s Liam McGregor, and I’ve been an illorum for thirty-one years. This be yours.” He handed me my soda. “Now, I’ve gotten the fiend’s attention. Where’s your sword?”
“In my Jeep,” I said. “Around the corner.”
“Perfect. I’ll meet you there,” he said. “If we both go, he’ll follow, and we can send him off to Hell without worry for the mortals.”
“Wait.” I glanced at my cup. “What’d you just do?”
“What I did, lassie, is the very least of our hidden talents,” he said. “You’ve got gobs to learn and no time a’tall to do it. Now get moving.”
He walked away at human speed and I watched him zigzag through the tables to the front door. It took a second to snap out of my stupor, but a strong whiff of sulfur pushed me into action. Whatever the crazy leprechaun was, he was right about the demon nearby. I practically choked on the stench.
The lull between lunch and dinner kept the place from being so packed it’d be standing room only, but there were still too many people to single out which one stunk like three-week-old eggs. I made my way to my table and realized halfway there I’d already lost it to another customer. So I sat my half-empty cup on the counter, taking the opportunity to scan faces all around me. I was looking for that special kind of eye contact that wasn’t an accidental glance but an intentional stare. No one stood out.
I caught the attention of one of the guys behind the counter and mouthed, “I’ll be right back,” while pointing in the direction of my car. He nodded, then shrugged and turned away. I had a feeling I wouldn’t find my cup when I came back. Crap. I slung my purse over one shoulder and headed out.
The second I pushed through the door, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, skin tingling. I went left toward Smallman Street, where I’d parked.
The sun was low in the sky, but nightfall was still hours off. I glanced in Primanti’s wall of windows as I passed, trying to see if that pressing sensation creeping up my back was real or my imagination. I couldn’t see if anyone was following and I didn’t want to tip my hand by actually turning around. Besides, if I moved now, I might spook the demon off before Liam could jump him.
So I strolled along like good little demon bait and turned the corner from Eighteenth Street to Smallman. Liam was nowhere to be seen. Lying little leprechaun.
My heart rate ratcheted up a notch, but I kept a grip. I was born to fight these things. Right? My Jeep was exactly where I’d left it, two spots down. And under the backseat was my nifty new sword. I was already focusing my thoughts, imagining the blade at the end of the hilt. Now, all I had to do was convince the demon shuffling his feet behind me to wait while I fished it out. Damn, I hope this works.
With nothing to lose, I glanced over my shoulder.
Hey, I know that guy.
He’d come into Primanti’s after me. We’d even shared a quick glance, though I’d put him out of my thoughts the next second. Sheesh, I sucked at this illorum-detecting-demons thing.
He wasn’t an overly big guy, though next to me, fifth graders look adult-size. He was average, probably five-eight, five-nine, with a thick build. He was wearing a checkered, buttoned shirt and a black windbreaker that molded over his arms and chest with the breeze.
He dragged his feet. I hate that. Not like Quasimodo or anything, just the normal lazy gait that drove me absolutely insane. It was worse when the person wore dress shoes, or boots, but even in sneakers like this guy, it was all I could do not to turn around and scream, “Pick up your feet!”
Oh. And he had that nasty, week-old, rotten-eggs-in-the-summertime smell. Downwind from the guy, I couldn’t avoid the stench. Didn’t anyone else smell that? Must just be a nephilim thing. Lucky us. Ick.
His gait quickened the second I turned back around, scrape-clomp, scrape-clomp, scrape-clomp. Resisting the urge to run, I snagged my keys from the side pocket of my purse and made it to the Jeep. The key was in the back hatch’s lock just as he stepped between the cars. A flash of a dagger glinted in his hand.
“Nephilim scourge,” the guy hissed.
I had an instant to duck before he sliced at me. He missed by a fraction of an inch, but my back window paid the price.
“Try that shit with me, ya demon filth,” Liam said, appearing behind him. What the hell had taken him so long?
He swung his sword, but the demon brought his dagger up in time to block. The blow was hard enough to drive him back, and the two clashed weapons again and again, Liam striking hard while the demon fought to defend. I watched like a rubbernecker at a car wreck, mouth gaping.
By the time they reached the warehouse wall, Liam’s attacks were slowing, his swings less precise. He was growing tired. The demon was simply waiting him out.
Liam threw me a quick glance before he struck at the demon again. “Get your bloody sword, woman. You’re not at the flippin’ pictures.”
“Oh.” I snapped out of it and turned back to my ruined Jeep window. Hell, no point unlocking the thing now. I shoved my hand through the ripped plastic and reached farther by climbing up on the back hitch. By the tips of my fingers, I touched the hilt of my sword, and the whole of it seemed to slide toward my hand, into my grip. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe not.
Throwing my body back out of the Jeep, I pulled the sword free. Relief washed over me at seeing the blade, real and solid, just as I’d willed it. Yes.
I turned, triumphant, just in time to see the demon launching his attack on the now-exhausted Liam. Triumph dimmed and a moment of panic froze me to the spot. I really didn’t have a clue how to sword-fight. I’d get us both killed.
“Now, woman!” Liam yelled, swinging his sword up in defense. Metal clashed, sparks lit from the edges, and the redheaded nephilim stumbled back. “Now!”
I had to help. The decision crystallized in my brain, banishing everything else. Worry, doubt, fear, it was all just suddenly gone. Instinct took over, I dropped my purse, and my feet moved me forward. I raised my weapon, swung. Easy. Natural. But not enough.
The demon turned, blocked, and the reverberation of metal striking metal shook through my sword. Like biting a fork, the jarring sensation shot through me, quaked along my arms and rattled me to the bone. I staggered back, and the demon advanced. He swung for my neck, and instinct took over once more.
I spun. The dagger sliced down my back, ripping my T-shirt but missing my skin. The
momentum of my turn carried me around, and with me, my sword. The upswing caught him across the chest, opening a line of black ooze from hip to shoulder across his checkered shirt.
Arms open, the demon spared a surprised glance at his chest. I didn’t think, I just acted and drove my sword deep into his gut. He doubled over, his hand grabbing the blade, eyes wide.
An instant of regret tightened across my shoulders, knotted my stomach. He looked so human, so pained, and I’d caused it. Dammit, this wasn’t me. I couldn’t do this; I couldn’t hurt people.
And then the demon’s sorrowful eyes turned cold, his lips snarled back. He grabbed the bottom hilt of my sword, just below my hands, holding it so I couldn’t pull it free from his body. He raised his dagger and swung. I let go of my sword and stumbled out of reach.
The next thing I saw was Liam’s blade slicing through the demon-man’s neck from behind. His head wobbled for an instant, a ring of black ooze growing just above the folded collar of his shirt. Then suddenly, the head tumbled off his shoulders and the body collapsed, quickly disintegrating into a smoldering pile of goo.
“Took your sweet bloody time getting your sword,” Liam’s words huffed between labored breaths. “Keep that feckin’ thing on ya from now on. Damn near met me end waitin’ on ya.”
“Me? The thing practically got in the car with me. Look what he did to the back window. Where the hell were you when I came out?”
“I was waitin’ ta see if you had any natural fight in ya,” he said. “Seein’ if you could take the bastard on your own.”
“Really? You could’ve just asked. Sheesh.” I sighed. The guy had saved my butt. “Thanks, though. Y’know, for stepping in.”
Liam gave me a wink and a nod. “No trouble a’tall, lass.”
I grabbed my sword from the pile of melting demon goo and turned back to my Jeep. Liam was right about one thing. I’d have to keep the sword on me from now on. Apparently, demons weren’t apt to schedule their attacks at my convenience. Rude.
I unlocked the back—pretending hard that the plastic window wasn’t ripped to shreds. Crap. It was gonna cost me a fortune to fix.
Hellsbane 01 - Hellsbane Page 5
