The Hag

by Erik Henry Vick

  But to understand her assignment was to find the information and summarize. Sally’s understanding of the Internet showed little promise, let alone her ability to parse the results her searches returned. And why does this finance crap matter? It isn’t as if any of this banking information leads anywhere!

  Money flowed from one account to another, stocks bounced from one brokerage house to another, then they were sold, sometimes repurchased at once. None of what she looked at made sense. Not to Sally.

  2

  The phone rang in his ear while Mason fidgeted with his little bag of tricks. He’d developed the habit over the years, unpacking the black leather doctor’s clutch, then shining his blades before repacking them, sometimes over and over to while away the time. He’d found things went smoother if he kept his mind distracted from the urges he felt.

  “Welsh,” grated a voice on the other end of the line.

  “Hi, Chaz. It’s Mason.” He repacked his bag, taking extra care not to smudge his polished blades.

  The call rumbled as Chaz covered the speaker on his end for a moment. “Yeah, what do you have for me?”

  “Not much. I haven’t been able to find the people you want.”

  The line hissed and popped for a moment. “Then, why call?”

  Mason heaved a breath, then let it whistle out.

  “Stop that!” snapped Chaz. “You know I hate that.”

  “Sorry. It’s a habit, and sometimes old habits are the hardest to break.” He began to take each of blades out of the clutch again. First, the big knives, then moving down toward the scalpels.

  “And so? I’m busy over here, Mace.”

  “Yeah, sorry.” He hummed to himself for a moment, organizing his thoughts and putting the blades out of his mind. “I’ve got one of my feelings.”

  “Oh?”

  To Mason’s ears, Chaz sounded half-there, distracted. “Chaz.”

  Chaz heaved a sigh. “Yeah? I’m busy, Mason.”

  “There’s something wrong here. The people you want aren’t in Rochester.”

  “You can’t know that, Mason. It’s a big city, and the hunter is resourceful.”

  Mason wrinkled his nose. “He’s not so resourceful that he can make five people disappear. Remember, Chaz, you and Red spent a lot of time teaching me how to track prey. Am I good at it?”

  “Yes,” said Chaz without pause. “The best I’ve ever seen in a human.”

  “Right. They aren’t here.”

  “But where else could they be?”

  Mason shook his head and stood. He walked from the bed of his hotel room to the big windows that overlooked Rochester’s downtown district. “My gut says they are somewhere to the east.”

  “Gut, huh?”

  Mason shrugged but said nothing.

  “And you’ve checked‍—‍”

  “I’ve checked everything, Chaz. I’ve seen the demons LaBouche set to guard his apartment, but they didn’t see me. I’ve cruised the campus. I’ve been by the trooper’s house.” He drew a breath and whistled with the exhalation. “They aren’t here.”

  “Fuck,” said Chaz. “Okay. Would it do any good to hang out? Maybe wait for them to come back?”

  Mason grimaced and turned back to the bed, his eyes dancing over the shiny blades arrayed on its cover. “There’s been…a complication.”

  Chaz bellowed laughter. “What was her name?”

  “I…” Mason shook his head. “I didn’t catch it.”

  “All right,” said Chaz, still chuckling. “Pack and go, then. Call me when you get home. I’ll pop over later if that’s okay with you.”

  “Roger that,” said Mason as he packed his knives away.

  3

  Mike cursed, and the tires shrieked as the car slid toward the massive tree lying across the road. The scent of smoking rubber burned the back of their throats for a split second before they slammed into the tree with enough force to lift the rear of the car into the air. Mike and Shannon crashed against their seat belts, and Toby jolted forward into the back of the front bench seat, and the air exploded out of his lungs.

  A dark, winged figure streaked down from the night sky and kicked the rear quarter panel opposite Toby with both taloned feet. The passenger side back tire came off the ground, and the back of the car careened toward the ditch next to the road. Toby flew across the back seat and slammed into the rear door.

  Before he could recover, the window set into the door above him shattered, and a large purple hand reached in to grab him by the shirt. The demon jerked Toby through the window and threw him across the ditch into the parking lot of Casey Park. He landed hard and felt something in his shoulder pop. He skidded across the gravel lot, sharp-edged rocks digging into his skin. The demon slammed his claws into the roof of the car and pulled, leaving behind ten strips of peeled metal. Shannon screamed, and Toby pushed himself up, but dizziness overcame him, and he again fell into the sharp stones.

  The trunk popped, and the driver’s side door came open at almost the same moment. The demon cackled and leaped over the car to land next to the driver’s side door. He grabbed Mike by the hair and slung him to the ground. The demon lifted one of his feet and stomped downward, but Mike rolled out of the way, scrambling on his hands and knees toward the ditch.

  With a groan, Toby pushed himself into a seated position using the arm that didn’t hurt. His vision swam, and his ears rang, but the demon wouldn’t care about either—he would come for Toby, and most likely after he’d killed Mike and Shannon. He rolled to his knees, then pushed himself to his feet and staggered toward the open trunk.

  Shannon’s door opened, and though the demon peered in her direction, he snapped his attention back to Mike as he strode toward him with purpose. Though he looked, Toby couldn’t tell if Shannon had gotten out of the car—if she was out, she squatted below the level of the windows. Good girl, Toby thought. Lurching and staggering like a zombie, Toby crossed the parking lot and navigated the ditch. The big purplish-black demon hadn’t noticed him yet, and that fact gave Toby a measure of hope.

  Mike was playing cat and mouse with the winged demon, first juking toward the ditch, then hurling himself behind the fallen tree. He was unarmed, and given the demon’s size and agility, Mike wouldn’t be able to keep away from him for long.

  As Toby climbed out of the ditch, Shannon duck walked around the rear of the car and reached into the open trunk, and he moved to join her at his best speed. The demon had been smart back at the library, beating his wings to blow the chloroform gas away. If only I had my tranquilizer gun! Toby thought.

  He reached the car and withdrew the shotgun. He put his lips next to Shannon’s ear and said, “Take two paintball guns; give one to Mike.”

  “What are you going to do, Toby?”

  Toby lifted the shoulder that didn’t hurt and dropped it. “What I can.”

  “Give me the shotgun. You’re hurt, and I’m not.”

  Toby shuffled back a step or two. “You’ve never used it.”

  “It doesn’t look harder than one of these,” she said, lifting a second paintball gun out of the trunk. “You take one to Mike.”

  Toby shook his head and staggered back toward the parking lot. Using the pump shotgun would be a problem. His right arm had gone pins and needles from the shoulder down, and he couldn’t lift it past his waist. Holding the foregrip with his left hand, Toby dropped the stock of the shotgun and jerked it up, letting momentum work the slide. He turned toward the demon. “Hey!” he shouted. Mike darted a glance in his direction and dove behind the tree, going prone.

  The demon turned toward Toby, grinning wide and exposing myriad sharp fangs. “I haven’t forgotten you,” he said in a singsong voice. “Don’t you worry, Dan Delo never forgets a face…or a debt.”

  Toby grasped the shotgun’s stock with his right hand and fired from the hip.

  Dan Delo shrieked as the slug ripped through his right thigh, slinging gore in its wake. He staggered, but with a shriek of
pure rage, put his head down and charged at Toby.

  After using the weight and momentum of the shotgun to rack the slide once more, Toby fired from the hip again. This time, the slug hit the demon in the shoulder and spun him one hundred and eighty degrees. Toby dropped the butt of the shotgun and pumped another slug into the chamber. He took a few steps forward, then grabbed the stock and fired again.

  Dan Delo shrieked as the slug hit him in the small of the back, shoving him across the road toward the car. With a screech of pain, he flapped his great wings and ascended into the sky.

  Toby worked the slide again, but since his right hand refused to go higher than his waist, aiming at the flying demon was pointless. Instead, he made for the last place he’d seen Shannon—the trunk of the Lincoln. As he ran, he felt the wind of Dan Delo’s passage above his head and ducked, escaping the demon’s claws by fractions of an inch.

  He slid around the back of the car, almost crashing into Mike and Shannon, who squatted near the back tire. He thrust the shotgun at Mike. “I think my shoulder’s dislocated.”

  Mike took the shotgun and handed over his paintball gun. “How do we handle him?”

  Toby bared his teeth in an ugly grimace—half pain, half frustration. “If he’s aware of the paintballs, he just flaps his stupid fucking wings and blows the gas away. We distracted him before by shooting the other demon, but now…”

  “I’ll just have to distract him with this.” Mike gestured with the shotgun; his lips pressed into a thin line. “You and Shannon pepper him with the chloroform.”

  Toby frowned. “I’m not sure that’s enough, Mike.”

  In the air above them, Dan Delo screamed, and the wind of his passage buffeted the car.

  “Guess we’ll find out,” said Mike. He sprinted away from the car like a track star at the beginning of a race.

  “Mike!” Toby hissed. “Dammit!” He fumbled with the paintball gun in his left hand. “I suck with this hand, Shan. You hit him in the face, I’ll try to keep him off balance.”

  “I…” Shannon rocked her head back and forth. “Toby…I’m…I’m no good at this. You have to do it.”

  “Shannon, I can’t. I can’t lift my right arm past my waist, I can’t be effective that way. I’ll set this on full auto, and just do my best to keep the thing busy fanning away chloroform. You can do it; you must do it.”

  Shannon swallowed hard, looking at the paintball gun in her lap as if it were an alien thing. She shook her head once and stood.

  Down the road, Mike fired the shotgun—the booming report answered by an earsplitting scream from the sky. Mike racked the slide of the shotgun, then dove to the left, rolling at the edge of the road. He came up in a squat, the stock of the gun already at his shoulder, and fired again.

  Dan Delo howled and fell from the sky, landing on his side, blood and brains leaking from a massive hole in the side of his head. He lay there twitching, then his limbs flopped on the macadam like epileptic snakes.

  “Yes! Mike, you got him!” shouted Shannon, holding her fists above her head. She sprinted toward the demon.

  “Shannon, no!” shouted Toby, but she either didn’t hear him or ignored him. He ran after her but was too far away and too slow to catch her.

  As Shannon approached him, the big purple demon cackled and sprang to his feet. He whirled to face her, his wings extended, and the claw on the end of one of his wings slashed her. The force of the blow sent her reeling away.

  Mike straightened and sprinted toward the fight, dropping the shotgun as he got close. He lowered his shoulder and slammed into the demon, his arms encircling Delo’s waist. He drove forward, straining to wrench the beast off his feet, and succeeded only in lifting one leg.

  Dan Delo looked down and cackled with glee. He lifted an arm high above his head and then brought it down elbow first into the back of Mike’s neck. The sound of the impact was sickening, and Mike flopped to the ground at the demon’s feet. The demon glowered and sent the shotgun skittering away into the ditch.

  Delo turned his gaze on Toby and leered at him. “And now, mighty hunter, it’s time for you to pay your debt.”

  Toby skidded to a halt, and sprayed paintballs at the purple demon, firing in one continuous stream. If nothing else, I might put Mike and Shannon to sleep so they won’t have to suffer.

  Dan Delo cocked his head, listening intently. His face bunched, and he snarled at Toby. “Your payment will have to wait, but I will take a small advance.” He looked down at the man lying at his feet and lifted one foot. Then his gaze returned to Toby’s, and he stomped on Mike, claws of his feet extended.

  In the distance, Toby heard what had caught the demon’s attention—sirens.

  4

  LaBouche read the note from Sally once more, then crumpled the paper into a ball, squeezing it in his fist. The gall! We are in a war for our very existence, and the demon securing our base goes courting! He turned and stomped out of his impromptu command center. He wanted more than anything to take the news to Brigitta, but she’d made it clear that he and Chaz had to work together.

  They needed Chaz focused—focused on defending Oneka Falls, on securing their base of power. Why can’t that dumb asshole just do as he’s told? Now, LaBouche would have to take the time to travel to Oneka Falls and speak to him. Time that he should spend planning, setting traps, and gathering the demons who had moved away.

  Preparing for the coming war, in other words.

  5

  The purple demon ground his foot into Mike’s upper back and then transferred his full weight to that foot. He launched himself into the air, and with an evil laugh, flew away.

  Toby rushed toward Mike. “Shannon!”

  A groan came from the ditch on the side of the road.

  “Shannon! I need you! Mike’s hurt!”

  Another groan sounded, but she raised her head. “Mike?”

  “He’s down, Dan Delo stomped on him, elbowed him in the neck.” Toby dropped the paintball gun and slid on his knees to Mike’s side.

  “Are those…are those sirens?” asked Shannon, sounding like she’d had three too many Manhattans.

  “Are you okay, Shannon?” Toby tore his eyes from the mass that was Mike’s upper back in time to watch her stand, stagger to the left, and fall again. “Shit!” he muttered. He ripped his shirt off, wincing at the pain in his shoulder as he wrenched his arm out of the sleeve.

  Mike’s wounds were severe—he was bleeding profusely—and the first thing Toby needed to do was to get the bleeding under control. He pressed his shirt over the wounds, then looked toward Shannon.

  She was standing again, but in the fragile-looking way of drunks everywhere, her hands held out for balance. She glanced at him, widened her eyes once as if to clear them, then climbed out of the ditch and onto the road. “Tell me what to do.”

  She slurred as she spoke, and that worried Toby. “Shannon, where are you hurt?” He darted a glance at her, watching her approach. She weaved a strange path between the edge of the road and where he stood.

  “Sirens,” said Shannon. “Getting closer.”

  “Shannon, I need you to go through the car. Get all our weapons, get anything that might point to one of us. Mike rented the car, so there’ll be a record of it, but there’s nothing we can do about that. Get everything else.”

  “You don’t need my help with Mike?”

  “I do, but we don’t have time for both. Get going; get the car cleaned out.”

  “I can’t carry everything.”

  Toby gave her a terse nod. “Multiple trips. Hide stuff in the woods.”

  She stood swaying for a moment, her eyes on the back of Mike’s head. “Is he‍—‍” she choked.

  “No, not if I can help it. Remember, I went to medical school, though I haven’t worked on a live person since residency. Still, anatomy is anatomy.” He glanced up at her diamond tears glittering in the moonlight. “Go, Shan. I won’t let him die.”

  She turned—a little too quickly
—and staggered sideways for a moment. She straightened and moved toward the car, leaving Toby to return his full attention to trying to stem the flow of Mike’s blood.

  The sirens grew louder, and Toby lifted his head to gaze down the length of the road—back toward Route 104. There were no spinning red and blue lights, yet, and that was a good thing.

  “Unnh,” groaned Mike. His muscles tensed, and he drew his arms to his sides as if he were about to do a push-up.

  “Lie still, you’re wounded.”

  Mike didn’t move, and he relaxed his arms. “Demon…” he whispered.

  “Gone.” Toby glanced toward Shannon as she emerged from the woods and weaved her way back to the car. “Mike, we’ll have to abandon the car. Cops are on the way, and…”

  “And they can’t catch us here.” Each time Mike spoke, his voice was stronger.

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “That’ll be the county, first. Is this Monroe? Can’t remember.”

  Toby shook his head even though Mike was face down and couldn’t see him. “No, it’s Wayne County.”

  “Don’t know anybody at the Wayne County Sheriff’s Department. Once they check out the scene…they’ll call the troopers, for sure. Can’t leave anything in the car‍—‍”

  “I’ve got Shannon seeing to that, Mike. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not.”

  You should be, Toby thought, noting the amount of blood that had saturated the T-shirt pressed to Mike’s back. It should worry you that you may never walk again. Mike had moved his arms, and that was a good thing given the blow to the back of his neck, but Dan Delo was huge and looked heavy—and he had stomped on Mike’s spine. “Mike,” said Toby with forced casualness. “Can you feel your feet?”

  Mike chuckled. “Deftly handled, Doctor Pathologist. But, yes, I can feel my feet. Pins and needles, but there.”

  “Good. That’s good, Mike.” Toby glanced up at the intersection on 104 and grimaced at the red and blue spinners reflecting off the signs and buildings on each corner of the intersection. “But I can’t risk moving you.”