- 21 -
The yellow demon made a feint in Ariel’s direction. The Raptor didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she used her peripheral vision to watch the demon on her right. Yellow wasn’t going to jump in right away and risk breaking a nail. She’d let the Raptor be worn down by her soldiers, then she’d take over, finish Ariel off and claim the glory.
The demon to Ariel’s right made his move with a flat sweep of his sword just as Ariel expected. She blocked it easily with one of her knives. He backed off, sliding his sword along her blade, making sparks. Ariel heard a sound behind her. She swept her other knife in that direction, spinning, countering the second demon’s blade by blocking it to her left, leaving her over-confident opponent open to a fatal right thrust to the throat. The skewered demon rose on his toes as she pushed the blade home. She planted a taloned foot in his stomach and gave him a push to loosen the blade. He fell over on his back, dead, entrails spilling onto the grass. The freed gravity knife snicked back into its sheath letting her scoop up the demon’s angel killer.
“The poison has no effect on us, Raptor,” the yellow demon said. “The blade is useless to you.”
Ariel hefted the sword, testing its weight and balance. She smiled. “Rumor disagrees. Besides, I’ve always believed it’s fairer to fight my enemies with their own weapons. It levels the field. Otherwise we’re merely talking about a messy execution.”
Another demon with a green blade stepped into the ring.
“I see this isn’t combat by elimination, it’s musical chairs. Where’s the sport in that, yellow face?”
“You object to me because of my color? In my world yellow is the color of kings.”
“In my world it’s the color of cowardice and liver failure.”
The yellow demon spat at her. Ariel bared her teeth and thrust the green sword backward under her arm into the gut of demon number two. The verdigris bubbled and spit, sloughing off the blade where it touched the demon. Ariel held it up for everyone to see. “Sweet,” she said. “And I thought I was lying my ass off.”
Two new demons stepped in to the ring. The yellow demon ignored them. Ariel threw the poisoned sword at one of them. He took it in the gut and fell backward into the crowd. The yellow demon swung her sword and Ariel countered with her gravity knife. Two more demons stepped into the ring.
Ariel glanced at them. “Reinforcements. Scared, huh? I know I’m quaking in my boots.” She looked down at her feet. “Oops, no boots.”
“I don’t know why I should lower myself to fight you,” the yellow demon said. “The House of Eight deserves combat with its ancient enemies, not their disposable lackeys.”
Ariel gave up on the knives and pulled her sword. Six against one was pushing her skill.
“C’mon,” she taunted. “Fight me, just the two of us. One-on-one. Winner takes all.”
“We already have it all,” the demon hissed. “Killing you is just taking out the trash.”
- 22 -
“Don’t you want to hunt demons with your friends?” Bishop asked the girl with the star tattoos.
The girl continued to trudge the stairs behind him. She’d chosen a wooden staff from the weapons room and currently held it with both hands, draped over her shoulders like a yoke. She shook her head.
“There doesn’t seem to be much action in this building,” Bishop said.
“You need someone to help you.”
“It’s probably more exciting downstairs.”
“Don’t care.”
“I don’t want to be responsible for you getting hurt.”
“Been hurt. I’m probably a better fighter than you anyway. You need me.”
Bishop sighed. “Do you have a name?”
“Starr.”
Bishop glanced back at her tattoos and nodded.
“Is Mouser your kid?”
“No. He’s just . . . this kid. He’s really important to a friend of mine.”
Starr kept silent.
“Okay, I’m lying. I got kind of attached to him over this kidnap business. Him and Susan Elizabeth Morgan, this little girl I was hired to find. . . I think Zaki took her too. Have you seen any younger kids here?”
“How young?”
“Five. Six?”
Starr shook her head. “They’d be too young to fight. Maybe they took them to Level Three right away.”
“What about you? Do you have a family? Somebody who’s worried about you?”
“I got the Rats.”
“It must be hard to live on the street. I have this friend . . .”
Starr held up a hand. “Been there, dude. Foster care, group homes, juvie. Been there, around the block and back again. The street is better. I just need to get out of this place and I’m cool.”
“The train . . .”
“Not until we find Mouser. The Rats owe you that.”
* * *
Level Three was a wide hallway with more doors. Bishop and Starr each took a side, looking through window panels into rooms filled with strange machines: microscopes, computers, white boards covered in mathematical symbols, surrounded by colored markers and wadded up pieces of paper thrown carelessly on the floor. One room had a warren of empty Plexiglas cages. Some cages had blankets on the floor, plastic bottles of water, a doll.
“Sssst.” Starr had moved further down the hall. She pointed through a window and motioned Bishop over. Bishop could see the room was smaller than the other labs. One side was taken up with two floor-to-ceiling Plexiglas cages. Bishop saw movement inside one of them, but the angle of the window prevented him from seeing through the Plexiglas with any clarity. A desk sat across the room from the cages and narrow table occupied the space in between. The table had padded restraints attached to all four corners. A tall, almost human looking demon in a grey suit was standing at the table drawing a milky fluid from a glass vial into two small syringes which he placed in a small tray next to a dart gun. As Bishop watched, a figure in the first cage threw its body against the glass yelling words Bishop and Starr couldn’t hear.
“It’s the Grey Man.” Starr said.
“Who’s the Grey Man?” Bishop whispered.
“He picks the ones that go to Level Three. Some kids call him the Reaper, ‘cuz nobody ever comes back after he takes ‘em away.”
“Stay here, I’m going in.”
“No way! I got the bugs inside me. I’m younger, faster and stronger than you. I can take him. I wanna take him.”
Bishop slid the daiko slowly out of its sheath. The Ruger would have been easier, but Bishop dismissed it. Somehow, in this instance, a sword seemed more appropriate.
* * *
The Grey Man was making a toneless humming sound as he prepared the injections. It was an unconscious habit that surfaced when he was particularly pleased about something. When he caught himself doing it he usually felt annoyed, but not tonight. He had gone to the banquet along with the other scientists and lab assistants. The invitation had indicated that Mr. Kiriyenko was celebrating the debut of his invention and wanted to show his appreciation to everyone who had worked on it. All the scientists knew their famous boss employed a Parisian chef and had an impressive wine cellar. That alone was enough to ensure that everyone would attend. The Grey Man, however, had always worked exclusively on his own special projects so although he had things in common with the primate zoologists and bio-technicians, he rarely mingled with those who spent their time peering at computer screens and into microscopes.
The fact was, the Grey Man disliked being around other people, human or demon, and he especially disliked the combination of crowds and food. At the banquet he was careful to drink only bottled water that came with the seal still intact and to eat only from his own container which held, as usual, organic black rice topped with a handful of tiny pseudopodius crustaceans which the Grey Man favored not just because they were a rare and expensive treat, but because they were animals that reproduced asexually through the release of spores, thus eliminating any nee
d for physical contact with each other. The Grey Man ate them alive, shell and all. He liked to hear them scream.
Sitting in a far corner, out of the way, the Grey Man watched with great interest as the poison, provided by the ever inventive Alameil, took effect. After a brief latency period to allow for mass ingestion, the substance hit its victims like a freight train, dropping greedy science staff like poleaxed cattle. The stricken frothed, shuddered, blushed an unpleasant shade of blue, stuck out their tongues and died. For the Grey Man it was an enthralling event. Unfortunately, when he tried to leave the room after the final death throes, the door was locked. He had to wait locked in the room feigning death until a group of repulsive juveniles managed to bypass the security system and open the door. After that it was merely a matter of staying where he was until they left, then slipping out and taking the back stairs to Level Three and his private lab.
The Grey Man was pleased to see his prisoners were still there, oblivious to the chaos around them, awaiting his pleasure. His only problem now was who to kill first? The hawk boy was very annoying; loud, rude, abusive; unbowed and unrepentant. The boy’s physiology had rejected the nanobots with ease. The Grey man was still curious as to how he could overcome that but the time for further experiments had obviously run out.
The girl was the same, more malleable because of her age, but still impervious to control. But, who to kill first? Did he kill the girl and let the boy watch? Or did he kill the boy and watch the girl’s grief and fear as she realized she would be the next to die? The grey man paused. What would give him the most satisfaction? He shook his head. So very hard to choose.
Preparation put off the choice a little longer. He fondled the vial he’d just removed from a locked cabinet. He liked this poison, it varied slightly from the first in that it could be injected which made it act much faster, but it was also immeasurably more painful. He’d perfected the dose over time by experimenting on monkeys. He knew exactly how much to give, relative to both children’s body weight. He’d kill the girl first, he decided. The boy had become attached to her. His grief would make it all the sweeter when it was his turn. He picked up the dart gun. It was loaded with tranquilizer. He could open the cage, knock the girl out if necessary, strap her to the table and be ready to administer the poison as soon as she woke up. There would be no funny business of course; he wasn’t that kind of demon.
- 23 -
“Open Level Three.” Bishop whispered into his com. The doors all along the hall made a soft click.
The Grey Man had already opened the far cell and was dragging a small, blond girl into the room. The child was struggling frantically to break the man’s grip on her arm. Starr pushed past Bishop and flung open the door.
“Susan Elizabeth!” Bishop shouted. The girl looked exactly like her picture except her hair hadn’t been combed in days and she was wearing pink flannel pajamas and only one slipper. Bishop moved quickly to Starr’s right, intending to take Susan Elizabeth away from the demon. The demon calmly pointed the dart gun in his direction and pulled the trigger. Bishop saw Starr’s staff blur across his sight line. A small, blue feathered needle appeared quivering in the wood. Starr twirled her staff rapidly in a circle, picking up two more darts. Then she flipped it forward, aiming to bring one end down on the Grey Man’s head. The demon tilted his body out of reach and pulled Susan Elizabeth in front of him, using her as a shield.
There was a large red button on the wall just inside the door. What the hell, Bishop thought, and hit it hard with a thrust of his elbow. The door to the other cell slid open. A brown hawk burst into the room screaming with fury. It went straight for the Grey Man’s face, slashing with its beak, ripping and tearing at the demon’s throat with its talons. Its wings beat at the demon’s head obscuring his vision and knocking him against the table. Susan Elizabeth pulled free, scooting backwards until she was up against the far wall.
The Grey Man’s hand scrabbled blindly across the table top. Too late, Bishop saw the hand land on one of the syringes. The demon thumbed off the needle guard and plunged it blindly into the body of the attacking hawk. The bird faltered. It managed one last beat of its wings then fell away. By the time it hit the floor it was a naked, fourteen year old boy, writhing in pain, his frothing lips and pale flesh slowly turning an unhealthy shade of blue.
“Mouser!” Susan Elizabeth screamed. The child threw herself across the room, landing on her knees at Mouser’s side. Tears were streaming down her face as she frantically tried to stop the boy’s convulsions.
Freed of the hawk, the demon was trying to clear the blood from his eyes so he could see. Without another thought, Bishop took one long stride and plunged the daiko two-handed into the Grey Man’s murderous heart. Bishop abandoned the blade to the falling body and spun toward Mouser, a terrible grief rising in his chest. Susan Elizabeth was still frantically trying to help him. As he watched, helpless, the child seemed to gather herself. She closed her eyes, took a deep, deliberate breath and put her small hands on either side of Mouser’s face. Her own face screwed itself into a tight expression of extreme concentration. Within moments the blue in Mouser’s skin began to recede, fading downward, away from the place she was touching with her hands until it was gone.
Starr took a step forward but Bishop’s arm went out, willing her to stop so there would be no risk of breaking Susan Elizabeth’s concentration. They could hear her singing what sounded like a rhyme very faintly under her breath.
Suddenly, Mouser gave a wrenching cough, pulling gulp after gulp of air into his lungs. Susan Elizabeth threw her arms around his neck in a tight hug and dissolved into tears. One of Mouser’s hands floated upward and began to pat her gently on the back.
“Suzee,” he managed. “You’re strangling me.” The little girl let go, grabbing Mouser’s hand, holding it as if he might suddenly try to leave her grip.
“What happened?” Starr asked.
“He tried to hurt Mouser,” Suzee told her. “I made the bad medicine go away.”
Bishop leaned over both of them. “Are you okay?”
Mouser frowned. “Bishop? Where’s El? What took you guys so long?”
“The freeway was jammed with demons and exploding lizards. You need a hand getting up?”
“Suzee,” Mouser said. “You need to shut your eyes.”
“Why?”
“I need to get up and I’m, um, naked. You shouldn’t be looking.”
Suzee dutifully put both hands over her eyes, but she was smiling. “Already did,” she whispered. Then she giggled.
Mouser staggered a bit when he finally managed to stand, then ran for his cell. Seconds later there was the sound of violent retching followed by a massive explosion of vomit. Bishop was about to go in to see if he was all right, when Mouser called out; “I’m okay. Don’t come in. At least I think I’m okay, I never puked blue before.”
“How’d you do that?” Starr asked.
Suzee shrugged. “I don’t know. I did it before, when my dog was hit by a car. My mom freaked. Please, please don’t tell her, she’ll get mad. She says I get all my bad stuff from my daddy’s side of the family.”
* * *
“We need to go,” Bishop announced once Mouser was dressed. “We’ll find a safe place to hole up until we know what’s happening out there. Where’s your other shoe?” He asked Suzee. She shrugged. “You ride then.” He picked her up in one arm.
“Which way?” Mouser asked.
“That way,” Starr said.
All the rooms looked like labs except one on the end, which looked more like some kind of dorm. It was lined with two rows of small, single beds, recently used but now empty and unmade. A lone teddy bear sat against a metal leg, abandoned and forlorn. Starr opened the door.
“Anybody here?” Bishop said. No answer.
Starr walked down the middle space between the two rows of beds. Two or three beds had blankets that spilled over the side touching the the floor. She used the end of her staff to lift o
ne up. A small, bare foot was instantly drawn out of sight.
“Hey,” Starr said softly, dropping down on her haunches. “It’s okay. We’re the good guys. We’re here to rescue you.” She leaned over sideways to get a better look. Two sets of frightened eyes looked back. “It’s okay, really. C’mon out.”
The boy was first. He was about four, dressed in grubby pajamas with no shoes or socks. His eyes were scared but he was trying to be brave.
“Down,” Suzee ordered Bishop. He let her slide down his arm until her feet touched the floor. She ran over to stand by Starr. ”They’re telling the truth,” she said to the boy. “They just rescued me. He killed a demon.” She pointed back at Bishop. “And Mouser, he’s a really fierce bird. And Starr hits bad guys with her stick.”
The boy reached out one finger and touched Starr’s staff. “It’s okay, Neelie,” he said to someone behind him. “It’s safe.” A little girl about the same age crawled out from under the same bed.
“Are you the only ones here?” Starr asked.
The little boy shook his head, “You all can come out now,” he called as if it were the end of a game of hide and seek. Three more children crawled out from under other beds.
“I’m hungry,” one announced. The first little girl motioned Starr to lean closer so she could whisper. “I have to pee.”
Bishop sat down on one of the beds. I have five children under six, he thought, plus a shape shifter; a child with magic powers and a scientifically enhanced Kung Fu Lab Rat barely into her teens. How did he suddenly get elected Kindergarten Cop?
“Okay,” he announced. “We’re all going to move to a safer place. So everybody needs to pee before we leave this room because we can’t stop on the way. Do you all have slippers? Then try to find them, okay?” To Starr he said, “This would go faster if we knew where the rest of the rats are.”
Raptor: Urban Fantasy Noir Page 36
