Of Saints and Sinners

by Erik Lynd

  “Have you heard of a new breed of supernatural creatures appearing in the city? Maybe coming from underground?”

  “Underground? You mean the sewers and subway tunnels?”

  “Yeah, or maybe even deeper.”

  “And a new breed you say? One you haven’t encountered before? That’s saying a lot, because you’ve been around my boy.”

  “My guess is not natural, probably man-made or some artificial creation.”

  “Ah! Possible transmogrification? That is why you have come to me,” Mephisto said and sat back a little in his chair, which creaked under the weight. “You think I made these little beasties and set them loose on the city?”

  “No, these creatures have been attacking civilians, including a priest and in at least one case tried to assault a fully armed branch of the Templars. I don’t think you would risk the anger of your masters by upsetting the balance directly.”

  Mephisto’s smile was gone, replaced by a cold stare and slight twitch in the eye. Silas guessed he didn’t like having the word master turned back on him, but they both knew that was the appropriate word. Silas may not have been in the hierarchy of hell, but that was exactly the way he liked it. Mephisto, on the other hand, was a card-carrying member reaping all the pros and a large pile of cons.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “It’s your area of expertise. I know you’ve trained many sorcerers over the years in that specific skill,” Silas said. “I thought you may have known someone in the area who would be capable of this.”

  “Nope, no one,” Mephisto said and went back to his meal.

  Silas blinked at the abrupt ending. “Well then, I guess…”

  “Wait,” Mephisto said, once more holding up his fork and spitting another piece of pasta onto Silas’ jacket. “I might know somebody. How many of these creatures are there?”

  “Not sure, I saw about seven at one time, but there are probably more.”

  “Nope, nope,” Mephisto said shaking his head. “Couldn’t be this guy. He wasn’t that powerful. Holding a transmogrification that long on that many humans would require more power than most mortals possess. Unless…” Mephisto said and gestured with the fork again, but this time Silas was ready for it and leaned away from the pasta projectile. “Unless he had help.”

  “What kind of help?” St. Abigail asked.

  “Well like another sorcerer or supernatural being. Or perhaps a catalyst.”

  “A catalyst?”

  “Yes a catalyst--some sort of alchemical substance that enhances the transmogrification. That is why some sort of potion is used for effecting a long-term or potent transformation. It’s in all the stories.”

  “Could this person be using some sort of catalyst?” St. Abigail asked.

  Silas was getting tired of all the questions. If Mephisto would just give them a name, they could go find out for themselves. “Can we get a move on here? Just get a name maybe?”

  Mephisto and St. Abigail ignored him.

  “Well, maybe, but it would have to have been one hell of a catalyst, and I am sure this guy wouldn’t have been able to create one alone. He was your run-of-the-mill sorcerer and dabbled in alchemy, but he was strictly amateur.”

  “But if someone helped him, maybe gave him a little guidance? You think this guy could do something like this?” St. Abigail asked.

  “You mean morally?” Mephisto laughed. “This guy was a nutso. He had ideas about taking the human race to a new level. Very racist individual, thought he could perfect mankind. Almost religiously fanatical about it. Anyway, he came to me a few times for some help--wanted all sorts of exotic arcane lore. I thought he was going nowhere, so I taught him just enough for him to get into trouble. Then blew him off. But yeah, he could do something like this if he had help or was given a catalyst.”

  “Okay, great, who is this guy?” Silas asked.

  “Come now, Silas. You didn’t think it would be that easy did you?” Mephisto said, a smile sliding across his face. “Information is not free. Why should I help you?”

  “This guy is breaking the rules, rules even your masters play by,” Silas said and leaned on his elbows close to Mephisto. “These things are brushing against mortals, and I don’t mean just the ones that know of the Pale. I’m talking about civilians. And keep in mind these things could look like demons to your average mortal.”

  Mephisto shrugged, but Silas could see a little concern in his eyes.

  “What do I care if there is a little chaos? We welcome that, you know that just as much as I,” Mephisto said.

  “Sure. What’s a little chaos and fear among friends? Sounds good to me, I’m all for it. But what happens when this nutso, as you described him, decides to really change the whole human race. He won’t be able to of course, but he will sure as hell cause an imbalance. And if he grows his little menagerie and directly confronts the mortals, do you think there will be any balance? What happens when mortals begin to understand what’s really amongst them? What happens when mortals realize the monsters are real, the fairy tales are real and the very fabric of reality is to be questioned? What happens then?”

  “A little dramatic aren’t we Silas? I know what could happen. Theoretically we are talking Armageddon, but that seems like a large jump. I mean we don’t even know if this guy is the nutso in question.”

  “But what if it does happen? If this grows and the imbalance is created and the Final Accounting comes early, do you think the infernal host would like that? Are we that certain things are tipped in our favor?” Silas said, and dramatic or not, he was right. Exposing the Pale to humans too early would bring about Judgment Day prematurely and the remnants of humanity would be divvied up between heaven and hell. This is the primary reason the Inquisition project was created--to protect humanity until they were ready. They may have different definitions of ready, but for now their goals were the same.

  “Look at it this way Mephisto,” St. Abigail said. “We are helping you clean up a possible liability. You yourself said he was a nobody, that you blew him off. What does it matter if you let us check him out? He might be the guy or he might not. Either way it seems like we are really just helping you. Working for you as it were.”

  Silas looked over at St. Abigail. He was impressed. She was working him over good by playing to his vanity and making it look as though they were really doing what he wanted. And it was working; she had him wrapped around her finger.

  “Well I suppose you could clean up this loose end for me Silas, I certainly can’t be bothered with anything so petty. The name’s Webb, Nicholas Webb. He had an apartment in Jersey, on Kensington Avenue.”

  “Great. Well then we will just be going, get out of your hair…”

  “I said you could clean this up for me Silas. The Saint is mine, that is my payment and of course it is not negotiable,” Mephisto was smiling big now, smug he had pulled one over on them.

  Silas heard the door close behind them and the two Screamers stepped a little closer, expecting trouble. Mephisto leaned back, out of the way of the violence. He could take care of himself, but probably preferred to have his minions deal with them. Abigail tensed. If she made a move those Screamers would start and it would be over real quick. He had to do something. Mephisto was right, there was no negotiation. If he had figured out she was a Saint he would have to destroy her, his demon blood would not let such an enemy walk free out of his domain.

  “Fine,” Silas said.

  They both looked at him like he was crazy. Apparently they had both expected a fight.

  “I mean she is sexy as hell, but damn does she talk on and on, drives me crazy. Come on Mephisto, do you really think I like having a goody-two-shoes look over my shoulder. I mean when the Vatican saddled me with this one, they really made my life a living hell, no pun intended. If you could take her off my hands, that would be cool.”

  He looked over St. Abigail and smiled at the fury reddening her face. He couldn’t kill her easily, but if Mephisto
got his hands on her, she could end up trapped in hell for all eternity. “I could just file some report or something saying she was disposed of in the line of duty. Doing me a favor really.”

  Mephisto was scowling, probably trying to figure out Silas’s game. But then he seemed to accept it. “Didn’t think it would go down that easy, but okay,”

  “One thing though, she is a fucking banshee in bed. Can I just give her a kiss goodbye so I can keep a taste of that?”

  “Silas you old dog,” the smile was back on Mephisto’s face. “You had a piece of that? Sure go ahead.”

  Silas knew St. Abigail was going to do something any moment, so he had to be fast. He slipped the earplugs from his pocket, then moving as fast as he could, he grabbed the sides of her head and kissed her as her lips opened in shocked protest. Knowing that any moment those stilettos could plunge into his gut, he slipped the plugs into her ears. Her eyes widened even as she tried to push him away. He didn’t know if she understood what he was doing, but the stilettos never came, and he took that as a good sign.

  He pulled away from her and felt a stinging slap across his cheek. It would leave a mark, but it was a lot better than a knife in the gut. Looking her in the eyes he pointed at his throat, she wouldn’t hear him so he hoped she got it.

  “Now,” he said and turned to the Screamer nearest him.

  He covered his ears with his hands and kicked it in the groin. The Screamer screamed. It leaned forward, its large jaw swinging loose and distending much lower than any mortal mouth could. To Silas it looked like a snake unhinging its jaw to eat a rat. Then, as its face swelled like a fleshy mega horn, the sound came. Like the long distance whine of a train whistle, the sound ripped out of its mouth. Silas’ hands were useless now--he had to keep them up to protect his ears.

  It only took a moment for the second Screamer to figure out what was going on. It too distended its mouth in preparation for a scream. St. Abigail’s blade streaked through the air and impaled the screamer in the throat even as the whine began.

  The one that Silas had kicked was quickly reaching its full volume. His hands would only delay the inevitable; a screamer at full volume will kill. He kicked it in the gut. The Screamer paused in its wail long enough to cover its midsection.

  The second screamer had given up trying to remove Abigail’s stiletto from its neck and lunged at her. St. Abigail jumped onto a chair, then onto a table, then, using her momentum, she leaped and spun in a somersault over the Screamer and its chomping mouth. As she passed over, her blade struck out, slicing across the demon’s eyes. She landed in a crouch facing the creature’s back.

  If Silas had a score card with a ten on it he would have held it up. The creature covered its eyes, blood oozing from between its fingers.

  Mephisto had stepped back from the table and ripped open his jacket and shirt revealing rolls of fat and flab. He grabbed a hunk of his own flesh in both hands and tore it off in globs then tossed each of the flesh lumps onto the ground where they instantly began to grow. Silas wondered why his brethren had to be so gross.

  Silas kicked at the Screamer, aiming for its throat, but this time it was ready and blocked his kick. Its scream was loud enough that he could feel it piercing into his brain.

  He swung his fist at the creature and it brought its arm up to block, but at the last moment Silas changed his target and grabbed the Screamer’s outstretched arm instead. It was not expecting this and he caught it off balance.

  He looked at St. Abigail and yelled.

  “Now!”

  He knew she wouldn’t hear, but he hoped she would know what to do. Her eyes flashed and then she was leaping, slamming into the back of the blind screamer with her legs. The creature was knocked forward, off balance by the unexpected blow. In a moment Silas was going to be the meat in a Screamer sandwich. As the three collided he shoved the arm of his Screamer into the chomping maw of the blind one.

  The scream turned into a roar and lost some of its piercing quality, for which Silas was grateful. Silas ducked and rolled, coming up on a few feet from Mephisto. The two lumps of flesh that he had thrown to the ground were growing. Whatever they were becoming Silas was sure they would not be healthy for him and St. Abigail.

  Within moments he and St. Abigail were forgotten by the screamers as they tore at each other in rage. The low level demons were always predictably stupid.

  “Silas!” St. Abigail cried and pointed.

  He could barely hear her through the ringing in his ears, but he looked at where she pointed. The blob of flesh was finishing its transformation into a giant Rottweiler. But this was no man’s best friend.

  “Hell hounds,” Silas said.

  It snarled at Silas and drew its mouth back, revealing four inch teeth. It took a small step forward as its form solidified. They had only seconds before these creatures pounced.

  “Time to go,” Silas said.

  Mephisto had already removed two other pieces of flesh. They could not fight that many hell hounds. He grabbed the edge of the nearest table and heaved, swinging it like a flat, giant baseball bat. He slammed it into the newly formed hell hound just as it crouched for a strike.

  The force of his blow knocked it back into its brother and they landed in a tangle on the ground. Silas continued the arc of his swing and using its momentum, he threw the table through the tinted glass windows, shattering them into a thousand pieces and knocking a pedestrian down.

  “Come on!” Silas yelled to St. Abigail and jumped through the window.

  The two hell hounds were already on their feet and the other two were almost fully formed. Silas wasn’t sure Abigail had heard him, but from the corner of his eye he saw her follow him through the window.

  Humans scattered out of the way as they ran from the restaurant. Tomorrow all they would remember is that a pack of dogs chased two people out of a restaurant. Mephisto might get a visit from the health department, but that would be about it.

  He and Abigail climbed aboard their bikes just as the hounds exploded from the restaurant window. They roared out onto the street, sending two cars sliding into oncoming lanes as they swerved to avoid two bikers and a pack of wild dogs the size of horses.

  Abigail had already shot ahead of him--maybe he should look into one of those crotch rockets after all—and there was no question that their bikes could out run the hounds, but New York traffic was another devil entirely. They were slowed immediately as they wove in and out of cars. The hounds took advantage and leaped from car to car, snarling and chomping. They left huge dents in the hoods and roofs they pounced on, claws tearing huge gouges in taxi cabs and SUVs.

  The lead hound came close to Silas and lunged at him. He stood on his foot pegs and leaned to counter balance, then he brought his fist down like a hammer on top of the beast’s head. It fell off the taxi it stood on and hit the street. Silas couldn’t take the time to see if it was going to get back up, a second was coming up to take its place.

  Ahead of them the cars were at a stop. A red light. He gunned the throttle to catch up to Abigail and to avoid a large claw swiping at him. He felt the claw wisp through his hair and then heard a bark of frustration, although it was barely audible to his numb ears.

  Abigail hit the throttle at the intersection and went up on one wheel as she raced through, squeezing between two cars. Yep, thought Silas, she is growing on me.

  Silas entered the intersection where a semi-truck came bearing down on him. He throttled and felt the wind of the passing truck across his back just as he cleared the lane. The hell hound closest behind him was not as lucky. In his mirror Silas saw the hound plaster the grill, crushing part of the hood and radiator. The truck driver slammed on his breaks, sending the trailer sliding sideways. Silas hoped it would slow the others down.

  A hound appeared on top of the trailer and bounded over it, but Silas didn’t see where it landed because the road ahead needed his attention. A wooden barrier was blocking off the lane for road construction. This explained th
e bad traffic so late at night. Silas couldn’t see what the construction was, but Abigail burst through the barrier, probably to take advantage of the briefly open stretch of road. Silas followed.

  Abigail blew past a man in an orange and yellow safety vest, a cup of coffee forgotten in his hand. Two more workers jumped out of Abigail’s way, but she didn’t slow. Then she was up in the air like the bike had just become a bucking bronco. She was airborne after hitting a large pile of dirt and asphalt. Silas wondered what the hell they were jumping even as he hit the make shift ramp and gunned the throttle. Whatever it was, he hoped it wasn’t too large.

  As he left the ground, Abigail landed. His bike was much heavier than hers and not really designed for this kind of riding. Fortunately, he had had the forethought to put a supercharger on the engine, which might have been what saved him this time.

  Beneath him was a hole in the ground and a serpentine mess of pipes and cables a good ten feet below the surface. His back wheel scraped the helmet of a worker at the top of the access ladder.

  Then he was slamming to the ground. The suspension barely held and his ass slammed into the seat with enough force to knock his teeth together. He heard something scrape underneath the bike, but it didn’t slow.

  “Come on baby, hold together,” he whispered to it.

  In his mirror he saw the two remaining hounds leap over the hole. The second slammed into the back of the first and fell into the open pit. Gas jetted out and sparks flew as the creature flailed in the mess of utility conduits. The first had cleared the opening and seemed to not notice the fate of its brother.

  As far as Silas could tell they were down to only one hell hound, but while the odds were better, even one hell hound was too much. They were back in traffic, but now that they were past the construction it was picking up.

  Only one more block, was that too much to ask? Apparently it was. The hound lunged at Silas and slammed into the side of the bike, sending him off balance. He stayed on, but only by wrenching the handle bars and riding onto the sidewalk. The beast slammed into him again with its shoulder, Silas could have sworn it had grown to the size of a large pony, knocking him off the sidewalk and straight at the plate glass windows of an elegant, if a little ostentatious, shopping mall.