by David Green
What function he serves in Hell puzzles me. Sure, I get he appears when Heaven closes its gates and shuts the lights off, like a neighbor pretending they’re not home when you call in unannounced, but there’s nowhere to take the sorry soul that’s stuck down here. Or is there?
Still, he always turns up. The baddest fucking penny ever minted. And he’s showing up tonight, just to say hello? Naw, I ain’t buying it.
I’m missing something about this guy, and it bugs me. He turned up at the Wheeler place last night, of course. Watching, waiting. Like the morbid, weird uncle no one wants to invite to family functions, and he sits there, sucking the life out of the room from the corner he perches in all goddamn night.
“You should have died last night, Holleran,” Charon grates. His sunken, black eyes blaze with a sick fever. If the Ferryman lived, you’d call him fanatical. Or insane. “Your destiny reshaped itself five years ago, when fortune favored you. Your road came to its end in Wheeler’s basement. I’ve known that from the very first time we met, when you cheated death. Yet here you stand, and looking at you, I see no fresh destiny. You are fateless, and this troubles me.”
“Maybe you just got it wrong,” I say, glancing around.
The mist grows thicker, and even Charon’s breath hangs in the cold air. Didn’t know the sonofabitch even breathed. That nagging sensation taps on my shoulder again, urging me to pay more attention. Something other than the Ferryman watches me. I know it.
“I remember you,” Diana whispers, pointing at Charon. He cocks his head in her direction and nods. “You…spoke to me. After I died, but I don’t remember the words.”
“Most don’t, child. Count yourself fortunate.”
Charon turns back to me, and I’m thinking about Clint Eastwood again. Ten yards separate us, the thickening mist in between. A shoot-out at dusk. Thing is, the only weapon I could draw would do jack-shit to old Charon.
“Look,” I say, throwing the Ferryman my best nonchalant shrug. Sure as Hell don’t feel it. Fake it till you mean it, right? “Not my call. Lucifer intervened, and last time I looked, Hell belongs to him. You got a problem, take it up with your boss.”
I hear the rip of steel before I see it. Charon glides forward a step, holding a gleaming, silver blade that shines bright against the darkness. Fuck me, but that broadsword has to be six feet long. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m standing in front of Diana, like my body could do anything `cept get cut in half by that goddamn thing.
Charon grips the hilt in two-hands, plants the point in the ground, and leans on the pommel. If it weren’t so cold, I’d sweat. Despite that dread building in my gut, gotta admit he looks like a badass.
“One day,” Charon hisses, his voice like a fire that’s already burned out, “Lucifer will die. Even God. I answer to no one, I existed in the void before life and all heed my call, even the Masters of Heaven and Hell.”
“Diana,” I whisper. Not sure why, as I’m certain Charon, the bastard, can hear anyway. “Stay close to me. This mist ain’t coming from him.”
“I know.” Kid’s already standing behind my leg, making herself small. She’s smart. “I sense something. Like with the ghost on the sidewalk. Hatred, so much rage.”
Curious. I add it to my mental checklist of items to pursue later. If there is a goddamn later.
“You’re such a dick, Charon,” I snarl. Look, I’m not saying I’m not petulant sometimes, but I ain’t lying either. Dude’s a massive dick. “What’s it matter to you if I’m alive or not? The way I see it, I’m in Hell for the long haul either way.”
Charon wheezes, and it takes a while to register that I’ve made the creep laugh. Didn’t think it possible. I fight the urge to cover my ears as his croaking continues, like the sound of gravestones rubbing together, and glance down at Diana. Her eyeless stare’s fixed on the surrounding fog. At the edges of my hearing, beyond Charon’s mirth, I hear growling and the padding of paws. What the fuck?
“Is that the way you see it, Nick Holleran?” the Ferryman asks. The mist swirls, soft tendrils snaking from it, wrapping around his legs. Like a caress, almost. He ignores them, the damp cold doesn’t bother him. Why would it? He’s Death, and blood ain’t flown through his veins…ever? Still, he can breathe. I see it hanging in the air, above the mist. “You think Hell is how you perceive it? Do you believe the dead linger here for no purpose, and only where you observe them? Foolish human.”
The dead serve a purpose? News to me. His thin lips unfurl from his teeth in what I reckon is a smile.
“Well, shit,” I say, lifting my gun. Whatever demon’s out there, I couldn’t be more ill-prepared.
“What is it?” Diana asks, voice ripe with urgency and all-too alive with fear.
I nod at Charon, who’s still showing me his not-so-brilliant white smile. “He knows, but he’s not telling. Wants me dead so his ledger balances. Fucking oldest creature in the universe is a goddamn accountant. But, whatever it is, we need to move. Now.”
“You are fateless, Nick Holleran, and you live when you should not. You cannot do that. Perhaps you will meet your demise this night after all. Be seeing you either way.”
Charon steps backwards, and the mist swallows him, the fog filling in the void where he stood.
“Son of a goddamn bitch,” I snarl, casting around. The night’s turned white, and I’ve no idea where in Meadow Park we are. The Styx Bar, with Ruby and salvation, could be on the other side of the tree line, lost in the fog, just a stone’s throw. Or a mile away, for all I know.
“Nick, how’ve you stayed alive this long?” Diana asks, voice shrill. “You just walk into danger every day?”
“Yeah, I ask myself that all the time, sweetheart.”
A snarl to my right. The padding getting closer. A shape like an overgrown wolf parts the mist, silver fur dull in the consuming haze. Shards of ice jut from it like an excess of fangs. Its mouth has plenty and they’re bared for me to see.
I know what it is, and that we’ve already met, before it even speaks.
“Time to finish what we started, Holleran,” the Amarok growls.
“Really? You want to do this now? Because last time, you had a friend, and it didn’t go so well for you.”
There’s a puddle on one of Haven’s suburban streets that used to be a monster just like this one. Guess I should have expected to see the one that got away again. I just hope Charon’s right about not being able to see my death.
“No Truthers to save you this time.”
“Touché.”
Harry and Maeve came to my rescue last night with an arcane firebomb. I’d already blown my way through my Ruger ammunition and, right now, that’s all I’m packing. If we fight now, this thing’ll punch my ticket quicker than I can blink.
“Diana,” I grunt, backing up a step, “let’s go.”
“Where to?”
“Anywhere but here!”
I turn and run, and the Amarok comes pounding after me with a bloodthirsty howl. Diana glides with the grace only the dead can achieve, but I can see the fear in her face. I know all too well that even a ghost can die, and so does she. Humans don’t pose a threat unless they’re ‘in the know’, but Hell’s home to many an entity that’d take pleasure turning a dead girl into an oozing pile of plasma. She’s heard my business enough times over the years.
My Ruger lets a bullet fly, then another, and a third for good measure. The Amarok yelps and skids in the dirt with every impact. Only it’s not just the monster I have to worry about now. The mist’s thickening, almost choking. The stench of rot swims into my nostrils, makes me wanna gag.
Flesh… Fresh blood… Sweet, sweet meat… It calls to us…
The whisper snakes through the night on fingers of dread. There’s a presence in the fog, closing on us all like a noose. Snuffling to my left. A loud huff of breath, like a horse getting ready to
leap. Red orbs glow through the mist. The distortion makes the distance difficult to call.
I can sense their malice. Hell, I can sense the dread rolling from Diana, and even the fucking Amarok, in waves.
“Sense…” I breathe. “That’s it. That’s fucking it! Diana, what you said before about feeling the dead… Reach out, away from what’s chasing us. Anything?”
A moment, then I hear a scream of fury, mingled with an indescribable pain, pierce through the night. Makes my fucking blood twist, and all I want to do is drop into a ball and surrender. When I glance back, the Amarok is gone, swallowed by the fog.
“A cluster. Ahead of us!” Diana starts gliding with purpose. No longer fleeing; she’s leading. “It’s close. Come on.”
Now I’m following her. Behind me, all Hell’s cutting loose. Inhuman screams—more agony than rage—tear from the fog. I charge forward and almost lose my footing as a branch snaps me across the forehead.
“Trees, you beautiful bastards. Trees!”
Trees mean the edge of the fucking park! Diana’s ahead, moving without a backward glance. The fog’s thinning. I plunge forward. Twigs snap beneath my feet and wet leaves slap my cheeks, but I’m alive. I’m moving and…what the Hell is that?
Something solid smashes into me. I’m knocked off my feet. Dazed, it takes me a moment to realize I’m not in danger. Haven looks near normal now that the mist is gone. Rain-slick sidewalks filled with souls. Passing cars honk and splash past as the buzz of the city comes alive around me. I sit on the wet concrete and I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to be lost in the grit and flair of the city’s nightlife.
“Nick Holleran,” the someone I collided with says. “Hoped I’d run into you.”
Nice. Gotta appreciate a well-timed quip.
“Er, hey, Jim. Sorry about that. Got a little spooked.”
Jim’s a skin-walker. He’s in his animal form now, a coyote, and when he stands, he rises onto his hind legs like a human. Don’t know how much practice went into that. He carries out tasks like a pro with his paws and claws, but he prefers it this way. Best of both worlds, I guess. Still wears clothes above the fur, though. A three-piece tweed suit. I’d love to know who his tailor is.
First time I laid eyes on him, I thought I’d lost my mind. Ruby had given me a nudge, reminded me how rude it is to stare. He holds out a paw and pulls me to my feet. My heart’s hammering like a jackhammer, and right now, a conversation on the sidewalk’s the last thing I need. Wanna run, keep going, get into The Styx and put Meadow Park behind me. But you don’t just tell a skin-walker to fuck off.
“The mist,” he growls. “Was that your doing?”
“No…but I had front row seats. So, you’re looking for me? Kind of a coincidence. You been following me?”
Jim’s tongue lolls from his mouth, flickers across his sharp teeth. He’s a nice guy, but like most things in Hell, he’s a dangerous one to cross.
“I said I hoped I’d run into you. The mist drew me here… Something familiar about it…”
He shudders, like a wet dog shaking himself, but stood upright. Wearing clothes.
Jim takes a step, stops a snout away from me. He glances at Diana, who’s holding my hand. The cold runs up through my fingers into my arm. Ghosts can touch us, and we them, but I try not to. Feels like having a bucket of cold ocean thrown over you, dead fish and all. Jim turns back to me, teeth bared, and sniffs.
“We gonna have trouble, pal?”
“Why so nervous, Nick?” he snarls. To be fair, it’s his only way of speaking as a coyote. “I’m smiling for Christ’s sake. How’ve you been?”
He slaps me on the bicep with his paw, tongue lolling this way and that.
“Busy running from fog that appears out of nowhere. How about you?”
I try to step back, but he paws my wrist. I frown at him and he retracts, but steps a little closer, eyes darting around the street. This close, his scent fills my nostrils. Reminds me of cinnamon.
“About that… Lots of weird things in Hell lately. You heard about those Wendigo sightings?”
“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my distance. If Jim ever heard of personal space, he isn’t a fan, that’s for sure. Folk stream past us, normal humans oblivious as usual, some instinct whispering at them, telling them to give us all a wide berth. They don’t see who I’m talking to, who’s clutching my hand. “I hear a lot of things, you know?”
“My clan’s getting nervous. Skin-walkers and Wendigo are blood enemies, Nick. We’re peaceful folk; heck, most of the stories that paint us as the bad guys are because of Wendigo. But they’re in packs, man. That’s unheard of. A group of them would tear each other apart without hesitation. If you ask me, something stinks. Will you look into it, see what’s got them stirred up?”
I remember Ruby telling me about Wendigo just yesterday. Come to think of it, Harry mentioned them to me earlier in the week. He took a special interest in them. Twenty-four hours ago, he’d have been my first port of call. Boy, am I gonna miss his expertise. And his friendship.
Wendigo are bad news; they’re malevolent spirits that possess all manner of creatures—animal, human and demon. I’ve only read about them, heard stories from Harry. I’ve never had the pleasure of coming face-to-face with one. Yet.
“They attacked any of your people?”
“No, but it’s only a matter of time, I fear. Surprised they haven’t. They hate us. Not that they don’t hate most things. But their focus on us seems personal. Wish I knew why. The Elders know, but they won’t say. I fought one once. Thought I was finished. Those eyes… They still haunt my dreams. A Wendigo possessing a skin-walker… Nick, it’s an abomination. Makes my skin itch just thinking about it.”
I glance at Diana and smile. “Look, Jim. Got a couple of matters to attend to. Leave some details with Ruby next time you’re in The Styx and I’ll nose around, see what turns up, yeah? Best I can do right now.”
Jim scratches at the fur behind one of his ears, makes me wanna do that same. I can’t help but picture fleas hopping from his fur right onto me. “Guess that’ll have to do. Talk soon, Nick. Keep your wits about you. Hell’s restless.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I mutter, itching the back of my neck as he stalks away. Diana’s still gripping my hand. “You okay, kid?”
“How can you live here, with all this around you?”
“You can get used to anything, I guess. Come on. We’re almost there. Then we can take a load off and catch up.”
Diana’s pits focus on Meadow Park again. The fog lingers behind the tree line, but it’s silent now. Across the sidewalk, some washed-out ghosts are looking that way too. They’re Aware, and I’m sure they heard the screams, saw me charging full-tilt into poor, old Jim. One of them glances my way, worry lines clear on her forehead even from this distance. Her name’s Suzy. She’s a riot, but the park’s got her worried.
Me too, sister.
“Come on,” I say to Diana, rubbing the back of my neck again. “Think I got whiplash. That building’s where we’re headed. The Styx.”
“This place, is it safe?” she asks, and I’m reminded of how young she is. Girl’s dead all of fifty-six years, but she’s still a teenager.
“Styx’s safer than Meadow Park,” I say, dodging slow-moving cars as we cross over the road. “Gotta be.”
“You sure? You don’t seem very popular, Nick.”
Fair point.
“Don’t worry. Ruby’s like me, but she’s had this curse a lot longer than I have. She’s a survivor, and she runs The Styx for people like us who have to live with all this. She founded the place in the late-70s, warded the stones with serious runes to keep the worst of Haven away from its doors, and I don’t know about you, but that appeals right now. She welcomes all entities of Hell, just so long as we behave. Ruby doesn’t suffer fools, and she’s got house rule
s. Follow them, and the place is like a second home. Don’t, and…” I remember the demon, Cyril, pinning me to the wall. Suraz, decapitating him. “…it can get messy. But I’m not planning on breaking any of her rules tonight. Are you?”
She shakes her head, but even without eyes she manages to look pensive.
“This place’ll work for you, kid. It’s a great place to mingle, meet people like you, learn how things work. And they serve a mean piña colada. Honest. They’re delicious.”
We’re halfway to The Styx’s front door when my heart sinks like the Titanic. Outside the bar’s entrance, leaning against the wall, is an obsidian-skinned Nephilim. One of the two that call Haven home. His raven hair flows to his waist and the melancholy in his eyes engulfs me when he spots me. I’m crushed by the weight of an eternity of regret, spliced with anger, though a part of me recognizes it isn’t as heavy as having Lucifer stood in front of you. I won’t forget that experience in a hurry.
“Come the fuck on.”
I even throw in a groan for good measure, like the overgrown teenager I sometimes am.
“Nick Holleran,” Suraz booms, voice thumping inside my skull. “You ignored my advice. I warned you to tread with care. Instead, I learn you’ve fought Amarok, dragged two Truthers into your feud with Wheeler, walked into the middle of a ritual to bind the Devil, and met Lucifer himself. Now, I find you running around Hell with an newly Aware ghost like nothing has happened. Do you have a death wish?”
Before I can answer, Suraz launches forward, grabs the lapels of my jacket in a thick fist and drags me into The Styx.
CARRY THAT WEIGHT
Now and then, the fates align and I understand keeping my big mouth shut is a fabulous idea. When a pissed Nephilim hauls me into The Styx by the collar, my instincts inform me that, yes, this is one of those times.
