Roaring Blood (Demon-Hearted Book 2) Page 15

  He didn't want to come with me to the Underground. Kubo was planning on sending the two of us into the shady heart of magic territory, and the thought of getting stuck with me had him feeling uneasy. Who could blame him? I'd fucked up a lot of things in the past twenty-four hours, royally, so I knew regaining his trust would be an uphill battle.

  Temporarily losing his trust was one thing. I hoped that I hadn't lost his friendship, though.

  The SUV took off down the road, headlights dim. Traffic was almost nonexistent at this late hour, but in the distance a commotion could be heard. We were driving around the other side of the park, and I glimpsed a point in the sky that burned a bright orange. The flames of the fallen chopper were still burning bright. The whirring of news helicopters overhead, the discordant tones of ambulances as they screamed to the scene, pierced the veil of the night till it was Swiss cheese. People were standing in their lawns, looking out to the park.

  The news would come up with something by morning; a military training exercise gone wrong, an attempt at domestic terrorism. It didn't matter. The sad truth was that these people hadn't seen the worst of it yet.

  If things didn't go our way, those spectators would find the fight coming directly to their front doors.

  TWENTY-TWO

  I swear, I should've played the frigging lottery. My hunch was right; the morning news was dominated by reports of a late-night military training exercise gone wrong in a local park. Pundits didn't stop to ask themselves what an unregistered Black Hawk helicopter had been doing in a metropark, but simply went with it. The Veiled Order had probably squeezed their friends in the National Guard to lie about military involvement. It sure was nice, having friends in high places.

  Anyway, after we left my dad's, the commando in the SUV was nice enough to drop me off at HQ so I could pick up my car. Kubo instructed me to shower, eat and sleep, but to keep my phone with me at all times.

  “And keep the goddamn ringer on this time,” he'd added emphatically.

  Joe hadn't said much to me, but asked to be dropped off at his mom's place. Kanta had to get shipped back to HQ so that she could be assessed in the medical wing. Percy was probably waiting for her there. As for Kubo, well, I imagine he didn't get a whole lot of rest after the car ride. He probably stayed up all night screaming into phones and sitting in on tedious meetings with his superiors.

  First thing I did when I got home was stand in the shower. I turned the hot water on as high as it would go, allowing the steaming spray to leave my skin soft and pink. You wouldn't believe the shit that circulated down the drain; clotted blood, dirt, zombie spittle and more were washed away as I stood under the shower head. The way I moaned and savored the water you'd have thought it was an Herbal Essences commercial.

  I stalked around my apartment stark naked afterward, letting my body air dry, and cracked open a beer. Stopping by the turntable I cranked up some Stooges, and before I knew it I was well on my way to de-stressing.

  Standing in my apartment with a good beer flowing down my throat and good music tickling my ears, I almost felt normal. Even Gadreel, who usually got excited during the chorus of “Down on the Street”, barely twitched in my chest.

  Almost normal wasn't good enough, though.

  Joe had lost his faith in me, the necromancer seemed totally unbeatable, my dead brother was probably walking around out there somewhere as Agamemnon's plaything and, oh, I was damned.

  I wanted to pull my hair out. Had Dr. Sargasso filled me in on that part when he'd offered to perform the demonic transplant? I couldn't remember for the life of me. Something like that probably would have made an impression, would have given me pause, at least. Surely the old surgeon wasn't so unscrupulous as to just burden someone with an eternity of fire and suffering without fair warning?

  More and more this Demon-Heart bullshit was feeling like a rip-off. Imagine paying top coin for a Rolls Royce only to find out it's actually a K-Car under the hood. What good was acid spit and super strength if I was just going to end up in a world of pain till the Heat Death of the Universe?

  I fell asleep while the Stooges played on. I was halfway through the record, somewhere in the droning morass of “1970”. My least favorite track. While drifting off, I spied the German chocolate cake on my kitchen table, still waiting to be eaten. I licked my lips, imagining its rich, chocolatey taste, but passed out before I could get up and have a slice.

  ***

  Afternoon came quickly. Knowing what lay ahead, I sprang up from the sofa, splashed some water in my face at the kitchen tap and then picked up my work issue phone. I needed to get ahold of Joe. We'd book it out to Yao's, go down that weird little alley that took us to Mona's, and then start down the path towards the Underground, where we'd find our expert, Germaine Fox.

  Punching Joe's number into the black clamshell phone, I waited for him to answer and summoned up my best impression of Chief Kubo. “Joe,” I barked as he answered, “This is the Chief. I need you to get dressed and meet Lucy at Yao's, stat! And bring him a coffee. You know he likes Americanos with cream. Make sure the barista uses heavy cream, not half n' half. I repeat, heavy cream--”

  “Shut up, Lucy,” yawned Joe. “I'll see you there soon. Try not to get yourself killed before I show up, all right?”

  Oh, come on. I wasn't that irresponsible. “Listen, I'll come by and pick you up. You hungry? I'll bring some lunch or something. We can eat on the way. I won't even bitch at you if you get hot sauce on the seat again.”

  “Whatever, dude.” He hung up without another word. Joe really wasn't in the mood for jokes. Or polite conversation. Usually when we called one another we'd take turns impersonating Kubo, having a great time demanding ridiculous shit of one another in the Chief's drawl. This time he'd treated me like a telemarketer.

  I stepped into my Chuck Taylors and plucked my keys from the side table. “Let's hope something comes of this,” I said.

  If my last day on Earth was spent seeking out some expert on mythical weapons who couldn't offer us anything useful against the necromancer, then I was going to be pretty bitter about it.

  ***

  I rolled up to Joe's doorstep with “Search and Destroy” blaring on the speakers of my Corvette and an extra-large chocolate milkshake in the cup holder.

  Joe climbed in, the frown on his face looking like it'd been stranded there since I'd seen him last. “Don't you ever listen to anything else?” he asked, turning down the stereo by a few notches.

  I handed him the milkshake. “Drink up, bud. Next stop, Yao's.”

  He eyed the drink suspiciously, taking a small sip. “Aw, man. Chocolate? You know I'm more of a strawberry guy.”

  I smacked the wheel and cut off a city bus as I swerved back into traffic. “Damn it, man. This is the thanks I get for trying to be nice, huh? I even had the chick at the restaurant write your name on the cup with a Sharpie. There are smily faces and everything!”

  Joe sighed, taking a pull from the milkshake. “Just drive, dude. I don't feel like arguing with you.”

  His attitude was killing me. “I know I've been an asshole lately, OK? Trust me, I've been a real shitlord, and I doubt that anyone in my life is ever going to let me forget it. But I didn't mean to put you guys in danger yesterday, and damn it, I came back! Agamemnon took Kanta and I prisoner, but you know what I was worried about the whole time I was locked up? My dear buddy, Joe!”

  Reaching out to the dash, Joe punched the stereo's power button, plunging us into uncomfortable silence. “I'm real touched.” He slurped at the shake, then set it back into the cup holder. “But that's not why I'm pissed at you.”

  I was baffled. “W-well, what is it, then? What's the matter?”

  “You're a braggart, a stubborn prick, Lucy. But that ain't anything new. I knew that from the minute we met. You've always been a hot-shot, and—”

  I raised one of my hands. “Whoa, whoa, I get it. Your point being?”

  He folded
his arms in his lap. “It ain't because you're reckless, though that gets on my nerves. I'm sick and tired of you because you're a goddamned liar.” He hit me with a real intense gaze; I could feel it even as I focused on the road ahead. “You collected on my mom, didn't you? You never told me that before, but I guess I shouldn't have expected anything less out of a lying rat. You talk all kinds of shit, hit below the belt, and then just act like I'm supposed to forget? You think you're better than me, Lucy, and who needs a friend like that?”

  My heart sank. “M-man, look, I... I know I said some things...” He was referring to our fight the other night. I'd really been a dick, I admit, when he raised hell about my lack of team spirit. I didn't have an excuse for anything I'd said; it'd been pure anger talking, plain and simple. “I never meant to say that shit, man. I mean that. I was just pissed off, and you know...”

  Joe chuckled. “Drop it. No use in talking about it. When you told me about what you used to do for a living I should've known what kind of guy you were, Lucy. That is, how you really see the people around you. I'm just real honored to have spent some time in King Lucian's good graces,” he added, rolling his eyes.

  Once, I'd made a living collecting debts, sometimes taking from the impoverished who couldn't afford to pay their bills. I'd resorted to all kinds of strong-arming tactics in the hopes of making a reasonable living and paying off my debts. Did that make me a bad person?

  ...OK, we've covered this ground before. You don't have to hit me over the head with it. But anyhow, the past was the past, right? “Joe, I know I did some unsavory shit back then. I'm not proud of it. But... I'm walking a different path now, fighting for the Veiled Order. We're in this together, right? We're doing this for our city, defending people from assholes like Agamemnon. I can't take back what I did in the past, and yeah, you're right, I remember collecting on your mom. I'm ashamed of myself, but what do you want from me?”

  “I don't want anything, Lucy,” came his reply. “But I don't think you've changed as much as you think you have. You think you're one of the good guys now, trying to play a hero. But you're doing it for the wrong reasons. Me and the others? We're in this fight because we know what's at stake. We're doing it for the people in this city. But you're just in it for yourself. You want to seem more interesting at your shitty hipster parties. You want everyone to tell you what a tough guy you are. Well, buddy, I've got news for you: You're a huge dick, and it shows. I thought I knew you, but you've been a liar all this time. All it took was an argument to see through the smokescreen. I'm thankful for it, honestly. At least now I'm not wasting my time thinking you're a decent human being.”

  What more was there to say? How could I argue against that? I'd come to consider Joe a close friend, so to hear him crucify me in that way was brutal. Our little conversation in the car wasn't doing me any favors; technically we had much more important things to worry about. But all I could think about was how I'd let my friend down. Hell, why stop there? I'd let the Veiled Order down, and the whole city. Joe had a point; my hot-headed behavior probably was indicative of a superiority complex. I'd spoken like a true jackass because I was one. “I'm sorry,” I squeaked. It was the only thing that seemed appropriate.

  Joe leaned against the passenger side window. “Prove it, then.”

  I was going to ask him how I might go about doing that when the parking lot outside of Yao's came into view. I cleared my throat, attempting to let go of the sadness I felt, and nodded towards the restaurant. “Looks like we're here.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  This was the first time I'd navigated the alley without Kubo's help. It was a pretty interesting thing; on the surface, it was just a dingy concrete alley full of chewed gum, cigarette butts and faded band stickers. If you knew what to look for, however, there was a second passage to be found there, one which spanned an impossibly lengthy distance behind the restaurant and connected our world to the Beyond.

  Joe and I came upon the bend in the alley, starting down the unlit path. Joe summoned up some Will-o-the-wisps to provide a little light and we walked all the way to the end, where a large, oaken door appeared in the floor. Though I'd been through that door two or three times already, I couldn't seem to get used to what happened whenever I stepped through it.

  “So, we're headed into the Underground,” I started, looking down at the door. “You, uh... ever been there before? What can we expect?”

  “Once,” replied Joe. “Just don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. If you piss off the wrong person down there you'll end up in a fight. And... there are a lot of things down there that love a good fight.” He arched a brow. “I'm serious, though. Keep your fuckin' head down. If you piss someone off down there and get us into trouble, I'm going to help them kick your ass.”

  “Fine! I won't say a word till we get to Germaine's.” It occurred to me that Kubo hadn't really told us what to do upon arriving at Germaine's place. We knew to ask about the Scythe of Thanatos, but beyond asking him how to hack its potent properties, I wasn't sure what else we might talk to him about. “So... Kubo didn't really brief us on what to tell this guy. When we get there, do we just ask him how to destroy the scythe?”

  Joe pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket. “Chief Kubo didn't brief you. He gave me this letter for Germaine which tells him everything he needs to know, though, and entrusted me with it. Before he dropped me off last night, the Chief put me in charge of this trip and gave me the rundown.”

  On the one hand, I was feeling terrible about being such an arrogant jackass all the time and pushing my team mates away in the hopes of being the hero.

  On the other, I was fucking pissed that Joe had been put in charge here, instead of me. I wanted to complain, to give him a hard time about it, but knew it wouldn't help my case. Holding my tongue was damn hard.

  “OK,” I said. “So how does this work, fearless leader?”

  I couldn't help myself.

  Joe reached down and pulled open the door. “We go down there. I've got Germaine's address. He operates out of a small book shop, apparently. Plan is we walk through the Underground, head straight for his place and make no pit-stops along the way. I'll give him the letter, explaining the situation, and he'll tell us what we need to know.” Then, with somewhat less certainty, he added, “Hopefully.”

  Joe and I stepped into the yawning abyss before us, and before I knew it we were standing in front of the quaint cottage where Mona lived. My stomach had floated up into my chest like I'd been shaken up in a lurching elevator. “I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that,” I said.

  Joe started around Mona's place, walking down the path whose purpose I'd puzzled over for so long, and buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The leather was scored and dirty; if the stitching gave out any more, the thing would simply fall to pieces.

  I followed him down the worn footpath, passing a dense, seemingly limitless sea of green pines. From the packed woods around us there came queer sounds; probably the noises of unearthly woodland creatures. I stayed close to Joe, wondering if stepping off the path wouldn't see me spirited off to some new and more horrific world.

  In a flash, there was another scene change. We were standing on a wide dirt road in the middle of a rustic town. Looking around at the ramshackle wooden buildings I felt like we were in the Wild West. A few figures, draped from head to toe in rags, went by on horseback. Standing in an alleyway, over a gutter swollen with fresh rain, I glimpsed a black-skinned creature with four arms and a headdress made of gold. It seemed to be pedaling shiny wares, waving with its many hands to passersby in the hopes of making a sale.

  If you want the look of this place in a nutshell, it was pretty much like any big city you've ever visited. There was activity everywhere you looked; people of all stripes trying to sell you things, hand you pamphlets. Except, in this case, they weren't human. Some of them were, probably, but the ones that stood out to me most, like our friend with the four arms bac
k there, were most certainly not. The buildings were old, almost all wooden, and my surroundings really did make me feel like I was on the set of a Western movie. It wasn't a mere facade, though; the smells of horse droppings, of both repellant and mouth-watering cuisines, mingled in the air and made it clear that people really worked and lived here.

  Don't look at anyone. Don't look at anyone. I lowered my gaze and just kept on following Joe while he sought out the address he'd written down. We were looking for one person and one person only in this dimension replete with unnatural terrors, and the last thing I wanted was to interact with some of them. By the side of the road was something I took to be a magical beggar; it was human-esque, but was blindfolded and had its mouth stitched shut. It bobbed upon the remnants of a fence post, waving its hands around in search of offerings. I did like everyone else who crossed its path; I looked away, crinkled my nose and pretended it wasn't there. The papery look of its skin... the coarseness of its wild, black hair, the yellow color of its nails... I was about ninety-percent sure, too, that the thing could see me despite the blindfold. It was too goddamn horrifying.

  Suddenly Mona, the ol' snake lady, didn't seem so out there.

  Joe slowed a bit, something catching his eye as we advanced. “Don't go staring,” he started, “but the Chief did want me to know that Agamemnon may have some friends in the Underground. They might be on the lookout for suspicious types... outsiders. We fit the bill. If anyone should ask, we are definitely not with the Veiled Order, clear?”

  I nodded. To my right we passed what was, by all appearances, a brothel. There was a large, dusty curtain blocking the front entrance, and the air emanating from its windows was scented in sweet perfume. Doubtless to ward off the omnipresent stench of horseshit. A woman with not one, not two, but four sumptuous breasts contained within a barely-there contraption made of lace beckoned pedestrians in a language I couldn't understand. Well now, that's not quite right; the way she moved and smiled as I glanced over at her told me everything I needed to know. Maybe I'd written off the Underground prematurely...