Happy End of the World (Demon-Hearted Book 3) Page 2

  Germaine was clinging to the underside of the table, one of his spidery appendages reaching over the edge in search of a french fry. I placed one within reach and watched as he dragged it to his mouth, munching enthusiastically. “I picked it up at Goodwill,” I replied. “It was the warmest thing they had. And what's the matter with it?” I pulled the brown fur around my neck, holding the collar closed. “I think it makes me look debonaire.”

  That did it. Joe coughed, sputtering chocolate milkshake all over the place. “Oh, yeah,” he said when he finally regained control. “Real debonaire. Lucy, that looks like a jacket my aunt Edna would've worn. Don't suppose they threw in a bottle of Chanel No. 5, did they?”

  From beneath the table, Germaine chimed in, his pedipalps grappling with the french fry. “Don't let Joe get you down, Lucy. This coat is real damn warm. I, for one, love it. And it's got an added benefit, too. Wearin' a coat like that one around town might help you bag that wealthy husband you've always wanted!”

  I thumped the table, nearly sending Germaine to the floor. “Yeah, yeah. You've got jokes, the two of you. Real comedians.” I picked up my bacon cheeseburger and took a large bite, leaning back in the booth. It was the third one I'd ordered in the past hour. Forced to choke down the same grub in Tibet every day, this diner fare tasted positively gourmet to me, and I was willing to eat even past the point of satiety.

  Our strange-looking party of three had been seated immediately at the Steak N' Shake on 4th and Maplewood. There weren't too many people in there, as usual, and up to that point I'd only gotten a few curious looks. It's like they'd never seen a guy in Buddhist monk attire and a fur coat allowing his Brazilian Wandering Spider to siphon french fries off of his plate before.

  Joe pushed his plate away and cleaned off his mouth with a napkin. “So, really, how were things in Tibet, Lucy?”

  The million dollar question. Everyone seemed to want to hear about my travels, to know what skills I'd picked up and all of that. I wasn't but a few hours back in the country and already I was getting sick of it. But because it was Joe, and the greasy food had me feeling amenable to discussing it, I dished.

  “Tibet. Well,” I began, “there isn't much to do out there. No wi-fi.” My smile faded as I reflected upon the experience.

  Upon being shuttled over there, I'd been made to feel like a dangerous felon. The trip had been intended as a punishment and I'd known it from the start. Making the flight in something like sixteen hours, I'd slept a lot of the way. Then, upon landing, I'd been dropped off by the pilot without any fanfare. I'd had only the clothes on my back and a few useless items besides, and I'd found myself standing at the entrance of an ancient-looking temple situated between several mountains.

  I figured the place was about sixty or seventy miles from Lhasa, but I couldn't be sure. As usual, no one had told me shit. Even the monastery's name had never been given to me. It wasn't like they had a giant neon sign out front declaring the name of their centuries-old institution. The Veiled Order loved nothing more than to deprive me of vital information, so maybe I shouldn't have been surprised when they didn't reveal its name. That tendency of theirs was starting to make sense, too. What with my being nothing but a dangerous liability to them, they probably figured I should know as little as possible about everything, just in case they later decided to shut me down.

  I digress.

  The temple had been run by about twenty monks, none of which spoke English, all dressed in rusty reds and mustard yellows like Dalai Lama cosplayers. Even in their native tongue these guys didn't have a whole lot to say to one another. For those three months, after I'd been given a set of robes to wear and a wooden bowl to use for my food, the monks of that temple hadn't made eye contact with me, save for one.

  Rinpoche, the eldest monk and presumed head of the temple, had been kind towards me, despite my not being able to understand a frigging word that came out of his toothless mouth. The man had been old, maybe as old as the leaning stone temple we lived in, but the passage of years hadn't managed to sap away the spark in his eyes.

  Stuck in a temple with monks who couldn't speak English, I had no choice but to get to know Germaine better. The two of us bonded out there, if such a thing can be said to occur between a man and a crass, talking spider. He'd follow me around, share my meals, attend meditation sessions and chat with me long into the night about all sorts of things. I'll admit, his companionship helped me pass the time.

  The routine at the temple had been pretty consistent: Two meals a day, two three-hour blocks of silent mindfulness meditation and any number of chores in between. While the monks of the temple busied themselves with cleaning up the place, Germaine and I would often join Rinpoche and he'd teach me some basic magic.

  You read that right. Lightnin' Lucy Colt picked up some basic spellcraft out there. I mean, it wasn't anything too heavy. A skilled craft-user like Kubo would probably laugh me out of the room if I were to boast about the tricks I'd learned, however I was pretty tickled upon picking up three basic spells over the course of my stay, and had practiced them so many times that I could perform them with my eyes closed. I looked forward to having an opportunity to show them off in the field.

  Our meals every day had consisted of the same foods. Barley-based breads or noodles, roasted goat, and yak butter tea to drink. Now and then, when we could get ahold of them, we'd enjoy potatoes as well. It didn't take me a week to lose interest in this repetitive diet. I'd probably lost about fifteen pounds in Tibet overall, eating just enough to keep myself from literally shriveling up.

  If you're looking to trim up for Summer, I can't recommend the Plain-Ass Tibetan Food Diet enough. It works wonders.

  It was in practicing meditation every day that I made my first real breakthrough. No instruction was given on the matter; every morning I just joined the monks in the main chamber of the temple, picked a spot on the dusty, stone floors and closed my eyes. I wasn't really sure what to do, if I needed to clear my head or follow my thoughts or what, but I did my best to imitate the others. Those monks would sit cross-legged for hours on end, not stirring or making a sound, eyes closed. I admit, the first few times I tried it, I fell asleep.

  But then, one morning, while attempting to clear my head and give the meditation thing an earnest try, something reached out to me.

  Gadreel.

  Somehow, the demon had found a way to communicate with me other than through random heart palpitations. While attempting to sideline my thoughts and ponder sheer nothingness, I heard a quiet voice in my ear.

  “This sitting around is distasteful.”

  From that moment on, the demon began making its thoughts clear to me at random intervals. As best I can tell, Gadreel needs me to have a very clear mind in order to speak to me. When it comes, though, his words arrive in the form of a little voice, like a tiny devil is standing on my shoulder, whispering into my ear.

  The monks took no precautions whenever the new moon came around, which was baffling to me. There were no sealed rooms for me to be imprisoned in, no enchanted manacles. Nothing. I was allowed to move freely throughout the temple on the nights when the new moon was out. It should have been a recipe for destruction. If I'd wanted to, I could have run straight out the door to frolic demonically in the Tibetan countryside.

  But Gadreel? He stayed put. He didn't overcome my senses, didn't impose on me like he usually did on those nights. Having established a way to communicate with me, he seemed content to lay low. In complete contrast to pretty much every book on the subject of Demon-Heartedness, Gadreel and I remained respectful roommates even on those nights when he should have taken me over completely and wreaked havoc.

  And so it went.

  I wasn't sure what to make of this development. If I'd somehow conquered the demon within me and brought it under my full control then I'd done precious little work to make it so. Germaine, expert that he was, couldn't really elaborate. In all of the literature he'd taken in on the subj
ect of Demon-Hearts, he'd never run across something like this. Probably, he theorized, the fact that I had a grigori, rather than some common demon inside of me, made all the difference. He figured that our relationship was something new, something never seen before in demonology. A symbiotic relationship, as of that between a host organism and a helpful parasite.

  I told Joe more or less all of this, along with no shortage of bitching about the food there, and then changed the subject. “So, what did I miss? Any exciting missions while I was gone? You save the world from any monsters in my absence?”

  Joe thought about it a minute. “Yeah, there were a few jobs. Nothing major.” He cracked a grin. “There was one, where we were trying to take down this sorcerer, right? He was small-time, not particularly powerful or anything like that, but I guess he was fixing to use some of the city's homeless in a ritual. We cornered him, caught him—literally—red-handed. Isabella, though, she stole the show, like always. Wrapped the guy in an invisible box before he could say 'hocus-pocus', and then I finished him off.” He pulled out his Zippo and set it on the table with a clack. “It was pretty much the smoothest mission of my life. Thanks to Isabella, anyhow.”

  I swished a little milkshake around in my mouth, then replied, “Yeah, how is Isabella? And what's the deal with her, anyhow? Kubo had her flown in to help in the fight against Agamemnon, but there's some reason she isn't always available, right? Something about her mom not wanting her to participate or something?”

  Joe nodded. “Yeah, I don't know all of the details, but apparently Isabella's mom is some low-level Fae goddess, and she's real protective. Lives out in Europe somewhere. Isabella's skills are incredible, but if she pushes herself too hard she can really hurt herself. I think that's why she's so fuckin' weird.”

  “Huh.” I took another pull from my shake and reached for a fry, only to find my plate empty of them. “Goddamn, Germaine. Couldn't you have saved me any, you fatass?”

  The spider belched. “I regret nothing.”

  My thoughts drifted back to the last mission we'd run together, to the hunter and exorcist we'd teamed up with. Kanta, who'd taken possession of the Archangel saber, and Percival Sterling. What were they up to? “So,” I continued, “what about Kanta and Percy? You, uh... hear from them at all since we took on Agamemnon?”

  Joe shook his head. “Nah. They just walked off into the sunset, I guess.”

  I sighed, feeling vaguely disappointed. It really seemed like nothing had changed since I'd left. Business as usual. Then, I remembered something else I'd been meaning to ask about. Sitting up, I frowned like I'd just found a turd in my milkshake. “Tell me, what's up with this Nicholaus Arson guy, huh?”

  At this, Joe rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother, don't get me started on that tool. The guy's a bastard. Can't stand him. A few weeks ago he called a meeting at HQ to lecture us. He's all hung-up on not using supernatural powers in public, feels like we've been too careless. He's got a point, maybe, but he stood up there for like an hour, rambling like a headmistress. He's a smarmy jackass is what he is. I don't know how he got the job.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I noticed that. He's a piece of work. I guess he hates me, too. Not a pleasant surprise.”

  Joe laughed. “Well, you left quite a mark on the organization, Lucy. Doesn't surprise me at all that some folks should hate you.” He was quick to add, “But, you know, you've turned a new leaf. You seem calmer, cooler, man. I think this trip did you some good.”

  I was through with my food, and when the waitress came by, I asked for the check. Before I could cover it, Joe handed over his card and grinned. His way of welcoming me back home, I guessed. When I'd scooped up Germaine and hidden him within the billowing folds of my fur coat, the three of us wobbled out of the eatery, bloated with hamburger, and into the cold. The temperature had only dropped further since we'd ducked into the restaurant for dinner, and the icy wind made it hard for me to keep my food down.

  “Where to now, Lucy?” asked Joe, picking at his teeth. He ran a comb through his pompadour, looking at his reflection in the restaurant's window. Pleased with his work, he tucked the comb into his back pocket and zipped his leather jacket up to his chin. The thing was weatherbeaten, tattered. No way it was going to keep him warm on an evening like this.

  “Tell you what,” I replied, looking out across the dark streets. “Let's get me a change of clothes. Maybe then we can hit up the club. You know what Tibet didn't have a whole lot of? Cute chicks.”

  Joe grinned. “I never get tired of watching you crash and burn in front of girls, Lucy. I mean, unless those monks taught you a pickup spell or something.”

  Germaine poked his head out from the sleeve of my jacket. “Hell yeah, let's hit the club. I've got moves you wouldn't believe, kid. Amazing what you can do with eight legs.”

  I frowned. “Nah, you're sitting this one out, Germaine. Maybe you can stay with Joe tonight, in fact. If I bring a girl home from the club I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining to her that my roomie is a giant spider.”

  Germaine grumbled. “If she can't appreciate the bond we share then she isn't good enough for you.”

  You know what's a real buzzkill?

  A sudden peal of screaming. The three of us froze as a series of high-pitched screams cut through the frozen air. Immediately my guts began to churn and that third bacon cheeseburger threatened to climb out of me.

  A light snow had begun to fall, the flakes minuscule and vanishing before they even hit the ground. A few passersby looked around nervously before quickening their step. Joe and I, though, suddenly braced ourselves.

  Then there was silence.

  “What was that?” asked Joe.

  I craned my neck, looking around the corner and finding nothing awry. “I don't know, but...” It'd been an awful scream, pained. And then it'd been cut off suddenly. Someone had been hurt, perhaps badly. A purse-snatcher? A violent pimp? There was no telling. “Let's go and have a look, shall we?”

  Tugging at the collar of my coat, I led the charge.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  4

  We made our way through snaking alleys, Joe shivering like mad in his leather jacket by the time we reached a dead end. “Where the hell did it come from?” he asked, out of breath.

  “I... I don't know for sure. The buildings around here are so close together that the echo might've distorted things.” I paused. “Let's go back this way, maybe, and--”

  Just then, a rush of cold wind struck me dead-on, and I nearly loosed my bladder. It was colder than the wintery air, had pierced my coat like it was nothing. Almost as though something incorporeal had passed straight through me. Whirling around and reeling from the numbing burst of cold, I heard someone say my name.

  “T-that you, kid? Lucy?”

  The dim stretch behind us became host to a glowing apparition. The form was outlined in bluish light, the features coming into a soft focus. The scraggly appearance, the large, blushed nose, the crooked teeth revealed by a nervous smile.

  “Ernie?” I asked. “What're you doing here?”

  Ernie was a ghost regularly employed by the Veiled Order. In life, he'd earned money to support his drinking habit by acting as an informant for the organization. In death, he'd kept it up, collecting silver coins for a job well done, though what he could possibly hope to do with them as a ghost was anyone's guess. I'd worked with Ernie before, knew him to be a kindly spirit with a lecherous streak, but as I approached him in that alley, I couldn't spot the least bit of mirth in his blue features.

  The ghost nodded. “Yeah, it's me, kid.” He glanced over both shoulders, looked past me and Joe, and then, curiously, spent several seconds scanning the skies. “You ain't gonna believe what I just seen, kid. Ain't gonna believe.” He was panting. “Shit, I ain't even sure I believe it myself.”

  “What are you even doing out here, Ernie?” I asked, glancing back at Joe. “We were just walking around when we heard a bunch of scream
ing. Did you hear it, too? You manifest in the wrong place and scare someone?”

  Ernie shook his head fervently. “Nah, nah, that ain't it, kid. That ain't it.” Again, he looked up to the dark sky. “I was walking, like I always do, when I turn this corner and see this woman running from something. I didn't see it at first, not till it swooped down and picked her up in its fuckin' teeth...”

  “Wait a minute, it did what?” asked Germaine, his beady eyes throwing off the neon glow of a nearby sign.

  Ernie took a second to compose himself, drawing in a deep breath. “This thing, guys... it fuckin' sailed down outta the sky. Honest to God! And it grabbed this lady up like she was the catch of the day, took her in its teeth. Flew off with her. I swear, it was like watching a monster movie.”

  I nodded, doing my best to appear sympathetic since this was obviously distressing to him, but truthfully I didn't believe a goddamn word. “And... where was this?”

  The ghost trembled, looking past us once again and mentally re-tracing his steps. “Wasn't far from here... I could...” He licked his lips. “I could show you the way, but... if it comes back...”

  “What are you scared of, anyway?” asked Joe. “It's not like this monster could hurt you, you know?” He was trying to make a joke out of it, to lighten the mood, but it wasn't working.

  Ernie stared back at him gravely. “Yeah, champ. Sure. Maybe you look the thing dead in the eyes like I did and you get back to me.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, show us the way, then.”

  Ernie fell into a nervous stride, his form fading in and out of view as he went. His voice persisted, though. “Keep your eyes peeled, boys. Keep 'em peeled, because if that thing comes back, I don't even know what we'll do...”

  He led us back through the network of alleys, towards the restaurant, and then around the next corner, to a lengthy alley where a number of toppled garbage cans resided. We were nearly to the end of this dead-end and I was queuing up a joke about how this flying monster was obviously some sort of litterbug, when Ernie pointed out something on the ground. “This is where it took her. Right from here.”