No Place Like Hell (37 page)

63

The four men between the circles stopped chanting and stared at Bronski's still form. Their faces were pale, their lips parted in shock and surprise. Greene made the sign of the cross.

"Stop this madness!" I said. "It can't harm you if you don't believe in it."

In the silence, distant sirens wailed. Everyone turned toward the sound.

Maggie pointed a finger at Bronski's twisted form. "There's your proof that it's real. No more interruptions. Warner, shoot her."

Warner lifted the pistol. At the same time, Tad spun around and leaped, the letter opener glinting in his fist. His impact with Warner shoved me free. I stumbled to the floor.

The two men twisted as they wrestled. Their struggle took them closer to the outer circle. I had to get up, had to help Tad.

Before I could rise, Warner grunted, and his face screwed up in pain. The gun went off. Locked together, the two of them dropped to the floor.

Tad rolled off Warner. I crawled to help him. His eyes were half closed and already clouding with death. A flood of blood ran from a black-rimmed wound high in his ribs.

Warner pressed calloused hands against his belly. They did nothing to stem the tide flowing from a gaping slice across his midsection. He reached a bloody hand my direction, a silent plea for help.

His gun lay on the concrete two feet from his shoulder. I snatched it up and faced the circle.

"Chant, damn you," Maggie shrieked at the other three. "Chant or it will escape."

"It's over Maggie."

I pointed the gun at her and hoped I wouldn't have to use it. There'd been too much death.

The other three fell silent, their attention shifting between Maggie and me. The blackness under Sleeth's skin dissipated to swirl in a frenzy over the whole of his body.

Maggie's hand dipped into her cloak pocket and retrieved another heart. She pricked it with her knife. "Chant or die."

Lenny Greene grabbed at his chest. The blood drained from his face. His lips parted, and the strange chant stumbled out. The other two, eyes wide, joined him.

"You can't stop me. I will destroy the hellhound." Maggie raised the knife and muttered more incomprehensible gibberish.

The crazy Hawaiian's words rang in my head. I might not have the power to stop Maggie, but I had the power to influence whatever it was that slid beneath Sleeth's skin.

"I don't believe," I said.

The rune circles flickered and dimmed. The blackness under Sleeth's skin faded to gray. The chanters stopped, struck dumb by my audacity.

Maggie stared at me in surprise. Her voice was a whisper. "What have you done?"

"Your magic tricks can't hurt me. Watch this."

I took a step forward and kicked over the nearest candle, smudging her carefully drawn runes.

"I don't believe. Heaven and Hell are myths. And you can't do magic."

The runes winked out. The remaining gray in Sleeth's skin vanished, leaving his body a sickly white.

I gestured at Sleeth. "See, nothing but an unconscious hippie. No denizen of the Underworld."

"No!" Maggie screamed in the voice that was Holmes. "I won't go back. I have to destroy it."

The knife plunged down into Sleeth's stomach.

An instant too late, my finger squeezed the trigger. My ears rang from the boom. The gun bucked in my hand. Maggie toppled to her side. A spreading patch of red blossomed on her temple.

My gorge rose, and my hand shook. I set the gun on the floor, afraid I might discharge it accidentally. No one moved. The sirens wailed louder.

Blood ran in a burbling steam from Sleeth's wound and spread into a puddle at his side. My brain kicked into gear. I moved to help him.

The other three charged Maggie's fallen form. While I used the skirt of my peasant costume to staunch Sleeth's bleeding, the men dug into Maggie's cloak, each retrieving a heart.

I pitied them. Despite everything, they still believed. I shook my head and felt for Sleeth's pulse. I couldn't find it.

"Come on, you sick son-of-a-bitch. You can't die on me now," I muttered under my breath. "You hear me Sleeth? Stay with me."

Sudden heat blistered my skin. Blackness enveloped me and doused the sunlight pouring down from the roof. A savage bay split my ear drums.

A male voice screamed. The blackness and heat moved away in a bound. I froze.

An enormous black hound faced the three men who cowered beside Maggie's body. His coat was a wall of black flame. In the flames, hundreds of tortured faces screamed while their hands clawed at some invisible barrier.

Burning slobber dropped in fiery strings from the dog's maw. It snapped and snarled at the men, its eyes blazing like hot coals. The hound lifted its muzzle and howled, making the same preternatural sound I'd heard in Judge Richards' neighborhood.

In that moment, I knew I'd glimpsed the hound before. Felt its heat before. Seen those glowing red eyes before.

Terror gripped my chest so hard I couldn't draw in air. Primal urges told me to run as far and as fast as I could.

The hound leaped. It landed on Chief Greene. Greene went down hard, screaming and lifting his arms to ward off the dog. The hound buried its muzzle in Greene's chest and ripped.

Greene's chest appeared undamaged, but a silky gray cloud came away in the dog's jaws. Streamers of the mass trailed down into Greene's body. The dog chomped twice, and the cloud slid down its throat.

Greene's arms dropped. His eyes rolled back, and all color left his face. Innes shrank back, and White rose to make a break for the door.

The hound snarled and jumped on White. It buried its muzzle in White's chest. Like Greene, White collapsed in a heap, his face frozen in an expression of horror, his body intact.

Innes screamed and scrambled for the gun. He shot the beast at point-blank range. The slug had no effect. The hound ripped a gauzy mass from the judge's body, and the judge went still and silent.

The hound padded to Maggie. It lifted its massive head and bayed, the pure joy of the hunt ringing in its piercing voice. It snarled down at Maggie's lifeless body, revealing a row of sharp, white teeth.

The jaws gaped open, and it tore into Maggie. Like a terrier with a rat, it ripped gauzy substance loose and shook it hard before swallowing it down. It dove in for a second attack, ripping more of the stuff away.

When it had finished with Maggie, it turned toward Tad's fallen form. The tail wagged. The jaws opened. The pink tongue lolled over the teeth. The dog stepped forward and chuffed what sounded like a happy laugh.

64

"You can't have him," I said. My voice shook. My body quivered.

The hound peeled back its lips and took another step forward. The eerie red eyes swung to look into mine.

"He gave his life to save me. His sacrifice qualifies him for redemption."

The hound's body swelled. Its head lowered, and the ears pricked forward. Hackles rose along its spine. It snapped powerful jaws at me.

Fear sizzled up my spine and danced across my scalp.

"If you're still hungry, go dig up a bone."

Suddenly the hound dropped to its belly. Its ears pinned back, and a whimper escaped it. Its eyes looked beyond me, and it quaked.

I turned.

Two shimmering angels stood beside Tad's body. They weren't your Sunday-school cherubs. Both stood at least seven feet tall. Their wings topped out another two feet above that and swept down to brush the floor. Blinding white light radiated from them and hurt my eyes.

Their expressions were anything but Heavenly. The hound's snarling countenance couldn't hold a candle to the anger, the ferocity on their perfect, chiseled faces.

One stooped to Tad's fallen body and gently scooped a cottony mass from it. The angel cradled it like a new-born.

The other angel pointed a long, accusing finger at the hound. Then they were gone.

When I turned, the dog still cowered on the concrete.

Sirens split the air. The rumble of motors filtered through the shed walls. The cavalry had arrived five minutes too late.

The hound rose on enormous paws and glared at me, the hint of a snarl wrinkling its muzzle.

"Beat it, dog. You're done here," I said.

I blinked and the hound was gone. Warm liquid oozed over my fingers. Blood still drained from Sleeth's wound. I pressed harder. I couldn't staunch the flow.

"God damn it," I muttered, my voice a shaky croak. "The least the damn angels could do is perform a miracle while they're here."

The shed door opened. Uniformed officers wielding shotguns darted in. They took up crouching positions to each side of the door, their guns pointed my way.

Someone shouted 'Clear,' and more men streamed in. One by one, they checked the bodies on the floor.

Lt. Mack strode through the space. He assessed the situation, and his face was grim.

When he reached my side, he crouched by Sleeth. His fingers went to the hippie's throat for a pulse check.

"Stutzman!" Mack said over his shoulder. "Get a chopper. We need an emergency evac. And bring the first-aid kit. Make it snappy."

"I can't stop the bleeding," I said. The horror of the scene I inhabited flooded over me. Tears misted my eyes.

"Let's see." When I didn't move, Mack lowered his voice while he nudged me aside with his shoulder. "I was a medic in Korea."

I moved out of his way.

He pulled my skirt off the wound. His eyes looked worried. His fingers probed deep into the wound. The bleeding slowed.

"What happened here?" he asked.

I swallowed hard. As Tad had said, no one would believe the real story. And I wasn't sure what constituted the real story.

"Maggie," I said, the words tumbling out in a jumble. "She's the Slasher. She hired Warner and Bronski to kidnap her victims. I shot her, but I was too late. She'd already put the knife in Sleeth."

"Arndt, get these cuffs off Demasi and get her out of here," Mack said. "Call the ME. And get a barricade on the driveway. I don't want the press crawling over my crime scene."

Arndt helped me to my feet. He removed my blood-covered handcuffs, dropping them in a plastic evidence bag. Then he guided me out to the yard.

Heat drifted down from the sun high in the cloudless sky. A fly zipped past my ear. Birds sang in the distant sycamores. It was a glorious first day of summer.

As the adrenalin drained away, I couldn't feel anything except a hollow void where my love of Dave, my concern for Tad, even worry about Sleeth used to live. I'd wake up in the morning to discover this was all a bad dream. I'd take my three mile run, pull on my uniform, and get back to the normal world.

At the house, heat waves shimmered above the chimney. The fire in the basement burned hot and smoke-free. No one had noticed.

"There's a furnace in the house," I said to Arndt. "They're cremating a body. I think it's Frank Zachary. If you hurry, you can recover enough to identify."

Shock showed on Arndt's face. He steered me to a patrol car parked beside the Scout and left me on the front seat, the door open. He rounded up a uniform. They disappeared into the house.

Time passed. My eyes sagged, and I slumped in a stupor. I should remove the Santa padding before I dropped from heat stroke. I couldn't find the energy.

The thrum of rotors drew my gaze to the sky. A helicopter dropped out of the blue and landed at the edge of the tomato field. Two EMTs carried a stretcher and a medical kit to the packing shed. I hoped they'd come in time to save Sleeth. Someone had to be saved.

A little later, a dust cloud rose along the sycamore hedge. The radio in the patrol car crackled to life, the roadblock officer requesting backup. The press had arrived. Uniformed officers moved to the perimeter of the property to prevent anyone from sneaking in.

One of the big loading doors in the packing shed rattled opened. I stood up to get a better look.

Four officers toted the stretcher, a body slung on the rack. An EMT held an IV bottle in the air. They made remarkable time crossing the yard. They wouldn't hurry if Sleeth was dead.

The stretcher went in the helicopter. The bird lifted off. I looked away to shield my face from the dust it kicked up.

The Scout beside me seemed familiar. Maggie's vehicle, I remembered. A worn leather-bound book rested on the front passenger seat, a tiny circle of silver runes gracing its cover.

It had to be the magic book that convinced Maggie of her mystic powers. Rage kindled and burned in the pit of my stomach. If only she'd left the damn book alone.

So much death all because of one book. Evidence or no, the book had to be destroyed. I glanced around the yard. No one looked my way. I opened the Scout's door and snatched the book.

I got back in the patrol car. A minute of squirming and wriggling lodged the volume in my underpants, beneath the Santa padding. Satisfied, I leaned back and awaited the endless questioning to come.