Revelation (28 page)

“Jeez, they’re everywhere.” Morgan crawled to her feet, heart pounding. The knife slapped back into her palm, and it felt good there. Exhilaration ached her muscles, her breath laced with unholy excitement. The warmth of spattered blood on her face was an ugly pleasure. Was this how Lune felt when he killed? This horrid-sweet delight?

Lune gave her a feral grin. He breathed hard, hot sparks tumbling from his wings. “Having fun?”

She didn’t want to like it. Didn’t want to feel what he felt. “Screw you.”

“I’d love to, but didn’t we work past that already?” He backed along a wall, and peered around the corner, sword in hand. “Here it is, I’d say. Poison HQ. Charming.”

She ducked under his wing to take a peek, feathers tingling against her cheek.

Desolation. Scorched ruins of apartment blocks, bricks and steel girders tangled, only one or two stories left of ten or twelve. The leftovers of gang shenanigans, the damage too big for a suicide bomb. More likely arson. Tar puddled, and melted glass coated the ground, hardened to slippery shapes. Rubble still littered the wrecks. It stank of death and flesh, and somewhere horrid music grated, death metal, howling lyrics and guitars like nails on glass.

Zombies shambled everywhere. Mostly muties, odd-faced, their bodies deformed. Fighting, screaming, attacking each other with rocks and blades and bared teeth. Some climbed the ruined buildings, or muttered together in groups, kicking things and flailing their rotting limbs. Beside a burned-out playground, a pile of corpses ten feet high rotted in a mess of flies and rats, and the zombies dived in, munching, screaming with foul hunger.

Morgan gulped, sick sweat trickling from her hair. Hundreds of them. Even if she and Lune found this Prince of Poison, what then? How would they escape? And if even one of those infected monsters scratched her…

Luniel flickered his sword away, sliding on his human guise with a faint shimmer. “Color me inconspicuous,” he whispered. “What’s the plan?”

“You’re asking me?” She struggled to keep her voice low.

“You’re the one with the most to lose. I’m all for ‘dive in and kill every last stinking one of ’em,’ but I don’t think that’s strategically sound from your viewpoint.”

“Then how do we find this Quuzaat? What’s he look like?”

“A demon prince? He can look like whatever he wants, within reason. But in human disguise they’re generally handsome, sniveling little smart-asses with beady red eyes. I’ll see his aura before I see him. But they like to gloat. I’m betting he’ll be the one with the big shit-eating grin on his face.”

She eyed the laughing zombies. “Well, that sure narrows it down.”

A dark laugh. “We do have one other option.”

“And that is?”

“Let him find us.”

“How, exactly?”

“Make a spectacle of ourselves. I can flash a little glory. Ring his cosmic doorbell, so to speak.” Lune’s eyes glinted, wicked. “Or, we could just raise a little hell. How many of those jars we got left?”

She counted. “Ten.”

“Good. Ten too many for these assholes, then.” He hesitated. “Look, we can wait for Dash and the others, if you want. Until they’re done with the Prince of Blood.”

Morgan shook her head, determined. “And let Quuzaat poison even more people? No way.”

“Was hoping you’d say that.” He flashed his wings back in, deadly silent. “Grab on.”

“Huh? What for? The water doesn’t work when I throw it, remember?”

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” he said stonily. “Grab on.”

Stiffly, she moved closer.

He wrapped his bulging arm around her waist, and she slid her wrists around his neck, trying to ignore the tingling warmth inside her. Wrapping her legs would be nice, too, but she didn’t.

He caressed gentle feathers across her cheek. “You still feel good.”

“And you’re still a gutless shit, so don’t think you can sweet-talk me.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor. I’ve talked enough. Hold tight.”

She held on tighter and, stealthy as a black-winged ghost, he drifted them into the air.

Silently, he floated on warm breeze, just a flick of wings to keep them aloft. He trimmed with twitching feathers, and they wheeled slowly, out above the horrible ruins at a few hundred feet. Below them, zombies wandered and scrapped, clambering over broken steel frames, stumbling into deep holes, crashing blindly into walls.

Past the playground, a huge, roofless cage had been cobbled together from rusted iron and wood and wire, and inside, a mass of people tangled. Hundreds of them, men, women and children, naked, the air torn with their screams. Zombies screeched and
flung themselves at the cage from outside, desperate to break through and feast, and the people wailed and huddled together. A few stabbed through the cage with scrap metal or wire, trying to fend the zombies off. One lost his arm, a zombie grabbing it with virus-mad strength and sinking in his teeth, ripping flesh and sinew until the limb tore free.

Morgan’s guts squirmed, and she remembered the guy they’d killed, his story of mass infection. Victims for the sacrifice. She shuddered. Truly, this Prince of Poison was a monster.

Luniel gripped her tightly, his heartbeat resonating swift and strong inside her chest. “Peace, Morgan. If we can save them, we will. Hold tight. I need to let you go with one hand.”

Resolute, she curled one leg around his, and locked her wrists together.

Carefully, he reached over her shoulder left-handed and unzipped her rucksack. Took out jars, resting them in the crevice between her breasts and his body.

He took the last one in his hand. He whispered a charm, and the sigil on his palm glowed blue. “Come on out, Quuzaat, you ugly bastard,” he murmured, and hurled.

One after the other, his throws deadly swift and accurate. The jars flew in shimmering white arcs. They hit the ground and shattered, afire with holy fury, and showered the zombies with steaming death.

Howls rent the air, the stink of burning meat. Here and there, zombies caught fire, flailing around like napalm victims. Others just fell, clawing at their hissing flesh, angry flames eating their clothing.

Morgan gulped, guts slick with salt. She wanted to hide her face. It was horrible.

Luniel crackled his wings alive in a firework of golden sparks. “Wait for it,” he whispered.

And an invisible black hand wrapped them like a stifling wet blanket, and dragged them to earth.

Morgan hit the dirt, tumbling from his arms. Lune thumped beside her, wings smacking in the dust. Around them, zombies milled and gobbled, burning. And a cruel laugh crawled over her skin, cold and dark like midnight sleet. “Well, well. Look what the demon dragged in.”

She shivered at the evil timbre of that voice. Empty. Black. Bereft of heart. Her nerves quailed. She didn’t want to look.

But she had to. Had to look him in the eye. Needed to see her enemy face-to-face.

Choking in crisp dust, she dragged her head up.

Tall, supple, dressed in black. White silken hair flowing over slim shoulders. Cold narrow face, sharp chin, red lips curling in an evil smile. Eyes the color of hellfire, with black pupils that glittered under the moon.

And crouching beside her, Luniel stared, ashen.

The Prince of Poison chuckled, icy. “Luniel, you dumb fuck piece of heaventrash. How nice to see you again. I’m afraid Quuzaat isn’t here right now. Will I do, instead?”

Lune stared, sick, and the bottom dropped out of his guts.

Vorvian. The Prince of Poison was Vorvian.

His mind crashed dead like a truck into bricks.
The hellshit
knew we were coming. And I’ve led her straight into his trap.

Toxic hatred burned his blood, and he grabbed blindly for his sword.

But Vorvian leapt for him, and crunched hell-strong fingers around his skull. The contact burned, and swift like a striking wasp, Vorvian slammed Lune’s head into the ground.

Stars swirled, dizzy. Vorvian crushed a cold boot into his wrist. Bones cracked, and the sword bounced from his hand into the dust.

One second, maybe two, he’d had to react. And he’d wasted them.

“Lune!” Beside him, Morgan struggled to rise, but Vorvian’s twin snarling minions hauled her down, ripping her angel-spelled knife away. Painsuckers, pale and wiry, pointy faces split by leering razor-toothed grins. High-level demon vassals, tricksy and hard to kill, second only to the prince.

Lune’s memory reeled, a sick horror film. The same sadistic hellshits who’d tortured Eleanor.

Morgan’s cry shredded his heart. He wanted to howl. He’d lost her. It was only a matter of time.

Vorvian laughed, serpentine, his eyes afire with cruel delight. “Oh, this is priceless. You assumed it had to be Quuzaat, didn’t you? Because of the plague? Well, guess what? I swapped with him when I heard this was going down. Ha-ha! It’s a corporate thing, you know. Broadening my skill set. It’s promote or perish these days.”

Lune’s shattered wrist bones knitted, a raw spike of agony. “Congratulations.”

“Why, thanks! Q. was pissed, let me tell you, but I hear he’s happy with the way it’s turning out. Now he gets to slaughter your Tainted friends. And I get to…well, I get to wallow in this!” Vorvian raised his arms and whirled, long snowy hair flying. His laughter echoed from blackened brick walls. “Isn’t it glorious? All this screaming warms my foul little heart—but you already knew that, didn’t you?” He skidded to his knees, landing inches away, and his whisper scorched Lune’s cheek like hellfire. “The way your little medieval girlfriend wailed when I fucked her. Hell, I loved that. Almost as much as I got off on swallowing her soul.”

Luniel’s vision misted, black lust for revenge blotting out sense. Eleanor burned forever for this monster’s fun. Evil temptation clawed him, furious.
Kill the son of Satan! Screw stopping the end of the world. It’s over anyway. Just rip the fucker’s guts out, for Eleanor. And for Morgan.

Snarling, he flashed his sword into his hand, and thrust for the demon’s heart.

Vorvian chuckled, and dissolved to ashen rain. Lune’s blade sliced empty air. He stumbled, and in a flash Vorvian reappeared, stabbing his scarlet-flaming hellsword at Luniel’s throat.

Lune jerked to a halt on taut wings, nearly skewering himself. The filthy hellflame seared his skin. He struggled to slow his breathing.
Calm it, Lune. Can’t fight him angry…

Morgan yelled and struggled in the painsuckers’ grip. One licked his greasy tongue up her cheek, and Lune’s heart overspilled with helpless rage.

Vorvian smiled, devilish. “Watch it, godscum. We’ve played this game before, and I won.” He poked at Lune with his blade, razor-hot metal hissing, and waved his hand at Morgan. “But look, you’ve brought me another one! You are
so
thoughtful. Really, I don’t know what to say.”

“Get away from her.” Luniel parried the demon’s sword aside, and the metals clashed, fire spitting blue and scarlet.

Vorvian laughed, taunting him. “Actually, I do know what to say, don’t I? Your Eleanor thought so. She was so eager for me, it made me think she’d been missing something. Did you ever satisfy her, angel? Ever get her off?”

“Go fuck yourself.” Eleanor was dead and damned. Nothing could change that. But the demon’s crude words still stung like poison.

“Didn’t think so.” Vorvian smirked. “She came so hard on my cock, sweet Satan, I honestly thought I’d broken something. And she believed me so easily when I said you were tricking her. In fact…” He frowned, and scratched his head, theatrical. “She gave in so fast, I wonder if she loved you at all! Ha-ha! I bet
that’s
gotta hurt.”

Lune’s heart stung, eight hundred years of fury and lust for retribution, and he knew Vorvian was playing him but he couldn’t stop. He sprang, striking for the demon’s heart.

Vorvian blocked, sparks screeching from the steel, and staggered back. But he laughed as he stumbled. “Temper, shithead. Insecure much?” His eyes gleamed orange with delight. “What say you, my lovely? Does he do it for you?” And he vanished again in stinking smoke, and flashed in on his knees in front of Morgan with a foul crack like thunder.

“Get away from me, you disgusting little rat.” Morgan spat at him, furious, but Vorvian’s minions dragged her back. One wrapped his skinny white arm around her ribs, and laughed as he squeezed her breasts, his sharp tongue circling her ear.

Vorvian clicked his tongue, scolding. “Now, now, don’t be rude. My friends here won’t stand for it.” He waved his arm, scattering stinking magical ash, and at his hell-spelled call, zombies groaned and milled closer, surrounding them.

Lune swiped a few back. One shambled up to Morgan, his rotted face oozing. He rubbed his groin against her back, and grinned, skull-like. “Mmbl. Shhsmm. Fkkkk!”

She couldn’t shrink away, not with the zombie behind her. Not with the painsuckers clawing her like lust-hungry beasts. Vorvian giggled, and tickled his sword tip in Morgan’s hair. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

Kill them all.
Lune’s vision blurred, and he struggled for
sense, but passion cried alive in his veins. He shouldn’t kill Vorvian, not before the hellshit told him everything. But Lune’s heart—fiery, insubordinate, burning for justice—didn’t care.

He spun his sword, flame spilling. “Leave the lady out of it, devilslime. You afraid to face me? C’mon. Have at me, and let’s get this over with.”

Vorvian scratched his chin. “Hmm. Nice offer. Let’s see…how about…are you fucking kidding me?” He kicked up his feet in a delighted little dance. “Ha-ha! This is far too perfect, Lune, old buddy. Watch me and weep.” And he beckoned to his twin minions, who grinned and slavered in unison, and pointed one slender finger at Lune. “Sick ’em.”

And the painsuckers let Morgan go, and sprinted on pointy bare feet straight at him.

Lune whirled and struck, crouching low to slice at knee level. One howled and fell, clutching its leg. The other tumbled aside unharmed. More zombies stumbled in, crowding him, hiding the painsuckers from view. Lune shoved them aside, his blood pumping hard and urgent. He had to get to Morgan. But they piled in heavier, their rotting limbs stinking, eyes rolling with sick hunger. He chopped and stabbed, dispatching dead things left and right. The painsucker wormed through the throng and struck, and his venomous teeth sank deep into Lune’s forearm.