Sinners & Sorcerers: Four Urban Fantasy Thrillers (44 page)

“My book,” he said, snapping his fingers at Sleeveless, who hustled up and opened it to the page that was already marked. Sleeveless was a good minion, better than the rest. It was a shame that he wasn’t going to get much of a reward, but there were sacrifices that had to be made to bring about change, right? People suffered all the time, demons too. What was one more on the pile? It was just a plus one, that’s all. A number.

Sleeveless held his cell phone, the face glowing, over the book so Hollywood could see. Good minion. He started to open his mouth to breathe the first words but another scream stopped him. He felt himself tense, irritated. He’d told Krauther to shut that bitch up—the whiny one, the teenager—but he clearly didn’t have a very good handle on things. Hollywood turned to give him a piece of his mind but stopped when he saw Krauther disappear into a blaze of hellfire, and the other nameless henchman followed a moment later.

+ + +

Two down. That was Hendricks’s thought as he and Arch took down Krauther and the spare, the ones who had been riding herd on the human sacrifices. He pushed the humans, bound, one of them gagged, behind him, he and Arch, making a little defensive line in front of them, positioning themselves between Hollywood and his intended sacrifices. The last demon was with Hollywood, cell phone clutched in his hand, the faceplate lit so Hollywood could read from his book. Hadn’t these idiots ever heard of a flashlight?

“I’m glad you’re here,” Hollywood said, breaking the quiet that had persisted since Krauther had screamed like a bitch when Arch had ripped his back open and exposed his essence to the air. There was enough joy and amusement in Hollywood’s voice that Hendricks thought he might actually be speaking genuinely. “I was worried we weren’t going to have enough sacrifices, and it … I can’t describe how galled I was that these idiots you killed failed to bring you back to me. Instead … you just show up on your own. It’s like a gift from the heavens,” Hollywood said with a wide grin that faded. “Speaking figuratively, of course. I don’t get gifts from the heavens, and if I did, they’d probably be something I wouldn’t care to open. Like a bag of flaming—”

“So they play that game in the underworld, too, huh?” Hendricks said, cutting Hollywood off. No point in listening to his blather. There was going to be a fight, the demon was probably a greater—which meant it was going to be ugly. Their best bet was to let Arch use the shotgun to put him down again while they both opened him up with swords. Save Munson—the guy with the cut-off flannel—for later, once Hollywood was safely ventilated. “Doesn’t surprise me all that much that you’d be the one whose door they’d knock on for that.”

“You guys really know how to step in it, you know that?” Hollywood laughed. “To continue the metaphor.”

Hendricks couldn’t see for sure, but he had a suspicion and went with it. “I don’t think we’re the ones who have stepped in it.” Hollywood flushed; it was obvious in the moonlight. “So … we gonna rumble or do you just wanna keep running lines with us?”

Hollywood’s smug look came back. “Oh, no, I’m about to call ‘Action!’ Just wanted to—”

“Monologue for a bit first?” Hendricks added in. “Like some cheeseball third-rate villain in a movie?”

Hollywood’s smugness evaporated. “Haven’t you heard? A desire to be understood is one of the most powerful motivations for any character.” He smiled. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know a few things,” Hendricks said, exchanging a look with Arch. “I know how to field strip and clean an M-16. I know Leinenkugel’s is the best domestic beer ever made. I know the Green Bay Packers are the single greatest football team ever in American history.” He pretended to think for a second. “Oh, and I know you don’t like being shot in the face.” He raised his .45 and fired off a double tap that nailed Hollywood right in the head both times.

Arch filled the air with a load of buckshot that echoed in Hendricks’s ears as he blasted off a round at Munson. Hollywood staggered, stumbling back, and the book fell out of his hands to land on the ground. Hendricks crossed targets and shot Munson in the body once as he crossed the last few feet and landed his sword across the back of the demon’s neck. He didn’t get a chance to use his gun much when fighting because most of the places he fought were too populated, but he had to give Arch credit—shooting them first provided a welcome distraction. He ripped into Munson with the sword, opening up a gash as he hacked hard into where the spine would be on a human. Whether there was one in there was impossible to say; the wound welled up with orange light, and seconds later Munson was consumed in a scream of black flame, eaten from the inside by the fires of the netherworld taking him back.

Arch was already squaring up with Hollywood, firing his shotgun point blank in the demon’s face. Hendricks wasn’t sure, but he could swear he saw a little indentation from the buckshot as Hollywood’s head snapped around, like it had landed but hadn’t quite broken the skin. Close, maybe. If he lined up his shot and managed to shoot twice in roughly the same place …

There was an explosion of fury from the space where Hollywood was standing, and Hendricks felt it take him off his feet. His arms whirled as he flew a solid five feet off the ground into the air, and came to rest on the grassy earth, a jagged rock catching him in the right shoulder blade. Hendricks wanted to get up but was momentarily stunned; he tried to shake off the pain, and he wondered through the haze what the hell had just happened.

+ + +

Arch had seen a little glow in Hollywood’s eyes before he’d gone off, a little like a bomb. It wasn’t hellfire coming out of him, though, more like a shockwave of force that sent Hendricks flying. Arch had been a little better braced, but it had still taken him off his feet. He’d been fortunate in his landing, shaking the feeling back into his brain real quick. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been quickly enough to keep Hollywood from catching him around the neck and ripping the shotgun out of his grasp.

“You are so lucky this time,” Hollywood said, pressing him to the ground. “See, this isn’t a ten-thousand-dollar suit from London. You already ruined that, and I’ve made my peace with it. It’s just a thing, you know, no big deal. Things aren’t … important.” There was an air of hesitancy in how he said it, like he was merely parroting the words. “Anyway, what’s important is what comes next. And what comes next is history making. It’s a new age.” Hollywood was wearing a big grin. “The last age, really.”

“Oh, yeah?” Arch tried to struggle off his knees, but Hollywood had him solidly. The switchblade was in Arch’s pocket, and he was fumbling for it. This close, Arch could see a couple places where Hendricks had shot the demon, two spots on the forehead where there were slight creases, like something had pushed hard on a mask and made an indent. Arch still had the pistol on his belt, just had to bide his time for a minute, maybe, wait until Hollywood looked away. Hollywood was too fast and too watchful to try it now. Arch would end up separated from his body, likely as not, and that wasn’t the way he wanted to go out.

“Yeah,” Hollywood said and readjusted his grip to drag Arch across the pasture. Arch saw Hendricks, still writhing on the ground, as they swerved over to him. Hollywood aimed a hard kick at his guts. It made a heavy thump, like a watermelon being pounded in by a sledgehammer. and Hicks howled in pain. Arch wondered if the man had escaped internal injuries at that one, it had been so nasty.

“You three,” Hollywood leveled a finger at the other people, the hostages, Arch still thought of them. With a start he realized it was the Blenkman family from just down the road. “You move, I will blur over to you and kill you without a single second’s thought or remorse. Do you understand me? Nod if you understand. NOD, MOTHERFUCKERS!” The words crackled across the pasture and Arch saw them nod, even from the position Hollywood had squeezed him into, head down, locked into place with a hand at the base of his neck like he was a cat being manhandled by a farmer. “Okay, then,” Hollywood said, picked up the book he’d dropped with his free hand, and hauled Arch up.

Hollywood stared at Arch for a minute, and Arch didn’t really like the look of that. “Hey,” the demon said at last. “I want you to know something before we get started. This thing,” he pointed from himself to Arch, a dirty finger bobbing into Arch’s face, “me killing you? It’s not because you’re black, okay? It’s really important to me that you know that before we start.”

Arch just stared at him. “I’m sure that will be of great consolation to my widow.”

Hollywood looked at him blankly for a minute. “Well … yeah, okay, that’s a good point. But I really wanted you to know that, anyway, that it’s not about race. I’m not a racist.” He smiled a broad, almost apologetic smile. “Really. I’m totally down with the struggle. No, the reason I’m killing you is because you’re on the side of the angels—and I’m most definitely not.”

“Oh?” Arch felt a little of the feeling return in his fingers. “Side of the angels, huh? I haven’t seen any of them show up to help me yet.”

“And they won’t,” Hollywood said, adjusting himself so the book rested on his forearm, and opened to a pre-marked page with a cloth strip in place down the binding. “Because they don’t get involved, not anymore. It was just a figure of speech.” Hollywood looked up from his place in the book as the moonlight came down, illuminating the whole scene. “You are a righteous man, though. I can smell it on you,” he turned his nose away, “like the stink of this cow pasture. You were just drawn into this, I bet, took to it like I took to producing, like it was the most natural thing in the world.” He smiled as he leaned closer to Arch. “A lawman, a righteous man, and suddenly you find out there are demons walking the face of the earth? It was probably like you got awakened for the first time, like you’d finally found what you were called to do.” Hollywood leaned in, the grin getting worse, the smell of something like sulfur on his breath. “I know your kind. I’ve met a few of yours, you incorruptible fucks, you self-righteous shits.” He pushed Arch out to arm’s length. “The nice thing about you is that your pure soul—I can just smell it from here—is gonna make a beautiful sacrifice—”

A low sound suddenly cracked around them, like thunder but louder than any thunder that Arch had ever heard. It was a rifle, he’d stake his life on it, and Hollywood was already staggering by the time they’d heard the sound, his arm severed from his body.

“Ohhh,” Hollywood moaned, low and guttural, as he shuffled back. Arch staggered away from Hollywood, fingers still around his neck, but the hand disconnected from the demon at the shoulder. Arch ripped it away from him and threw it down, pulling his gun and aiming it at the disarmed Hollywood, who was still staggering around a few feet away, jerking like he’d been shocked instead of shot.

Arch backed up and made his way over to Hendricks, who was sitting upright now, his pistol back in one hand, sword in the other. “What the fuck did you do to him?” Hendricks asked.

“Nothing,” Arch said. “Did you hear that gunshot?”

“That was a gunshot?” Hendricks said, his eyes a little glazed. “God, that must have been like a fifty cal or something. Big bore.”

Arch shot a look back at Hollywood. “Something real big, I’d say, if it took his arm off.” They both watched, waiting, as Hollywood jerked again, but seemed to steady himself on his feet. “Isn’t he supposed to … you know, burn up now or get ripped back into the bowels of hell?”

“Doesn’t work like that for greaters,” Hendricks said and pulled up on Arch’s arm to get back to his feet. “They don’t just discorporate or disperse, whatever you want to call it. It’s one of the reasons they’re so dangerous.”

“Because we’re hard to kill,” Hollywood said, looking at them, sounding like he was breathing hard. Arch wondered why he’d be breathing then figured it must all be part of the package that held them together. “Pretty near impossible for you fleshy little fleas. You may have taken my arm—”

“We didn’t take your arm,” Arch said. Might as well get that out there. He wondered if there’d be another thunderous crack of the rifle in the distance and kind of hoped there would be. It’d be easier to figure out how to take the man down if someone would just blast his arms and legs off first. Not much threat from Hollywood if he was a quadruple amputee, lying on the ground. Arch would bet a decapitation would finish it then.

“Doesn’t matter,” Hollywood said, leering again. “You can’t kill me. You can’t stop me.” There was a strange light over his features, like a glow being cast upon him. “I have come forth to end … your … world. Nothing of this earth can stop me—”

Hollywood stopped as the glow became lighter, like the sunrise in the distance. Except that was a good five or six hours away, by Arch’s reckoning. There was something else, closer, just up the hill, like a lamp growing brighter, drawing closer to them as it came. It got to near blinding, and the wind picked up again and brought with it a smell of sulfur, of brimstone, and Arch had to cover his nose. Hendricks was leaning on him for support, and they both stood there, staring, caught between watching Hollywood and watching the new entrant, until the light finally died down.

It was a cow, Arch thought. Or had been. It was changed into something grotesque, standing on two legs, with swollen hooves and bifurcated legs that gave it balance. It stood twice the height of a man, and when it snorted, hellfire flared out of its nostrils along with a strong smell of sulfur. It had arms like a man, cloven fists, and a face that was positively frightening, with a keen intelligence that looked over all of them, down at the bottom of the hill. In two steps it was almost upon them. Arch heard the screams of the three Blenkmans behind him and he knew they were fleeing. He resisted the temptation to follow them. The thing standing in front of him was all manner of … just
wrong
.

He felt Hendricks tense at his side. “So that’s what they were summoning.”

There was a pause, and the cow-demon spoke, low and harsh, breathing fire out its nostrils as it did so. “I am Ygrusibas, the harbinger of end-times, the first sign of your world’s end, the breath of the apocalypse.”