The Brimstone Deception (14 page)

“With that and her fangs, their first thought was vampire,” Fred said. “Their second thought was there's no such thing as vampires, and that Celeste must have had some kinky dental work done. My momma—and my first sergeant—always said
that first impressions are important. Our boys and girls should've gone with what their gut was telling them they were seeing.”

“They can't charge something with murder that doesn't exist,” Ian noted. “And as far as the NYPD is concerned, demons don't exist.”

Fred snorted. “Yeah, I'd like to see my precinct try to put one of those in the holding tank.”

“They can try to protect those people all they want,” Ian continued. “It's not going to do any good, even if they believed the reason why. I wish them luck. If they could stop the killings, more power to them. But they won't because they can't. They can't because their minds won't let them believe. Their lizard brains know what's happening, but then they'll look at the modern city they live in and the primitive truth they know in their gut gets pushed aside. They're looking for mundane explanations, and this is magic, black and as dirty as I've ever heard of.”

Fred waved his second doughnut. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You're preachin' to the choir. The killer is a dark mage with a demon sidekick, who's using a portal to get in and out, so my brother and sister officers are gonna be seriously frustrated. The classic murder in a locked room. Damned media's already calling it the perfect crime.”

The tabloids like the
Informer
, which I used to work for, had gotten it right. Well, partially. Demons were involved, and while it was ironic that all of the victims were involved in the illegal drug trade, there was nothing divine about the retribution. Though it would be nice if God would do a little judicious smiting every now and then. Glean out the troublemakers. The world would be a better place for the rest of us.

“You can count us among the frustrated,” Ian was saying. “With your guys tailing our most likely future victims, we can't do the same ourselves. Though it's not like there's much else we've been able to do.”

“Normally multiple vics killed in a freaky way means
serial killer,” Fred noted. “Make those vics connected to some of the biggest names in the city's drug trade, and the folks downtown think we're seeing the beginnings of a drug turf war. New dealers come in, want a slice of the business for themselves, our existing drug lords and ladies say hell no, and the newcomers start making examples to get them to change their minds. Which is surprisingly close to the truth except it's the established lords and ladies who want a piece of the newcomers' action.”

The NYPD had had Kela Dupari's home and office under tight surveillance due to an ongoing investigation that had nothing to do with Brimstone. When her body was discovered in her office with the heart missing and the chest branded, all of the doors and windows had been locked. The surveillance cameras from the building showed that no one other than Kela Dupari had entered or left the office.

The NYPD was stumped, embarrassed, and getting pissed.

We were just pissed.

The NYPD thought the killings were a new cartel moving in to make a name for themselves by simultaneously slaughtering the kingpins while scaring the bejeezus out of the survivors—or as we were beginning to think of them, “future heart donors.”

Aside from the demon and actual Hell elements, Fred was right, they'd pretty much hit the nail on the head.

WHEN
Dr. Cheban and her team released their final report two hours later, I seriously doubt there was any high-fiving in the lab.

It was bad enough that one of the ingredients in Brimstone was actual brimstone from Hell, but it was the form of the brimstone that turned just another evening at SPI into all hands on deck.

At least the hands experienced with portals and demons—finding the former and battling the latter.

The brimstone in the drug had been combined with the other ingredients while still in its molten state. Martin DiMatteo's samples were rocks, dried and old. We were dealing with brimstone fresh from Hell itself.

According to Marty, fresh, molten brimstone could be obtained from only one location.

We had a Hellpit open somewhere under New York.

Some people would say that New York was the modern equivalent of Sodom and Gomorrah, and more than deserved
to have a Hellpit gaping open under it, and the sooner it fell in, the better for everyone else. Others would argue that dishonor went to Las Vegas. I'd have to disagree with both. The majority of New Yorkers were the best folks you'd ever want to meet. I'd never been to Vegas, but since the place had gone and gotten itself Disneyfied, I figured they were out of the running.

Regardless of how those who didn't live in New York felt about the Big Apple, it didn't need or deserve to be swallowed into the bowels of Hell.

Our job was still the same.

Find it and close it—without anyone finding out.

And ensure that what happens in a Hellpit, stays in a Hellpit.

We'd had food sent up from the cafeteria, with Martin DiMatteo hosting a Lunch 'n' Learn on Hell and demons. Though since it was eight o'clock at night, it was dinner, but the concept was the same. Most of us hadn't had time for dinner yet, and with the Hellpit news, we were going to sit down and eat while we could. Fred had had to leave, but we promised to fill him in on what was said and decided.

“I know you say there is a Hellpit,” I was saying to Martin DiMatteo. “And it's
here
.”

“Correct.”

“The demon lord and his mage partner are launching their attacks here through a portal from a dimension
close
to Hell, because there's no direct access to our dimension from Hell.”

“Also correct.”

“Then why can't the Hellpit be physically located in the same neighboring dimension where they're launching their attacks from rather than here, and the brimstone brought in through a portal? I'm not doubting your expertise,” I hurried to add. “I just want to understand what's going on and why.”

“Never apologize for seeking knowledge, Agent Fraser.”

Our director of demonology didn't seem to be offended. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'd just asked him to talk about
his favorite topic; no one minded doing that. Though asking did give me a bit of an unpleasant flashback to asking Bert for an explanation of what he'd been about to do with Sar Gedeon's corpse. I didn't like what I'd heard and seen then, and I didn't think I was going to be too fond of Marty's explanation, either. But I needed to know; we all did.

“Dr. Cheban reported that her team's analysis of the drug showed the chemical composition to be too complex to have been manufactured in any dimension with direct access to Hell. Therefore, it was manufactured here. In order to be manufactured here, the molten brimstone has to be harvested here. The magic necessary for creating, stabilizing, and maintaining a portal would have an undesirable side effect on any molten brimstone being brought through a portal, thickening it enough to be rendered unusable for the drug manufacturers' purpose.”

I think my mouth might have been standing open. “How do you
know
these things?”

DiMatteo actually looked a little embarrassed. “I have tried to bring molten brimstone back with me on more than one excursion.”

“To Hell and back.”

“Yes. Passing through the two portals I had to navigate to get home turned my sample into a substance that can only be described as warm goo. Even when I took every precaution and put the samples in a container that can withstand a nuclear blast.”

“That's one heck of a thermos,” I muttered.

“Yes, it was,” DiMatteo readily agreed. “Since demons can't gain direct access to our dimension from Hell, they have to go through portals to get to a dimension closer to ours, and then from there to here. But even then, only certain sizes and classes of demons can get through. Dimensions that can be accessed directly from Hell aren't nice places to begin with. I've called the ones you experienced yesterday ‘anterooms,' which is an accurate description. These dimensions are
similar enough to Hell in terms of temperature, air composition, and pressure that a portal between the two can be opened with relative ease. The dimensions that can open directly into ours—the elf and goblin realm, for example—are near perfect matches for our own. All of that being said, there are times during the year when the barriers between all of the dimensions are at their thinnest. We just experienced one of those, namely All Hallows' Eve.”

“How long do you think the Hellpit has been open?” Ian asked.

“The optimal time to open one is at a combination of a full moon and a time like All Hallows' Eve, when our enterprising drug manufacturers wouldn't have had to work quite so hard.”

“I thought you'd said there's no direct access to Hell from here,” I said. “Then again, when you told me, I'd just hit my head on concrete.”

“You're correct, Agent Fraser. There is no direct access
from
Hell to here. From here
to
Hell is another matter.”

“You're saying that some dumbass on
our
side dug a pit to Hell?” Roy Benoit was the commander of one of SPI's two commando teams. He was proud to be from the Louisiana swamps, from a long line of gator hunters, and a retired Army Ranger. Though according to Roy, Rangers not only didn't surrender, they never retired.

“Not dumb, Commander Benoit,” DiMatteo replied. “Greedy. In all likelihood, our demon lord offered them access to fresh brimstone. They had the other ingredients. All they needed was the brimstone. They either didn't know—or didn't care—that if a Hellpit is ever fully opened, it's open permanently, and any demon that ever wanted to come to our dimension and belly up to the all-you-can-eat human buffet could do just that. Since New York has yet to be overrun by demons, we obviously haven't reached that point yet.”

“So the last time there was a Hellpit here,” Roy began, “how did they get rid of it?”

“First of all, it's not a simple matter to open a Hellpit. There
have only been a few documented instances, none of which have ever reached a state of being fully open. The first Hellpit was opened in the Gobi Desert in Mongolia in the 1320s. A Mongolian sorcerer sought the advice of a demon to destroy a rival tribe. The demon instructed him on how to conjure a small Hellpit in return for the sorcerer's soul after death, as well as those of his tribesmen. The sorcerer opened the Hellpit, the promised ‘help' emerged, and the sorcerer closed it again. What emerged from that pit killed the rival tribe within a matter of days—then did the same to the sorcerer and his tribe, netting the demon his promised souls a lot sooner than the sorcerer had anticipated.” DiMatteo paused uncomfortably. “The creatures were tiny, microscopically so. They spread throughout Mongolia to the Silk Road, and from there onto the fleas infesting the rats on merchant ships bound for Europe.”

Holy. Crap.

Roy was incredulous. “The Black Plague was caused by demons? I've heard a lot in my time, but—”

“Like all living creatures, demons come in all shapes and sizes,” DiMatteo countered.

“In other words,” I said, “It doesn't take a big pit to make big problems.”

Roy took a deep breath. “Okay, saying I believe ‘demonic bacteria'—and I might as well—I wouldn't think whoever opened the Hellpit here would be inclined to close it again. When we find it, how do
we
close it?”

“We don't,” DiMatteo told him. “It would take a portalkeeper. Two of the officially documented Hellpits were closed by extremely powerful portalkeepers.”

Roy swore. “Those are rare birds.”

“They don't openly advertise their presence for good reason. People who have the gift of opening or closing dimensional portals or tears are in great demand—and most often by individuals or organizations who you would not want to have notice you. Wars, invasions, and criminal acts of every sort can be greatly simplified with a strategically placed portal.
Vivienne Sagadraco will hopefully know the name of a portalkeeper who is powerful enough to close our Hellpit.”

“It can be yours,” Roy said. “'Cause it sure as hell ain't mine.”

“I'm not that great with math,” I said, “so correct me if I'm wrong, but it's been four days since Halloween and two days since the full moon. Detective Fred Ash of the NYPD told Ian and me yesterday that they'd only found out about Brimstone a few days ago. That would coincide with Halloween, but wouldn't the manufacturing process take longer than that? Wouldn't that imply that the Hellpit was open before Halloween?”

All eyes went to Dr. Claire Cheban, the SPI lab director. She didn't look old enough to be out of college, let alone have a PhD and be in charge of a lab like SPI's.

“We're still analyzing the drug sample,” she said, “but brimstone in its molten state is unstable, especially when combined with two of the other ingredients we found in the drug. As Director DiMatteo said, the composition of the drug itself is incredibly complex. From raw ingredients to finished product would take at least four days, and that's a conservative estimate.”

“Sounds like whoever opened the Hellpit missed his window,” Ian noted. “Or didn't need one. Is it possible to open a pit anytime?”

“It's not only possible,” DiMatteo replied, “but in the case we're faced with, I believe it is probable. Contrary to what Commander Benoit said, we're not dealing with a dumbass. Greedy, yes. Dumbass, no. To open a Hellpit regardless of dimensional thinness and moon phase would take an individual with a frightening level of power and skill.”

An assessment like that coming from a man who took rock-hunting excursions to Hell meant a lot of scary.

Ian and I exchanged a glance.

Halloween night had been the gala opening of the Mythos exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. One of the exhibits had been Viktor Kain's Dragon Eggs. Another had been a
marble statue of three harpies. The real statue had been waylaid in London and had been replaced with three actual Grecian harpies that had been put into a state of stasis until the night of the gala when an unknown—and scary powerful—sorcerer or sorceress had reanimated the harpies to steal the Dragon Eggs. Before, during, and after the theft, they'd also killed a couple of security guards, terrorized the guests, and shattered a section of the window wall in the Met's Sackler Wing when they escaped into the night over Central Park.

We'd never found who was ultimately behind the diamond theft, but we strongly suspected it was the same individual who had enough magical mojo to put three harpies into suspended animation and disguise them as a marble statue.

It sounded like one of those mega-mages hadn't left town and was now working with a demon lord.

“Just because it's called a Hellpit,” said Sandra Niles, our other commando unit commander, “does that mean it's an actual, physical hole in the ground, or could it be similar to a door, like a portal?”

“It'll be a hole in the ground,” DiMatteo confirmed. “But it can be closed like a portal—unless it's completely open.”

“When it's completely open, how can it be closed?” Sandra asked.

“There's never been one completely open before, so I don't know if it can be closed.”

Silence.

“Uh, Marty, there's a lot of holes in the ground under Manhattan.” Leave it to Sandra to be able to ignore the bomb Marty just dropped and move on. “Could you narrow it down for us?”

“Brimstone solidifies within an hour after being exposed to surface air. It wouldn't matter how quickly it could be gotten into a sealed container. That would put the pit less than an hour from the lab, probably much closer. At the same time, it would need to be a location that could be easily secured.”

DiMatteo paused, his expression slightly disturbed.
Again, coming from a guy who studied demons for a living, this was alarming.

“There is a rather concerning possibility,” he said. “I've compared it to black holes—”

Hellpits and black holes? This wasn't gonna be good.

“Humans have never been near a black hole, yet there are certain behaviors that scientists accept as fact. Once a Hellpit is open ‘all the way,' there's no reason that it would be limited to a finite size. In theory, the size of the Hellpit opening would only dictate what size demons could gain access to our dimension. Smaller opening, smaller demons. Larger opening, larger demons. Unless the individual who opened the pit is remaining with it 24/7 to control its growth, theoretically there wouldn't be a size limit.”

No one moved. Those who were still eating stopped chewing.

“On the upside—”

“There's an upside to Armageddon?” Roy muttered.

“Yes, there is. The presence at this time of any smaller-class demons could indicate probable proximity to the Hellpit's location.”

“So, if people are being eaten in Midtown, chances are the Hellpit's in Midtown?”

“Correct.”

That confirmed it. Marty didn't get humor or sarcasm. Bless his heart.

“Regarding Dr. DiMatteo's comments on the proximity of the lab to the Hellpit,” Claire Cheban began, “understand that they would need to have enough distance between them to ensure that no heat or flame from the Hellpit would come in contact with two of the ingredients found in our dimension. Those two ingredients are highly unstable and flammable.”