Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Thank you for Reading!

Roaring Blood

By Ambrose Ibsen

Copyright © 2016 by Ambrose Ibsen

All rights reserved.

This one's for Kentaro, Hisako, Inazawa and Mukai.

And maybe it's for Seiji, too.

ONE

I took a deep breath.

This was it, the moment of truth. If I fucked things up here, then it was all over. There was simply too much on the line for that. I needed to deliver, to bring my A-game. Still, my hands were shaking a little.

A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead and into my eyes. Gritting my teeth, I mustered all of my focus. “Joe... this is it, man.”

Time seemed to stop for a moment as the ICEE machine whirred to life and a stream of red slurry poured neatly into my cup.

Joe yawned. “A little dramatic, no?” He fanned himself with one of the magazines on the nearest rack, pacing behind me. His pompadour had fallen loose, his hair slick with sweat. “It's just a drink, dude. You're not defusing a bomb.”

“No!” I replied, shooting him a sharp glance in my periphery. “This is my patented 'no-spill' technique. See, you put the lid on first and watch it real close to make sure you fill it to the brim. If you time it just right, it won't spill over and you'll fill the cup to one-hundred percent capacity. You get your money's worth when there's no empty space in the dome lid. To do it any other way is un-American.” I smirked as my cup was filled to the bursting point and then pulled it away, burying a red straw inside. “You're the one who's never even tried an ICEE before. I'm a little embarrassed to know you, if we're being honest.”

Yanking a cup from the dispenser, Joe began to haphazardly fill it with blueberry-flavored drink. Bastard didn't even bother snapping on the dome lid first. “It's too hot for your bullshit today, Lucy,” he said with a sigh. He straightened his leather jacket a little, probably wishing he'd left it at home.

It wasn't merely a hot day; we were looking at near-record-breaking temperatures in Detroit. Though the sun had gone down the heat lingered on, radiating off of the asphalt as though it were molten underneath. Joe and I had met up a few hours ago, intending to hit up a house party one of my friends was throwing, and after filling up on fast food I'd demanded we stop at the convenience store for a quick ICEE. The air conditioning in the place felt great.

And, you know, the chick working the counter wasn't too hard on the eyes, either.

While Joe made a mess of his blue ICEE I turned and shot her a little smile. She was leaning over the counter disinterestedly, head propped up on her palm. She didn't seem to notice me. Too deep in her thoughts, I figured.

“Hey,” I said, tapping Joe's shoulder. “Ten bucks I can score her number.” Then, turning, I caught a glimpse of Joe's ICEE.

He was trying to force a sticky lid over the top of the cup, which burgeoned with half-melted blue frost. The stuff ran down his wrists as he pushed on the lid with a grunt. “There,” he said. “Not half bad, eh?”

Tearing a handful of napkins out of the nearest dispenser, I shoved them into his hand. “That ICEE is an abortion, Joe. What the hell happened to technique, huh? I can't take you anywhere, you damned animal.”

Joe grinned, the bluish liquid dripping steadily from the seams of his cup. He licked up a little bit. “I can see why you like these. They're pretty good.”

Like a mother leading a disobedient kid, I took Joe by the arm and hauled him to the counter. I set down my ICEE and plucked my wallet out of my back pocket. “Watch this,” I told Joe, clearing my throat and facing the cashier with a winning grin. “Hey, there.”

One look at Joe's mess of a cup and the rings of blue liquid it was leaving behind on her counter was enough to contort her bored expression into something, let's say, more hostile.

“My, uh, friend here has never had an ICEE before,” I started, nudging Joe with my elbow. “It's like he's been living in a cave the past twenty years, you know? Doesn't even know the right technique.”

She looked at us in turn and then punched a couple of keys on the register. She tapped them hard, like she wanted to break them, and the corners of her ruby red lips sank into a frown. “That'll be four bucks.” Her hand paused over the drawer, her matching red fingernails rapping an impatient tune on the plastic case.

OK, she wasn't taking the bait.

Better to be more direct.

“So, what time do you get off?” I asked, handing her four crisp dollars.

Joe arched a brow as he picked up his sticky cup. “You serious, man?” he muttered under his breath. He was making his way to the door when the cashier finally replied.

Taking one look at the messy ICEE station, she gave her shoulders a little toss. “Dunno,” she said flatly. “Guess it depends on how long it takes me to clean up your boyfriend's messes.”

Ouch.

Chuckling nervously, I picked up my cup and nodded. “Heh, cool. Have a... uh, good night.”

Joe laughed all the way out the door.

Exiting the convenience store we were hit by a wave of pure heat. The smell of asphalt came in thick, and my skin tingled with the promise of sweat.

I'm going to be honest with you: I hate the summer. I'm much more of an autumn or spring guy. Turns out that housing a demon in my body didn't magically give me a tolerance to the heat. Go figure. I'm still a little sore about that. I mean, demons live in hellfire, don't they? Surely hellfire's a lot hotter than a summer in Detroit?

Joe took a noisy slurp from his cup. “Man, you're just an expert in all sorts of things these days, aren't you, Lucy?” He laughed to himself, wiping his lips and taking off his jacket. Throwing it over one shoulder, he went on. “You kill a few witches, a few werewolves, and suddenly you think you're an expert in mixology. And Casanova, to boot.”

I didn't have anything nice to say in reply, so I just took a long pull from my ICEE.

The past month or so had been pretty wild, and I guess I understood where Joe was coming from. After weathering two cases with the Veiled Order and making an ass-load of money, I was riding pretty high. I mean, I was living debt-free now, and hunting down supernatural baddies paid really damn well. There wasn't a twenty-something in Detroit making the kind of money I made for a single night's work. When you took into consideration the nature of said work, you could understand why it was starting to go to my head.

I was practically a superhero.

It hadn't been a cake-walk, but we'd taken down the coven of Mater Agatha for my first assignment. From there we'd been assigned to a fresh case, tracking a pair of werewolf twins through the city. This second case had actually been a fair bit easier than the first. For starters, werewolves, though strong, aren't nearly as clever as witches. They're brutes, through and through, and their bag of tricks doesn't run nearly so deep. Hell, it was only my second case, but after my tussle with the Lycans I felt pretty secure in the knowledge that their entire race was boring and predictable. They'd put up a hell of a fight, but when it comes to raw power it's hard to top a demon.

The poor werewolves learned that the hard way.

For their pelts I won a payday that would have made most lottery-winners jealous and decided to spend it judiciously.

On a Corvette.

“Why didn't we drive?” I moaned, shuffling onto the sidewalk and leaving the bright glow of the convenience store behind. “I feel like I'm melting.”

“Damn, Lucy. For a demon you sure whine a lot. You were the one who wanted to walk, remember? Your buddy's place doesn't have any good parking, and you didn't want to go all Exorcist on someone for bumping into the 'Vette.”

“Ah, yeah.” This was a little shindig thrown by an old university buddy of mine, Ken. Ken was the only art history student I knew who'd scored a proper job upon leaving school. We'd graduated at the same time, and my grades had been a wee bit higher than his, but Ken's dad was friends with the director of the local museum and in the end that connection had won out. He'd landed a job and was now responsible for curating different exhibits. The two of us weren't best buds or anything like that; if anything, since school, we'd sort of become rivals. These days when the two of us talked, I always sensed an air of superiority in his tone. He'd gotten a job with his degree. I'd gotten a job collecting debts.

Heh. Ken could keep his shitty museum job for all I cared. Little did he know I'd moved on from my old line of work and become a frigging monster hunter. I'd brought Joe along with me because I wanted someone down to Earth there, someone to break up the banal hipsterish banter that haunted Ken's parties without fail.

Oh, and because I figured he might make a decent wing-man.

See, ever since joining up with the Veiled Order I'd been having something of a dry spell. It'd been a couple of months since I'd had a good time with a member of the fairer sex. So tonight, at this party, I was determined to change that. Work had kept me pretty busy lately, it was true, but the real issue was that I kept striking out. Disinterested convenience store girl was just the latest in a long line of pickup disasters.

You'd think that having a demon inside of you might tip the scales in your favor when picking up girls. This is Gadreel we're talking about, no less; one of the Grigori, who has a legendary affinity for human women. But, no. Even though the demon's powers allowed me to call down lightning from the heavens and spit acid, Gadreel wasn't helping me get laid.

“So, this buddy of yours is a douche, huh?” started Joe.

I was about to respond when something curious came into view just ahead.

We'd built some distance from the convenience store and were now walking down a quiet street. From somewhere far away a dog barked. A breeze whistled by, momentarily cooling the sweat on my skin and making the hairs on my arms stand up. Ever since Gadreel moved in, my intuition had been on fire. I could usually perceive a threat long before the first blow was struck, could point out dangers from a distance, and I'd learned better than to just discount these hunches.

Well, something told me, deep-down, that the guy crossing the street just ahead of us with a long, shambling stride was bad news.

I stopped in my tracks and watched the individual creep across the street. He was headed in the opposite direction, didn't even spare us a passing glance. It was only when he walked beneath a streetlight that I got a good look at him, and when I did I was faced with a conundrum.

I knew the guy.

Squinting in the darkness and taking a pensive sip of my ICEE, I found the figure to be an old high school teacher of mine. A Mr. Duncan... Or was it Mr. Dukakis? Eh, something like that. It was a “D” name, I was certain.

The fella didn't look so good. He was walking with an extremely noticeable limp, one of his feet turned at an unnatural angle so that it dragged behind him as he went. The ankle was probably busted. His clothes were extremely dirty, torn up and ragged, and his skin was pale. Every step caused him great pain, and he grunted, shuffling off to God knew where.

I balled my fist and turned to Joe, nodding at the guy. “You feel that?” I asked.

“Feel what?” Joe was apparently clueless, sipping at his drink. “He's just a homeless guy or something. Leave him be.”

I watched the figure wander off into the darkness. He disappeared around a corner but the sounds of his shuffling advance took a little while longer to dissipate. “He looks just like an old teacher of mine. Don't remember his name, but I could have sworn it was him,” I said. “Got a real bad vibe, for some reason.”

Mr. Dimitri, was it? Hell, I couldn't remember. If I thought about it real hard I could recall the way he'd once made me stay after class in third-period English for replacing all of the proper nouns in my textbook with the word “penis”. He'd always been a strict type, not at all friendly with the students. I was surprised to see him wandering the streets like a hobo, but I wasn't too torn up about it, either.

Joe shrugged. “Whatever, man. Let's keep walking. Don't want to be too late.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” We pressed on. Ken's house was only a half-mile or so from the convenience store, and a glance at the time told me we were going to be there with a few minutes to spare. We walked in silence, slurping contentedly at our drinks and only opening our mouths when uttering the obligatory curses at the heat. I'd worn a polo and shorts, something loose and casual, but wished I could just walk the streets naked. It was that damn hot out.

Ken lived in a nice apartment complex. The buildings only housed three units, one on each floor, and the complex featured ten such buildings in total, laid out in a neat row. Ken's was the second building, and his was the apartment on the first floor.

As we drew near I could hear music issuing from Ken's. Stretching and smoothing out my shirt, I hoped I didn't look too disheveled. I palmed away a fair bit of sweat on my brow and led Joe to the entrance of the building. “This is the place.”

Joe slowed down a little, his gaze falling low. The guy was nervous. He'd never really met my other friends, and wasn't sure he'd be “artsy” enough to fit in. His fears weren't completely unfounded; my usual crowd could be pretty stuck-up, and odds were fifty-fifty that they'd eat him alive. “You sure about this?” he asked, pausing at the door.

“Just be cool, Joe. They're a bunch of posers, but if I know one thing, it's that Ken's got good taste in booze. Plus, this place is going to be crawling with cute girls. Maybe we'll both get lucky tonight.” I grinned. “And if you don't, well, maybe I'll let you watch.”

Joe groaned. “I don't know why I hang out with you. You're the worst of the worst.”

“Easy for you to say, altar boy!” said I. “It's been too damn long since a girl and I have hit it off.” I was going to keep yapping, except that my thoughts were suddenly drawn back to that teacher of mine, who we'd seen limping down the street. Mr. Donovan? Ah, fuck it. There was no way I was going to recall his name.

But there was one thing I felt reasonably sure of.

Unless I was senile, that teacher had died some years ago. Gulping, I thought back to my high school years, seeming to remember that the guy had kicked the bucket when I was a Junior or Senior.

Nah, I thought. That can't be right. I must be misremembering. Banishing all thoughts of the teacher, I eased open the door and waved Joe inside. “Game on,” I declared.

TWO

Before I even said hello to anyone I walked past the crowd of leering hipsters and poured a little vodka into what remained of my ICEE.

“Making yourself at home, Lucian?” came Ken's nasally voice from within the throng. He was sitting in a chair, his thin legs crossed and a sneer on his lips. “This guy-- doesn't even say hello before helping himself to the goods.” He laughed. “Welcome, Lucian. And... who's this?” He motioned to Joe, his mirth ebbing away momentarily.

Joe bobbed his head, his eyes darting nervously about the room before settling on the floor. “I'm, uh... Joe.”

Ken arched a brow but didn't have anything more to say on that matter. Instead, he rose from his seat, arms spread, and pat me on the shoulder condescendingly. “How've you been? Still, eh... roughing people up for money?”

Gnawing on my straw, I gave a quick nod. “Yup.”

What? It's not like I was going to tell this asshole the truth! And, technically, I was still pounding heads for cash. My targets just weren't normal people anymore.

Ken gave the smuggest, most WASP-like chuckle imaginable and then sized up Joe. “And Joe is...?”

“He works with me,” I replied. “A good guy.”

“Well,” replied Ken, motioning to the collection of bottles on the table. “Help yourself, Joe. A friend of Lucian's is a friend of mine.” His tone wasn't all that convincing. “There's craft beer in the fridge, fellas. Robbie's coming tonight, and he plans to bring Absinthe. Or so I've heard. Dominique has a veggie bake going in the oven that's going to be totes delish.”

I cringed. “Sounds great.” I looked past Ken to the mass of partiers hanging out in the dim living room, listening to If You're Feeling Sinister. Taking a gulp of my drink, the sting of vodka assailed my throat. As I left the kitchen and zeroed in on an empty chair in the next room, Joe followed.

“Why do you bother with the booze?” he asked. “Won't get you drunk.”

Joe was right. Ever since taking on Gadreel's heart, alcohol couldn't touch me. It wasn't the most welcome side-effect. I'd tried smoking pot as well since the transplant, and that hadn't had any effect either. “Old habit,” I replied. “Greases the gears, if you catch my drift. Everyone else is drinking, so I don't want to be a straight-edge stick in the mud.”

I sat down next to a pair of guys I vaguely remembered from one of my art classes. Rick and Mike? Or was the black-haired one John and the one with the incomplete sleeve of tattoos Wyatt?

In case you haven't been paying attention, I'm absolute shit at remembering names.

They were deep in conversation, talking about the novels they were writing. There wasn't a person in this room except for Joe and I who didn't fancy themselves a future Man Booker Prize winner. They all had their novels and chapbooks, their pet projects that would never amount to anything. They adored talking about these works that would never come to fruition and describing the intense creative struggles they faced on the regular... while drinking coffee at Starbucks. Talk like that has always turned my stomach. Like, how hard is it to write a book, really? You just sit down and make shit up, right?

I nodded as though I were politely listening, but my gaze was wandering all the while. Joe sat next to me, on the floor, legs crossed, keeping the straw to his lips in the hopes that no one would talk to him. He'd put his jacket back on and looked awfully small as he sank into its depths. A hell of a wing-man he was turning out to be.

Ken's on-again, off-again girlfriend Stacy was laughing shrilly in the far corner, wearing a skin-tight black slip that left about as much to the imagination as Saran wrap. No, I thought. She's off limits. If I tried to put the moves on her, Ken would toss me out in a hurry. There was Dominique, the nature chick, with her baggy brown dress and a string of crystals around her neck. She was a lot of fun to talk to, but the smell of pot that followed her around was strong enough to make your eyes water. Sitting across from me was Delilah, a bookish chick I'd had a little thing with a few years back. She smiled as our eyes met and leaned in.

“You're looking well, Lucian,” she said, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. She was looking me up and down, her pale cheeks flushing a little. “You been working out or something?” Delilah had always been somewhat sickly. Cute in the right light, sure, but a little too clingy for my tastes. Apparently she'd taken an interest in my monster-hunting bod, and was crushing on me not-so-subtly.

I waggled my eyebrows. “You could say that.” I let my bicep pop a little while raising the ICEE to my lips, and then buried my heel in Joe's side to stifle his groan.

“I've been working out, too,” chimed in one of the skinny guys to my left. I didn't know this guy's name, either, but his hair was wild, real long on top and teased out like he thought he was Morrissey in the 80's. “Joined a Crossfit gym last week,” continued the Morrissey-wannabe, taking a swig of some imported German beer. “I don't want to get, you know, swole, but ever since I started the gains have been incredible.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, standing up. “Time for a refresher.” I excused myself to the kitchen and Joe followed on my heels.

“This is a party?” he muttered. “This sucks, Lucy.”

I stood in the kitchen, looking down at the snacks on offer. There were Quinoa crisps, smoked sardines, stuffed Kalamata olives... and other stuff I didn't particularly want to eat. I popped an olive into my mouth and slumped against the wall. “Yeah, the turn-out's a little disappointing. But it's early yet. Where's the stereo at? I'll turn on some Bonobo and get the lights down.”

Just then, Ken walked in with someone I didn't recognize. “Oh, Lucian, did you meet Kanta?”

Kanta, the girl at his side, looked to be a hundred and ten pounds of pure Indian goddess. Her long, black hair was perfectly molded into a braid that framed the right shoulder of her salmon-colored blouse. Her eyes were a striking green, and her lips did that perfect pouty thing without her even trying. When she extended a hand to shake and introduced herself with an adorable Indian accent, I melted.

“Hello,” she said, smiling demurely. “You're Lucian, yes?”

“That's right,” I replied, shaking her hand enthusiastically. “And what's your story, Kanta? Where've you been all night?”

“Kanta is an exchange student from New Delhi, and she's staying in this complex. Dominique introduced me to her. Studying... what was it?” asked Ken.

“Theology,” replied Kanta.

For an exchange student, her English was pretty damn good. There was an accent there, for sure, but it was just noticeable enough to be sexy.

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Kanta,” I replied, nodding to the living room. “Why don't we have a seat and get to know one another.” Joe shifted uncomfortably behind me. “My buddy Joe here isn't much for parties. I don't suppose you know any nice girls I could set him up with?” My shit-eating grin intensified the more Joe's cheeks reddened. “Joe, grab a beer out of the fridge and take a load off. Kanta and I are going to have a little chat.”

Joe remained stationed in the kitchen with Ken, awkwardly turning to the fridge. He pulled open the door and perused the rows of obscure beers on offer. He went for the only thing he recognized and thanked Ken, wrenching the cap off of a Pabst Blue Ribbon.

I was already in the living room by that time, sitting apart from the rest of the group with Kanta centered in my sights. I wanted to get to know her a little better. If I played my cards right, I'd give her a real taste of the American life tonight.

“So,” she said. “Tell me about yourself.” Her green eyes twinkled in the low lighting. Someone put on a Camera Obscura record; pleasant background noise as far as I was concerned.

This was the moment that would make or break this thing. I had to sell myself, but couldn't lay it on too thick, lest she think me a poser like the rest. “Well,” I began, “I'm really into art. Got my Master's in Art History, in fact. I've been working in the city doing... community outreach work.”

Come on, I wasn't fibbing. I know what you're thinking, but this wasn't a total lie. I did reach out into the community in my line of work... to punch supernatural villains in the mouth.

I went on. “I'm into all sorts of things; music, theater, film, fitness. I like to start my day with a cup of Milkthorn tea, blended with coconut oil and Ayurvedic herbs. Feel like I can take on the world afterward.” I mean, a guy who drinks fancy tea every morning must be pretty sophisticated, no? I thought.

I waited on tenterhooks, wondering if she'd call my bluff. If pressed, I wouldn't have been able to spell the word Ayurvedic.

Kanta nodded enthusiastically.

Damn, I'd really lucked out here. By now, most American chicks would have sniffed out my poseur bullshit. But she listened to me talk about myself with seeming glee. A half hour passed, and in all that time she seldom spoke, just wanting to know more about me. Unless I was mistaken, she seemed like she was genuinely interested. I wasn't really used to this feeling.

“That's fascinating,” she said after a while, her hand on my knee. “You seem like a very interesting person, Lucian.”

My cheeks burned a little for all of the blushing. “Well, you know, some people say that.”

Kanta giggled. “As it happens,” she said, her green eyes flickering with something of mischievousness, “I live in this building, on the third floor. Maybe you should visit me sometime.” She bit her lower lip a little, her ivory teeth sinking into the rosy flesh and getting me all bothered. “Maybe...” Her voice trailed off a little. “Do you want to see my room?”

“Now?” I asked, my breath temporarily betraying me. “S-sure,” I said, trying to play it cool. “Let's go up there and have a look around.”

Oh shit, oh shit, I thought. This is it. She wants to seal the deal! I stood up, cutting through the living room with Kanta at my side, and shot Joe a devilish grin. “I'll be back,” I told him, edging my way towards the entrance.

He'd been sandwiched between two guys arguing about Veganism and looked up at me with something like real terror in his eyes. “Save me,” he mouthed.

I was already out the door, Kanta's hand locked in mine. Things were moving really fast, blindingly fast, but I sure as hell wasn't about to complain. So, what? For all I knew Kanta had flown in just hours ago and decided she needed to sample the local fare. It was my patriotic duty to represent the country, to take her upstairs and welcome her to good ol' Detroit the proper way.

My heart began to thrash, Gadreel apparently getting excited. This would be my first time having sex with the demon's heart lodged in my chest. Did my condition technically make this a three-way? Would Gadreel's prowess turn me into a literal sex god? These were the questions I most wanted answers to as we climbed the stairs and made our way to the third story. The door up there was already ajar, waiting for us. Kanta pushed it open and invited me inside.

The interior of the place was bare, totally austere. There wasn't a thing to be seen in the joint, save for an old wooden chair in the living room. She'd probably only just arrived in the country, so the lack of furniture was understandable. “Do, uh... do you have a bed in here?” I asked as she closed the door behind her.

She smiled, giving her braid a toss. “We don't need a bed.”

Ooh, I thought, this chick is down for anything! I grinned. “I guess not.”

“Why don't you have a seat?” she offered, motioning to the chair.

“Don't mind if I do.” I walked over and dropped into the wooden seat, finding it a little uncomfortable. The lights were pretty low in here; with the blinds drawn and only a weak light coming in from over the kitchen sink, we were pretty well enveloped in shadow. She paced into the kitchen and rifled through one of the drawers before returning.

“Close your eyes,” she said with a smile.

I was only too willing to obey.

With my eyes shut, I felt something soft and lacy brush against my cheek. This laciness trended south, to my arms, before it settled on my wrists. She was tying me to the chair, fastening a length of soft fabric around my wrists. Pretty kinky, I thought. When she'd done up both arms, she took a few steps back from the chair and appraised her work with a fiendish smile.

She pulled a candle from her pocket and deftly lit a match, striking it against her heel. “We're all ready,” she said. “You can open your eyes.”

I eyed the candle with curiosity. What's that for? Is she into wax play? Well... whatever. She can have her fun. When that's done, we'll do this thing demon-style...

Next, Kanta took a string of chunky, wooden beads from her pocket. She held them out in front of her and took on a dire cast in the flickering candlelight. I heard the door to the apartment open, and someone entered into view behind her. He was a tall guy, with blondish hair and a respectable beard. Dressed in an olive green jacket, he looked kind of dirty, as though he lived out of a car.

Strapped to his back was a sword.

A sword whose hilt was a long, thick bone.

“Whoa, that's an awesome sword,” I said. And I meant it. “But, uh... who're you?”

They both looked at me, then to each other.

That was when it occurred to me that this was apparently some big joke that they were both in on.

Either that or we were about to have a threesome.

Knowing my luck, my bet was on the former, though.

“K-kanta? Do you know this guy?” I chanced.

The dude with the sword on his back cracked a grin. “All set, yeah? I haven't watched you do one of these for quite a while.”

I blanched. “I'm, uh... I'm not really into having voyeurs sit in on--” I started, before Kanta cut me off sharply.

“Shut your mouth,” she spat. What struck me more than the ferocity of her reply, though, was the fact that the cute Indian accent was completely gone from her voice. She'd dropped it all at once, a practiced ruse. “What?” she continued, laughing at my bewilderment. “Did you think you were about to get lucky, demon? I don't usually go for that generic seductress approach, but with you it was just too easy.”

“Well, yeah,” I replied before fully thinking things through. Then, furrowing my brow, I leaned forward in the chair. “But... what's all this demon talk about?”

You probably saw this coming a long way before I did, but it was pretty clear at this point that I'd walked headlong into a trap. What's that? You think it was an obvious trap? Easy for you to say. You're sitting down reading this after the fact, guided by reason, rather than libido. So I fell for it. Sue me. Anyhow, I figured I didn't have anything to lose by trying to lie. This chick had somehow figured out I was a demon, and that wasn't really something I wanted to spread around, you know?

“I could sense the diabolical aura on you from a mile away,” she said, thumbing the beads and pacing before me. “Good thing you're a stupid demon, led by human impulse. If you hadn't been so blindsided by lust I might've had trouble luring you here.”

Truthfully, I felt hurt. Up until a few minutes ago, I'd thought things were going well. I sighed. “Where did we go wrong? I thought we had a connection...”

She arched a raven brow. “A connection? With a douche like you?” She chuckled incredulously. “I think not, demon scum. Oh, and by the way? Milkthorn tea isn't even a thing.”

Damn it. She'd seen through my bullshit.

Clearing her throat, Kanta raised the wooden beads over her head. “We will now begin the rites of exorcism.”

My eyes shot open wide and my arms quaked against the wooden chair. “Wait, what? You're going to do a-an exorcism?”

The tall guy just kept on grinning. The longer he stood there, awaiting the spectacle, the more I wanted to knock every one of his teeth out. “Prepare yourself, demon.”

Oh, shit. I leaned against the back of the chair and pleaded feebly. My murmured pleas were drowned out by Kanta's low chanting. She was speaking in a foreign tongue, Hindi, probably, and the sound of the beads clacking against one another filled the air like so many distant drums. Now you've done it. You're so fucked, I thought.

THREE

I felt like a prisoner being publicly executed. The two of them watched me writhe and yelp as the ritual wore on with satisfaction in their eyes. I mean, these people hardly knew me, but were content to subject me to the torture that was exorcism.

Bear in mind, no one had ever really primed me on what I could expect from an exorcism. In the movies it's all a very dramatic affair. Lots of pain and yelling and speaking in tongues. Turns out the real thing isn't so different. When she started chanting, Gadreel went into full-blown panic mode, my heart thumping in my chest, faster and faster, till I felt dizzy. My skin grew hot and poured fresh sweat, and not simply because of the summer heat. Her chants rose in volume, went higher and higher, and though I struggled against my restraints, they proved surprisingly powerful. Probably charmed in some way. I wanted to stand up, to run away or clobber her till she shut that mouth of hers, but I didn't have the strength. Every word carved away a little bit of my power till I was left with nothing.

My stomach tossed and turned, my guts feeling like they might shoot out of my throat at any moment and shower the empty apartment in red, vodka-infused ICEE. She moved the beads in hypnotic semi-circles, and in my blurred vision they almost appeared to glow in the candlelight. My soul, my essence was being actively drawn out of my body. It was the weirdest, most painful thing I'd ever felt. Getting slugged by werewolves or shot by blessed bullets couldn't compete with the kind of pain she was dealing. Even getting killed by witches hadn't caused this sort of pain. Every atom in my body was being attacked at once, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was a sitting duck, completely incapacitated.

Finally, Kanta finished, draping the beads around her neck and uttering one final, forceful chant. Her voice scarcely reached my ears; I was too out of it to hear her. Barely alive, really.

“Return to the hellfire,” she commanded.

When she was finished, I was out of breath, unable to speak. Apparently, though, Gadreel had something to say. He wasn't going anywhere, and told her so with a smirk. “That...” I panted, “was quite... the ritual...” Gulping in more air, the demon continued speaking through me. “It's a good thing that my soul is permanently leashed to this body. Otherwise that might've actually worked.” Deep, disembodied laughter filled the room.

She'd tortured Gadreel something fierce, but she couldn't get rid of him. An exorcism, apparently, wasn't enough. Good to know.

Kanta and her sword-wielding buddy didn't seem to believe, and took a few steps back. She clutched the beads around her neck and uttered a curse in some language I couldn't understand. “No, there's no way. You're a demon... I... I've never met a demon with resistance to exorcism. That's impossible!”

Gadreel had had enough of fun and games. His control over my body increased, allowing him to stand me up. Jerking from side to side, I raised the chair behind me and then allowed both of my shoulders to dislocate with a sickening pop. The chair sailed down before me in the next instant, and once the joints were sound again, I slammed the thing against the floor, where it broke apart into jagged pieces.

“Well, a shame we had to meet under these circumstances,” uttered Gadreel, using my eyes to appraise the two of them with an icy glare. “Perhaps you should have stuck to the original script. You'd have had a lot more fun.”

The tall guy whipped the sword off of his back and urged Kanta to take cover. “Get out of here, I'll handle this,” he said, holding the mighty blade at waist-height and sizing me up. The yellowish bone in his grip was nearly as long as the blade itself. A badass weapon, but not the most efficient one, by the looks of it. Stepping forth, he loosed a jab with the thing, which I easily evaded.

While the swordsman tried his skill, I made sure not to take my eyes off of Kanta. She was my real target; this guy was merely a distraction. For the pain she'd caused me I intended to make her suffer. In my rage state I intermittently picked up on Gadreel's thoughts; scenes of Kanta in the hellfire, of her soul being devoured, of her body being jabbed with molten-hot spears, again and again by plague demons, for eternity. With a toothy grin, I winked at her. “Watch this.”

The swordsman reared back and swung his blade as though intending to hit a home run.

I dodged. The top of the blade passed over the crown of my head. I might've lost a few hairs in the deal, but it didn't matter. With a playful jab, I struck the guy square in the navel. The blow sent him reeling. The sword was out of his hands, clattering to the floor, and he sailed into the nearest wall with a gasp. “That was just a love-tap,” I said, standing upright. “But it may have burst your diaphragm. What shall I break next?”

It took only a moment of gloating for Kanta to wage a counterattack. While I focused on her downed buddy, she picked up his badass sword and quickly thrust it upward, where it met my shoulder and parted my flesh with a sizzle.

Silver.

I recoiled with a hiss while she helped the panting swordsman to his feet. A second slash, this one directed at my leg, carved deep into my thigh. I stumbled, palming at the gash, and fell down as the two of them fled. They darted through the door, thundered down the stairs, and were gone by the time I'd healed up enough to give chase.

Frothing with rage, I spit on the floor. A spot of carpet in the corner was eaten away as the acid went to work. I didn't feel good about letting my quarry get away. Right about then I should've been bathing in their blood.

Pacing around the empty room till my wounds had fully healed, I quickly marched downstairs, back to Ken's place. I wasn't sure how much time had passed or what state I might find Joe in, but I poked my head in the door and singled him out in the living room, where he still sat between a pair of drunk guys singing along to a song on the stereo. He seemed to sense my gaze, because he stood up at once and began sauntering to the door, abandoning his half-full beer bottle on the nearest table.

I waved to Ken. “Great party, man. Let's do it again sometime.”

Ken was pretty buzzed and raised his cup to me in reply. From somewhere in the room I heard someone ask, “Hey, where did Kanta go?”

Where indeed? I wanted to say. Joe followed me outside and the two of us cut through the parking lot in silence. He could tell from the sour look on my face that things hadn't gone well for me.

“So,” he said after a time, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, “how'd it go? You get lucky like you wanted?”

I bit my lip before responding. “Not quite.”

Joe nodded. “Well, it ain't all bad, you know? I learned something valuable tonight.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“That your friends throw shit parties and I probably shouldn't tag along again,” he said with a smirk.

FOUR

I spent the night, as well as most of the afternoon, in bed. When I awoke I made a quick trip to the grocery store, where I procured some dietary staples like bacon, Maraschino cherries and Funyuns. While there, I also picked up a beautiful German chocolate cake from the bakery section.

It was while I sat in my living room, trying to decide whether to eat the entire cake in a single go, that my black work-issue phone began to ring. Cursing, I rose from the sofa and took hold of the buzzing clamshell, flipping it open to find an incoming call from none other than Chief Kubo. “Yeah?” I answered, licking a bit of chocolate ganache from my finger.

It'd been a little while since I'd seen or heard from Kubo. After the werewolf job had been completed he'd disappeared into the shadows of the Veiled Order's HQ like he always did, promising that he'd get ahold of me when the time came for another job. Trouble was, I didn't exactly feel like working. Kubo's timing was shit.

“Lucy, I'm going to need you to get to HQ, stat. We're about to have a meeting with Amundsen. A mandatory meeting. Get here as soon as you can.” Kubo was always a stern guy, and his manner seldom betrayed anything of pleasantry or amusement. He was as kind and understanding as an enraged drill sergeant. But this time, I found a certain gravity superadded to his tone. He wasn't giving me a hard time like he usually did, and something about the way he uttered that word, “mandatory”, made it clear we weren't meeting to plan the company Christmas Party.

I feigned annoyance, scooping another fingerful of frosting into my mouth. “Damn, chief. Sure you can't just sum it up in an email?”

Kubo wasn't in a mood to play along. “Get here. Fast,” he said. And then he cut the line.

I shut the flip-phone and stashed it away in my pocket, looking down at the cake on the table mournfully. “What's the big rush?” I wondered aloud, stepping into my shoes and seeking out my keys. A short drive in the Corvette sounded mighty agreeable. It was after sunset, and if I stuck to the side roads I could speed there like a bullet train without garnering too much attention.

Amundsen was going to be there, too. Since signing on with the Veiled Order, I'd seen less and less of him. This whole Demon-Heart thing had been set into motion thanks to him; if he hadn't sent me out to an abandoned house to retrieve a little curio then I would never have been killed by witches. I'd learned a little more about him in the past few weeks; mainly that he served two functions in the organization. First off, he handled all kinds of administrative work at HQ, toiling on behalf of the senior leadership... whoever they were. Second, he was the guy in charge of the small army the Veiled Order had under its control. In Detroit alone, there were at least one or two hundred guys directly under the Order's employ, and he was the one who ordered them around. If Kubo and I needed a helicopter to scope out a location ahead of time, or wanted an armed escort, Amundsen was the guy who set it up. What were we doing in a meeting with him, though?

Hopping into the driver's seat, I queued up a Stooges album, Fun House, on the car stereo. The evening was warm and soggy; there'd been scattered showers throughout the day, and they still asserted themselves in the form of an omnipresent vapor that made it a little hard to breathe. I turned the AC knob all the way to its maximum setting and idled in the parking lot till the interior of the car had cooled down.

Bobbing my head to “Down On The Street”, I pulled out of my spot.

When the apartment complex was out of view, I really let it rip and tore down the street like a cheetah towards HQ.

***

Pulling through the black gates and shuffling through the unusually crowded parking lot, I pounded on the metal exterior door and was admitted at once. I couldn't remember the last time I saw the HQ building so packed this late.

Guess Kubo wasn't joshing me. This could be something big.

The attendant at the desk waved me on towards a hallway nestled just beyond the elevator banks. I knew several large conference rooms to dwell there, and I wasn't one step past the elevators when I heard the swell of many voices in heated discussion. I didn't even have to ask where to go; following the sound of the crowd, I stepped into the nearest conference room and found it packed. Standing room only. Kubo and Amundsen were at the front of the room, and both caught sight of me at the same moment. Suddenly, a hush stole over the assembly.

Don't get me wrong, I love the limelight. But when everyone in the room suddenly goes quiet at your entrance and just stares, well, it's enough to make even a demon shy.

“'Sup,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall. Every eye on the room was on me just then. Some of them I recognized; Kubo and Amundsen, of course. Joe was sitting near the front, and he gave me a little wave. The rest, though, were all Veiled Order commandos.

Up to this point I hadn't worked a whole lot with the Veiled Order's troopers. I mean, I didn't even know what to call them. Stormtroopers? Soldiers? They were the big dudes in all black, the same ones that'd stormed the witch's sabbath when Agatha and her cronies had killed me out in Flint. After we'd taken down the coven they'd stormed the old church and collected us from the scene, too. Aside from that, all of my interactions with them had been kind of icy.

The gazes that dissected me from all around the room were, on the whole, rather hostile. These guys looked at me like I was covered in dog shit, their noses crinkling with barely-veiled disgust. Some of them muttered curses at sighting me, and those closest to the door moved further away from me as if to build distance from the filthy Demon-Heart.

This wasn't the first time they'd given me dirty looks and treated me like crap. The Veiled Order's troops weren't exactly fond of me, and Amundsen had once told me why. He'd explained that they were used to hunting demons, rather than working with them. Taking their natural aversion to my kind into account, as well as the fact that they'd probably lost a boatload of guys in tracking down Gadreel and carving out his heart, I couldn't altogether blame them.

I jerked forward, throwing my hands out and loosing a loud “Boo!”

I'll be damned if half the commandos in the room didn't jump just then. These NFL-sized assholes about fell out of their chairs.

Snickering, I slumped against the wall and looked over to Kubo and Amundsen. “Well, what's up, guys?”

Kubo was wearing a black suit, but had taken off the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt to reveal a pair of boulder-like forearms. His broad shoulders shifted in apparent discomfort. Something was bugging him. I'd spent enough time with him to know his usual behavior, and this wasn't it. Whatever he'd dragged us all in to discuss, it was serious.

Amundsen was dressed as was his custom; tailored suit with a silver pendant featuring prominently over his tie. That pendant bore the Seal of Seven Waters, a magical mainstay I'd learned a bit about since joining up with the Order. The Swiss Army knife of magical seals that could be augmented to fit most any function. He combed a hand through his thin hair, which was grey at the temples, and pursed his lips. He didn't seem too keen to start the discussion, either.

Kubo looked to Amundsen and then began. “Right, I think everyone's present. You have all been assembled here to address a new threat. The leaders of our organization have asked us to conduct a thorough investigation of the city's graveyards due to recent incidents.” Kubo's eyes narrowed.

“Why the graveyards?” I asked, standing on tip-toes so that I might be better seen from behind the wall of would-be linebackers.

Amundsen crossed his legs and sighed. “Because it appears that the dead are coming back to life in this city.”

FIVE

It took a little while for those words to sink in. The dead coming back to life? I love George Romero films as much as the next guy, but come on. What, were we talking zombies here? Undead creatures in search of brains to eat? I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the thought. But the longer I sat there and the more pensive both Kubo and Amundsen grew, the less I felt inclined to write them off.

After a bit, Kubo continued. He switched on a large projector and directed everyone's attention to a white screen, which flashed with images taken from a local newspaper. The headline read VANDALS DEFACE GRAVES IN DETROIT. “As you may have heard,” began the Chief, “reports of grave-robbing have been on the rise throughout the city. This, coupled with certain sightings, has led us to fear the worst. There is death magic of some kind at work, and the leaders of the Veiled Order want us to get to the bottom of it.” The image changed to the familiar-looking gates of a local cemetery. “One graveyard in particular has been targeted more frequently than the others. Woodlawn Cemetery. We're going to be starting our investigation there. Tonight, we'll be sending a small team out to gather clues, led by Joe and Lucian.”

He was using my full name. This was the real deal.

Amundsen picked up from there. “Lucian, Joe, the two of you will head to the cemetery tonight with a truckload of men. Any clues you find as to the source of this necromancy would be very useful to us. You must be careful, however. In the world of death magic, there is no such thing as an amateur. Keep your eyes peeled for seals or totems... we don't know precisely what we're looking for in this case, so anything that stands out ought to be noted. Furthermore... should you encounter any of the living dead, they are to be cut down with extreme prejudice.” He really wanted to drive this point home. “Kill them on sight.”

There was a stir in the room. All around me the troopers were talking amongst themselves in whispers. Joe looked back at me, his expression muddied with apprehension. The job sounded pretty simple and not nearly so dire as these guys were making it out to be, but I still had a few questions. I raised my hand. “So, uh, are these like the zombies in movies? Do they eat people? Can they run, or go out in sunlight? Do we have to kill them with headshots?”

A few troopers snickered, eyeing me with derision.

“Not quite,” replied Kubo. “Though the undead vary in strength and ability, the few that our operatives have encountered have all been similar; that is, physically powerful and tenacious. They don't appear to be capable of speech, but they can certainly run after you. The only methods of execution we're going to allow on this one are complete burning or decapitation. Anything else is too risky. Can't let these things live, so don't take any chances. The troops will come with you for support and reconnaissance purposes, however the bulk of the fighting will have to be carried out by the two of you if any zombies turn up. You've been chosen because your abilities should work well for the job.”

Sure. Joe could light them all up like candles and I could pop their heads off, no problem.

One trooper in the room cleared his throat, nodding to Kubo. “Must we really head into the field with him?”

By “him”, the guy was referring to me, naturally.

“My men and I aren't going to be willing to take orders from a demon. The Demon-Heart's a loose cannon, and if he turns on us we'd hate to have to put him down. I think we should find someone else to lead, sir.” The trooper turned towards me, sporting a savage grin. “No offense,” he added.

Amundsen came to my defense before I walked over there and socked the commando in the face. “Now, that's no way to address a team member,” he said sternly. “This is an order. Lucian is trustworthy, a powerful member of our organization, and is well-suited to this mission. Moreover, he needs leadership experience. It has been decided that he and Joe are the best fit, and you will follow his orders in the field. Do I make myself clear?” The pendant around his neck threw off a silvery glow as he stood there, stone-faced.

Apparently Amundsen's talk wasn't enough to make them look forward to working with me, because a number of them continued to voice their displeasure through groans and side-eyes. “Hey now,” I said, raising my hands. “It won't be so bad, guys. Tag along with me tonight and maybe I'll teach you a thing or two!”

One of the commandos to my right leaned in so close I could smell his dinner. “Looking to get your ass kicked? Maybe we'll take turns beating your skull in once we get out there,” he barked.

The demon in me isn't easily intimidated, and when this guy started running his mouth, Gadreel couldn't resist the urge to make an appearance. He pushed himself to the fore and used my lips to crack a smile. “I'd like nothing better,” I said, my pulse shooting up in anticipation of a fight.

“Goddamn it, that's enough,” shouted Kubo. “Don't make me come along.” He jabbed a finger at me. “I'm trusting you with this, Lucy. Don't fuck it up. You and Joe are in charge on this, and if you shit the bed things are going to get ugly. Got that? Don't mouth off or get these guys riled up. I know you like to be a smart ass, but this ain't the time.”

I sighed. “Yeah, all right. When do we leave?”

“Ten minutes,” replied Amundsen matter-of-factly. “The SUV's have been gassed up and loaded. There will be two vehicles in total. The guard in charge of the cemetery has already been informed of our arrival and you should encounter no resistance in entering. It is a very large cemetery, mind you, so you may have to search for a few hours. Anything you find should be recorded, gentlemen. The troops are outfitted with radios they can use to relay information back to us here at headquarters. Any other questions?” He looked around the room.

“All right, get ready to set out,” said Kubo. The troopers shuffled out of the room slowly, begrudgingly, their black outfits and scowling faces making them look like a herd of angry black sheep. When they'd all gone, Kubo pulled me and Joe aside. “Lucy,” he said, patting my shoulder with more than jovial firmness, “this is important. The higher-ups are watching. They want to make sure you can work within a team, that you aren't a walking mess. Got it? You need to come through for us here. Don't do anything brash.” He turned to Joe. “Keep him under control, will ya?”

Joe grinned. “No promises. You know how he gets.”

“Look,” I replied, “I can handle myself. This'll be a cakewalk as long as the thugs don't talk shit on the way. If I kill any of them,” I added, “it'll be their own fault.”

Amundsen frowned. “Lucian, I don't want to hear that kind of talk. They need to get used to you, that's all. Their bias against demons isn't exactly unwarranted. Lead them in this investigation without incident and they should warm up to you.” With that, he led the two of us out of the conference room, through the lobby, and to the exit. We stepped out into the humid parking lot where a pair of SUVs idled. A swarm of commandos bustled around them. These were the big, black SUVs the Veiled Order used on all of their missions. Tinted glass, monstrous tires and no license plates. The troopers were stowing away trunks of who knew what in them, and were now carrying huge-ass guns. I winced a little. A silver slug out of one of those would hurt like a bitch.

Amundsen reached out and shook our hands. “Gentlemen, I eagerly await your report. Cut down any threats you encounter, and be sure to let us know if you find anything incongruous. Best of luck.”

One of the troopers whistled loudly. “We're ready to go.” Throwing open one of the doors, he waited for Joe and I to get in.

I cracked my knuckles. “Let's get this show on the road.”

SIX

The silence was getting to me.

No one in the damned SUV was talking. There were the sounds of the engine to focus on, sure, but the pointed silence that came in from every direction was a hell of a lot more unsettling to me than the mission at hand. No one in the vehicle wanted to talk to me. They looked at me with suspicion or disgust. Maybe both. Amundsen and Kubo had put the fear of God in them and made them promise to behave, but as they palmed their rifles and glowered in the dark SUV I could tell they wanted to turn me into swiss cheese.

I broke the silence, nudging Joe with my elbow. “You ever take on zombies before? What can we expect? Think there will actually be any there?” I paused. “And for that matter, what are we looking for, really? They didn't explain the hallmarks of this 'death magic'. Any tell-tale signs we should look for other than the usual magic circles?”

Joe didn't have much to offer. “Eh, to be honest, I didn't even know zombies were real before this. Didn't think reanimating the dead was possible. I guess we'll know when we get there. Maybe we'll see some sigils or magical seals or something. Or, who knows, maybe we'll find a group of the bastards waiting for us.”

One of the troopers in the seat behind me scoffed. “Oh, so you mean to tell me that the wise-ass Demon-Heart doesn't know everything?”

“I don't remember ordering you to talk, grunt,” was my rejoinder. His scowl practically made my day. From deep within I could sense Gadreel's will; he wished the trooper would do something to provoke me, just so that I could find an excuse to pound his brains in. C'mon, I thought, save it for the zombies. This dude's not worth it.

The demon settled down a bit.

“So,” I asked the driver, “what cemetery is it we're headed to again?”

“Woodlawn,” came the flat reply.

“Ah, yeah.” I knew Woodlawn cemetery. It was one of the larger cemeteries in town. I'd driven past the spot countless times over the years, and there was a restaurant across the street from it, a Mediterranean place, that I adored. The meats were always so succulent there, and they made their own pita on-site. Oh, and the Tzatziki sauce was just out of this--

Shit. We were about to track down zombies and here I was pining for gyros.

Up ahead the front gates of the cemetery, propped open just enough to allow us passage, were coming into view. We drove into the abandoned lot, passing by a guard in a battered pick-up truck. Guy didn't so much as look at us. Amundsen and Kubo had probably paid him off, or else told him that we were Feds investigating the grave-robbery epidemic.

The driver parked the SUV and then killed the engine, exiting without a word. The others, too, spilled out of the vehicle. Some were stationed at the rear, going through the containers they'd hauled along. The big, black boxes were filled with-- you guessed it-- weapons. There was one trunk filled with what looked like grenades, and another featuring a brutal-looking flamethrower. The troopers had come prepared for a full-on war.

Hopping out of the SUV and taking a look around the grounds, though, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Except for the chatter of the grunts, the place was quiet as, well, a cemetery. Rows and rows of tombstones stretched into the distance, the monuments casting long shadows upon the ground. The moon hovered in the sky, a pale light filtering out from behind the smoky veil of clouds. I tugged at the collar of my shirt;  I'd been out of the air conditioned vehicle for just a few minutes and already the fabric was clinging to me. Joe left his jacket in the SUV and palmed his lighter.

“So,” I asked him, looking back at the troopers, “what now?” I wasn't really clear on how this was supposed to go. Did they follow us through the graveyard and search for clues? Were they going to just hang back and wait for us to give them information to relay to the guys at HQ?

“I dunno,” said Joe. “Maybe we should go and have a look first. There's a lot of ground to cover, so the sooner we get moving the better.” He raised his voice, calling the attention of the commandos. “We're going to start looking around the place. Will probably check out the mausoleums and such first. Feel free to canvass the area... or just wait for further orders,” he said.

“What he said,” I added.

With that, the two of us started wandering. Slowly we worked our way through the graves, row by row, looking for anything out of sorts. Just five minutes into our errand, though, it became clear we weren't going to find anything strange. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing stirring. I'd expected to stumble upon occult graffiti or evidence of grave-robbing, but so far, we hadn't even found an emptied grave. This was looking like a bust.

We came upon one grave which seemed a little tampered with. The flowers left upon it had been knocked aside and the ground appeared somehow disturbed, but overall there wasn't anything compelling at the site. Pushing onward Joe and I paid the first of three large mausoleums a visit.

“You think there's any surveillance footage?” I asked. “I wonder who's stealing the bodies and resurrecting the dead. Would be good if we could see the enemy on camera.”

“If they had footage then we probably wouldn't be here,” replied Joe. “We'd have kicked in the guy's door by now.”

It was in the shadow of the hulking stone building that we first made a find of real substance.

“Hey, is that what I think it is?” I walked over to a grave near the mausoleum's flank, finding a trail of fresh dirt scattered around its edges. The soil had been dug recently; I could smell it in the vaporous air. There was no grass on the site, just messily-packed dirt. An earthworm writhed through the clumps of damp soil. Whether there was a casket in the mound was hard to say. “This grave looks like it's been messed with.”

Joe hesitated. “Maybe. Coulda been one of the ones that got dug up. Then again, maybe someone just got buried in it.”

“Maybe...” I walked around the grave.

A flash of intuition hit me like a two-by-four to the base of the skull. My pulse started pounding and my stomach tickled vaguely with something like dread. I blinked repeatedly in the moonlight, wondering if I'd missed something, but repeated perusals of the gravesite yielded nothing.

The threat was felt, but not seen.

“Feel that?” I asked Joe, resting against the tombstone and casting a long gaze about the graveyard. This feeling reminded me of the strange pang of fear I'd felt the night before, when walking to Ken's party. We'd seen my old teacher shambling down the street then; a teacher I could've sworn was long dead, and buried.

That was when it clicked.

“Shit. I'm picking up a bad vibe here.” I turned, finding only confusion on Joe's face. He wasn't on the same wavelength. Whatever was making my spine tingle was totally lost on him. “I think we're about to have company.”

No sooner did I say that did a humanoid shadow lumber around the corner of the mausoleum.

Technically, I'd already seen a zombie once. My teacher, the dead one, had walked past the two of us the night before. The one that approached us in the graveyard now was different, though. Where the first had still retained the bulk of his humanity, this thing was a sickening husk. Years in the ground had allowed the skin to dry out and settle close to the bones. The creature's movements were especially creaky and unsteady; years upon years of atrophy and degradation can do that. What I was looking at was only a grotesque impression of a human being; I couldn't even consider it a person.

The rags it wore were so ragged and worm-eaten that they scarcely covered anything. Here and there the body had degraded enough to reveal bone, and as it stepped forward in the moonlight with an animalistic curiosity, I got a good look at what was left of its face.

Spoiler alert: There wasn't much.

The bulk of its face had rotted away, leaving empty sockets for eyes, a set of bared, jagged teeth and a pus-laden nub where a nose had once been.

I turned and faced the thing. Beside me, Joe whipped open his lighter, the flame dancing higher and higher as he prepared to launch a strike. “Hey there, young man. A little late for a stroll through the graveyard, don't you think?” I said.

The creature made a noise. It wasn't a happy noise; I doubt that it was laughing at my joke. It was more like a death rattle, the sound of dry bones scraping against one another in the hollows of its body.

And then it lunged.

Something so frail and desiccated as this shouldn't have been capable of such speed, but it rushed forward suddenly, without any build-up, so that it very nearly succeeded in taking a swipe at me.

Thankfully, Joe had been on his toes. With a wave of his hand, the flame had burst from the lighter and sailed into the zombie like a fireball. The creature was thrown back, landing in the grass, where it shrieked and burned to cinders within the space of several seconds.

I was about to pat Joe on the back and congratulate him on the expert kill when something else shuffled out of the darkness.

The zombie had brought friends.

One, two, three more zombies ambled towards us, and were then joined by several more. All told, there must have been about a dozen. I couldn't tell just where they were coming from; the wave of oncoming bodies made it so that I couldn't approach the mausoleum without getting swarmed. The creatures existed in varying states of decomposition. Here was a young woman who barely looked dead. If not for the vacancy of her gaze and the grey color of her skin, I might've been fooled. Then there was the half-skeletal abomination with the missing lower jaw and the eye sockets teeming with worms. That one shouldn't have even been able to walk, but some sinister force acting over it incited it to move. The sounds of the dead filled the air; croaks, wheezes and dry rattling sounds.

I prepared for the swarm, doing a quick stretch routine to limber up. “Hope you've got some extra lighter fluid in there,” I said, eyeing Joe nervously. “I think we're going to need it.”

SEVEN

You wouldn't know it just by looking at them, but zombies are damn strong. It isn't really human tissue that they draw their power from. That much was clear to me from the first time I crossed fists with them. No, these undead pricks were getting their strength from another source, were drinking deep from some dark well of power that their master had given them access to.

Also, they tend to smell like shit.

Their bodies, broken and bloated, released the most noxious scents imaginable. It was all I could do to keep from heaving right then and there, which gave the bastards an edge. While I tried to keep myself from barfing, they bum-rushed the two of us.

I dispatched one of them with a kick. Got him square in the jaw and knocked his head off of his shoulders like I was kicking a winning field goal. The others, though, came up from the sides. The creatures worked with perfect synergy, as though they shared one mind. One of them might be destroyed, but the others could react in real time to shore up their defenses or find new openings. Both of my arms were caught up in the bony grasps of two snarling undead, and I had more trouble than I expected in shaking lose. By the time I'd forced the two of them to let go, four more were charging towards me.

Joe kept his distance, nurturing the fire that roared from his lighter and allowing it to grow into a large semicircle. This arc of flame fanned out before him in long, even swoops, like a pendulum, and sheared apart the approaching zombies one by one. Trouble was, they still kept coming. It didn't matter if he dashed off their arms or legs with the impressive flames; they'd continue to shriek and crawl towards us all the same. One of them, with no arms, inched through the grass like a caterpillar.

“You've got to get the head,” I reminded him. “Either that, or just burn them like you did the last one. Don't get too fancy with it, for Christ's sake!” A zombie swiped at me the moment the words left my lips. I barely managed to take hold of his arm and pull him close. With my other hand I grasped his neck and began to squeeze for everything I was worth. Gadreel's strength turned my fist into a vise, and it wasn't long before I'd crushed the thing's neck and lifted his head off. His rotten noggin rolled to the ground and I swiftly kicked it into one of his oncoming compatriots.

Unless I was mistaken, there were more coming. For every one we killed, two more were showing up in their place.

“Where are they coming from?” I asked, pausing in my bashing of heads just long enough to see one of the savages knock Joe's lighter out of his hand. That wasn't good.

Joe dropped to the ground and scrambled for the Zippo, but the zombie that'd come up on his flank was too quick. The thing punched him in the side, then the head, and not a second later two more were upon him.

It was time to turn things up a notch.

Racing for Joe, I knocked away the throng of attackers and positioned myself to take the brunt of the attack. I could handle whatever they dished out; Gadreel wouldn't go down easily. Joe, though, being human and all, had definite limits to his endurance.

From behind came a series of pounding footfalls. I half-expected to find more zombies closing in but was relieved to find a group of four commandos rushing to provide support. One of them was armed with the meaty-looking flamethrower, apparently a custom job. The tank on his back was full of fuel, and a length of black pipe linked it to the flamethrower. It probably weighed a hundred pounds and looked like it could spew fire for hours.

The trooper let it rip, sending a massive tongue of flame spiraling from the tip of the weapon. Four of the undead were caught in the first wave of flame, immediately falling back and igniting. The smell of burning flesh washed over us.

No, scratch that. Burning, rotten flesh.

The smell just about knocked me off of my feet. I scooped up Joe's lighter and helped him up. Though dazed, he was mostly unharmed after his brief melee with the zombies and was ready to get back into the game. Rather than use his Zippo, Joe made use of the environment, stirring up the flames that accosted the burning zombies and forcing the fire to spread to their fellows. He raised up one of his hands and furrowed his brow, falling back a couple of paces so that he might stay out of the enemy's reach, and transferred the tongues of flame to each of them in turn. With Joe on our side the power of the flamethrower was multiplied a dozen-fold.

In the next instant the bulk of the undead were lit up like birthday candles, croaking and shrieking as they tossed themselves to the grass. The others were held back by a near-constant barrage of automatic gunfire. Round after round sank into the damned things; the troopers weren't interested in giving up any more ground and began to approach. The deafening report of their high-powered guns echoed off of the monuments, swelling into an ear-splitting cacophony.

Not that I was about to complain. We were winning. And that was all that mattered.

I dashed to my right and cleaved through a zombie that was coming up on Joe. My hand passed through its body with minimal effort; the flesh was dried out like papier-mâché, the bones were brittle and there'd been precious little in between the two layers to slow me down. Even as I tore through the freak's body and pulled off its head, I found myself growing apprehensive. These things were just weathered corpses; what could possess them to move-- to take on such remarkable strength and speed? Whatever was powering these things was bad news, there could be no doubt.

The cry of a commando broke me out of my thoughts. I turned, expecting to find him getting knocked around by zombies, but discovered something a good deal more shocking at work.

Leaping to the ground from the roof of the nearby mausoleum was a hulking black shape. The  edges of a cloak fluttered in its wake as it landed, and the flash of silver that followed was so quick I nearly missed it.

The trooper dropped his gun and staggered back a pace, holding onto his abdomen.

Then the dam broke.

The commando's chest and gut were thrust open and his innards spilled out across his trembling arms. He fell, face-first, heaving blood into the ground while the towering cloaked thing turned its attention to the rest of the guys under my command.

It was a man; a very large man. His face was chalky, the features deep-set and seemingly incapable of anything other than perpetual sternness. On that face that only a mother could love I caught a glimpse of what I took to be tattoos. This wasn't really a Mike Tyson sort of flourish we're talking about; the designs inked all over his face were symbols of some sort.

Magical symbols.

Since taking down Agatha, I'd had a few opportunities to learn about magic with Chief Kubo. I was still a long ways off from being a master like him. My grasp on magical seals and incantations was so tenuous that I couldn't pull off even the simplest spells. Still, I knew the language of the craft when I saw it.

I tensed, taking in the sight of this new threat. The wheels were turning in Gadreel's mind, too; to my surprise, he didn't pressure me into making an immediate attack. My eyes scanned the man's face, then moved to the large scythe he held in his hands. The blade was flawless silver, and the handle appeared forged of something dark and weighty, like stone.

Had the Grim Reaper turned up to settle a score with the Veiled Order?

Something told me that this was the source of the zombies. The necromancer we'd been seeking. Judging by the marks on his face, he was at least a zealous practitioner of the craft, and the fact that he'd just torn the guts out of one of my men made it clear he wasn't on our side.

“Hey,” I shouted, leveling a steely gaze on him. Usually, a demonic gaze was enough to put the scare in any mortal man. I'd tried it a few times recently at bars and had found great success in scaring people off before they dared start something.

This bastard, though, didn't flinch. He met my gaze, something of the zombie's vacancy in his eyes, and smiled.

A smile on that face was all wrong. I shivered as his stony lips curled into a grin.

“Didn't I see you in one of the Star Wars prequel movies?” I mocked, trying to keep my cool. Something about this dude was sending up a red flag in my head. The energy that poured off of him was unlike anything I'd ever felt. Enemies in the past, though powerful, hadn't been anything like this. Aside from his being built like a brick shithouse, there was that fearsome weapon in his grasp. I'd long lost my fear of sharp, pointy things. Even blessed, silver weaponry wasn't enough to do me in.

So, why was I losing my shit over this guy's scythe?

The man's gaze narrowed. In the moonlight his eyes looked almost yellow. Holding out the scythe with two hands, he cocked his head to the side, like he was judging the best angle from which to cut me down. “I see,” he said in a voice that was nothing but calm, insidious bass. “They've sent a demon.” He chuckled to himself, his stance temporarily relaxing. “It's far too late. The Veiled Order can't stop what I've set in motion. Tell your masters they're too late, demon. Let them know that this world has a new master. Death will reign.”

Joe was stumbling around behind me, crisping up the last of the zombies. He caught a glimpse of the man with the scythe and blanched. “S-should I bake him, too?” he asked me.

I shook my head. This guy was mine. The zombies were tricky in large numbers but hadn't provided a substantial challenge. This guy, however, had danger written all over him, and if there's anything in this world I can't resist it's getting in over my head.

“You the one digging up these bodies and raising the dead?” I asked. “Looks to me like that didn't work out so well. Have a look around,” I continued, motioning to the masses of charred, twitching corpses on the ground. “The Veiled Order isn't scared of you. Your little army here can't stand against us. You think too highly of yourself, bud.”

The man nodded, the smirk he wore transformed into something more savage. Squatting down, he jumped into the air, landing neatly on the roof of the mausoleum. His voice reached my ears from above, through all of the chaos. “This is but a minor setback.”

“Where do you think you're going?” I took a running jump and scaled the side of the monument, grabbing onto a gutter and swinging onto the roof. “I don't remember giving you permission to leave.”

“Well, then, I suppose you should stop me. I'd hate for a dog like you to return empty-handed to his masters.” The necromancer pointed the end of the scythe at me as though I were a billiard ball destined for the corner pocket.

All systems were go. Gadreel gave me the green light; we both agreed that shutting this guy up was a necessity. I lunged towards him, fists balled, and delivered a demon-sized sucker punch.

Which he blocked.

The handle of the scythe, which must've been made of granite, was what met my fist. The movement on the necromancer's part had been so swift, so fluid, that I hadn't realized he was mounting a defense till my blow was fully struck. My knuckles met the scythe handle, and from the moment I touched the thing I felt a sudden weakness stealing over me. The momentum I'd built up was sapped away, and my fist softened. For a second there I could hardly squeeze the muscles of my hand. My eyes stung with fatigue and my senses were dulled.

This guy was good, whoever he was, and didn't waste a beat. Shoving me aside with the butt of his weapon, he reared back and delivered a lightning-fast slash. The blade of the scythe ripped through my side, just under my ribs, and the shingles were dressed in my gore. He wasn't done, however. Spinning the massive weapon in his hands, he did a half-turn and struck me in the temple with the blunt side, sending me into the air.

The blows had been so clean, so effortless, that I was hopeless to stop them. I imagine this is what it's like for a bare-knuckle boxer to meet the world heavyweight champ in the ring. Though he stood a good head or two taller than I, his size didn't slow him down. Every movement was rapid, choreographed, and beyond all of that, delicate. Killing was a hobby of his, one he evidently took great pride in, and he seemed all about making it as artful as possible. To steal a famous line, he'd really internalized the “float like a butterfly” thing.

And the stinger was a real bitch.

I was falling, and the next thing I knew I'd landed on a tombstone. The thing cracked under my weight, spiderwebbing like a pane of glass. The impact knocked the wind out of me; had I been a mere human I'd have spent the rest of my life in a wheelchair for that landing.

The landing, though, was the least of my worries. The wound on my side was gaping. Casting a groggy gaze to my belly, I saw my liver playing peek-a-boo with every labored breath I drew. The wound began to close, but it stung something fierce. I clutched the gash and rolled off of the tombstone, meeting the ground face-first. Joe rushed over to me and tried to help me to my feet, but my legs didn't have the strength. I laid there in the soil for a while, my sweaty face gathering up dirt and grime.

You need to get up, I thought. I begged the demon inside of me for more strength. Gadreel, though, didn't reply. All of his energies were focused on sealing up the grievous wound on my side. Get up, damn you! He's going to come down here and take out everyone else! You need to stand up and get ready to fight!

When I finally managed to roll over, I looked up into the moonlit sky and found the mausoleum. The figure on its roof had long disappeared and a nervous scan of my surroundings yielded nothing but a bunch of panting, panicked commandos. Joe was still at my side, trying to help me up.

The bastard was gone.

Grasping the severed flesh, I found my wound hadn't fully closed yet. That was weird; I was ordinarily a lightning-fast healer. The edges of the gash were black, oozing with more than just blood.

“Did we get all of the zombies?” I asked through clenched teeth, struggling to sit up.

Joe nodded. “Yeah, looks like it.”

“Good.” Slowly, I dug my heels into the ground and pushed my body into a standing position. “We need to get back to HQ.” I turned to one of the spooked grunts. “Let's get the fuck out of here. Fire up our ride.”

EIGHT

We were flying down the road on the way to HQ. We barely missed the fleet of cop cars that descended upon the graveyard after our little tussle with the zombies. Turns out that continuous gunfire and burning human bodies attract a lot of attention at night. I couldn't even imagine what the boys in blue would make of the mess we left behind.

I had more important things to think about.

Sitting next to Joe, my palm pressed to my side, I marveled over the wound I'd been dealt. The damn thing refused to seal completely, even now. Every time it looked on the verge of closing, it would slowly begin to re-open. Something was struggling against my body's natural talent for healing, and if I had to place a bet I'd say that the necromancer's scythe had something to do with it.

The necromancer. He was tough, incredibly tough. Where had he picked up that weapon and what was he all about? He'd had great moves and hadn't been scared of me in the least. That, more than his prowess on the battlefield, had unsettled me. So far, I hadn't met a supernatural threat that wasn't at least a little nervous to come up against a demon. This guy, though, had invited the challenge.

To top it all off, he'd whooped my ass nice and proper.

I felt pretty embarrassed about it. No one in the SUV was talking, all of the surviving commandos shellshocked into silence. It was just as well. I was in no talking mood. I felt ashamed of myself for being so badly beaten, for not killing the necromancer and closing this case immediately. Hell, I hadn't even stayed in the ring with him for a full round. The Veiled Order had hyped me up as some sort of super-weapon, but if the necromancer could knock my ass out of the game without breaking a sweat, then what did that mean?

It was too early to say, but it didn't bode well. I could already picture the grimace on Kubo's face upon hearing my report.

Joe eyed the cut on my side, which still oozed now and then with a fresh stream of blood. “Hell of a cut, Lucy. What kind of heat was that guy packing? Must've been a damned good weapon if it did that to you.” Joe didn't look so good himself. His ordinarily sculpted hair had been reduced to a mop of chaotic dark brown, matted with pomade and fresh dirt. He had a few bumps and scrapes of his own, but had been spared the worst of it. He toyed with his Zippo while he sat there, his thumb fidgeting against the striker.

“Hard to say,” I replied after a time. A fresh wave of pain coursed through me, momentarily taking my breath away. This cut ached like a motherfucker. “When I touched the thing it made me feel weak. Gadreel couldn't pump me up; it was like I was just a human again. No, worse than that. I felt tired, sleepy. Couldn't hardly keep my arms up.” That the scythe was a magical weapon was not in doubt, but what were its properties? Except for the gash in my abdomen I felt all right. I had my strength back but could still feel a lingering fatigue from my brush with the scythe.

The SUV narrowly missed the edges of the front gate as the driver sped into HQ. We'd radioed ahead to let them know we were coming, and I was surprised to find both Kubo and Amundsen waiting for us in the parking lot. The vehicle screeched to a halt and we staggered out, looking like death warmed over.

Kubo watched me shuffle out of the SUV, a hand on my side and a trail of gore dripping in my wake. “What the hell happened, Lucy?” he asked, pulling my hand away and getting a proper look at the wound.

“I met the necromancer,” I said through a wince. “Real nice guy.”

“Let's walk,” offered Amundsen. They led us into the building, up to the medical wing. A pair of nurses were called over to appraise the wound on my side and Dr. Sargasso, the Veiled Order's resident physician, was paged overhead. When I'd had a few minutes to get my breath back, I plopped down on the edge of a hospital bed. “Tell us everything,” said Amundsen.

“There isn't too much to tell, despite appearances,” I began. “We got to the cemetery. Found a grave or two that might've been tampered with, but before we knew it we were getting swarmed by the walking dead. Must've been thirty or more, real nasty things. Strong and fast. Handling the zombies wasn't so tough, but then this big guy showed up wielding a scythe as long as I am tall. Things went downhill from here.”

Amundsen gulped, his features dressed in perspiration. “The necromancer, yes?”

I nodded.

“Who was it? Did you get his name?” asked Kubo.

“Oh, yeah. We got to know each other real well. Exchanged phone numbers, took in a movie. I think we're going steady now, as a matter of fact.” The cut ached afresh, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from biting off my own tongue. Blood dripped down the side of the bed. “I didn't get his damn name, Chief. I tried to take him on, but he made quick work of me, as you can see. I don't know what was up with that weapon of his, but my body can't seem to handle the wound. And when I touched the thing I felt... I dunno. Weak? Tired? Something tells me it's a magical weapon, but I don't know how it works.”

Kubo's bedside manner was severely lacking. He shoved me in the shoulder. “What did he look like, then? We need something to work with, Lucy.”

Joe chimed in here. “I saw him. He was pretty tall. Bigger than you, Chief. Real muscular, too. He was wearing a black cloak and carried that scythe Lucy described.”

“And his face was covered in black tattoos,” I added. “He was a real ugly guy with a rigid, stony expression. Had symbols tattooed on his face, but I can't say what they were. Didn't recognize them.” I cleared my throat, wiping sweat from my brow. “One last thing. He said the Veiled Order was too late. Said that there was nothing we could do to stop him. Guy wasn't even scared of me! He knew I was a demon but he didn't flinch. I'm a little offended, honestly.”

Kubo and Amundsen weren't laughing, though. For the first time in a while I saw Kubo go pale. He stepped away from the bed and nearly bumped into Dr. Sargasso as he wandered in with a cart full of supplies.

“Hello, Lucian,” said the doctor. He smiled warmly, his voice as soothing and calm as ever. This was the guy who'd put the demon's heart in me to begin with, and he approached the bed slowly, perhaps fearing that I'd lash out at him. I hadn't seen him for a while; not since losing control and accidentally smacking him in the face with a length of chain. His cheek bore a small scar for that blow, and I guess he wasn't interested in another assault. “May I see the wound?” He licked his lips, squatting down to take a peek at my side.

I pulled up my shirt to let him have a look.

“Oh, dear,” he said, shoving the cart away. “That's no good.”

“What's the matter?” asked Amundsen. “Can't you stitch it up?”

Kubo was still pacing around the other side of the room, lost in his thoughts. Joe straddled one of the chairs and watched him, growing twitchier.

“This wound,” began the doctor, “isn't a normal, everyday kind of wound. Stitches won't fix it. We'll need a specialist. You see, the demon is capable of healing wounds caused by common weapons. But whatever caused this damage is very clearly a cursed weapon of some sort, and the energies of that weapon are clashing with Lucian's ability to heal. The two forces are struggling against one another. The wound wants to seal like usual, but the scourge of the weapon won't allow it.”

“He's been cursed, then?” asked Amundsen.

Dr. Sargasso nodded. “The curse must be lifted. When that's done the wound will close on its own. I suggest you take him to a specialist at once.”

I smirked. “A specialist? What, do you guys have a healthcare system or something? Do they take insurance, or--”

“You'll need to go and see Mona,” replied the doctor. “She should be able to lift the curse. Then your body will handle the rest.”

Mona. My favorite snake lady. The old witch lived in some sort of parallel dimension, some pocket of the Beyond, located in an alley running behind Yao's, a Chinese restaurant. Mona was the Veiled Order's ace, their Swiss Army knife. When things went to shit, we paid Mona a visit and hoped she could fix it. She was damned good at what she did, a talented witch. Apparently she could lift curses, too.

The thing about Mona, though, is that she's kind of terrible to look at. Human only from the waist up-- and only barely, at that-- she moved around by means of a large, green serpent's tail. Just thinking about her forked tongue, about her stubby, atrophied hands touching my body, made me recoil with disgust. If Mona could patch me up, though, I was game. The wound hurt awfully and the sooner we fixed it, the sooner I could get back on the trail.

Because, believe me, I was going to settle the score.

The necromancer had gotten one over on me. He was good. I'm not too proud to give credit where it's due. But what I'd lacked in skill back there, I intended to make up for in persistence. I wouldn't sleep, wouldn't eat, till I had the necromancer's head on my mantle.

That was a lie. The minute this wound was healed I'd likely hit up Yao's for a platter of pork dumplings and a cold beer.

But after that, for sure. I'd be relentless.

There was a commotion in the hallway as the dead commando was hauled up into the medical wing. Medics carried the poor guy in on a gurney, his guts swinging around the sides and painting the floor with blood. It was a lost cause; he'd been dead since the second he'd been struck by the necromancer's blade, slit crotch to mouth. Most of his vitals were probably still scattered throughout the graveyard. If I hadn't interfered with the necromancer's assault, then that commando might've been brought back as one of the undead.

“Tattoos?” asked Kubo, finally pausing. “You're sure? He was very tall and had tattoos on his face? Small ones... magical symbols?” He crossed his arms and waited expectantly for my reply.

“Yup.”

Kubo grunted, turning to Amundsen. “I'll get him off to Mona's, but first we need to verify this. Let's take him to the file room.”

Amundsen nodded.

The Chief and Amundsen led Joe and I out of the medical wing. I was given a handful of thick gauze and a long, flexible bandage to stymy the bleeding, but I wasn't a few steps out of my room before they were soaked through. Joe and I followed the two of them into the elevator, and Kubo punched the button for the sub-basement.

The sub-basement was a place I'd never been before. I figured it was full of maintenance equipment, possibly home to a boiler room or something, but in reality it looked much like the rest of the joint. There was a long hallway lined in black doors, and Kubo led the charge towards one on the far left side. Stepping inside, I found it cluttered from floor to ceiling with file cabinets and shelves of books.

“What is this place?” I asked. “A library or something?”

Kubo replied distantly, hopping onto a step ladder and pulling open a couple of drawers. “Something like that. This is where we keep records of different cases and targets. Don't touch anything. I don't want you bleeding all over sensitive documents.”

I frowned. “I'm touched, chief. Thanks for your concern. Tell me, have you guys ever heard of computers? All of this info could be stored on a single machine, you know that? I love the low-tech thing you've got going on here, but it's inefficient.”

Amundsen stood by in silence.

“Shut up, Lucy,” mumbled Joe. “This is serious. No time to be giving the Chief shit.”

Kubo hopped down from the ladder with a file folder in hand. He pulled it open, scanned it with his narrowed eyes for a moment, and then threw it down on a table. “Have a look, Lucy. Is this the guy who attacked you?”

I ambled towards the table and had a seat. Leaning over the file, I glanced at the picture, only to find the necromancer staring back at me. It was a clear, black and white photo of the guy. His features were every bit as rough and slate-like as they'd been back at the cemetery, and the tattoos stood in prominent contrast to his pale flesh. I eyed his visage, studied the symbols written across his countenance and felt my stomach churn. “That's the guy. I'm positive.”

Kubo rubbed at his chin, his broad shoulders drooping. “I was afraid you'd say that.”

NINE

The guy's name was listed as “Agamemnon”.

“Is this his real name?” I asked, arching a brow. “Because if it is, his parents were assholes. Imagine sending your little tyke off to Necromancer School. No way that a Kindergartener's going to be able to remember how to spell that mess. And what kind of nickname can you come up with for a name like that? 'Hey there, Aggy?' 'How's it hangin', Memnon?' Just doesn't work.”

Kubo picked up the file and flipped through it. “We don't know his real name. Frankly, we know next to nothing about him. This man surfaced more than twenty years ago. Ended up on the Order's radar for practicing necromancy. Necromancy is, to put it lightly, taboo. It's a forbidden art, and anyone with more than innocent scholarly interest in it ends up on our watch-list. This guy, though, was something of a religious zealot. Got picked up for raising the dead and recruiting them as soldiers for a supposed war in the name of the god of the dead. He got locked up, shuttled away to some dark corner for his agenda.”

I sniffed the air, standing up and pushing the chair back in. “Right, so why was he in the graveyard tonight?”

“Because ten years ago,” began Amundsen, “Agamemnon escaped.”

I chuckled. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to tell me this guy was once on the Veiled Order's payroll. He broke out of the pokey though, huh?”

“When one escapes into the Beyond, it is difficult to track them. The world of the Beyond is vast, Lucian,” explained Amundsen. “We had feelers out, but he was a low-level criminal. Though a necromancer, the organization had more pressing threats to address. He faded into obscurity, surfacing once every few years but never stirring up enough trouble to warrant a deeper investigation. When bodies turned up missing here in Detroit and the dead were found to walk the Earth, I suspected he might be behind it. Necromancy is an incredibly rare skill. Its forbidden nature makes it a hard thing to learn. Schools of necromancy exist only on the fringe, are hard to access. Somewhere along the line, Agamemnon picked up those skills. And it seems he's been honing them all this time, in the underground. Now he's resurfaced, announced himself, and it's quite possible that his old plans of waging a war with an army of the dead have been put into motion. I can think of no other reason why he might be pillaging the city's graves.”

Kubo tossed aside the file folder. “Agamemnon's the only practitioner in centuries to bring this sort of death magic to the world of men. The Veiled Order hasn't had to take out a necromancer since before the days of the Inquisition. This is a big deal, and if we aren't careful, word's going to get around about this. Agamemnon could blow our operations wide open and reveal to the general population the existence of a world beyond the one they know. It would be pandemonium. Not to mention the fact that, if he gets his way, he'll have many thousands of powerful zombies to do his bidding. Imagine the havoc he could wreak.” He cracked his knuckles and took to pacing. “Detroit, I'm sure, is only his first stop.”

I was listening. To be sure, this was all riveting and I love learning about my enemies as much as the next guy. The constant throb in my side was making it really hard to focus, though. My vision was getting a little spotty, and the pain was getting hard to handle. “Good stuff, Chief,” I managed. “Can we... can we do something about this cut now? It hurts like hell. Getting worse, actually.”

Amundsen rushed for the door. “I'll bring a medic at once.”

“No,” snapped Kubo. “We'll get him off to Mona's. We're leaving now. Joe, help Lucy along. I'll drive.”

Joe offered me his arm and I took it like an old lady crossing a busy street. “How sweet of you,” I said. “You're a regular boy scout, Joe. There's a shiny nickel in store for you if you can get me all the way to the SUV.”

“Shut up and walk, dude,” said Joe, quickening his pace.

The three of us left Amundsen in the file room and made haste to the parking lot outside. Kubo unlocked one of several parked SUVs and hopped into the driver's seat while Joe loaded me into the back like an invalid. I sprawled out across the seat, feeling dizzy. I blinked, trying to focus on the glowing dome light, but couldn't get my eyes to work. Vision was blurry, doubled, and the pain in my side was getting to be unbearable. My heart was crashing against my ribcage; Gadreel was feeling the full weight of this curse as well.

As soon as the doors were shut, Kubo tore out of the parking lot and headed for Yao's. “Hang in there, Lucy. We're going to see what Mona can do about this,” said Joe from the passenger seat. He reached back and touched my shoulder.

That was the last thing I heard. It was at that moment that I lost consciousness.

***

When next I awoke I got an eyeful of Mona.

A groan left my lips as her withered, stubby hands patted my bare torso. “Oh,” she said, appraising me with beady eyes. “I see you're awake. Quite a lot of trouble you've gotten yourself into this time.”

I stared up at the ceiling. There was a dim light glowing there. My body was drenched in sweat, and I could feel my bare back sticking to the wooden table. The curious sounds and smells of Mona's workshop teased my senses. From afar came the rattling of a cage and the squawking of something like a bird. I heard something bubbling, too. Acrid smoke reached my nostrils, and I began to cough. “What happened?”

From somewhere in the room, Kubo chimed in. “Your ass passed out. That wound just about ruined you. Good thing we got you to Mona when we did, else you might've been a goner.”

I'd only been conscious for a minute or so, but that didn't sound right. “That ain't right. I've got a demon's heart. I can't die.”

Mona loosed a small chuckle and shook her head. The white shock of hair she wore drooped down against her shoulders. “Oh, you certainly can die. A Demon-Heart is difficult to kill, but you aren't immortal.”

Well, color me disappointed. This was just about the most unwelcome news I could imagine. Finding out that I was still technically a mortal-- albeit a super-powered one-- was a downer. A real slap in the face. “Wish I'd known that sooner. I thought I was supposed to be unkillable, goddammit.”

“You're resilient,” explained Mona. “Impervious to most attacks, it's true. Like I said, you're hard to kill, but not invulnerable. And, frankly, there isn't a lot out there that won't die when cut by the Scythe of Thanatos.”

“The Scythe of what?” I sat up on my elbows, catching a glimpse of my side. When last I'd been conscious there'd been a nasty, aggravated wound there. It was gone now, the flesh pristine. Come to think of it, the pain was gone, too. In a silver bowl near the table I spotted something large and black. It was a mass of flesh, covered in small lumps, and it pulsated as though alive. The bowl was half-filled in what I took to be my blood, and I could only guess that this disgusting thing had been pulled out of me. “What the hell is that?” I asked, positive that I wouldn't care for the answer.

“Oh,” replied the old witch, picking up the bowl. “It's a tumor of a kind. It's a symptom specific to this particular weapon. The Scythe of Thanatos lays a curse on those who are cut by it. That curse manifests physically as a tumor, which shuts down the body's ability to heal. If the initial cut doesn't kill you, the tumor's rapid growth certainly will-- and it'll make sure you can't heal up the wound, all but ensuring your suffering till the end.”

“Rad.” I poked my newly-healed flesh with my finger and then swung my legs around, sitting at the edge of Mona's table. “Well, as usual, I owe you one, Mona. Thanks.”

“It's no problem,” she assured me. “Though, what we really need to be asking ourselves is how someone got ahold of such a weapon in the first place. I don't imagine you met the god of death himself on the battlefield, did you?”

“Nope,” I replied. “It was a necromancer. Guy named... Aga...mammary? Aganonomous...?” I turned to Kubo. “What the hell was his name?”

“Agamemnon,” uttered the chief. “A perp who's been on the Veiled Order's watch-list for many years. A practitioner of death magic.”

Mona wasn't one to emote; the drooping, wrinkly skin of her ancient face looked more or less the same whether she smiled or frowned. I did, however, detect a change in her expression when Kubo let that bomb drop. She paused, looking down to the floor, and loosed a great sigh. “A necromancer has the scythe?” She shook her head and slithered off into her workshop, momentarily disappearing from view. “That's very bad news.”

Joe was posted near the door, tinkering with a bunch of vials. He looked into them, sniffed at the liquids stewing inside, then cringed and set them back down. When he was done, he made his way to the table where I sat and had a look at my side. “I'll be damned. She really patched you up good, Lucy. If not for Mona, we'd have been screwed.”

Mona had done great work; she always did. But of far more interest at that moment was her talk of the scythe. The weapon belonged to the god of death, Thanatos? How in the hell had Agamemnon gotten ahold of it, then?

Kubo echoed my thoughts. “It's a formidable weapon, I'm sure, but it can't be the Scythe of Thanatos. How could a lowly necromancer take control of a legendary weapon like that? It's unthinkable. I don't know much about death magic, about this scythe's history, but relics of that caliber don't just turn up at a rummage sale. Surely it's just a knock-off, a cursed blade, Mona.”

Mona returned with a faded tome in her slight hands. She set it down on the table with a thud, sending up a cloud of smoke that gave me a hacking cough. “I wish it were so, Takeshi, but the fact that it could wound a Demon-Heart so seriously is proof-positive, in my book. Would that the scythe's only power was a deadly curse; the enemy you face has tapped into immense power-- power that mere mortals were never intended to wield.” She cracked the cover of the massive volume, flipping through it till she stumbled upon the passage she sought. “The Scythe of Thanatos allows its wielder to lord over the dead. For a necromancer, it will act like an antenna of sorts, amplifying his spell craft by an order of magnitude. To the best of my knowledge, the weapon hasn't been seen since the days of ancient Greece. It's the weapon of choice of Thanatos.” She looked to me, elaborating further for my benefit. “That is, the character humans often refer to as the 'Grim Reaper'. The god of the dead, who is responsible for claiming the souls of the deceased and ushering them to the Beyond.”

I chortled, hopping off of the table. “The Grim Reaper? No way... Like, a skeleton in a black cloak? You expect me to believe that?”

Hands in his pockets, Kubo sidled over to the book and scanned it along with Mona. “The depictions of such a figure throughout the centuries in works of art is no coincidence. I've never seen him, of course, but it's said he does indeed look like that. But that's the thing...” He fixed a steely gaze on Mona. “This is a god we're talking about. A god isn't going to just misplace a legendary weapon. How did he get ahold of it?”

Mona simply shook her head. She didn't have any guesses.

I toyed with my earlobe and began to consider everything I'd been told about this necromancer, Agamemnon. He'd been on a watch-list, considered a threat for more than two decades. Then, he broke out of jail and simply dropped out of sight. If I was remembering things correctly, he'd flown under the radar for the past ten years.

Ten years is a long time. Anything could have happened in that window. Maybe the clever bastard cozied up to the god of death at that time. Maybe he came up with some plan to steal his weapon. There was literally no telling. Curious as I was, I honestly didn't see the point of all this conjecture, though. The fact remained that the necromancer had the scythe, and that was a very bad thing for us.

“So,” began Kubo, “you mean to say that the scythe could give Agamemnon everything he needs to wage a war against the living? That he'll be able to raise an army of the dead and imbue his soldiers with incredible power? What can we do about it? Is there anything that can counteract the weapon's effects, Mona? Anything that can shut it down?” Kubo seemed desperate for answers; more desperate than I'd ever seen him. I wasn't used to seeing him so out of the loop; nine times out of ten, Kubo was the go-to guy, the one who knew it all. This time, I could see him squirming at the thought of returning to Veiled Order HQ and having to tell Amundsen and his bosses about what Agamemnon had in his possession. And that he didn't have a plan in place to stop it.

The wise old Mona, talented witch though she was, couldn't offer him much in the way of hope or intel. “My knowledge of the weapon is incomplete. There is an expert I could refer you to, a scholar who specializes in mythical weapons. His name is Germaine Fox, and he operates out of a small book shop in the Underground.”

Kubo took down the name in a little notepad and tucked it into his breast pocket. Then, taking my arm, he dragged me towards the door and called to Joe. “Thanks, Mona. We're getting out of here. I'll pay this Germaine a visit and see what we can do about this. I have a feeling I'll be in touch again soon.”

Mona cleared away the supplies she'd used in patching me up and waved weakly. “Do take care, Takeshi. Oh, and Joseph, how's your mother doing? Well, I hope?”

Joe barely had time to answer as Kubo shoved us out the door. “Fine, thanks for asking! She may not even need her cane much longer!”

The three of us stepped out of Mona's place, finding ourselves surrounded by majestic pines. Two well-worn footpaths flanked the little house, leading deep into the forest. A pestilential quiet reigned; no birds chirped, no insects buzzed.

“So,” I chanced as Kubo loosened his grip. “What're we doing, Chief?”

Kubo spat. “Not sure yet.”

I eyed the two paths in turn. One of them would lead us back to the real world, to the Detroit alley outside of Yao's. The other, though, led someplace else. Kubo wouldn't tell me just where it went, and it was a source of great curiosity for me. “Hey,” I said, nudging Joe. “Where does that other path lead?”

“Oh, you're not ready for that,” said Joe with a smirk. He smoothed back his grotty mane, clods of encrusted soil tumbling from his locks.

Damn it. Everyone knew about that path except for me. I should have been used to being out of the loop, being the team newbie and all, but the feeling of cluelessness still sucked in a big way. “You guys are assholes. How do you expect me to help out if--”

“Enough,” interrupted Kubo. “No time for that. We're going to race back to HQ.” He gave the two of us a shove down the familiar path, and in the next instant-- literally the blink of an eye-- we were all standing in a dim alleyway behind the Chinese restaurant. One of these days I was going to pick up a physics textbook and figure out how the fuck this little alley could exist in the natural world.

Kubo was a little pale, his gait less purposeful than was normal. He marched through the alley, leading us back towards the parking lot where the SUV was waiting, occasionally muttering to himself. I hated to see him this way. Kubo was certainly a douche sometimes, but I much preferred to have him act like a confident douche. The stress he was under was kind of catchy; clueless though I was, I couldn't help but get really anxious about what we were up against. If Veiled Order operatives with years of experience were losing their cool over this, then how was a rookie like me supposed to feel?

The alley opened up into the parking lot. The smell of fried food drifted through the air and visions of sweet and sour chicken danced in my head. “Hey, think we could stop just a minute for a bite? Looks like they're open late tonight, and--”

One of Kubo's massive palms caught me in the chest, stopping me in my tracks. Joe, too, had gotten pushed backward, nearly falling on his ass. The Chief's eyes were glued to the path ahead, to the SUV.

To the figures who shambled all around it.

“Zombies,” he muttered.

There were five that I could see lingering around the SUV, and every possibility that more existed just beyond it. The creatures didn't seem to have any agenda. They were simply limping through the parking lot, going for a mindless, moonlit stroll as zombies apparently felt compelled to do from time to time. But when they caught sight of us, there was a marked change in their demeanor. The shadowed figures straightened out, took on something of alertness, and not a moment later I heard the first of several agonized groans.

A battle-cry.

Kubo reached into his breast pocket. “Looks like we're going to have to fight our way out.”

TEN

The Chief rifled around in his inner pockets but came up empty. “Shit.”

“What's the matter, Chief?” asked Joe, counting the undead as they approached the alley. He'd switched on his lighter and was ready to start throwing fireballs at the slightest provocation.

“My seals are in the SUV. I took the damn things out of my pocket earlier.” From his shoulder holster he yanked his big, silver gun. “This will have to do. Not the best option against zombies, though. I'll cover the two of you and try to keep them at bay while you destroy them. Got it?”

“Sounds good,” said Joe, allowing the flame from his lighter to grow. It surged upward into a pillar of flame. Joe reached into the flame and pinched off a hunk as though he were working with clay. The fireball hovered above his palm, and with a grunt he gave it a toss at the incoming undead. The fiery fastball sizzled as it coursed through the air, eating up a fair bit of the humidity in its wake, and connected with its target.

Hit square in the chest, the zombie fell to the pavement and began to shriek, limbs splaying out and kicking the ground. Joe's attacks worked fast; I watched him focus on the flames as they spread over the reanimated cadaver. He was manipulating them, causing them to spread quickly so as to consume the body and destroy it with haste.

The other zombies took this as an invitation to strike, and rushed towards us in a tightly-packed unit.

I stepped up to the plate while Joe queued up a second fireball. Fighting these things was just like swatting at a swarm of bees. You had to treat the whole cluster as a single organism; focusing on just one was sure to get you stung. Loosing a growl, I jumped to the fore and readied myself for the onslaught. If I hit them just right I could smash them two at a time; a punch from the left, then from the right, would probably get the job done. I planned to kick the stragglers to pieces, and--

Just then, from the entrance of Yao's, I heard someone speaking. The metal door slammed shut as a thin man in glasses stumbled out. He was holding his phone out before him, evidently recording the battle. His sights were centered on the snarling, smoldering creature on the pavement, and his continued utterance of “Holy shit” distracted even the zombies.

“What the fuck is he doing?” asked Kubo, pointing to the guy. “Put that goddamned phone away,” he warned, waving his gun in the air.

The guy, college-aged and goateed, panned about the scene, capturing all of us in frame. “Y-you're all going to jail,” he began. “I see everything you're doing out here, and I'm going to the media with this.” He kneeled down, getting a better view of the scorched zombie in its death throes. “T-this will be trending on Twitter within the hour. It's a hate crime!”

The zombies, having paused, seemed to have trouble on deciding where to focus their efforts. They looked at Joe and Kubo, then to me. Lastly, they glanced at the college student, moaning with what I took to be the zombie equivalent of confusion.

That was all the time I needed.

Where the zombies hesitated, I rushed in and cleaned house. The first zombie was decapitated by a forceful palm strike before its friends even realized it. I threw some elbows, splitting brittle bones and fracturing rotten limbs. I took a zombie claw to the forearm in the process, but the counterattack was too slow. Balling my fist, I revved up for an uppercut and sent the bugger's lower jaw into outer space.

And, you know, I made sure to grunt a lot and strike some cool poses between every attack.

I figured that if this was going to end up online, I wanted to look as good as possible. Tensing my muscles a little extra and giving the camera a good look at my bare abs at the end seemed like a good touch.

“Lucy!” shouted Kubo, marching over. “Take his fucking phone!” He pointed his gun at the ballsy camera guy, his finger on the trigger. Kubo looked like he was about to blow the kid away, and probably would have if I hadn't stepped in.

The kid blanched and tried to run. His panicked jog couldn't compete with my sprint, though, and once I'd smacked the phone from his grasp, he began to spout profuse apologies. “Please, p-please don't kill me,” he said, his thin arms feebly outstretched.

I grabbed the kid's phone. It was enormous, practically a tablet. Pretty expensive. Looking him in the eye I held the phone in both hands and snapped it in two. “Hash-tag this, motherfucker.” I belted him across the cheek, sending him spiraling to the ground. Guy was unconscious before he even touched down.

“Get to the SUV,” ordered Kubo, charging across the parking lot. Joe pocketed his lighter and broke into a jog, looking back at me with a furrowed brow.

“What?” I asked, coming up to the passenger side door. “What's that look for?”

“You could've killed that guy, Lucy. You didn't have to hit him, you know.” Joe climbed into the back and slammed the door shut.

Yeah, I suppose Joe had a point. I didn't have to hit him. But guys like that have always pissed me off. We were fighting zombies for Christ's sake. Real-life zombies. This was some genuine Walking Dead bullshit we were up against and the kid had been trying to get it all on tape. If you ask me, sometimes lessons need to be learned the hard way. He'd probably wake up crying in a few minutes with a sore jaw, but maybe he'd mind his own business from now on. I shrugged. “He had it coming.”

I was just about to get into the SUV when I heard Kubo curse.

There was something under the vehicle, and it'd grabbed his leg as he went to sit down.

Whipping his gun out, he took a step back, drawing out the zombie. This one had been hanging out under the SUV, biding its time. With his seals out of reach, Kubo had only one option. He started firing into the thing that still held onto his calf, sending round after round into its desiccated body. The zombie flopped against the ground with every shot, the gun packing an incredible punch. I leaned out the door and watched as Kubo aimed for the neck. Two shots and he'd messily blasted its head off of its shoulders.

Tucking the gun back into its holster, Kubo kicked the body out of his way and shoved his keys into the ignition. “Goddamn zombies. There are more of them around town than I anticipated. Whatever Agamemnon is planning, it's going to be huge.” The SUV lurched over the bullet-ridden zombie, then screeched onto the main drag.

My bare, sweaty skin stuck to the leather seat. “Whatever,” I said, “we'll handle it. Bring it on. One guy against the Veiled Order? So what. He's got a buttload of zombies, sure, but he hasn't got a demon working for him. I'll pop off as many zombie heads as I have to and have more than enough gas left over to handle him when I'm through.”

Joe clicked his tongue. “Yeah, I'll bet. Just like you handed him his ass back at the cemetery?”

I didn't need reminded of that scuffle. “He got lucky,” I shot back. “I didn't know what to expect when I first encountered him, underestimated him a little. But things are different now. I know who he is and what he's capable of. And this time, I'm damn angry. If he thinks he can kill me with a cheap trick then he's got another thing coming.”

Kubo sighed. “Shut up, Lucy.” His grip on the steering wheel tightening, he bolted down the street and glanced over at me, shaking his head. “You have no idea what's coming. If we're right and Agamemnon is assembling an army of the dead, then we're going to be in real trouble. The Veiled Order doesn't have the manpower in Detroit to take on an entire army. Those zombies are weak on their own, but are seldom encountered just one at a time. An army comprised of hundreds-- no, thousands-- will be a force to be reckoned with. And then there's the necromancer himself. Agamemnon is no amateur, and armed with a legendary weapon it's going to be very difficult to defeat him.”

“Yeah, but--” I tried to argue.

“No buts about it. Think about the death his forces will be able to cause. Anyone who dies, whether it's one of our guys or a civilian, is fair game for him. His army only grows with every new death. The potential is there for exponential growth if he amasses enough of the undead and starts wreaking havoc on the city.” Kubo scowled, glancing into the rearview. “And then there are assholes like that kid back there. If Agamemnon turns Detroit into a battleground, word's going to spread like fire. Get what I'm saying? In short, it's a disaster. A goddamned disaster.”

The gravity of the mission was really sinking in now. A necromancer, wielding the choice weapon of the Grim Reaper himself, was reanimating every corpse he could get his hands on. The more death he managed to cause, the stronger his numbers and, subsequently, the more dangerous he became. This cycle would repeat itself until the whole of Detroit was consumed by death.

And then the blight would spread.

If we weren't careful... if we didn't take this guy out, fast, then we risked pandemonium. Agamemnon's plot had the potential to bring the world to its knees.

I had no plans to let that happen, but as I recalled the necromancer's stone-like gaze, well, I started to second-guess my bravado.

ELEVEN

Thunk.

My forehead struck the table. I sighed, sitting up and trying to get comfortable in the chair. Joe and I were in a conference room at HQ, had decided to stay on the premises so we'd be close by in the event of a development. It was early in the morning, just an hour or two till daybreak, and the two of us were bushed. Joe was snoring away, curled up in his chair with his legs stretched over one of the armrests.

I wiped at my eyes and studied the long, empty table before me. Laying out across that thing seemed a good deal more comfortable than the chair I was in. I stood up, stretched and prepared to climb onto the table when Kubo threw open the door looking like utter shit.

Poor guy had had it. His face was haggard, stubbly, and the bags under his eyes were striking. If he kept this up, I had a feeling this case would take years off of his life. Hell, unless he laid off of the coffee and got some sleep, he'd have nothing left when the big fight actually took place. He massaged the bridge of his nose, then clapped his hands, startling Joe awake. “Out, both of you. Go home,” he said. “I've been in meetings all night, but I've got nothing for you. I want you both to go home and get some real sleep. Just make sure you're both back here tonight, before sunset. Do I make myself clear? It's very important that you get back to HQ before dark. We have a meeting planned. Beyond that, though, the streets will be more dangerous after dark.”

Joe yawned, leaning back in his chair till his back cracked. “OK, Chief. What's tonight's meeting about?”

Kubo mulled over the question groggily. “The leaders of the Veiled Order are putting together a plan to counter this threat. Not positive what they're coming up with, exactly, except that they're shipping in some talent to assist us. Contractors. Weapons and soldiers are on their way, too, and we've contacted members of our organization who are involved in the higher levels of government as well. If things go to shit, we have a guy in the National Guard who can probably pull some strings and give us more firepower. Anyway, focus on rest. We're going to need you two rested. Got that?”

“Don't have to tell me twice,” I said, hobbling out of the conference room and waving lazily. “See you tonight, Chief.”

Joe and I parted in the expansive lobby. From there, I half-sleepwalked out of the joint and made my way to the parking lot where my Corvette was parked. Usually I don't drive while tired; they say it's pretty dangerous, as bad as driving drunk. A few times in college I'd pulled all-nighters and gone driving, only to wake up on the highway, speeding over the median. Bad times.

All I could think about was curling up in my own bed, though. Of burrowing under the sheets, pressing my face into the pillow and sleeping real deep.

That, and the German chocolate cake on my kitchen table. I was hungry as hell, hadn't had a thing to eat in way too long.

The drive home was quick and painless, though I didn't enjoy driving the car like I usually did. I could've been behind the wheel of a rickety beater and wouldn't have noticed. I pulled into my apartment complex, parked crookedly in front of my building, taking up two spots, and then shambled to my door looking no better than some of the zombies I'd hacked apart the night before. The sun was up, and anytime I opened my eyes more than a sliver I felt an intense headache coming on.

Entering my apartment, I threw my keys down and walked through the kitchen on my way to bed. The cake was still there, looking delectable. To my surprise however, I was too damned tired to care. It would still be there later. Now was a time for sleeping.

Still shirtless and dirty, I kicked off my shoes and dropped into bed.

The covers felt every bit as good as I imagined they would, and I was out like a light in record time.

***

I woke up with a gasp, my mind letting go of some nebulous dream. The ache behind my eyes was finally gone. Laying in bed, my sore body sinking into the plush mattress, I felt fairly restored, fresh. As I glanced around my room, though, I noticed something weird.

My room was pitch black. There was no light coming in from behind my blinds at all.

A look at my alarm clock revealed why.

It was fucking midnight.

“Shit!” I jumped out of bed, stubbing my toe on the nightstand, and stumbled into the kitchen. On the table, next to my keys and the uneaten German chocolate cake, was my work issue phone. I flipped it open, fearing what I might find.

Yup. It was bad. Not one, not two, but fourteen missed calls from Kubo.

I'd gone to bed feeling a bit frightened at the thought of taking on Agamemnon. Now that I was awake, I was more afraid of facing Kubo. I was at least three hours late. That was no good. The meeting at HQ had probably gone on without me. For all I knew, the whole of Detroit had been reduced to zombie-infested rubble while I slept.

There was no time for a shower, no time for cake. I treated myself to a quick piss and then threw on the first clothes I found. Back in the driver's seat, I revved up the Corvette and sped off.

TWELVE

Traffic was pretty sparse. I sped out of the complex, cut off some guy in a pick-up truck and then floored it for a mile or two along Miller Road. I needed to get to the highway entrance ramp and at a stop light I got to thinking about the fastest way to do so. The light went green and I started rolling up to speed when something caught my eyes outside.

The further I drove out of the city, the fewer people I saw walking the streets. Closer to my place I'd seen a number of pedestrians out and about, probably getting home from late shifts or coming back from nightclubs. Out here, though, on a stretch of street whose only real draw was the old Oakwood Cemetery, I glimpsed something that made me pump the breaks and reverse.

I stuck close to the curb, rolling down the passenger side window and looking at the tall, iron fence that surrounded the graveyard. I knew this graveyard pretty well; it was one of the oldest and most rundown in town. Kids often cut through it on their way to school, and those who were up to no good sometimes fucked with the headstones. I myself had spent more than a few summer days hanging around the place, but not for the reasons you think.

This was the cemetery where my brother, Conrad, was buried.

For the first time, it occurred to me that my brother's body, or whatever remained of it, could end up under Agamemnon's sway. The possibility chilled my blood; all the more because in looking through my window I spotted a mass of shuddering silhouettes gathered atop a hill. Any other day I might have mistaken them as mourners.

But let's be real here. No one shows up at a graveyard to mourn the dead after midnight.

Resting my hands on the wheel, I kept my foot glued to the brake. I was in a bit of a pickle here. I was already a few hours late to HQ. Kubo was never going to let me hear the end of it. But there was something going on in this graveyard; something, I suspected, that had to do with the necromancer's plot. I felt the need to get out there and investigate. What if Agamemnon and his minions were poking around, looking to dig up some new recruits?

You know what was really on my mind? What if that fucker raised my brother from the dead?

If Conrad were brought back as a zombie, would I be able to take him out? Would I have it in me to kill him? This is premature. For all you know it's just a bunch of graveyard employees getting together... Nah, fat chance of that. What were they doing up there in the dead of night? Having a company barbecue?

I parked the car.

Stepping out into the warm night, I locked it manually to keep the alarm system from giving me away and then hiked towards the fence. The metal was warm in my grasp, the bars rough and slightly rusted. With the agility of an animal I quickly pulled myself to the top, leaping over the fence and landing softly on the other side.

I was in.

The hill where the shapes were congregating was a short walk away, but there was no way for me to approach without them taking notice of me. If any of them so much as turned around I'd be found out. Still, I needed to see what was going on here before driving to headquarters and getting chewed out by the Chief. I was already hours late; what was another few minutes? Better to make sure nothing was going on here than to ignore it.

Better to make sure that Conrad wasn't about to join the living again.

Narrowing my gaze, I closed in on the group and tried to get a good look at them. The slumping posture, the smell of fresh earth on the breeze, the sheer number of them... My stomach dropped. I was coming up on a group of zombies, no doubt. I decided to have a little pep-talk with Gadreel on my way towards the hill. Don't hold back. My brother's buried here, so if we end up meeting the necromancer I want to snuff him out as quickly as possible. Got it? Give me your best, Gadreel. Help me crash this party. He did a number on me last time; if he cuts me again, I... we might be goners.

My heart quaked in my chest, my pulse speeding up and vision growing sharper. Classic signs of the demon's assent. Gadreel, being a demon and all, was probably a pretty prideful entity, and getting his ass handed to him by Agamemnon the last time likely wasn't a pleasant experience for him. The demon was spoiling for a fight, and with every thump of my heart I felt my veins crackling with electricity.

If Agamemnon gets his way, everything's going to go to shit. But if we take him out now we stand a chance to end this thing before it even starts. Get it? We can be the heroes. Take the credit. Let's see what a fallen angel is really capable of. You're the god of war, aren't you, Gadreel? Show me what you can do to this guy.

I didn't have to go much further to notice the hooded hulk of a man standing within the throng of stinking, slack-jawed zombies.

The necromancer was here, scythe balanced over one shoulder. I shuddered at the sight of him, but realized that, so far, he hadn't seen me. Gadreel... we have a chance to launch the first strike here. My heart fluttered with excitement. Suddenly things didn't look so dire as before. Clenching my fists, I reached up into the sky and grinned. We're going to deep-fry this cocksucker in one blow. Loosing a deep breath, I watched as the heavens overhead began to whirl and shift.

Rushing him head-on would be dangerous. Suicidal, maybe. But hitting him with a lightning bolt from afar would get the job done without putting me in harm's way. I tensed my entire body, muscle by muscle, allowing the demon's energy to course through me. Agamemnon would be my first target. Then I'd tear through his minions. Preparing to smite him with white-hot lightning, I pictured myself returning to HQ when this was through.

Kubo was going to shit himself. He'd been stressing out. His bosses had been wringing their hands. And for what? This would show them. Once this blow was struck they'd know who the top dog was. They'd know better than to underestimate me again.

I let out a savage cry.

From above, a blistering column of lightning plummeted towards the ground, reaching straight for the necromancer and his followers. The entire graveyard was lit up for an instant, made bright as day. The air sparked and a deafening pop sounded. “That's what I'm talking about!” I shouted, my ears ringing. “Down comes the hammer!”

A wave of fresh heat struck me as the lightning dissipated. I took a few steps towards the hill, finding the grass thoroughly scorched and several zombies twitching on the ground in various stages of dismemberment.

But then my smile slipped right off of my lips. The hearty chuckle I'd been saving for my inevitable victory withered in my throat and died there.

Apparently I'd miscalculated.

Standing atop that hill with the Scythe of Thanatos raised over his head was Agamemnon. And he was looking right at me.

I stopped dead in my tracks, not wanting to believe my eyes. “H-how?” I muttered. How could he possibly have survived that? No one had ever survived that attack. My gaze rose to the glistening scythe in his grip. He'd blocked it. Agamemnon had blocked my fucking lightning bolt.

Gadreel and I, well, our relationship is a weird one. We don't really talk to one another. Not in the way you might expect. But at that moment, as the necromancer started down the hill towards me with his remaining zombies in tow, I thought I heard his thoughts manifest in a clear, unmistakable, “Son of a bitch.”

THIRTEEN

“That was quite the show,” growled the necromancer. “Against a lesser foe that would have been a decisive move. A pity, though, that you insist on underestimating me, demon.”

I was forced into speech. “It's you who underestimated me. I'm still kicking. That little toy of yours can't kill me, Agamemnon. Nice try, though. Before I'm through here you'll be begging for your life.” I cracked my neck and loosened my shoulders. The fight was coming. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I knew better than to tense up, to give off weak body language. I wouldn't give him the pleasure of knowing just how freaked out I was.

Agamemnon stopped about ten feet from me. His gaze penetrated me from the edge of the hood, and when he drew it back, his tattooed visage coming into full view, its yellow might pressed into me like a knife. His eyes really were yellow; it was no trick of the light. There was something inhuman about those eyes. They were the eyes of a born predator, of a different species. Was Agamemnon human? I wasn't so sure.

The necromancer passed the scythe from hand to hand, a cruel smile playing across his pale lips. “Life is of no concern to me, demon. I am a soul steeped in death. Even if you could strike me down, I would welcome the end. Once, I was an acolyte of death. Now,” he said, gripping the scythe tightly and giving it a shake, “I am become death Himself.”

There was no sense in trying; I couldn't hide the shiver that raced down my spine.

Agamemnon continued. “And I certainly do not fear you or the mongrels you work for.”

I watched as the horde of zombies, at least thirty-strong, came up behind him.

Man, these were shitty odds.

“Well then,” I said, steadying my voice and puffing out my chest, “I guess I'll have to teach you to fear me.” I squeezed my biceps, my forearms, to keep them from shaking.

Agamemnon shook his head. “I'm not so sure.” With one hand he peeled off his cloak, revealing the plain back garb he wore beneath and the slabs of muscle he boasted for arms. With the scythe held in both hands, he arched his brow and donned a sinister smile.

I guess that was my invitation to bring it on.

The lightning thing wasn't going to work, so I decided to stick to brute force. I jumped at him like an animal after its quarry, offering up a brisk right jab that was deftly blocked. Agamemnon seemed able to read my moves, to know just what I planned on doing in advance, and shifted accordingly. My fist met the rough handle of the scythe, and as before an intense fatigue rattled through me. I pulled my hand away, gave my head a shake and tried to banish the numbness. I was mostly successful, except that by the time I regained my head, the necromancer was on the offensive.

Agamemnon reared back and brought the scythe down on me like a hammer. He was intending to cleave me in two, to bury that cursed blade in the crown of my skull.

I wasn't about to let him touch me with that thing. Not a second time.

Rolling to the left, I bumped into the throng of waiting zombies. Surprisingly, they hadn't jumped into the fray while their master was engaged. Was Agamemnon holding them back so that he could take me on by himself? From a crouch I lashed out at him afresh, leaving the ground with a spring-like push of my legs and sailing through the air towards him. I squeezed my fist and aimed for his head, giving it everything I had.

For my trouble, I took a blow to the gut. The necromancer was impossibly fast, and had not only evaded my blow by a hair's breadth, but had managed to reach up and catch me in the ribs with his knuckles before I could connect. I took a tumble, kissing the dirt. Before I had a chance to fully recover I launched into my next attack, wheeling around and trying to kick his legs out from underneath him.

He jumped back, landing just out of my range.

This guy had his shit together. He had no business being this good; as a spellcaster I'd have expected him to have to rely on magic to win his fights. Agamemnon, though, was an expert brawler, and with every failed attack on my part the realization that I was outclassed only sank in deeper. I wasn't used to this kind of competition. Even in my days as a plain old human being I'd rarely met an ass I couldn't kick. It probably sounds dumb, but with the demon's heart beating in my chest I'd started to consider myself unbeatable. Sure, a skilled spellcaster could still fuck me up if they knew what they were doing, but when it came to hand-to-hand combat, I really didn't think I could be beaten.

Guess I'd been wrong.

The necromancer kept on smiling. He was having a damn good time giving me the runaround. By the looks of it he hadn't even broken a sweat, had only been messing with me up to this point.

I stood up, wiping the fresh sweat from my brow. “I see you're breathing pretty hard over there. Tell you what. I'm going to let you off easy this time,” I said, gasping for air. “You call this whole thing off and I won't embarrass you in front of your posse.”

“A generous offer,” came Agamemnon's reply. “But I'm afraid I'll have to refuse.” His expression darkened and he raised the scythe towards the heavens, bellowing a single word. “Arise!”

The ground beneath my feet trembled a little. The grass quivered and the soil began to part. From the soil erupted searching, bony hands. I felt my ankles bound, then my calves. Looking at my feet, I noticed there must have been at least ten zombies springing out of the dirt all about me, with still more from the previous throng now coming into the picture.

Panicking, I dropped the tough guy talk and started pounding heads. You can probably guess how things turned out, though. Kubo had been right; he'd warned me that the zombies were weak by themselves, but that a swarm of them could mean trouble. Though I managed to destroy a couple, the mass of groaning zombies quickly overcame me. For every one of my limbs I had several of the undead holding me down. My wrists, ankles, waist; they clung to me from every angle with unbelievable strength.

I couldn't break free.

Agamemnon strolled towards me, holding the scythe close to his body and admiring the work his minions had done. “Where is your braggadocio now, demon?” His eyes narrowed. “What have you gotten yourself into? I wonder-- can you talk yourself out of this mess?”

I had a zombie hanging around my neck, and another standing behind me, with his putrid, rotting arms wrapped around my midsection, which made it pretty difficult to speak. Still, Gadreel burst to the surface and spat out a sporting “Fuck you.”

I felt the tip of the scythe against my breast. The moment it touched me, the fatigued wooziness washed over me once more and the grip of the surrounding zombies felt all the more crushing. My captor brought his weapon to my chin, musing about how best to execute me. “Carving out that heart of yours would be most enjoyable, though such a death wouldn't cause you the suffering you deserve. Perhaps we could start higher up. An ear, first. Then your nose. Your tongue...”

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I was walking a fine line between life and death here and had absolutely zero interest in becoming Agamemnon's newest recruit. If you'd asked me, plain old Lucian, I'd have told you Gadreel and I were sunk just then. That we'd reached into our bag of tricks and come up with nothing more than a fistful of lint and sticky pennies. The demon, though, had a stroke of genius.

I spit in the necromancer's face. It wasn't easy to do, but Gadreel delivered a high-speed loogie that landed on Agamemnon's cheek.

You know what happened from there.

Agamemnon roared in pain as his flesh was quickly eaten away.

Demonic acid spit, ladies and gentlemen. Don't leave home without it.

While the necromancer clutched at his face and doubled over, I found my opening. The odds were stacked against me and I had little hope of breaking away from the zombies, but I had to try. I let Gadreel into the captain's chair and felt his power flooding my every corner. Nerve endings I didn't even know I had tingled with demonic energy as the ambient temperature suddenly dropped by ten degrees. The smell of rain waxed dominant and the skies directly overhead began to hiccough with the promise of a storm.

The hill was lit up by a lightning strike. The second I'd launched within the span of minutes. All around me the walking dead were incinerated, their bodies rocked by the jolt of a million volts and their brittle shapes bursting into flame.

I staggered down the hill, treading through mounds of smoldering ash with my hair standing on end. I couldn't really hear anything and my eyes were watery for the flash of light, so my vision was pretty shot, too. But I was alive.

I didn't turn to survey the damage, to see whether the necromancer had been caught in the blast. I knew that bastard had made it. He'd survived my lightning bolt once; the second might've hit him, but I knew better than to think he'd been done in. I focused instead on finding my Corvette. It was sitting on the other side of the fence, beside the curb, where I'd left it. Hopping the iron fence, I landed on the sidewalk and dove into the car.

The air reeked of fire and rain. If I didn't get out of there, and pronto, the spot was certain to be flooded with cops and firefighters.

I put the pedal to the metal and took off for the highway. Within minutes I was on the entrance ramp, coasting around the bend and racing for HQ.

I'd escaped with my life, had knocked a fair few zombies out of commission and dealt a decent blow to the mastermind behind all of this. But I hadn't been able to beat him. The knowledge that I'd been bested didn't sit well.

Lucian Colt knows a thing or two about disappointment, about feeling down on himself. For Gadreel however, this was new territory. It isn't often that a fallen angel gets his ass kicked.

I felt worse for him than I did for myself, honestly.

FOURTEEN

Kubo didn't care that my hair was all staticky, or that I looked like I'd just survived the Apocalypse. When I walked in that door and started through the lobby in search of him, he came up and socked me in the nose.

“It's past midnight. Where the fuck have you been?” demanded the Chief, taking me by the neck and guiding me down the hall.

I sniffed back a trail of blood and clutched at my face. “I overslept, OK? But on the way here I met Agamemnon and his horde. Got into a fight and managed to get some hits in. I think he made it out, though.”

Kubo really loved kicking me when I was down. He jabbed me in the side with his elbow. “Damned idiot. You're lucky you aren't dead, trying to take him on yourself. This ain't a solo job, Lucy. You can't just expect to play the hero this time around. We have a plan in place to nullify this threat, but it isn't going to work the way you're thinking. You need to get yourself in line before you fuck things up for everybody. Got it?”

“Y-yeah, Chief.”

Kubo cleared his throat and paused outside of a conference room. From inside I could hear all kinds of voices. The place was packed. “We've brought on two experienced contractors for this job. They've worked for us in the past and are exceptional at what they do. They'll be working alongside you and Joe.” He threw open the door and waved me inside. “I want you to meet them.”

As I'd guessed, the room was stuffed full of Veiled Order commandos. There were some other people there I didn't recognize, too. Dudes in expensive suits that were chatting up Amundsen. Joe was sitting on a stool in the far corner, sipping from a bottle of water and chatting with two others. A guy and girl.

And the guy was wearing a sword on his back. A sword with a bone for a hilt.

My eyes widened and I stormed across the room, leaving Kubo in the doorway. If the swordsman was here, then the girl with him must be--

“Oh, hey Lucy. Remember Kanta from the party? She and her partner Percy here are joining up,” said Joe as he saw me marching over.

“You... you!” Kanta turned around and looked at me, her perfectly-shaped eyebrow arching. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

Hands on her hips, Kanta shrugged. “I should probably be asking you that.” Her hair was still done up in that perfect braid, and she wore a really beautiful sari made of a shiny, silky fabric. It was colored in blues and yellows, and featured a flower motif. It was also exceptionally tailored, hugging her tight curves and generous bust, and--

I had to stop myself from ogling her. This was the bitch who'd strapped me to a chair and tried to perform an exorcism on me. She and her buddy here had attempted to kill me; they were permanently on my shit-list. Didn't matter how pretty she was, or how cool her friend's bone-sword might've looked. I had half a mind to kill them right then and there. “I work here, you jackass,” I shot back. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't stomp your ass to death right here and now!”

Joe put a hand on my shoulder and guided me away from the pair. The dude with the sword rubbed at his bearded cheek and grinned at me. It took all the restraint I had not to break his face. “Look, I get it. She turned you down and you're bitter about it. But that's no way to act towards our new team mates, Lucy,” said Joe.

I grabbed the collar of Joe's jacket and gave him a violent shake. “She didn't turn me down, you idiot. She tried to perform a goddamned exorcism on me. She tried to kill me. Get it? I'm not just pouting because I didn't get lucky, Joe, I'm angry because she's a conniving bitch, who--”

“Hey,” said Kanta, folding her arms. “I can hear you, you know.”

“Well, good! Because I've got a lot more to say about this, and--” Amundsen came up from behind me and cut me off before I could lay into her further.

“Lucian, we were worried about you,” he said, patting me on the arm. “I hope you didn't encounter any trouble on your way over tonight. We've already had our meeting, have laid out some plans, and thankfully you're just in time to take part. I see you've met Percival and Kanta here. They're experienced contractors who have done work for the Order in the past and I'm thrilled to have them onboard again. Percival here is an accomplished hunter, son of legendary werewolf hunter Malcolm Sterling. Kanta has trained for many years in India, learning the rites of exorcism, and--”

“Oh, I know all about her,” I said, shooting her a dirty look. “I'm stoked. Can't wait to start working with them. Boy, when we get out into the field, just the three of us, there's really no telling what might happen...”

Amundsen failed to pick up the hostility in my words and urged me to have a seat. “So, Lucian, this is how things are going to go.”

***

Amundsen became grave as he explained everything I'd missed. It was damned hard for me to listen to him with those two assholes in close proximity, but I crossed my legs and took in what he had to tell me. “Frankly,” he began, “this ranks among the most serious threats the Veiled Order has ever faced.”

The Veiled Order had been around since, well, forever. Hearing Amundsen describe the necromancer's plot in that way didn't exactly inspire confidence.

He sat down next to me and went on. “We've received more reports... many more reports of missing bodies. Every cemetery in the city is being emptied and the bodies are disappearing. Agamemnon's army is growing. Thankfully, the general population doesn't seem to know what's going on. Except for a few, they haven't caught on. We've pulled some strings, had the city's graveyards closed citing some problem with the groundwater beneath them. But that won't last. When enough of the townspeople witness the undead, or if the city becomes a literal war zone as we fear it might, then the cat will be out of the bag. The Veiled Order has always prized itself on secrecy, and has shielded mankind from the Beyond for ages. This time we may not be able to cover things up neatly. So, the plan is to stop this war before it really starts.”

“Sure, that makes sense. But how?” I gulped, recalling my most recent bout against the necromancer. Agamemnon was a force to be reckoned with. There wasn't anyone on the Order's roster who could handle him mano-a-mano. Sure as shit, those two asshole contractors wouldn't be able to take him on. It seemed to me that the only way to preemptively stop the war would have been to strike down Agamemnon before he somehow got ahold of that mythical weapon. Now that he had it in his possession, all bets were off.

“Agamemnon is building an army of the living dead. Being a skilled necromancer is bad enough, but he now possesses a relic that multiplies his power. With this in mind, the leaders of the Veiled Order have proposed that a strike team be assembled and that its members be assigned two distinct goals. First, the team must take the scythe from the necromancer. Second, they must destroy him. If the necromancer dies, then all of the zombies he has raised will die with him. The trouble is, killing Agamemnon will be virtually impossible so long as he possesses the Scythe of Thanatos.

“Our experts on necromancy assure us that the thrall can never wander far from their master; that is, the zombies, in general, will stay within several miles of Agamemnon. If we can find this growing army, figure out where they're centered, then we should be able to trace the necromancer's location as well. Even as we speak we have patrols going on throughout Detroit and its suburbs, looking for the zombie 'hive', as it were. They're also searching the warehouse district, the sewer systems; no stone will be left unturned. We intend to strike hard and fast, as there still remain many thousands of bodies within the city that could be resurrected. Any casualties, too, will be raised to join his ranks. Do you have any questions for me, Lucian?”

I chewed on my thumbnail. The plan made sense. We'd find out where the bulk of the zombies were hiding-- their nest, so to speak-- and then track down Agamemnon within a few miles so that we could launch a full-on strike against him. We'd take his weapon and then kill his ass so that his zombie army would crumble. Sure sounded easy in theory. In practice it was going to be a tall order, though.

“If we are unsuccessful,” added Amundsen, “Detroit will be only the first stop on Agamemnon's tour of ruin. The first domino. The whole planet could fall under his sway if we're unsuccessful. We have experts being flown in from around the globe, and we're hopeful that we'll be able to contain and smother this war before it spreads, but it's possible we got involved too late. Agamemnon set everything up while we had our backs turned, worked right under our noses all this time.”

“So how's this team going to work?” I asked. “Who's in charge?”

Amundsen chuckled. “Well, the four of you-- Joe, Kanta, Percival and yourself are to be in command. The strike team will be split into two parts. You and Joe will lead a team of commandos. Percival and Kanta will have men under their control as well. Both halves of the team are to report directly to Chief Kubo, who will be involved with his own investigations.”

“Oh, so it's a race, then? To see which team finds the zombie hideout first?” I leaned forward. “You know how this is gonna end, Mr. Amundsen. I'm gonna win.”

“W-well,” replied Amundsen nervously, “I'm not sure I'd think about it in those terms, exactly. You're all a team, after all. It isn't a competition, Lucian.” He stood up. “Anyway, let me know if you have any other questions. I have faith in you, and am hopeful that we can still turn the tide.”

With that, Amundsen walked away.

I got up and sauntered back into the corner, where Joe was still politely chatting up Kanta and Percy. He was trying too damn hard; if only Joe knew what they'd tried to do to me he'd hate them every bit as much as I did. Sure, we'd have to “work together” for this mission, but once we got out into the field I planned to get even. I put up with a lot of shit in this line of work, but I'm not going to let some new talent waltz in and take the credit on an important mission after they tried to murder me.

Kanta turned around, fixing me with a venomous glare. I sized her up, amused by the flicker of annoyance in her gaze. My eyes followed the contours of her tight sari and settled on her bust. Not to be a pig, but she had quite the rack on her.

Ah, screw it. Call me a pig if you want. I'd get on all-fours and oink just to have a go at those fun-bags.

She frowned while I stared at her chest. “You know, my eyes are up here,” she said.

“Oh, I know,” I replied, my gaze unwavering. “But I'm not interested in your eyes.”

Joe dragged me off before Kanta could slap me in the face for that one. “You need to cool it, man. Save the fighting and shit-talk for the necromancer, yeah?”

I leaned in. “Let me tell you something. You and I are going to be the ones who find that necromancer. At the end of the day, when the war is won and they're passing out the medals, it's going to be Lightnin' Lucy and Fire Joe on that stage, got that? We don't need those two, Joe. They're insufferable. And besides, they're weak. What good's a damned exorcist going to do against a necromancer, huh? She couldn't even purge the demon from my body.”

Joe shrugged. “Well, yeah. But you're a special case, seeing as how you've got a demon's heart in your body.”

“Whatever. My point still stands. We don't need those two. Fuck 'em. You and I? We're golden. We're going to win the day.” I buried my hands in my pockets and stood up straight as Kanta walked by.

“It's funny,” she said. “I've never met a demon that I couldn't exorcise.” She was talking to Percy loudly enough to be heard from a distance, probably trying to get a rise out of me. Then, glancing my way, she added, “When this job is over, I look forward to taking another stab at it.”

I had a million and one barbs to throw her way, but I held my tongue. Instead of bringing down the house, I stood against the wall and watched her walk out of the conference room with Percy in tow, dreaming of all the ways I was going to show her up.

Hell, who am I kidding? I was checking out her ass.

FIFTEEN

The Chief had managed some sleep by the looks of it, but he still appeared awfully haggard. He instructed Joe and I to stay at HQ. I guess he wanted us on constant standby for orders, since a call could come in at any moment. He was busy managing the patrols and consulting with various experts as they arrived.

The conference room was empty now, and Joe and I sagged in a pair of chairs once again, staring up at the ceiling and making small-talk. “I've fought that necromancer twice, Joe. You know what that means, don't you?” I turned to him. “It means I've got more experience than anyone else in this fight. It means I'm the only one who really knows what to expect.”

Joe snorted a laugh. “Dude, you got beat up by him twice. If anything, you're the only one who knows how bad it's going to hurt if he kicks our asses.”

I kicked my heels up onto the edge of the nearest table. “Nah, the second time was a draw. Sort of. Anyway, that's not important. I stand a better chance of taking that prick out than Kanta and her boyfriend. That sword he's got is, uh, pretty cool. I admit it. But the way he carries it around everywhere makes it seem like he's... I dunno, compensating for something?”

“Quit being so hot-headed, Lucy. This is a fight for our city, remember? There's a lot riding on this, so don't start running your mouth.” Joe opened and closed his Zippo rapidly. He reminded me of an old gunslinger testing each and every component of his six-shooter before a duel. “If that head of yours gets any bigger you could ruin us both, man. Like it or not, we're working as a team on this. When the job's over, do what you want, but for right now can't you just rein it in?”

“You don't know what you're talking about.” I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, irate. Look, I knew that my showing against Agamemnon hadn't been the greatest. I knew that I hadn't come through, and I was feeling pretty rotten about fucking things up. But to have Joe riding my ass about teamwork, and about how I needed to rely on those two clowns, just rubbed me the wrong way. I was in no mood to be reminded of past failures, to be lectured. When I finally replied, I probably did so with a little too much vitriol. “Easy for you to say; you need others to protect you, Joe. When the going gets tough, you've got to hide somewhere to throw your fireballs around. Me? I have to get deep into it, waist-deep in shit.”

“The hell's that supposed to mean?” asked Joe, slamming his lighter down on the table. “See, this is what I'm talking about. You're an ass sometimes, Lucy. Cut this shit out. If you were so damn tough you'd have killed the necromancer already. But you can't. Suck it up and give those other two a chance.”

“Quit ordering me around,” said I. “I don't seem to remember signing on the dotted line to work for you.”

“Boy, you're a lot more narcissistic than I gave you credit for.” Joe shook his head. “Didn't take long for this job to go to your head, huh? Think you're top dog now, that you're the whole show, just because you've got a demon inside of you? At the end of the day, this is just like any other job. You work with other people to get shit done, Lucy. Maybe someday you'll learn that.” He paused. “I guess your past jobs didn't really drive that home, eh? Preying on poor people with that collection agency probably inflated your ego, made you feel real important. The Veiled Order doesn't have room for lone wolves, though. Lone wolves get singled out. They end up our enemies, man. You aren't working for loan sharks anymore, so cut the shit.”

That set me off. Bringing up my old job as a debt collector was a mistake. It didn't make my reply any more forgivable, but I was fucking mad and I spoke up before I could help myself. I couldn't even pin this outburst on Gadreel, much as I would have liked to. “Yeah, well, at least I paid my debts when I had them. Unlike your mother.”

You're probably shaking your head, writing me off as an irredeemable asshole for that one, huh? Well, good on you. I guess you've never said anything stupid or hurtful when in the throes of anger?

If looks could kill, Joe would have murdered me right then. He stood up and kicked away his chair. “What did you just say to me?”

I knew better than to push things any further. The bridge to Friendship Town was burning nice and fast. The last thing I needed was to throw more tinder on the pile. “Fuck it. Leave me alone.”

Joe looked ready to deck me, but the phone in his pocket started to ring before he got the chance. “Yeah?” he answered, stepping away from the table. I could hear Kubo's voice on the other side. “They found something, huh?” Combing a hand through his hair, Joe hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He didn't even look back at me as he relayed the message. “We're leaving. Patrol found something in Swan Cove park.” Then he walked out.

I stayed put for a minute, still fuming. I'd let my already wounded pride get the better of me and said hurtful things. Joe was a friend of mine, but you wouldn't have known it from hearing that little exchange of ours.

One thing was for sure. The ride to the park was going to be long and awkward.

***

As predicted, Joe and I didn't talk the whole way. Whenever he did speak to anyone, he gave only clipped responses. I sat in the back of the SUV, hands folded in my lap, watching the night scenery pass by through the tinted glass.

So what if Joe doesn't want to talk to you? I thought. It's go-time, your time to shine. Yeah, maybe you were an asshole back there, but he shouldn't have run his mouth. No one around here takes you seriously. No one thinks you have the power to win this thing solo, but you'll show them. You've faced off against Agamemnon twice now. You've seen what he can do. He doesn't have any more surprises. You don't need a team to get things done here, but they sure as hell need you. I looked at Joe derisively. Throwing fireballs isn't going to solve the problem. You need real brawn to tangle with the necromancer, and soon everyone will see that you're the only one who's capable.

My internal pep-talk was intended to pump me up, to get me angry and motivated. It wasn't working, though. Every word of it made me feel like a fraud. I'd escaped the last time, but Agamemnon had had things all but wrapped up against me. The guy could have carved me up like a Thanksgiving turkey if he'd wanted to, and it'd only been a bit of quick thinking that'd allowed me to weasel out of there.

But I wouldn't allow myself to show weakness. Call it stubbornness, excessive pride, downright stupidity, but I wasn't going to allow myself to be held back by this “team” bullshit. Mine was a power that couldn't be restrained, a power unlike any other. And I was going to prove it. Joe could talk as much shit as he pleased. When all is said and done, talk is just talk. I was going to aim for something more substantial than that: Results.

I'm going to tell you something you don't know about me. One of my greatest fears in life is being looked down upon as weak. Sounds like a generic fear; I mean, who likes being underestimated, right? But for me, it runs pretty deep. I think I've told you before about how I wasn't a particularly strong or active kid. Some would even say I was “lazy”.

Once, when I was in fifth grade, I got picked on by this bully. His name was Juan, and I still remember, to this day, the way his big, crooked teeth stuck out from behind his lips. He was bigger than me, with a real loud mouth on him, and he loved to pick fights. Well, little Lucian was willing to take a lot of abuse at the hands of this kid. Insults, pranks-- anything you can imagine in the schoolyard, really. He stole my lunch a few times. When we played dodgeball in gym class he'd take a few minutes even after the game had ended to repeatedly hit me with the ball and then order the other kids to join in.

One day, I stopped putting up with it, though. I'd spent too much time crying over the abuse, stressing out over going to school and feeling bad about myself. Those adults who constantly preached that violence wasn't the answer to conflict were drowned out in an instant when, during recess, Juan came up to me and shoved me down. I'd been wearing a new sweatshirt that day, a gift from my dad. I hadn't seen him in a few weeks since my parents had just recently split up, and dumb as it sounds, the sweatshirt meant a lot to me. Well, as it happens, I landed in a puddle and the thing got soaked through with muddy water.

He laughed and laughed, calling me all sorts of names. “You gonna cry?” he asked, getting in my face.

I won't lie. I did cry. But I also stood up and knocked his two front teeth out. I don't actually remember doing it; you could say that I snapped, blanked out for the duration of the fight. The next thing I knew I was being hauled off to the principal's office by two teachers and Juan's face was bleeding from every opening. I earned my first detention that way, and Juan eventually transferred to a different school.

The important part, though? No one at that school ever said shit to me again. I'd defended myself, made it so that no one in the schoolyard would ever mistake me for an easy target again. Something changed inside of me that day.

That's my long and flimsy justification for excessive self-pride, I guess. I was a kid who got picked on a lot, a kid who got tired of being looked at as weak, and who learned, early on, that in order to be taken seriously you have to step up to the plate. I've never responded well to being underestimated, and when Joe started discussing my failures it hurt all the more because he was supposed to be my friend.

The bully was Agamemnon now, and I was angry about more than just a soiled sweatshirt, but the fight was the same. It would have been easier to agree with Joe, to lean on the rest of the team and hope that we could all pull off a victory together. But my fight with the necromancer was personal now. I had something to prove here, and goddamn it, I was going to see this through on my own. If the others wanted to lend their support I'd have no problem with it. But when the time came for the final showdown, that hooded hulk was mine and mine alone.

Gadreel had a bone to pick with him too. It was absolutely possible that my ordinarily stubborn tendencies were coming in harder than ever because of the demon's influence. It wouldn't surprise me if being demon-possessed somehow amplified the less desirable aspects of one's personality, but I wasn't going to hide behind that. I was willing to own it: I was going to prove to everyone just how wrong they were to write me off. I did have the strength to take on this monster alone, and I was going to make it a matter of public record.

We got to the park. The SUVs rolled to a stop in the lot, and I immediately climbed over the seats to get out. Stepping out into the warm night, I had a look around at the dark trails that opened up before us, at the rows of empty picnic tables and grills. There were two other SUVs parked nearby, both of them teeming with commandos. They were checking their weapons and talking over radios.

And then I saw something that made my stomach turn.

In amongst this other group of commandos were the two jackasses Amundsen had hired, Kanta and Percy. What the hell are they doing here? I'd been under the impression that this call had been for Joe and I alone.

“Well,” I said, walking up to them with a scowl, “come to follow along with me, have you? Very kind, but I think I'll be all right on my own.”

Percy smirked. He was a hair taller than the SUV he leaned against. “I know demons are supposed to be pompous, but this guy really thinks the world of himself, doesn't he?”

Kanta rolled her eyes. “Oh, he's talking, is he? I've just trained myself to filter out his voice. No sense in getting worked up over a demon's conceit.”

“Have it your way. Just try to keep up.” I whistled loudly, waving over Joe and the team of guys we'd come with. “Let's go.”

The commandos shouldered their guns and walked over reluctantly. I knew they weren't fond of me, weren't looking forward to taking my orders, but it was time to get the show on the road. I wasn't going to let Kanta and Percy set out first and make the big find before our guys had even started down the path. If push came to shove I'd let Joe handle the troops and just go on ahead of the group. They seemed to like Joe better anyway. He didn't have a demon in him.

“Cool it,” warned Joe. “No stupid grandstanding, or I swear to God--”

“Come on,” I said, pointing to the trail ahead. “The patrols found a big group of undead deep in the woods here, yeah? Whereabouts? Take us to it.”

The trooper fielding my question confirmed the location of the find over his radio. “Yeah, it's about a mile in, off-trail. There's a big ravine there that's laced with a series of tunnels. They saw more than a hundred zombies hanging out there.”

More than a hundred? That was rough. I nodded, appearing unfazed by the news. “All right. Lead the way.” I peered back at Joe, then at Percy and Kanta, who'd come up to join us, grinning. “Let's get this party started.”

I followed on the trooper's heels as he started out of the parking lot and bypassed all of the marked trails. Aside from Joe, Percy and Kanta, we'd brought along about fifteen guys, all of them decked out in black bulletproof gear and packing serious heat. Not that I paid them any mind. As we marched into the dark woods, it was just me and the guide, as far as I was concerned. The two of us charged onward, and once I got a general idea of where we were headed, I even pulled ahead of him.

“Slow the fuck down, Lucy,” warned Joe from behind. “You're going to blow our cover.”

I was too amped up to slow down. My heart was thrashing, the demon lusting for a fight and driving me on. Very soon now, between some of these trees, I was going to stumble upon something I could kill. Something I could destroy ruthlessly, to use up a little bit of this rage I held.

I felt someone grasp my shoulder roughly from behind. “I don't know if you're deaf or just stupid, but you need to listen to your friend,” said Kanta, getting in my face. Her green eyes threw off the moonlight and would have been dazzling if I weren't so pissed off at the interruption. “Do you know how zombies work? If one of them spots us, they can call out to the others. They have scouts posted for that very purpose and you're going to give us away if you don't quit charging on blindly.”

I gently picked up her wrist and then tossed her hand away from my shoulder as though it were a moldy banana peel. “Thanks for the lesson, but for your information I've fought plenty of zombies. I know what they're capable of and I don't need you slowing me down. Kindly fuck off.”

The guide turned and adjusted the radio on his shoulder. “S-she's right, you know. We should probably be real slow heading this way, discreet. If one of them sees us it could be all over.”

I got in his face. “I wasn't putting it up to a vote. Move your ass.”

Percy cleared his throat loudly. I guess he was about to add to the chorus. Had he done so I would have hung his guts in the surrounding trees like Christmas garlands, but thankfully that's not what happened.

Well, maybe thankfully isn't the right word.

A rustling noise sounded from somewhere nearby. Everyone heard it, though there was some disagreement about where it was coming from. We couldn't be sure what caused it, either; the woods were dark and this spot was awfully crowded with trees.

“We're almost to the ravine,” said the guide, his Adam's apple quivering. “It might be the horde we're hearing.”

Joe cracked open his lighter and tossed a few fireballs into the air. They remained there, bobbing slowly and emitting a warm glow. Will-o-the-wisps. “It might just be a deer, guys. Or--”

With our surroundings lit up, the conversation suddenly died away. The light of the Will-o-the-wisps was reflected in the eyes of numerous staring figures in the immediate vicinity. Not twenty feet from me was a small cluster of zombies, staring over at us from behind the knotted foliage. Scanning the tree line and suddenly becoming very tense, I lost count at around fifteen.

Were these scouts, or had we walked straight into the horde itself? Were there really hundreds of these bastards waiting for us in the woods?

From all around us, came a slow, croaking call. The voices were surprisingly even, harmonic considering the desiccated throats they sprang from. This I took to be a warning call, summoning the main forces for assistance.

“They're calling for reinforcements,” said Percy, pulling his sword from its sheath. “They were on the lookout and we tripped the wire.”

“No shit,” I replied. The time for talking was over; we needed to shut these creatures down before they called a million more. But how? By the time we cut them all down the rest of the horde would have already heard them. We needed something fast, sudden, that could take them all out at once.

Something like a lightning bolt.

“Stand back. I'll handle this.” Channeling my rage, I reached up into the sky. It wasn't really a necessary part of the process, but the added movement really does make it more dramatic. All the while, the zombies continued their low moan.

The scent of rain, a change in the breeze.

And then I lit up the woods like the Fourth of July.

Gadreel really went above and beyond this time; not one, but four different bolts of lightning shot down from the sky, splintering trees and zombies alike. Their voices were drowned out by the roar of lightning and the ground shook as the forest around us was completely razed. In the flash of blinding light I watched Joe and the troopers dive for cover. Kanta and Percy were startled too. I admit I was a little disappointed when that big old sword of his didn't draw the lightning and get him killed, but the look of utter shock on Percy's face was good enough.

The air began to settle. Embers swirled by on the breeze and quiet returned to the woods. I had a good laugh, hands on my hips. “That's how you get a job done. Did you guys see that? Incredible, efficient.” The commandos looked up at me with fear in their eyes, while Joe slowly stood up and dusted himself off.

“Goddammit, Lucy...” Joe's Will-o-the-wisps had vanished in the lightning blast, but there was more than enough light to see by, what with all of the burning trees around us. “That was over the top.”

“Over the top? That was incredibly badass. I mean, can any of you do that?” I turned and looked Kanta squarely in the eye. “Still think I'm all talk?”

Her green eyes jumped out at me like vipers. “That was the most reckless stunt I've ever seen. You're stupider than I thought, stupider than I could have imagined! You could have killed us all, you imbecile!”

I smirked. “And don't you forget it.”

The troopers began muttering to one another. “Who the fuck does he think he is?” asked one.

Their fear turned to anger pretty quickly. Those troopers looked like they wanted to kill me, and I couldn't exactly blame them since I'd just scared them half to death. But the fact of the matter was that I'd just saved us from being found out. I'd killed off the scouts with a single blow-- and with style, no less.

“Every zombie in the joint is going to know exactly where we are now,” said Percy, looking into the woods with a grimace. “We should have just phoned the necromancer ahead of time and told him we were stopping by.”

“It was loud, sure, but it was, like... a natural phenomenon. It didn't give us away!” I argued. “Stuff like that happens sometimes, you know? Lightning... it... it's been known to strike trees sometimes, goddammit! And, you know, maybe these zombie scouts just got caught in an act of God. If I were Agamemnon I wouldn't just automatically assume that some handsome, demonic badass zapped them all--”

Except that, come to think of it, I'd already used my lightning trick in front of the necromancer. Twice.

Kanta pointed beyond the wreckage, to a break in the trees. From deep in the woods I could see a mass of shambling bodies approaching us. I didn't even want to guess at how deep it was, but from the glimpse I took I had to agree with the initial assessment that there were more than a hundred. Perhaps hundreds, in fact. “Seems that crowd wasn't too impressed with your trick,” she said.

The guide looked down at his rifle, then to me. “Because of you we're going to have a real mother of a fight on our hands. What the hell is your problem? Why did you think that was OK? If we fail here it's going to be your fault, demon.”

He had a point. I didn't want their blood on my hands. There was enough blood on them already. So the only option I had was to sleep in the bed I'd made. To crush the incoming swarm of aggressors. Giving Gadreel a little more slack, I took on a fighting stance and watched as the incoming horde began to run towards us. “It's just as well,” I growled. “Give them hell. Make them wish they'd never left the grave to begin with.”

SIXTEEN

Kanta joined me up front, running her hands over the neat braid she wore.

“Not the best time for preening,” I said. “Don't tell me, are you going to try and exorcise the zombies? I'm still not sure what your narrow skill set is going to offer, but I'll try and keep you out of harm's way. Stand back-- I'd rather kill you myself when this is all over, after all.”

“Shut up,” was all she said before she forcibly yanked a strand of hair from her head. This she held out before her for an instant, and I watched in awe as it transformed into a long, silver trident. The thing was a single, dense length of sharply-crafted metal and would have looked at home in the fist of a giant Poseidon statue. Holding the fearsome weapon out towards the incoming horde, she began to run at them them like a jouster.

Shit. I didn't like her, but I had to say right then that Kanta had balls, meeting the enemy head-on. Percy ran into battle behind her, his blade shining in the firelight.

From behind, I heard the familiar click of Joe's Zippo. “You've done it now, Lucy,” he said, gritting his teeth. “When we're done here I'm going to kick your ass. No, better yet, I'm going to let Kubo do it. The Chief's going to murder you, you know that, right?”

I grinned. “Nah. When I'm through here, ol' Kubo's going to be kissing my feet. Guarantee it.”

Gunfire. Lots of it. The report of a dozen or more guns all around us filled the woods. I watched as waves of silvery bullets tore through the cloud of zombies descending upon us. Dead people of all ages, races and genders were represented in the mix, each of them united in the goal of destroying us. The bullets broke apart their bodies and drew some awful cries of pain, but we were going to need more than bullets to get the job done.

My first target was a smaller specimen, awfully preserved and mostly skeletal. I knocked it to the ground and stomped its head to pieces. Two zombies ran up to replace it, and to each of them I offered an open palm to the face. Their skulls snapped open with the force of the blow.

Further ahead I spotted a pair of zombies rising over the rest, their bodies skewered on the end of a long trident. Kanta brought them down against the ground with a shout, and when their bodies struck the soil they broke apart. She kept the others at bay with a wide sweep of her weapon, the sharpened tips catching several would-be attackers in the neck.

Percy was no slouch, either. That sword of his was the perfect weapon for cutting down the undead. He worked the thing like Sonny Chiba in an old samurai flick, splitting rotten skulls and chopping necks with clean, almost robotic strokes. He'd finish one off, give a half-turn, and strike down the next before it could even reach out for him.

Standing beside me was Joe. He manipulated the flame spewing from his lighter and turned it into a makeshift flamethrower, charring everything in his path. I could feel the heat pouring off of the crumbling bodies before us.

I was impressed. I probably shouldn't have been. These guys were professionals. The Veiled Order was paying them for a reason. While drop-kicking one of the undead into the distance, I couldn't help but think we made a pretty good team.

There. I said it. They all knew what they were doing, had their shit together. Personal feelings aside, it was good to have them in my corner.

From the rear things weren't going so hot, though. We'd been focusing on pressing forward, making the zombies give up ground. The shouts of the commandos behind me revealed the flaws in that plan, though. Troopers screamed as groups of zombies closed in from behind. We'd been surrounded without realizing it. The undead were now creeping in from every corner, and they quickly began laying waste to the commandos. I watched as a few men were torn limb from limb by the shambling monstrosities. When dealing with these numbers the troopers could only score so many clean head-shots; at this proximity they'd have been better off fighting hand-to-hand. With their incredible physical strength, the zombies were a lot better at that than they were, though.

Some of the commandos dropped their guns and yanked Ka-Bars from their scabbards. The blades severed heads with ease, but again, the troopers weren't fast or strong enough to beat back the mass of zombies that'd encroached upon them. We'd walked into the woods with something like fifteen guys in tow. Now we had less than ten, and every minute that passed we seemed poised to lose even more.

I left Joe's side and yanked a few troopers away from the zombies they were engaged with. These guys were going to get themselves completely routed. They needed backup. “Hold on!” I shouted, cleaving through the nearest thrall and giving its busted spine a good tug. These guys had been placed under my control. They were my responsibility. Already some of them were dying, and it was all because of what I'd done. I forced them all back so that they were standing between me and Joe and went to work.

No one else was going to die on this mission. I wouldn't allow it.

Teeth rattled in hollowed skulls like dice in a Yahtzee shaker as I delivered a relentless flurry. Going at it this hard was tough even for me; I felt like I'd been swinging for hours and the heat coming off of the burning trees was making me overheat. My eyes stung as fat drops of sweat washed over my face. One cheeky bastard with a half-eroded countenance darted in from the side and tried to tackle me. I reached out and slapped him in the ear. That was a dirty move I'd learned to use in street fights.

I about barfed when the slimy ear simply slid off of his head.

The sheer number of zombies was overwhelming. If you think about it, we were meeting practically every person that'd ever lived and died in Detroit and still had a body that could be resurrected. While bashing in heads, I remembered just what that meant.

My brother, Conrad, might be out there. In fact, by this point, he probably was. Agamemnon had been at the very graveyard where he was buried. I hoped I wouldn't run into him. If anything would take the wind out of my sails and serve as a terrible distraction, it would be having to kill my zombified brother.

“Joe,” I screamed, shoving a handful of zombies away and building up a little breathing room, “light them up. Go wild! Start tossing fireballs, man. Do something!”

He turned to me, shaking his head. His flamethrower had been reduced in scope; either his lighter was running out of fuel or he was having trouble keeping the spell going. “No,” he replied, toasting a rampaging pair of hissing, child-sized creatures. “I can't. I'll burn the whole fucking park down. We've already got some fires going here. If I do much more we're going to burn to death and destroy the entire area.”

I don't often roll my eyes in the heat of battle, but that reply of his made me do just that. “Jesus, man. This isn't the time for tree-hugging. Torch the place. Bambi will find someplace else to live!”

“There are houses nearby, Lucy. The fire could spread to the surrounding neighborhoods. I can't do it. I won't. We need to pull back and get some support from the Order.”

His suggestion that we fall into retreat disgusted me. Oh, we were in the shit all right. No doubt about that. We'd lost several men and were facing incredible odds, but pulling out with my tail between my legs wasn't what I'd planned on doing when we showed up.

Percy and Kanta fought their way back towards us, and the exorcist's views were not much different than Joe's. Her face was dripping in sweat, and her braid had become tousled. The edges of her sari, too, had been torn ragged. “Pull back!” she shouted, waving her trident. “There are too many. We pushed on ahead but there are too damn many. We'll never make it. We could stand out here and fight till morning and never kill them all.”

With slower, less effective slashes than he'd earlier employed, Percy pressed his back to hers and chopped away a cluster of reaching hands. The guy had started off strong, but he was fast-approaching the breaking point.

“Lead the way, Lucy!” yelled Joe, stumbling as he took a few steps backwards. “Lead us out of here!”

The remaining soldiers were shouting into their radios, but whether their calls would be answered remained to be seen. It would take time before the Veiled Order could send us more backup. And even then, more dudes with guns weren't going to be effective. A team with flamethrowers would present the same problem that Joe had mentioned-- namely, burning down the park and everyone in or around it. I thought about raining some more lightning down on the scene, grinding the monsters into gooey black paste with the heat of a million suns... but I stopped short. First of all, do you have any idea how exhausting it is to pull that off? I'd already done it a few times in one night, and I had an inkling that Gadreel had a limit to how many times he could use that ability. Second, I had no interest in accidentally smiting Joe or the others.

The choice was pretty clear. We needed to fight our way out of the woods, break away from the horde and build some distance. That was the only way we'd get out of this alive.

Even so, I still didn't want to leave. I felt like we'd come too far for that, that the necromancer was surely in the vicinity. We'd been told that the zombies couldn't wander too far from their master, and we'd zeroed in on what appeared to be the bulk of his flock. Agamemnon had to be around here somewhere. If we left now we'd lose our chance to kill him and end this. If we stayed, though, there was always a chance that he'd turn up.

As if in answer to a malign prayer, I caught sight of something standing head and shoulders above the crowd of zombies, just beyond the line of burning trees. I'd have recognized that long hood, those piercing eyes, just about anywhere.

He was here. The necromancer himself had shown up after all. I gulped, my stomach swirling with dread. There was red hot excitement surging in my veins, though. Gadreel took notice at once, my heart throbbing spasmodically in my chest. The demon wanted to fight. He wanted to even the score.

I pointed over at Agamemnon. “Hey, look who just showed up! If it isn't the necromancer himself.”

The dark silhouette of Agamemnon loomed closer. The guy took long, slow steps, the sea of zombies parting as he approached. There was a sudden lull in the fighting. The undead halted their assault and stood back as the self-proclaimed king of the dead made his appearance.

Seven commandos joined Joe, Kanta, Percy and I in a tight formation. That was what remained of our forces after the short but savage fight. The commandos fixed Agamemnon in their sights, but I pushed their guns away. “No. Don't you dare,” I snarled. “This one's mine.”

SEVENTEEN

It was Percy who warned me first. His tone, between all of the panting, was one of genuine concern. Maybe he thought I was stupid and felt bad about having me march off to what he figured was certain death. Maybe, like Joe, he bought into all of that team spirit talk and, even though he disliked me, didn't want me to die. Whatever the case, he grabbed my arm and gave a firm shake of his head. “No way, don't do it. You don't stand a chance.” The blade he held was every bit as bright and clean as it had been at the battle's start, but its wielder was looking rough. “We need to run. We got in over our heads, but if we get back to the cars we can call the Chief and maybe--”

I shrugged him off. “Don't interfere. Instead, why don't you make yourself useful and cut down any undead who wander into the fray, huh?”

Agamemnon rested on his scythe, his pale face looking like a mask. The necromancer smirked. “I didn't expect to find you here, demon. And it would appear you've led your friends into the heart of my trap as well. A fine catch, this. It's unfortunate that you insist on meddling when you were fortunate enough to escape once already. I think there's a word for that. Stupidity?” He laughed. As he reared back, I noticed that his face was unwounded. Even though I'd doused it in acid spit just a while ago, any wounds I'd left behind had healed fully.

That didn't bode well. That acid spit of mine had been more than enough to kill lesser men. Did the scythe give Agamemnon the ability to heal his wounds, too?

I didn't give myself time to think it over. Thinking too much would've given me cold feet. Instead, I rushed in and sent a haymaker his way.

The horde of zombies scarcely moved as our fight began. Joe and the others stood on the sidelines, too, their gazes shifting between the battle and the countless undead who might, at any moment, spring back into action.

Agamemnon dodged with altogether too much ease. A guy his size shouldn't have been so fast as this; it was like he'd made the laws of physics his bitch. The base of his scythe didn't so much as leave the ground as I lashed out at him. A mere side-step at the right moment was enough to evade me completely. Enraged, I followed up with a solid kick, but caught nothing but the handle of the scythe.

It was the necromancer's turn now. Giving the weapon a hypnotic twirl between his two hands, he broke into a series of quick jabs, the curved hook on the end narrowly missing my flesh. The first just about grazed my throat. The next danced dangerously close to the spot where he'd wounded me previously. I was so focused on dodging the sharp end that I didn't notice it when he twisted the handle in his grip and knocked my feet out from under me. I kissed the ground with a groan.

And had I not begun to roll just then I'd have caught a face-full of scythe.

To anyone watching I must've seemed awfully outclassed. I'd spent the bulk of the encounter dodging and rolling away from him, not half the hero I'd pretended to be going into this. That was probably why Kanta decided to jump into the fight.

“I told you not to interfere!” I said, gaining my feet.

She wasn't listening. She raised her trident and parried Agamemnon's scythe with no little trouble, baring her teeth. The three-pronged weapon in her grasp creaked slightly beneath the weight of the scythe, as though it were being bent out of shape, but Kanta held her ground and readied her next strike as Agamemnon pulled away.

It was pretty clear that I was going to need a weapon with some reach if I was going to compete with the necromancer. I glanced around in search of one I might borrow. While Kanta had the enemy distracted, I turned around and smacked the badass bone sword out of Percy's hands.

“Hey!” he warned, scrambling for it, “What do you think you're doing? T-that's not a good idea!”

When I picked it up off of the ground and tried to hold it like I'd seen characters in Lord of the Rings do, I understood why.

“Holy shit!” I felt like I'd just grabbed a hot curling iron. The skin on my palms sizzled away at once and boiling blood began to dribble from the fresh wounds. I dropped the sword and cursed, waving my hands around in the air to try and stop the burning. Not that it worked. My hands looked like they'd been left on a hot grill all day. “What the hell is wrong with your sword?” I asked.

“You can't wield it! That blade was forged in the light, blessed. A demon can't use it!” he barked, grabbing up the weapon by the hilt and then frowning as he took to picking off the little bits of my charred flesh that still clung to it.

At that moment, all eyes were on my smarting, incompetent ass, and the necromancer made full use of the distraction I'd provided.

The bottom of his scythe ended up in Kanta's ribs. He brought it up in a fluid arc, and the moment it connected I heard the popping of bone. Her face went white and the breath vacated her lungs. Unable to hold onto the trident or to support her weight, she crashed to the ground. Perhaps we should've been thankful that he hadn't used the sharp end of the thing, however the end result of the blow was the same. She was out of the fight.

Balling my parboiled fists, I winced through the pain and made a running jump for the necromancer. He was already working on a counterattack, though. He raised the scythe up high and brought it down like a hammer. It turned out he wasn't aiming for me; he let the glimmering blade strike the ground. It sank into the soil, producing a shock-wave like a small earthquake and sending everyone, allies and zombies alike, onto their asses. Trees all around us began to fracture and large cracks formed in the ground.

I heard the sound of the earth splitting; a deafening noise as of rock being sheared apart. The spot where Agamemnon's weapon had struck the ground gave way to a deep crevasse, and the surrounding land began to tumble into it. A few zombies fell into the yawning chasm, and Joe, too, very nearly lost his footing and went in headfirst. The necromancer had effectively split the battlefield in two, separating Kanta and I from the others. The two of us were surrounded by zombies and overshadowed by the titan form of Agamemnon.

I think it was at that moment, specifically, that I realized what it was we were up against here. This guy could raise the dead and seriously wound a nigh unkillable creature like myself, but that was just the start of it. His strength was not the kind that could be described in mere words. Looking up at him as dust and smoke circulated through the air in a choking haze, I saw him for what he was.

A god.

Agamemnon raised the scythe and his minions took that as an invitation to seize Kanta and I. The two of us couldn't put up a fight against the dozens of hands that now locked onto us, and we were lifted away from the site in a zombified mosh pit. I struggled as I watched Joe, Percy and the commandos getting similarly swarmed. They couldn't fight them off fast enough; the undead came from underneath them, sailed through the air on the shoulders of their fellows and closed in from every angle. Within seconds they'd be completely covered in zombies, paralyzed and helpless.

I tried crying out to them, to break free, but it was no use. We were being carried off by the swarm, deeper into the woods, with Agamemnon at the head of the procession.

Despite all the noise of the shambling horde and the pain that still seized her, Kanta found it in herself to scowl at me and spit in my face. “You... This is your fault. You did this. You ruined everything!”

I knew she was right.

EIGHTEEN

Either the zombies were getting tired or they were just plain lazy. After carrying us for nearly a mile, the undead took to dragging us through the woods. Agamemnon motioned to a dark building up ahead. It was rather small, two stories, and looked like it'd been shuttered for ages. Probably an old station used by park rangers. The windows were all busted out and it teemed with still more zombies. A faint glow came from the inside.

Kanta and I were dragged to the threshold of this building and shoved forcefully inside by our captors. Agamemnon stopped just inside and handed off a pair of thick, steel manacles which the zombies locked around our wrists without even having to be told. All the while he never let go of the scythe; he kept it in one hand at all times, seemed unwilling to let it out of his sight. Holding onto that thing all the time, I wondered how the guy managed to take a shit.

I recognized the manacles I was wearing. Thick metal, etched with complicated magical seals. These were the same kinds of chains that the Veiled Order used. Back when I'd first received the demon's heart, they'd leashed me down with these to my hospital bed. Whenever the new moon came around and Gadreel came out to play in full force, I had to be put into isolation, and manacles like these were also utilized. I tensed my muscles, gave them a little yank as the zombies used them to drag me and Kanta forward, but knew better than to think I could break them. These things were incredibly tough.

The inside of the building was pretty dim, and there wasn't much to look at. A few clusters of ambling undead, some long-abandoned furniture and little else. Agamemnon threw open a door and began leading us down a set of stairs. The steps sagged as the mass of zombies ushered us down. A  draft passed through, temporarily knocking the smell of rotting flesh from my nostrils. It smelled of dampness. This is a basement of some kind.

Sure enough, the floors were wet, dirty concrete and the walls were made of ruddy bricks. The ceiling was a collection of dusty wooden beams and featured two solitary light bulbs, which provided the only light we had to see by.

Agamemnon motioned to his followers and both Kanta and I were led to the far side of the room. Two deep-set silver anchors were fixed into the bricks in the wall, and the zombies obediently linked the ends of our manacles to them. We were leashed to the wall now, side-by-side, and the necromancer paused before us to admire his catch.

“Shouldn't you have blindfolded us first? It's poor form to just lead your enemies on a guided tour to your secret hideout, no?” I clicked my tongue, giving the chains on my wrists a jingle. “I didn't take you for an amateur.”

Agamemnon gave a little wave of his hand. “It matters not. The two of you won't live long enough to spread this information. I promise you that.”

Nothing in his expression told me he was kidding. I wasn't sure just how the end would come, but that he planned on killing us had been plain before he'd so much as opened his mouth.

“Why are you doing this?” asked Kanta, panting. Now and then she'd place a hand on her side, the busted ribs swimming around in her abdomen causing a steady ache. “Why do you practice such disgusting magic, necromancer?”

This drew Agamemnon's ire, and he stooped down till his nose was very nearly pressed to Kanta's. “Watch your mouth. The art of death magic is profound. That your masters have sought to silence its prophets is only proof of their foolishness.” He drew in a deep breath, shifting the scythe from one hand to the other. “You ask me why I wish to start a war, but never ask yourself why you fight for the real aggressors. Those dogs that sign your paychecks are the true villains in all of this. The denizens of the Beyond have been sequestered for too long to the periphery of human affairs. No longer. I intend to topple the world of men, to invite the world of darkness into this sphere of entity you so cherish. Mankind, lowly mankind, was never intended to be so shielded from the works of the Beyond. The Veiled Order and their ilk have long fought to separate the two worlds, but when I'm through the gap will be closed and we will have returned to the natural state of things. Once, in the primordial ages, mankind co-existed with denizens of the Beyond. But now we have the likes of you regularly denigrating the world of death. Men were never intended to thrive in this way, to be master of their dominion. Men have grown too prideful. Thankfully, I have taken up this war and intend to lead the rightful masters of this world back from the darkness. I will shape this world into something new, and will lord over it with an iron fist for eternity.”

I didn't know what all of that meant, exactly, but it came across as more than a little sententious. “Fascinating,” I said. “Funny how you talk shit about humans so readily... you mean to tell me that you aren't human yourself?”

The necromancer's eyes cut into me with such intensity that my heart began to thrash in protest. “I was a man, once. Now? I am the frontrunner in a holy crusade.” Stepping away from the two of us, Agamemnon scanned the dank room. “I will return very shortly with whatever remains of your friends,” he said, sporting a devilish grin. “If my servants haven't already dismembered them then I shall lead them here to this very room and slit their throats before your eyes. How would you like to watch me raise them, to bring their souls under my sway?”

I loosed a callous laugh, but in all honesty I was scared out of my mind. Just picturing my buddy Joe getting hauled in here and turned into one of those things... It was the stuff of nightmares for me. I wasn't going to let him know it, though. I wouldn't give him the pleasure. Agamemnon was a creature who thrived on the suffering of others. He acted like he'd transcended his humanity, become something superior, but in fact he was the lowest of the low. He was genocidal dog shit with a flashy weapon. “You act like you're the master of death, but at the end of the day you're just a poser with a powerful weapon. If not for that scythe you'd be nothing. Face it.”

Agamemnon's expression shifted into more thoughtful territory, as though he were actually considering my words and giving them weight. “Are you so ready to be delivered into the hellfire?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “I thought that I might kill you and bring you back as a thrall, but being a Demon-Heart, I suppose you'll end up in Hell when you die, won't you?” He nodded. “Your eternity of suffering begins at my say-so. You'd do well to remember that.”

I gulped and nearly lost my footing. “W-what's that?”

Agamemnon continued, pacing slowly towards the stairs. I could hear his minions marching around loudly in the upper stories. There were some posted up at the basement entrance, standing sentry like rotting statues. “I'd heard rumor that the Veiled Order had created a Demon-Heart. Funny that they would do something so grotesque. They were probably desperate to stay relevant. At any rate, I think I'll keep you alive a while longer. I reckon you're worth something to your masters. They'll come for you, and when they do, I'll strike them dead. You'll live just long enough to see everyone you care about raised from the dead-- to see them take on a glorious new life under my control.”

“Shut up!” I barked. “That's enough. Undo these shackles and we'll see how tough you are.”

Agamemnon said nothing. I was simply an annoyance to him, a fly buzzing around. He walked back towards us, extending the blade of the scythe towards Kanta. “You, young lady... I rather doubt your worth to the organization.” He touched her cheek with the cold tip of the scythe. Had he done it any harder he'd have drawn blood. Kanta's legs quivered and her eyes went blank. I knew exactly what she was feeling; it was that cold, fatigued feeling that had washed over me every time I'd made contact with the scythe. “Perhaps the Demon-Heart would like me to demonstrate my skill... perhaps I should take your life and show him the extent of my power, yes? It might even provoke some reverence in him.”

I lost it. I could take his shit, but watching him threaten someone else pushed me over the edge. I needed out of these chains, and fast. I did the first thing that came to mind; I pulled the chain on my right arm taut and spit on it. The acid would probably take a while to eat through the metal, but--

Agamemnon laughed. The acid wasn't working. My steaming spit dropped off of the chains, leaving them untarnished, and hit the floor below, where it fizzled and burnt away a bit of the concrete. “Didn't you think I'd learn my lesson after the first time you used that trick? Those manacles won't be broken by your feeble tricks, demon. Why don't you sit tight and think about the eternity of damnation still ahead of you? I'll be back soon, and I promise to bring some familiar faces.” With that, he started up the stairs. Kanta and I were left in the cellar alone, with a pair of zombies standing guard at the top of the stairwell.

As the necromancer's footfalls faded, I cursed under my breath, struggling against the chains. “Do you know any way we can bust out of these?” I asked, turning to Kanta.

She'd recovered from the spot of fatigue and was looking at me with sheer, unfiltered anger now. She didn't reply, couldn't bring herself to talk to me. There could be no doubt that she hated Agamemnon, but as I stood there next to her in the basement of this old building, I got the distinct impression that she hated me more.

“L-look,” I began. “I'm sorry about this. All of it. I fucked up, and I can totally own that, all right? I've been... irresponsible lately. I get it. And if you hate me, then I don't blame you. But we need to get the hell out of here! Do you know any way that we can bust out of these?”

Her hateful gaze was unwavering. At that moment she was probably imagining me getting singed by hellfire for all eternity.

Which brought to mind another thing: Had Agamemnon been serious? Was I really doomed to Hell upon death because I was a Demon-Heart? Of everything that'd been discussed in the past few minutes, that was not the least concerning tidbit. No one at the Veiled Order had mentioned that part of the bargain... “Say,” I said, my eyes softening. “You're an exorcist and all of that, so I imagine you know a good deal about demons. Is it true? Is Agamemnon right about me going to Hell when I die because I'm a Demon-Heart? I just never really expected that, and when they transplanted this heart in me, well...”

Kanta's face was contorted into a sick grin. “Oh, hell yeah. That's one-hundred percent true. And it's the only silver lining in all of this. If the whole world has to go to shit, then at the very least you'll be getting manhandled in Hell till the end of time for what you've done.”

For those of you playing at home, here's a recap: I fucked things up in the field, possibly got Joe, Percy and a number of Veiled Order commandos murdered by zombies, and then got Kanta and myself captured by the necromancer, so that we could be used as bait.

But that apparently wasn't bad enough. Oh, no, things just had to keep getting shittier. The necromancer had let drop a little gem that I'd have really liked to know before signing on the dotted line.

When I died-- and considering the jam we were in, that would probably happen sooner that I'd like-- I was Hell-bound. That's right; my having a demon's heart was a one-way ticket to Hell.

Excellent.

***

The time on my cellphone kept ticking on. We'd been down in the cellar for almost an hour, sitting in silence, by the time Kanta finally agreed to talk to me. And it was only so that she could call me an asshole.

There was no cell reception; believe me, I checked. How it was that a secret society's work issue phone couldn't get reception from a metropark was beyond me, but being stuck in a basement probably wasn't helping things. That, and if he was smart, Agamemnon was probably fucking with the city's communications to make it harder for his enemies to mobilize against him.

“So...” I sat down and stretched my legs against the cold concrete, “what ya thinkin'?”

“Shut the fuck up,” spat Kanta, arms crossed. She paced from side to side, the chains limiting her movement to a small area.

This imprisonment in the cellar was giving me way too much time to think. Of course I was thinking about the whole Hell thing. That was a bummer. But outside this building there was a war brewing, and everyone I knew and cared about was likely to get caught up in it. I'd failed our entire team, called too much attention to us in the woods. Had I slowed down and followed everyone else's lead, then perhaps we wouldn't have gotten swarmed by undead. Had I not insisted on engaging Agamemnon, then maybe we could have gotten out of there. Joe and Percy had been hit by a tsunami of zombies when last I'd seen them. I hoped that they'd pulled through... but somehow I didn't think they had. Tough as they were, the odds were stacked against them.

What would happen once the Veiled Order had fallen? When people like Joe, Kanta and I were dead and gone, what would mankind do against Agamemnon's forces? I tried to picture this “glorious” new world he talked about, what Detroit would look like if he got his way. No matter how I envisioned it, it wasn't pretty.

I thought repeatedly about my own fault in all of this, about how I'd let the mission go to my head and sealed the fate of everyone on the team. A flashy lightning strike had seemed like a good idea at the time, but in retrospect it'd been utterly careless. And of course, I'd tried taking on the necromancer solo again. Not the best idea. The fact that Agamemnon walked on higher ground and that only the concerted effort of many could stop him was finally sinking in. Too little, too late.

I didn't have the right stuff to take on this threat alone. It was painfully clear. The cost in figuring that out had been awfully high, though. The Veiled Order was a huge organization; it was possible that they'd find some other members who could take on Agamemnon, and even win. But the way Kubo and Amundsen had acted, I somehow doubted it. They'd stuck me and the others on the case from the get-go because they probably thought we had the best chance at victory. I felt like an ass for letting them down, for letting the whole city down.

“We can't just sit here,” I said. I didn't even particularly care if Kanta was listening. I was used to her simply ignoring me anyway, but on the off chance that I could drag her into a dialogue I kept on speaking. “I made a mistake... OK, I made a lot of mistakes. But there's so much hanging in the balance here. While we sit around the city could be getting hammered by zombies. This battle isn't about my pride... it's much more than that. The world's hanging in the balance.”

Kanta rolled her eyes and rattled her chains. “Funny how you're only just now realizing that. But you're too fucking late. Really, what was the Chief thinking, granting you so much power? You're obviously a hotheaded rookie. You have no place on a mission like this one except as a foot soldier.”

“Maybe,” I offered, “but this whole thing... it's more complicated than that. I died a while back, did you know that? I died, got killed by witches, and the only reason I'm sitting here now is because they stuck a demon's heart in me. When I agreed to the procedure I had no idea what would happen. I sure as hell never imagined this.” I sighed. “I'm willing to own up to my mistakes in all of this, but it's not like I was coached on the proper way to hunt and kill a necromancer. I was thrust into this new life, didn't even know about real magic till a few months back. Honestly, it's a shame they didn't give this heart to someone a little wiser and less arrogant than me. All I managed to do with it is fuck everything up. Oh, and apparently earn myself a trip straight to Hell upon checking out. That was welcome news, let me tell you. I might've reconsidered the transplant if I'd known about that nugget beforehand.”

The look on Kanta's face wasn't anger, exactly. For the first time since we'd been taken prisoner, I noted something like surprise in her features. “When we first met,” she admitted, “I didn't know you were a Demon-Heart. Back at headquarters, I was under the impression that the Veiled Order had recruited a possessed man. I guess that explains why my exorcism didn't work. Sorry about that.” She shrugged. “Anyhow, creating a Demon-Heart is absolutely tasteless. It's barbaric, frankly. Burdening a human being with that kind of...” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Kanta wasn't offering pity, but at least I had her talking now. “Well, what about you? How did you end up in this mess, doing the whole exorcism thing?”

She arched a brow. “Really? You want to get into that now?”

I gave the restraints another tug. They didn't give in the least. “Yup, why not? Have to fill the time with something.”

Kneeling down on the floor, Kanta smoothed out the edges of her tattered sari. “Maybe I was harder on you in the beginning because I have some personal experience with demons.” She gulped, her eyes going distant in reminisce. “When I was a little girl, I was possessed by a demon. My parents gave me up to the monks of a small temple and never came back for me. I guess they thought I was spiritually dirty, hopeless, a lost cause. Could have been worse... I know of some cases where children are killed by their parents to purge the demons. Not everyone in India is like that, of course. But in some areas these superstitions persist, and...” She cleared her throat. “The monks got rid of the demon, but I've never forgotten how it felt to have that thing inside of me. With no family to go back to and nothing else in my life to fill my time, I began studying at the temple and was taught the rites of exorcism. Among other tricks...”

“I see. And when did you start working for the Veiled Order?” I asked.

“The head priest at the temple was actually a member of the Order. When the organization needed an exorcist, he referred me, and the rest is history. I'm not a full-fledged member of the Order, just a reliable contractor. They seek me out when they need my services, and this time I just so happened to be in the area, so...”

I smirked. “You had me fooled at the party. I thought for sure you were an exchange student. Even had the accent down and everything.”

Kanta laughed, but the sound that left her lips wasn't exactly a happy one. “About that; I'd sensed your demonic energy from afar and needed an in. My attempt at an exorcism that night was the result of careful planning. I'm used to lying about the exchange student thing, and your friends bought it. Of course, if I'd known you were with the Veiled Order I wouldn't have gone through with it...”

“And your buddy, Percy? Is he, like, your boyfriend or something?”

The fire was back in her eyes. “No,” she said, staring daggers. “We've just worked together in the past. We were both in town at the time. The Veiled Order wanted to get ahold of anyone they could to face this threat and the two of us just happened to be close by. We work well together; Percy's a talented fighter. He traveled the country for years with his father, hunting werewolves and other beasts. He's seen more in his years than most people twice his age. That sword of his is a blessed weapon, which is why you couldn't hold it.”

“Good to know,” I said, rubbing at my palms. The wounds had healed, but I could still feel the skin tingling from the burns. “So... these chains here. Is there really no way to break them?”

Her brow was furrowed in thought. “Pretty much. A powerful spell can destroy them, but I don't know how to go about it.”

I surveyed the wall behind us, looked to the new, metal anchors that'd been fastened to the grotty bricks. Suddenly, I had an idea. The chains were never going to give, but what about the bricks, or the anchors? The mortar between the bricks was cracked and discolored. If we worked at breaking up the wall itself, then perhaps we'd be able to loose the chains and escape. We could worry about removing the manacles themselves later. “That wall doesn't look too tough,” I said, nodding to the anchors. “I bet if we knock out the bricks surrounding the anchors we can pull the whole thing out of the wall and escape.”

Kanta looked over the bricks, shaking her head. “I don't know... it could work, but...”

“That trident trick of yours. Can you summon up that weapon and start breaking up the bricks? I'll tug on them and try to loosen them up more with my spit. How about that?” I stored up some spit in my mouth and aimed for the anchors in the wall.

To my surprise, it worked even better than I'd anticipated. The chains were enchanted and immune to my acid spit, however the anchors holding them in place were seemingly ordinary. The metal began to corrode at once, and though I knew it would take several mouthfuls of demon spit to get the job done, it was clear we had a chance.

Watching my progress excitedly, Kanta reached up and plucked a hair from her head. As before, the strand of dark hair transformed into a gleaming metal trident.

One of these days she was going to have to teach me that trick.

Rearing back as best she could in her restraints, she cleaved at the metal anchors holding my chains in place, striking the parts that'd been weakened by my corrosive spit. Blow after blow, more of the steel was broken away. Her efforts were noisy, and I was afraid that the zombies upstairs might hear what was going on, but I'd worry about them when the time came. While Kanta bashed the anchors, I tensed my arm and pulled at the chains.

The anchor gave way with a crack and the end of the chain hit the ground. “Hell yeah! That's one. Just three more to go and we'll be out of here. Thank God Agamemnon's a cheap-ass. He bought the enchanted manacles but couldn't go the extra mile for better anchors, eh? Probably picked this shit up at the hardware store.”

Kanta, panting, turned her attention to my next anchor. “Spit on it,” she said.

Clearing my sinuses, I hawked a big, loud one onto the steel anchor. The metal began to sizzle and spark, and like the last one it was quickly eaten away. With it thoroughly weakened, Kanta was free to go to town, and started hacking at it with her beastly trident. The thing snapped and my chains clattered to the ground.

I was free.

All that was left now was to bust Kanta's anchors and we'd be all set. My mouth was getting a little dry from all of the spitting, but I kneeled down and faced the metal loops, working up a good bit of spittle. My heart began to race, and a sinister smile played across my lips.

That smug necromancer had left us down here, certain that his restraints could do the job. Like the bully on the playground, though, he'd underestimated me.

Underestimated us.

We were back in the fight, in a big way. And even if the two of us were too late to save the world as Agamemnon had haughtily claimed, we were going to make his life hell.

Most importantly, we were all going to do it together.

Joe, Percy... hold on, guys. We're coming for you.

NINETEEN

I drooled all over both of Kanta's anchors like a dog and the metal began to corrode. She started whacking at the weakened links for everything she was worth. The tips of the trident were becoming misshapen for the repeated blows, and the racket she was causing was immense. It didn't matter; the only thing the two of us had on our minds was busting out of there. Our approach might've been a little inelegant, but it would be fast. The horde waiting for us throughout the building was of no concern. I felt like I could cleave through a million zombies just then.

The only thing I was worried about was the necromancer.

If Agamemnon should return before we could escape the building, then we risked getting killed on the spot. Hungry for revenge as I was at that moment, I wasn't foolish enough to think that the two of us would be able to stop the necromancer. Not by ourselves. We'd need more help to get that job done.

Kanta was held to the wall by just one rapidly-corroding anchor when, suddenly, there arose a commotion in the upstairs.

Fuck, I thought. So close. The moans of zombies sounded and loud thuds rattled the floors above. The undead had heard the commotion and were going to come down to investigate. I wasn't leashed to the wall anymore, but this wasn't exactly how I'd hoped to take on the pack of mongrels that awaited us. I spit on the final anchor repeatedly while Kanta brought her trident down again and again. Sparks flew and cottonmouth prevailed.

Then we heard the footsteps, louder and more confident than the rest. Those weren't coming from a shambling minion.

Agamemnon was back.

“Shit, that's him!” cried Kanta. “We've got to hurry!”

Gadreel punched me in the chest from the inside, repeatedly, while I tried to bust apart the last remnants of the anchor holding Kanta to the wall. The thing finally broke, but as it did so I heard the door to the cellar opening, followed by an ominous thud.

He was here.

Summoning up as much power as I could muster, I prepared to face Agamemnon once again. There was no way this could end well; Kanta and I were about to get served and we both knew it. But it didn't matter. The two of us were willing to go down fighting; it was an unspoken vow. As much as I wanted to escape, to get away from here with my life and evade the eternity of hellfire that awaited me in the next life, I knew I had to stand and fight. If there was any chance that we might stop, or even slow down the necromancer, then we had to take it.

The heavy steps started coming down the stairs, and before the necromancer came into view I whipped up the chain still clinging to my right arm and let it crack like a whip.

What it struck was not the necromancer, but the headless corpse of a zombie, which tumbled down onto the cellar floor.

Soon thereafter, descended Chief Kubo.

I'd never been so happy to see the guy. I about cried, honest to God, when he came strolling down the stairs with a gore-slick machete in hand. “C-chief?” I uttered, scarcely able to believe what I was seeing.

Kubo wiped at his brow, appraising us with a grin. With that machete in hand and his hair all disheveled, he almost looked like a messy kid who'd been making mud pies in the backyard all day. “In the flesh,” he said, glancing at the chains we wore. He reached into his torn-up jacket and removed the well-worn stack of magical seals. Thumbing through them he selected a pair and threw them down upon the chains.

In an instant, the formerly unbreakable manacles began to rust. With a little effort we were able to break them completely. Kanta massaged her wrists and glanced nervously up the stairs. “H-how did you find this place? And... and...”

Kubo laughed. “Well, the Veiled Order hasn't got the Scythe of Thanatos, but we do have Black Hawk helicopters and thermal imaging technology.” He reached out and slugged me in the arm; not hard enough to seriously hurt me, but harder than he would have done in jest. “Plus, you can thank this idiot here. I had a trace on him this whole time. I figured he'd fuck everything up and get himself in trouble, so I made sure to tag him before he left headquarters. A bit of insurance. Would have been easier if he hadn't gotten your asses captured, though.”

My head was spinning. “G-gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Chief.”

“Don't sweat it, Lucy. It all worked out in the end. We've got the building covered by armed choppers, but we still haven't got the manpower to fight off the entire horde. We need to get out of here quickly and regroup at HQ.”

“Where's Joe?” I asked.

“And Percy?” added Kanta.

Kubo's expression hardened a little. “That I don't know. We sent in some reinforcements but it's going to be hard to say how they fared.” He pointed at the stairs. “Let's beat it.”

***

Hiking up the stairs, I was stunned at the carnage that surrounded us. Kubo and a handful of commandos had managed to storm the place and carve up the undead Agamemnon had left behind as guards. We were lucky the necromancer had cut corners; if he'd left a more substantial force behind the Chief's rescue wouldn't have been so neat and tidy. We exited the building and made our way out into the field, where a black helicopter was waiting for us.

Kubo yanked open the door and waved us into the chopper. “Inside, both of you. Haven't got a minute to lose.”

“W-whoa, we really get to ride in this?” I asked. “I've never been inside a helicopter! This is awesome! Ever since I was a kid I've wanted--”

Kanta elbowed me in the side. “Now's not the time to be a fanboy.” Grimacing, she clutched at her ribs and entered the chopper, sitting next to the Chief. Once I was seated, the door was shut and the pilot, a commando by the name of Harris, started her up.

“You hurt badly?” asked Kubo, glancing at Kanta's side.

“Just a busted rib,” she replied. “I've had worse.”

I smirked. She's had worse? Damn... tough as nails. I looked through the window as we lifted off; the building below us, and the surrounding woods, shrank into the distance. “This is so damn cool.”

Kubo cleaned off his machete on his pant leg. “We're going to fly in and survey the area. Joe, Percy and a team of troopers were engaged with the enemy. We supported them with some helicopter fire, but we aren't sure how things turned out. We did advise them to flee, and blew a pretty good chunk out of the woods down there to help them build a running start. They weren't too far from the SUVs when last we sighted them.”

I shook my head. “No, Chief. Agamemnon left the compound back there and said he was coming back for them. I don't know if he actually found them, but--” A glimpse at the forest below showed me a landscape scored in ribbons of fire. Large swaths of vegetation were burning, and if I really squinted I could make out small pockets of what appeared to be disoriented zombies. From up here I couldn't make out much else. If Joe, Percy and the rest had survived, then they were probably further out. I hoped that they'd made it out of the woods before the necromancer got to them.

I donned a wicked smile as I imagined Agamemnon failing to capture Joe and the others. And then he'd be going back to his little outpost in the woods, to discover Kanta and I missing.

The necromancer still had the upper hand, but he was having a pretty shitty day, all things considered.

Down below, a parking lot came into view. There, at the very edge of the park, were the SUVs we'd left behind on our march into the woods. Several commandos were stationed beside them, unloading their guns into a wall of incoming undead. A few had loaded up their flamethrowers and were keeping the advancing army from overcoming the vehicles.

And who did I spy with my little eye? It was none other than Joe, holding the front line and manipulating the bursts of fire coming through the flamethrowers. He rained fire down upon the undead, toasting them up like s'mores. From way up in the air he looked rough and exhausted. But he was very much alive.

“There they are!” I said, motioning to the lot. “Let me out, Chief! I'll take it from here.” I could see someone holding a big sword down there, too. Percy was leaning against one of the vehicles, appearing rougher than Joe. The way he held himself up on the hood, feebly holding out his sword, told me he'd been wounded, perhaps seriously.

There wasn't much time. Kubo instructed Harris to lower the chopper. The plan was to have me and Kubo jump down and help beat back the horde while the others piled into the SUVs and drove off. Then, when everyone else was out of harm's way, Kubo and I would get picked up by the whirlybird and sail off into the night like proper action movie heroes.

Well, that would have been cooler than the actual plan, anyway.

“Once the others have made it out, you and me will take the last SUV, Lucy,” said Kubo. “No theatrics. We just want to get everyone safe and back to HQ. Got it?”

“Got it.” I threw open the door and jumped out of the chopper at around twenty feet, landing hard on the pavement below. Kubo waited till it hovered a little lower, and ended up hitting the roof of an SUV.

The fight was on. Harris and Kanta remained in the helicopter, hovering twenty or thirty feet up and distracting the zombies with pot-shots from an assault rifle while Kubo and I swooped in like relief pitchers. Thankfully, there was no sign of the necromancer. Apparently he'd been held up somewhere in the woods.

Hammering through a ripe zombie head with my knuckles, I pulled to the front lines of the fray and used up some of that aggression I'd built up during my imprisonment. The wall of fire sent up by the flamethrowers made the creatures easier to manage; a few stragglers made it through the line, but the minute they started for the SUVs or the handful of rifle-wielding commandos, I stepped in to dismember them.

Kubo smacked the blade of his machete against the roof of the SUV, like a dinner bell. “Pull back!” he shouted. “Get inside, we're out of here!” He dropped down onto the pavement and started throwing open the doors, waving nearby commandos inside. They were told to abandon their weapons to make room, and the beleaguered forces packed themselves into the vehicle like sardines. Percy was helped in, hobbling on one leg, and the door was shut behind him. That was one SUV's worth of guys. The vehicle peeled out of the lot. Now the only ones left were the guys with the flamethrowers, Joe, Kubo and I.

Joe's face lit up as he noticed me coming up on his six. “Fuck,” he said, pointing at me. “I never thought I'd say it, but I sure am glad to see your stupid ass, Lucy.”

I laughed aloud, stopping a sprinting zombie with a pound to the face. A bit of black blood leapt from the newly-hewn cavern in the thing's skull and landed straight on my tongue.

Words just can't convey how shitty that tasted.

Joe started falling back, edging his way over to a nearby SUV while still manipulating the flames within his reach. The three guys with flamethrowers started sending out intermittent bursts, intended to scare the remaining undead into a retreat. The plan would have worked perfectly if all hell hadn't broken lose at that very moment.

That mother of all fuckers, Agamemnon, rode in just then on a wave of zombies. No, I really mean it; the guy stood atop a roiling heap of zombified bodies, twenty or thirty feet high, as though he were surfing in on the Great Wave Off Kanagawa. Scythe extended over his head, the mountain of undead surged into the sky, allowing him just enough reach to neatly pierce the exterior of the Black Hawk that was supposed to be our air support.

Have you ever seen a Black Hawk helicopter explode? Not a spectacle I'd recommend to the faint of heart. Especially from up-close. When the thing fell into two pieces and began sailing towards the ground, I froze in place. My momentary fear of getting struck by a few tons of wreckage was literally blown away as the chopper erupted into separate balls of flame. Kubo and I hit the pavement and were pelted in molten debris. The bang was so loud I wasn't sure I'd ever hear again, and the initial flash was so bright I felt like my eyes were being poached in their sockets.

The remaining SUVs were crushed by flaming wreckage, and then also exploded. As did the cases full of weapons and ammunition. The guys with the flamethrowers? Yeah, they exploded too, as their fuel tanks were damaged.

The whole parking lot was transformed into an inferno, and lingering on its very edge was a mountainous heap of contorted, rotting bodies. Agamemnon leered down at his work from on high.

He hadn't been late after all. He'd been just in time to wreak havoc and ruin everything we'd worked to accomplish. There'd be no rescue, no pulling one over on him. This had all been calculated. When he'd promised to use Kanta and I as bait, he'd meant it.

Kanta! She'd been in the helicopter. Rolling onto my back, I managed to sit up and survey the incredible devastation. Kubo and Joe were within arm's reach of me, and somehow the two of them were unscathed. Joe's powers were probably to thank for that. He had his hands up, and his dizzy eyes were trying to focus on keeping the encroaching flames off of us. He looked severely dazed, like the blast had knocked him senseless, and I could tell he was close to passing out at any moment. Kubo, too, was white in the face and barely able to stand.

Knowing we had little time before the necromancer started picking off survivors, I grabbed up both Joe and Kubo, threw their shell-shocked bodies over my shoulders, and bounded out of the flames. I took off running through the parking lot, my clothes and hair singed.

Percy and the guys in his SUV had made it out in time, just barely. But Kanta and the others were done for. I felt more awful than I can describe. The two of us had only just been getting to know each other, had only minutes ago begun to work as allies. This wasn't how things were supposed to go down, and as I turned and watched the mountain of surging dead return to the forest, I felt the most potent hatred I'd ever known.

I kept on running till we were more than a mile from the park, and then I set Kubo and Joe down in the grass. They moaned, palming at their eyes and ears like fussy babies.

“H-headquarters,” mumbled Kubo. “Need to... need to get back to headquarters.”

Joe sat up and clutched his knees. “How did... how did...” He couldn't finish the thought.

I knew what he was asking, though. He wanted to know how that goddamned necromancer had pulled it off. It wasn't a question any of us could answer. He was possessed of powers far beyond anything the three of us had encountered. If he was capable of stunts like that one, then there were really no limits to what he could do. Detroit would most likely fall to his might, and every other city in the Midwest would soon follow.

We were going to be living in the United States of Agamemnon very soon now, I feared.

TWENTY

The three of us limped down the street, narrowly avoiding an entire fleet of fire engines speeding towards the park. Man, that would be a wild scene. What would the newspapers have to say about this mess? SECRET SOCIETY'S HELICOPTER SMACKED DOWN BY KING OF ZOMBIES? That is, if we even had any newspapers come tomorrow morning...

“We need to get out of the street, to some place more private,” said Kubo. “Things could go south any second now, and we need to hole up somewhere before Agamemnon's guys start looking for us.” He worked his jaw over in his hand. “Can't speak for the two of you, but I'm not going to get far without a breather.”

I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard the Chief talk like that. He'd always been one to charge ahead, no matter the cost. With Kubo there was never any stopping till the job was done. Possibly he'd really run himself into the ground this time around, or maybe the gravity of the situation had him reconsidering his usually relentless approach. At any rate, I agreed with him. Joe was limping along like one of the zombies. Some rest and food were in order. Kubo could try and get ahold of Amundsen while we got our strength back, maybe arrange transport to HQ.

Then again, after all we'd seen, was HQ really all that safe? A wave of rampaging zombies had batted a military-grade helicopter out of the sky. Somehow I doubted that the big gates outside of the Veiled Order's complex would keep Agamemnon out.

I paused on the curb, looking around. I knew this area pretty well; across the street was a McDonald's I'd frequented as a kid. There was a shuttered department store across the street from that, where I'd once shopped for school clothes. Realizing just where I was, I had an idea.

“Hold on, guys. I think I know a place where we'll be safe. For the time being. It's private, at least.” I plucked my smart phone out of my pocket. The screen was cracked. While going through my contacts, I glanced at Kubo in my periphery. “I'm gonna need the Veiled Order to replace my phone when all this is over with.”

Kubo spat on the ground. “If there's still a Veiled Order after today, I'm sure we'll be able to work something out.”

I hit the call button and put the phone up to my ear, pacing along the edge of the curb and trying to keep my balance. There was a groggy answer on the third ring. “H-hello?”

“Hey, dad,” I said. “I know it's late, and I'm sorry for calling. I don't suppose me and some friends could stop over, could we? We're in a bit of trouble...” I hesitated. “Friend of mine got hurt and needs a place to rest for a minute. We're nearby.”

My dad yawned. “Uh... sure thing, sport. That's no biggie. I'll leave the door unlocked for ya.”

“Thanks. See you in a bit.” I hung up.

“We're going to your dad's place?” asked Joe. “He lives near here?”

I pointed past the McDonald's at the cluster of tightly-packed neighborhoods beyond. “Yep. Less than a mile that way. Come on, guys.”

***

Oh boy, where to start.

My dad, Gary Colt, is... an interesting guy. These day's he's pushing fifty and living by himself in a decent two-story house. He's got a lot of hobbies, most of them weird, and although he's friendly, most of my friends over the years have thought him kind of a douche. Chief among my dad's hobbies is his passion for model train sets. I can't tell you just how much money the guy has spent on that crap over the years; frankly, if he'd spent half that much on funding my college education then maybe I wouldn't have ended up having to take on a demon's heart just to pay off my loans.

But, I digress.

I was nervous about introducing my co-workers to my dad, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and I didn't know where else we were going to get this sort of privacy on such short notice, and free of charge.

So, we came up on my dad's place looking like hot garbage and walked onto the well-lit porch. The smell of cut grass was a friendly reminder of home, and as I pushed open the door, calling out to my father, I found the living room exactly the way I remembered it. Big-screen TV in the corner, my dad's well-worn leather recliner that he'd had since I could remember, the collection of withered potted plants that he could never seem to keep from dying. It was all there.

“Heya, sport!” came my dad's voice from the kitchen. “How're you doing?” He stopped at the dim threshold to the kitchen and watched the three of us limping inside, about as put together as day-old dog shit. His expression hardened, the closely-manicured mustache he wore cozying up to the bottom of his nose.

Here it comes. He was going to ask me why it was we looked so rough, whether I was on drugs. My dad was always one to jump to conclusions.

When all three of us had made it inside, my dad walked over and squeezed my arm. “You been lifting weights, Lucy?” He leaned out towards me and patted his paunch, hidden beneath a baggy sweater. “Take after your old man, I see.” He nodded to the dust-covered piece of half-constructed exercise equipment in the corner. “You know, I picked up that great machine a while back, the one with the Chuck Norris commercials? Once this rotator cuff of mine gets on the mend, I'm going to start using it daily. You know, they say it only takes two weeks to see results?” He slapped me playfully in the belly. “Your old man's going to be swimsuit ready in just two weeks, bud. You'd better watch out.”

I chuckled nervously, glancing at Kubo and Joe. My face burned. This was the same kind of banter he always had with me; he'd talk about his stubborn rotator cuff, about all of the exercise equipment he'd invested in. I was pretty sure that heap of dusty crap in the living room was the exact same machine he'd been talking about during my last visit.

“And these are your friends, I take it?” He held out his hand to shake. Joe and Kubo offered theirs in return, shaking awkwardly. My dad eyed them curiously but didn't say much about their disheveled appearance. “Wild night, boys?” he said, nodding knowingly. “I had a few of those in my day. If you need to sober up I've got just the thing. Made a fresh batch of peanut brittle this afternoon. Lucy's favorite.” My dad wandered into the kitchen, leaving the three of us at the door.

Joe and Kubo actually chuckled, the bastards. “I see where you get your charm, Lucy,” said Kubo, smacking me in the back. “Why don't you go fill up on candy with your daddy while the world ends?”

I frowned. Hey, say what you will about my dad, but his peanut brittle is off the hook. These assholes were talking shit without even having tasted it!

“S-sorry, dad,” I said, “we aren't here for peanut brittle. We were hoping to crash for a little bit. Joe here got hit pretty hard and, uh... needs to rest. Mind if we go down to the basement for a while and let him lay on the sofa?”

My dad was leaning over the counter, carefully portioning out three paper plates' worth of peanut brittle. My mouth watered as I watched him work. “Oh,” he began with obvious reticence. “I don't know about that, champ. I've got something down there... something I can't have you or your buddies messing with.” He shot me a stern glance, and I knew he was serious. “It would be dangerous.”

“What, is Tammy spending the night or something?” I asked. Tammy was my dad's semi-serious girlfriend. She often stayed the night, and they'd hang out in the basement till dawn messing around like teenagers and tinkering with my dad's trains. Tammy was actually a really good-looking and likable woman, and I'd be the first one to admit my dad had quite the catch on his hands if not for the fact that her breath was wretched. I don't know what was wrong with her; my best guess is that she had a serious, unrestrained case of halitosis. Her breath could strip paint, and so I tried my best not to visit when I knew she'd be around.

“No, no, she went home earlier,” he replied, handing us each a plate of brittle.

“And how is she?” I asked, shoving a piece into my mouth. Holy shit, it was good. Perfectly crunchy and very evenly-poured. The uniform thickness of the stuff was unreal. I operated in a world filled with magic now, but how the man could pour the brittle in such an even layer was simply beyond me. He'd been liberal with the peanuts this time, and had even dusted the finished product in a bit of sea salt.

My dad's hair was getting to be pretty thin so that the shiny crown of his head reflected the light coming in from over the sink. “She's fine,” he replied. “I've scheduled her for an appointment with a really good gastroenterologist this time, and I think he's going to be able to fix her up.” He cleared his throat, a little smile teasing his lips. “Do, uh... do you fellas really want to head into the basement? I'll allow it, as long as you promise not to mess with anything.”

While shoving another sheet of brittle into my mouth, I nodded fervently. I'd known this would be a part of the deal before I'd even called him.

He wanted to show us his trains.

Running for the basement door, he threw it open and led us downstairs. “Oh, just wait until you see what I've been working on, sport!”

Joe looked at me confusedly. “Is, uh.. is your dad going to show us something cool here? Like, some weapon we can use, or...” He spoke around a bolus of brittle.

Meanwhile, Kubo fell into step behind us, leaving his plate of candy on the kitchen counter.

“What do you think you're doing?” I asked him. “That brittle's a work of goddamn art.”

Kubo looked down at the plate. “I'm allergic to peanuts.”

“No shit? That sucks,” said Joe, walking over and emptying Kubo's portion onto his own plate.

We started into the basement.

TWENTY-ONE

My dad pulled on the old conductor's hat and switched on the train set with a grin.

“Dad, do you have to wear that hat every goddamn time?” I asked, shrinking into the background.

He ignored me, standing behind the enormous replica of the local railroad circuit he'd built. Having grown up in Detroit and knowing how anal my dad was about small details, I had no doubt of its accuracy. Small local landmarks, like post offices and strip malls were featured faithfully. With the turning of a knob, the cluster of trains on the track started to wheel around in a circle. He pushed a button, sounding a train whistle. “I picked up that engine there at a shop in Wisconsin. How do you like it?”

“It's, uh... cool, dad.” I tongued the caramel off of my molars and slowly made my way over to the dusty, checkered sofa on the opposite side of the room. It was cluttered with bags of junk, which I set on the floor. My dad was something of a hoarder; not serious enough to get on TV, maybe, but enough to make his basement a total clusterfuck. There were boxes in the corner of this room that hadn't been opened since I was a kid, boxes whose contents he'd have been at a complete loss to detail.

Kubo watched the train go around the track with an incredulous smile on his face, but said nothing. God, he was going to give me a lot of shit about this.

Joe sank into the dusty cushions of the sofa beside me, hacking up a lung as he did so. “Cool trains, Mr. Colt,” he said, leaning his head back. His face was covered in small nicks and burns, and what I could see of his arms beneath his shredded jacket indicated serious bruises.

Finally, my dad shut the train set off and shot me a serious look. “I'm going to head upstairs for some popcorn if anyone's interested in joining me. Trying to catch up on reruns of Seinfeld on the TiVo.”

“T-that's OK, dad. We'll be... down here.”

Slowly, my father started up the stairs. “Just, uh... don't mess with the trains, all right?”

The door closed and I loosed a great sigh.

Kubo shook his head, but I was quick to intercept him. “Don't say a fucking word.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The Chief yanked his stack of seals out and started leafing through them. Then, pulling out his cell phone, he hit a few buttons and placed a call to HQ. “This is Kubo. I made it out of the park with Joe and Lucian, but we lost a lot of men back there. The necromancer toppled the chopper and the SUVs, save one. I know that Percival Sterling and a handful of men made it out, however I don't think Kanta pulled through. Emergency personnel were headed to the site. There may be survivors.”

I could hear Amundsen on the other end. “Are you in a safe place right now? Where should we send the pick-up?”

Kubo glanced around at the cluttered basement, fighting back the urge to laugh. He pushed one of the trains around the track with his finger. “Safe place? Yeah, I think we're safe here for the time being. We're going to get a bit of rest. We're in a house on Kenwood Drive. Send along an SUV, and be discrete. I have a feeling Agamemnon's minions will be looking out for more of our vehicles.”

Amundsen promised to send someone along and hung up. With that out of the way, Kubo joined us on the sofa and massaged his eyes. “Don't suppose your dad has something to eat that isn't full of peanuts?”

“I'm sure there are some leftovers or something. I'll go look.” I rose from the sofa with a groan. Despite Gadreel's healing abilities, I still felt like a wreck. It would probably take me a few days, several big meals and a good deal of sleep to get back to one-hundred percent.

A shame that we weren't working on that sort of time.

I climbed the stairs and walked in on my dad guffawing to an episode of Seinfeld. “Mind if I look in the fridge, dad?” I asked, peeking out from the kitchen.

“Go right ahead,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the screen. He rocked back and forth in the old recliner, its stuffing poking out of busted seams, and had a big laugh, almost spilling his bowl of popcorn.

The fridge was pretty well stocked, and I wasn't shy about picking out the good stuff. A few bags of deli meat and cheese, a big Tupperware full of cantaloupe melon and a loaf of freshly baked bread would be a good start. I tucked each of the containers under my arm and prepared to head back to the basement when I caught a glance of something in the back yard and almost dropped it all on the floor.

At my dad's house, just over the kitchen sink, there's a small window looking out into the back yard. As a kid, my dad would watch my brother and I goofing off in the yard through there while doing dishes. Well, as I stood there right then, about to make off like a bandit with a few pounds of cold cuts, I froze. There was someone in the back yard. They'd mounted the chain-link fence and were now taking short, unsteady steps towards the house.

The advance was undoubtedly zombie-like. I carefully set the food down on the counter and clenched my teeth, watching as the shambling figure got closer and closer to the house. They'd made it. The zombies were fanning out into the nearby neighborhoods, ready to wreak havoc upon the unsuspecting citizens of Detroit. I'd hoped to avoid this, that a brief pit stop at my dad's would allow us time enough to rest before taking up the fight again. No such luck.

I paused near the back door, wondering if I shouldn't alert Kubo and Joe of the unwelcome visitor. No, there wasn't time for that. If the thing made it into the house, there would be chaos. It might even attack my dad. Opening the door very quietly so as not to draw attention, I slipped out into the dark yard and zeroed in on the intruder.

I broke into a sprint, racing towards the figure and meeting it in the yard before it could even get past the garden. I trampled my dad's tulips and put up my dukes, reaching out and grabbing the bastard's ragged collar.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asked the zombie in my grasp, trying to break free.

It turns out it wasn't a zombie after all. “K-kanta, is that you?” Looking her over in the moonlight, I loosened my grip and laughed. “Are you OK? I thought you were a goner!”

Kanta dusted herself off, looking like she'd been dragged to the house by a wild animal, and grimaced. “No, I made it out. When Agamemnon hit the chopper I jumped. Managed to land OK but I messed up my ankle. Can't get around as well as I'd like. I was looking for some place I could stop and rest.”

“And you found this house? That's a perfect coincidence; we were just inside, hoping to rest up a little. We have a ride coming from headquarters to pick us up soon.”

“You didn't let me finish,” she said, refusing my offer of help and limping towards the back door. “I was looking for a place to rest, but then I sensed your demon energy and figured you were alive. I followed the trail all the way here.”

That made more sense. “Glad I could help,” I said. “And the rest of the guys? Did any of them make it?”

In way of reply, she simply shook her head gravely. I didn't need the details. Didn't want them, frankly.

I opened the back door and invited Kanta inside. “Just be quiet. My dad's kind of a weird guy.”

“This is your dad's house?” she muttered, stepping into the kitchen. “Why'd you come here? If the necromancer finds you out... you could put your father in danger.”

Locking the back door, I picked up all of the food on the counter and led her on tip-toe to the cellar. Except, with her ankle being all mangled, she couldn't exactly get on tip toes and the sounds of her foot dragging across the linoleum attracted my dad's attention.

“W-who's that, sport?” asked my dad, sitting up in his chair.

“Oh, this is Kanta. She's a friend of mine, an exchange student from India,” I lied. “She hurt her ankle earlier.”

My dad grinned like a jackass. “A friend, eh? I don't suppose you're Lucy's girlfriend, are you? I tell you, that boy never introduces me to his lady friends anymore!”

Gee, dad. I wonder why that is.

I leaned in towards her. “Just play along,” I said under my breath. “It'll be easier that way.”

“Oh, yes,” said Kanta, trotting out her Indian accent. “I am the girlfriend.” My dad seemed to buy it, but had he caught the unbridled hatred in her eyes as she looked at me, even his clueless ass might've smelled a rat.

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Kanta. Make yourself at home.” With that, my dad settled back into his chair and dribbled Miller Light all over his sweater thanks to some deadpan witticism courtesy of George Costanza.

I closed the basement door and helped Kanta down the stairs, but rather than accept my help, she kicked me in the shin with her good foot and soldiered down on her own. “Why did you think that would be a good idea?” she asked. “I'm not playing along like that again.” She was in terrible pain, wincing with every sloppy step, but determined to get down on her own.

I rolled my eyes. “I'll say. You weren't even convincing. You could've felt up my muscles or something, you know?”

Joe and Kubo were startled as Kanta entered the basement. “So, you did make it,” said the Chief, getting up and appraising her mangled foot. “What happened to you out there? Encounter any more trouble after the chopper crashed?”

Kanta gave a brief report of events while I put together turkey sandwiches. “The zombies returned to the woods with the necromancer. But not before Agamemnon raised all of the dead on the scene. The dead commandos were brought back, and any corpse that hadn't been completely burnt walked off to the stronghold with him. He probably thought he'd killed all of us, and I had to lay low for quite a while. I jumped out of the helicopter just in time. Another instant and I'd have been blown to pieces. The pilot wasn't so lucky...”

For a while, we sat and ate. There wasn't really anything to talk about. We didn't have a plan in place yet and we were all too beat up to think straight. The sandwiches went down nice and easy, and I returned to the fridge for a bottle of icy Perrier, which we all split. The food brought back a little sanity, but the longer I sat there, the more hopeless I felt.

“So,” I asked Kubo. “What're we gonna do?”

Like I'd just asked him what he thought about a picture in a museum, he shrugged casually. “Beats me.”

So, that was it? The dude in charge didn't have anything to offer us? No shred of hope to cling to? No rallying cry? Were we just to sit around in my dad's basement waiting for the end of the world to unfold, then? “That's anticlimactic... and depressing. Isn't there some way to kill this guy, or to destroy that weapon?” I folded up a piece of turkey. “The way I see it, if we make that scythe of his go away, the whole thing falls apart. Trouble is, he never lets the thing out of his sight. There has to be some spell we can use to counter its powers. That thing isn't the be-all, end-all of the magical world, is it? What if we got our hands on a stronger weapon?”

“A stronger weapon?” said Kubo. “Maybe, but that sounds like a stretch. There is an expert we could consult. Mona mentioned someone-- Germaine Fox-- who knows about this sort of thing. She  wanted us to get in touch with him. I vetoed the plan because it seemed too slow to me, but considering what we're up against we may not have a choice. If anyone knows how to destroy or counter the Scythe of Thanatos, it would be this Germaine Fox. But never mind that. What we really need to figure out is how much time we've got. Agamemnon could wage an all-out attack on the city at any time.” He took a few bites of his sandwich and weighed his thoughts carefully. “He'll attack at night, I'm sure. His forces are weaker by day, so any offensives he launches will be after dark. It's getting pretty late tonight, so with any luck he and his army will be retiring soon. Still, we're working on a strict timeline.”

“Hey, Chief, what day is it today?” I asked.

“I guess it's Sunday now, why?” Kubo took a swig of Perrier.

“I was afraid of that.” Since taking on Gadreel, I'd started monitoring the calendar with a lot more closeness. In particular, I'd begun tracking the different phases of the moon. Whenever there was a new moon, the demon would take me over completely till sunrise. It was a nasty side-effect of my transplant. As a result, the Veiled Order kept me locked up in a special containment room on the night of the new moon.

Let's get one thing straight: When little old me gets carried away, running amok through the city trying to save it, stuff ends up going to shit. When Gadreel takes over, though? Man... that's a bad time. It was absolutely essential to the safety of the city that I get locked away on the night of the new moon, lest Gadreel go on a brutal tour of Detroit.

But the new moon was coming up soon. On Monday, in fact. That meant I'd be out of commission Monday night, unable to participate in the fight against Agamemnon, should he decide to launch a strike. Technically, the leaders of the Veiled Order could release me anyhow, let me take him on in the event of a widespread zombie attack. But they'd never go for it, I was certain. They'd be stupid to. The only thing it would accomplish would be a speedier destruction of the city. When Gadreel was calling the shots he wasn't exactly the nicest guy.

“I see what you're saying,” said Kubo. “The new moon's coming.” He shook his head. “We'll worry about that later. As things stand, there's no telling if we'll even make it till Monday.”

“Well, maybe we'll put a stop to all of this before then, right?” added Joe cheerfully.

Everyone in the room glared at him. “Thanks for the optimism,” replied Kanta.

I popped a few chunks of cantaloupe into my mouth and sat down on the floor cross-legged. “This guy, the one who knows about all of the old weapons and stuff. Where can we find him?”

“He lives in the Underground.” Standing up to pace, Kubo looked over my dad's replica. “You've been with me to Mona's a few times now. You remember that other path around her place? It leads to the Underground, a bustling community where denizens of the Beyond sometimes congregate. It's a seedy place.”

“Ah-ha!” I snapped my fingers. “So that's what's over there!” Kubo and Joe hadn't told me anything about that other path near Mona's cottage, simply telling me I “wasn't ready” to know. “So, what's the big deal?” I asked. “Let's go knock on his door.”

“I suppose we could send you knocking on his door.” The Chief hooked his thumbs into his pockets. “I'm going to be waist-deep in shit, trying to sort things out at HQ. You can go see him, though. I'll give you the address and you can ask around. Course, I'm not going to let you go alone.” He turned to Kanta. “You're going to be on bed rest till we can patch you up. How're you feeling, Joe?”

Joe smoothed back his chestnut-colored hair. “W-well, I'm all right, I guess. B-but...”

“Perfect. First thing in the morning, the two of you can set out to visit Germaine Fox.” Kubo looked up towards the stairs. “We should keep a lookout for our pick-up. They'll be by any minute.”

One-by-one, we all got up and started up the stairs. Kanta was last, holding onto the handrail and pulling herself up while keeping weight off of her busted ankle. “Sure you don't want some help?” I offered.

“Thanks, but I'd rather die,” she said without a hint of amusement. I believed her.

We left the basement and gathered in the living room, where my dad had been dozing off in front of the TV. “Thanks for the food, dad. We're going to be heading out soon.” I glanced timidly through the living room window at the street outside, hoping that the jet black SUV would turn up sooner, rather than later.

“No problem, champ. Any time. You should come by and visit more often, in fact. I feel like I hardly ever see you these days.” He knocked stray bits of popcorn from his sweater and stood up. “Let me know if you need anything, bud.”

I hugged him awkwardly, and he gave my lats a hard squeeze before subtly warning me about the dangers of steroid use. “Don't worry,” I told him. “These guns are all-natural.” Technically, I guess they were supernatural, but whatever. He wouldn't have believed me, and I'd have caused him a lot more grief had I explained to him that his son had taken on a demon's heart and would one day be bound for Hell.

I gulped as we broke our embrace and shuffled to the front door. The world was pressing down on my shoulders and I couldn't bear the weight of these bombshells anymore. I felt like I'd give under the strain at any moment. First, there was damnation. Me, trapped in Hell after death. I couldn't wrap my head around it no matter how many times I thought about it. And then there was the fact that we were on the verge of a war between the living and the dead. Would I ever see my dad again after this, or would his place end up getting smashed by Agamemnon's horde? Would I have to target my own father if he got resurrected by the necromancer?

For that matter, what about my brother, Conrad? I had a pretty strong feeling that, somewhere in the city, my dead older brother was shambling around with the rest of those maggots, preparing to wreak havoc. I'd seen a lot of shit tonight and killed my fair share of undead, but there were some things I still didn't feel strong enough to face, and that was one of 'em.

The entire world was about to fall to pieces, and my dad didn't have the slightest idea. He thought me and the others were just on the tail-end of a bender, looking gnarly after a rough night. He couldn't have been more off the mark. I wanted to tell him what was really going on, give him a chance to escape the pandemonium that would soon break out across Detroit.

Kubo seemed to see it in my eyes and abruptly stepped in to shut me up. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said to my father while simultaneously nudging me towards the door. “I think I see our ride.”

Kanta and Joe muttered their goodbyes and we all made our way out onto the lawn. The door closed behind us just as the headlights of a midnight-colored SUV lit up the street.

Gripping my shoulder, Kubo leaned towards me. “We don't have time to mourn what hasn't happened yet. We've got a day, at least. Let's make the best of it. Even if you tried to get him out of town, your dad would never understand.”

The Chief was right, of course. I knew that. But it didn't stop me from thinking about what we were up against and how close we were to Armageddon. This was the city I'd grown up in. I had family here, friends, memories. If Agamemnon had his way he'd tear the place cleanly off the map and then move on to the next town. Everything I'd ever cared about would be gone in a flash. I wasn't alone in that; everyone here had something or someone to lose.

The SUV pulled up to the curb. The driver got out and opened the doors so we could pile in. Kubo and Kanta sat in the middle while Joe and I got into the back. Since we'd left the basement Joe had been kind of quiet, fidgety, and I figured I knew why.

He didn't want to come with me to the Underground. Kubo was planning on sending the two of us into the shady heart of magic territory, and the thought of getting stuck with me had him feeling uneasy. Who could blame him? I'd fucked up a lot of things in the past twenty-four hours, royally, so I knew regaining his trust would be an uphill battle.

Temporarily losing his trust was one thing. I hoped that I hadn't lost his friendship, though.

The SUV took off down the road, headlights dim. Traffic was almost nonexistent at this late hour, but in the distance a commotion could be heard. We were driving around the other side of the park, and I glimpsed a point in the sky that burned a bright orange. The flames of the fallen chopper were still burning bright. The whirring of news helicopters overhead, the discordant tones of ambulances as they screamed to the scene, pierced the veil of the night till it was Swiss cheese. People were standing in their lawns, looking out to the park.

The news would come up with something by morning; a military training exercise gone wrong, an attempt at domestic terrorism. It didn't matter. The sad truth was that these people hadn't seen the worst of it yet.

If things didn't go our way, those spectators would find the fight coming directly to their front doors.

TWENTY-TWO

I swear, I should've played the frigging lottery. My hunch was right; the morning news was dominated by reports of a late-night military training exercise gone wrong in a local park. Pundits didn't stop to ask themselves what an unregistered Black Hawk helicopter had been doing in a metropark, but simply went with it. The Veiled Order had probably squeezed their friends in the National Guard to lie about military involvement. It sure was nice, having friends in high places.

Anyway, after we left my dad's, the commando in the SUV was nice enough to drop me off at HQ so I could pick up my car. Kubo instructed me to shower, eat and sleep, but to keep my phone with me at all times.

“And keep the goddamn ringer on this time,” he'd added emphatically.

Joe hadn't said much to me, but asked to be dropped off at his mom's place. Kanta had to get shipped back to HQ so that she could be assessed in the medical wing. Percy was probably waiting for her there. As for Kubo, well, I imagine he didn't get a whole lot of rest after the car ride. He probably stayed up all night screaming into phones and sitting in on tedious meetings with his superiors.

First thing I did when I got home was stand in the shower. I turned the hot water on as high as it would go, allowing the steaming spray to leave my skin soft and pink. You wouldn't believe the shit that circulated down the drain; clotted blood, dirt, zombie spittle and more were washed away as I stood under the shower head. The way I moaned and savored the water you'd have thought it was an Herbal Essences commercial.

I stalked around my apartment stark naked afterward, letting my body air dry, and cracked open a beer. Stopping by the turntable I cranked up some Stooges, and before I knew it I was well on my way to de-stressing.

Standing in my apartment with a good beer flowing down my throat and good music tickling my ears, I almost felt normal. Even Gadreel, who usually got excited during the chorus of “Down on the Street”, barely twitched in my chest.

Almost normal wasn't good enough, though.

Joe had lost his faith in me, the necromancer seemed totally unbeatable, my dead brother was probably walking around out there somewhere as Agamemnon's plaything and, oh, I was damned.

I wanted to pull my hair out. Had Dr. Sargasso filled me in on that part when he'd offered to perform the demonic transplant? I couldn't remember for the life of me. Something like that probably would have made an impression, would have given me pause, at least. Surely the old surgeon wasn't so unscrupulous as to just burden someone with an eternity of fire and suffering without fair warning?

More and more this Demon-Heart bullshit was feeling like a rip-off. Imagine paying top coin for a Rolls Royce only to find out it's actually a K-Car under the hood. What good was acid spit and super strength if I was just going to end up in a world of pain till the Heat Death of the Universe?

I fell asleep while the Stooges played on. I was halfway through the record, somewhere in the droning morass of “1970”. My least favorite track. While drifting off, I spied the German chocolate cake on my kitchen table, still waiting to be eaten. I licked my lips, imagining its rich, chocolatey taste, but passed out before I could get up and have a slice.

***

Afternoon came quickly. Knowing what lay ahead, I sprang up from the sofa, splashed some water in my face at the kitchen tap and then picked up my work issue phone. I needed to get ahold of Joe. We'd book it out to Yao's, go down that weird little alley that took us to Mona's, and then start down the path towards the Underground, where we'd find our expert, Germaine Fox.

Punching Joe's number into the black clamshell phone, I waited for him to answer and summoned up my best impression of Chief Kubo. “Joe,” I barked as he answered, “This is the Chief. I need you to get dressed and meet Lucy at Yao's, stat! And bring him a coffee. You know he likes Americanos with cream. Make sure the barista uses heavy cream, not half n' half. I repeat, heavy cream--”

“Shut up, Lucy,” yawned Joe. “I'll see you there soon. Try not to get yourself killed before I show up, all right?”

Oh, come on. I wasn't that irresponsible. “Listen, I'll come by and pick you up. You hungry? I'll bring some lunch or something. We can eat on the way. I won't even bitch at you if you get hot sauce on the seat again.”

“Whatever, dude.” He hung up without another word. Joe really wasn't in the mood for jokes. Or polite conversation. Usually when we called one another we'd take turns impersonating Kubo, having a great time demanding ridiculous shit of one another in the Chief's drawl. This time he'd treated me like a telemarketer.

I stepped into my Chuck Taylors and plucked my keys from the side table. “Let's hope something comes of this,” I said.

If my last day on Earth was spent seeking out some expert on mythical weapons who couldn't offer us anything useful against the necromancer, then I was going to be pretty bitter about it.

***

I rolled up to Joe's doorstep with “Search and Destroy” blaring on the speakers of my Corvette and an extra-large chocolate milkshake in the cup holder.

Joe climbed in, the frown on his face looking like it'd been stranded there since I'd seen him last. “Don't you ever listen to anything else?” he asked, turning down the stereo by a few notches.

I handed him the milkshake. “Drink up, bud. Next stop, Yao's.”

He eyed the drink suspiciously, taking a small sip. “Aw, man. Chocolate? You know I'm more of a strawberry guy.”

I smacked the wheel and cut off a city bus as I swerved back into traffic. “Damn it, man. This is the thanks I get for trying to be nice, huh? I even had the chick at the restaurant write your name on the cup with a Sharpie. There are smily faces and everything!”

Joe sighed, taking a pull from the milkshake. “Just drive, dude. I don't feel like arguing with you.”

His attitude was killing me. “I know I've been an asshole lately, OK? Trust me, I've been a real shitlord, and I doubt that anyone in my life is ever going to let me forget it. But I didn't mean to put you guys in danger yesterday, and damn it, I came back! Agamemnon took Kanta and I prisoner, but you know what I was worried about the whole time I was locked up? My dear buddy, Joe!”

Reaching out to the dash, Joe punched the stereo's power button, plunging us into uncomfortable silence. “I'm real touched.” He slurped at the shake, then set it back into the cup holder. “But that's not why I'm pissed at you.”

I was baffled. “W-well, what is it, then? What's the matter?”

“You're a braggart, a stubborn prick, Lucy. But that ain't anything new. I knew that from the minute we met. You've always been a hot-shot, and—”

I raised one of my hands. “Whoa, whoa, I get it. Your point being?”

He folded his arms in his lap. “It ain't because you're reckless, though that gets on my nerves. I'm sick and tired of you because you're a goddamned liar.” He hit me with a real intense gaze; I could feel it even as I focused on the road ahead. “You collected on my mom, didn't you? You never told me that before, but I guess I shouldn't have expected anything less out of a lying rat. You talk all kinds of shit, hit below the belt, and then just act like I'm supposed to forget? You think you're better than me, Lucy, and who needs a friend like that?”

My heart sank. “M-man, look, I... I know I said some things...” He was referring to our fight the other night. I'd really been a dick, I admit, when he raised hell about my lack of team spirit. I didn't have an excuse for anything I'd said; it'd been pure anger talking, plain and simple. “I never meant to say that shit, man. I mean that. I was just pissed off, and you know...”

Joe chuckled. “Drop it. No use in talking about it. When you told me about what you used to do for a living I should've known what kind of guy you were, Lucy. That is, how you really see the people around you. I'm just real honored to have spent some time in King Lucian's good graces,” he added, rolling his eyes.

Once, I'd made a living collecting debts, sometimes taking from the impoverished who couldn't afford to pay their bills. I'd resorted to all kinds of strong-arming tactics in the hopes of making a reasonable living and paying off my debts. Did that make me a bad person?

...OK, we've covered this ground before. You don't have to hit me over the head with it. But anyhow, the past was the past, right? “Joe, I know I did some unsavory shit back then. I'm not proud of it. But... I'm walking a different path now, fighting for the Veiled Order. We're in this together, right? We're doing this for our city, defending people from assholes like Agamemnon. I can't take back what I did in the past, and yeah, you're right, I remember collecting on your mom. I'm ashamed of myself, but what do you want from me?”

“I don't want anything, Lucy,” came his reply. “But I don't think you've changed as much as you think you have. You think you're one of the good guys now, trying to play a hero. But you're doing it for the wrong reasons. Me and the others? We're in this fight because we know what's at stake. We're doing it for the people in this city. But you're just in it for yourself. You want to seem more interesting at your shitty hipster parties. You want everyone to tell you what a tough guy you are. Well, buddy, I've got news for you: You're a huge dick, and it shows. I thought I knew you, but you've been a liar all this time. All it took was an argument to see through the smokescreen. I'm thankful for it, honestly. At least now I'm not wasting my time thinking you're a decent human being.”

What more was there to say? How could I argue against that? I'd come to consider Joe a close friend, so to hear him crucify me in that way was brutal. Our little conversation in the car wasn't doing me any favors; technically we had much more important things to worry about. But all I could think about was how I'd let my friend down. Hell, why stop there? I'd let the Veiled Order down, and the whole city. Joe had a point; my hot-headed behavior probably was indicative of a superiority complex. I'd spoken like a true jackass because I was one. “I'm sorry,” I squeaked. It was the only thing that seemed appropriate.

Joe leaned against the passenger side window. “Prove it, then.”

I was going to ask him how I might go about doing that when the parking lot outside of Yao's came into view. I cleared my throat, attempting to let go of the sadness I felt, and nodded towards the restaurant. “Looks like we're here.”

TWENTY-THREE

This was the first time I'd navigated the alley without Kubo's help. It was a pretty interesting thing; on the surface, it was just a dingy concrete alley full of chewed gum, cigarette butts and faded band stickers. If you knew what to look for, however, there was a second passage to be found there, one which spanned an impossibly lengthy distance behind the restaurant and connected our world to the Beyond.

Joe and I came upon the bend in the alley, starting down the unlit path. Joe summoned up some Will-o-the-wisps to provide a little light and we walked all the way to the end, where a large, oaken door appeared in the floor. Though I'd been through that door two or three times already, I couldn't seem to get used to what happened whenever I stepped through it.

“So, we're headed into the Underground,” I started, looking down at the door. “You, uh... ever been there before? What can we expect?”

“Once,” replied Joe. “Just don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. If you piss off the wrong person down there you'll end up in a fight. And... there are a lot of things down there that love a good fight.” He arched a brow. “I'm serious, though. Keep your fuckin' head down. If you piss someone off down there and get us into trouble, I'm going to help them kick your ass.”

“Fine! I won't say a word till we get to Germaine's.” It occurred to me that Kubo hadn't really told us what to do upon arriving at Germaine's place. We knew to ask about the Scythe of Thanatos, but beyond asking him how to hack its potent properties, I wasn't sure what else we might talk to him about. “So... Kubo didn't really brief us on what to tell this guy. When we get there, do we just ask him how to destroy the scythe?”

Joe pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket. “Chief Kubo didn't brief you. He gave me this letter for Germaine which tells him everything he needs to know, though, and entrusted me with it. Before he dropped me off last night, the Chief put me in charge of this trip and gave me the rundown.”

On the one hand, I was feeling terrible about being such an arrogant jackass all the time and pushing my team mates away in the hopes of being the hero.

On the other, I was fucking pissed that Joe had been put in charge here, instead of me. I wanted to complain, to give him a hard time about it, but knew it wouldn't help my case. Holding my tongue was damn hard.

“OK,” I said. “So how does this work, fearless leader?”

I couldn't help myself.

Joe reached down and pulled open the door. “We go down there. I've got Germaine's address. He operates out of a small book shop, apparently. Plan is we walk through the Underground, head straight for his place and make no pit-stops along the way. I'll give him the letter, explaining the situation, and he'll tell us what we need to know.” Then, with somewhat less certainty, he added, “Hopefully.”

Joe and I stepped into the yawning abyss before us, and before I knew it we were standing in front of the quaint cottage where Mona lived. My stomach had floated up into my chest like I'd been shaken up in a lurching elevator. “I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that,” I said.

Joe started around Mona's place, walking down the path whose purpose I'd puzzled over for so long, and buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The leather was scored and dirty; if the stitching gave out any more, the thing would simply fall to pieces.

I followed him down the worn footpath, passing a dense, seemingly limitless sea of green pines. From the packed woods around us there came queer sounds; probably the noises of unearthly woodland creatures. I stayed close to Joe, wondering if stepping off the path wouldn't see me spirited off to some new and more horrific world.

In a flash, there was another scene change. We were standing on a wide dirt road in the middle of a rustic town. Looking around at the ramshackle wooden buildings I felt like we were in the Wild West. A few figures, draped from head to toe in rags, went by on horseback. Standing in an alleyway, over a gutter swollen with fresh rain, I glimpsed a black-skinned creature with four arms and a headdress made of gold. It seemed to be pedaling shiny wares, waving with its many hands to passersby in the hopes of making a sale.

If you want the look of this place in a nutshell, it was pretty much like any big city you've ever visited. There was activity everywhere you looked; people of all stripes trying to sell you things, hand you pamphlets. Except, in this case, they weren't human. Some of them were, probably, but the ones that stood out to me most, like our friend with the four arms back there, were most certainly not. The buildings were old, almost all wooden, and my surroundings really did make me feel like I was on the set of a Western movie. It wasn't a mere facade, though; the smells of horse droppings, of both repellant and mouth-watering cuisines, mingled in the air and made it clear that people really worked and lived here.

Don't look at anyone. Don't look at anyone. I lowered my gaze and just kept on following Joe while he sought out the address he'd written down. We were looking for one person and one person only in this dimension replete with unnatural terrors, and the last thing I wanted was to interact with some of them. By the side of the road was something I took to be a magical beggar; it was human-esque, but was blindfolded and had its mouth stitched shut. It bobbed upon the remnants of a fence post, waving its hands around in search of offerings. I did like everyone else who crossed its path; I looked away, crinkled my nose and pretended it wasn't there. The papery look of its skin... the coarseness of its wild, black hair, the yellow color of its nails... I was about ninety-percent sure, too, that the thing could see me despite the blindfold. It was too goddamn horrifying.

Suddenly Mona, the ol' snake lady, didn't seem so out there.

Joe slowed a bit, something catching his eye as we advanced. “Don't go staring,” he started, “but the Chief did want me to know that Agamemnon may have some friends in the Underground. They might be on the lookout for suspicious types... outsiders. We fit the bill. If anyone should ask, we are definitely not with the Veiled Order, clear?”

I nodded. To my right we passed what was, by all appearances, a brothel. There was a large, dusty curtain blocking the front entrance, and the air emanating from its windows was scented in sweet perfume. Doubtless to ward off the omnipresent stench of horseshit. A woman with not one, not two, but four sumptuous breasts contained within a barely-there contraption made of lace beckoned pedestrians in a language I couldn't understand. Well now, that's not quite right; the way she moved and smiled as I glanced over at her told me everything I needed to know. Maybe I'd written off the Underground prematurely...

Joe pointed to a small building up ahead. “That looks like the place. You ready?”

I pulled my gaze from the brothel and hiked up my pants to try and rid myself of the tightness that'd developed in my crotch. Gadreel was in the mood for some stress relief, but it wasn't the best time for that kind of thing. “Y-yeah,” I muttered. “We just walk in and announce ourselves?”

Joe gulped. “I hope so. Kubo didn't really coach me on this part.”

We began for the entrance of the little shop, whose sign read, in boxy letters, “Books”. Wow, this Germaine fellow was quite the businessman. A distinctive name for a bookshop; right to the point. I liked that. Joe ambled to the door and pushed it open, twitching nervously as a bell sounded.

Before we could make it all the way in, though, something called us back into the street.

“Hey,” came a voice, followed by a tug on my shoulder. Joe and I looked back to find a figure wrapped tightly in a brown cloak. The hood was drawn so that only the individual's yellow eyes were visible. A grayish hand, tipped in black claws rested on my shoulder with more firmness than I usually allowed a perfect stranger. I stiffened at the touch, sensing pure hostility right away. “Don't think I've seen you two around here before.” The voice was masculine, but carried with it a bit of hiss.

My imagination filled in the blanks. This was a lizard person or some shit. I pulled away and shot Joe a quick glance. I wished he'd just go into the bookstore and handle the job we'd come for, but he didn't move, instead closing the shop's door and looking at the cloaked guy. “We don't want any trouble,” he said, his hand trending to the pocket where I knew him to keep his Zippo.

“No trouble, no trouble,” came the reply from deep within the nest of brown fabric. “As long as you pay, that is. Human folk gotta pay to walk these streets.” The yellow eyes narrowed and I had a gay old time imagining the hideousness of the smile the thing was sporting. Thank God I couldn't see it. “Don't see pretty boys like you too often.” He sniffed the air. “Too clean, too neat. You, uh... with the Order?”

This raised a couple of eyebrows in the vicinity. At the mere suggestion that Joe and I were agents with the Veiled Order, a couple of folks darted off. Still others fixed us with steely looks and seemed to be considering whether or not to murder us on the spot. I was getting the impression that our organization was not well-liked around these parts.

I tittered, wrapping an arm gingerly around the cloaked monstrosity's shoulder. “The Veiled Order? Pfft, nah. Those guys? We hate those guys, right, Joe?” I looked back at my partner while fumbling around for my wallet. I picked a twenty out of my stash and slipped it into the creature's palm, shuddering when I touched its skin. It was craggy, like a lizard's. Reminded me of the time a teacher in elementary school had brought in their pet iguana. This thing's skin felt exactly the same.

The cloaked thing took one look at the Jackson in its palm and then furrowed its unseen brow. “What is this?”

I took a step back. “W-well, that's a whole twenty dollars, as a matter of fact. Redeemable anywhere in the United States of America. Dunno if you've ever been, but...” I licked my lips.

“Lucy...” started Joe, taking a cautious step towards me. A few onlookers had begun to crowd in on us. I was too focused on the cloaked lizard-thing to get a good look at them, but the dark shapes in my periphery all spelled trouble. We were about to have a showdown in broad daylight.

Suddenly, I had an idea. Reaching down deep, I poked the demon inside of me, letting him surface just long enough to make himself known to the assembly. I met the hostile gaze of the cloaked lizard man and sneered. “What's the trouble here, friend?”

The creature suddenly doubled back, dropping the twenty on the ground.

The thing was too chickenshit to tangle with a demon. Good to know. His voice drifted out in a small laugh and he motioned to his fellows, urging them away. “It seems I was mistaken. These men are aboveboard. Good day...”

Wrangling Gadreel back into the pit of my stomach was a real treat, let me tell you. He seemed to think it was go-time, and if I wasn't going to let him run up a tab at the brothel then he wanted to loose some steam in a street fight. I strained my mental muscle and forced him back into the background, sighing. Then, I joined Joe at the entrance to the bookstore. “Crisis averted.”

He grinned. “Barely.”

Opening the door, the little bell sounded once again, heralding our entrance. I stepped inside and got a noseful of dust. Ancient paper and the smell of good tobacco filled the air in this place, which was lit by a combination of dust-flecked skylights and Moroccan globe-lamps. Allowing my eyes to adjust to the dimness, I found this joint looked nothing at all like any bookseller I'd ever been to. There were a bunch of desks scattered throughout the room, and a few studious-looking guys sat behind them, poring over volumes that looked ready to crumble to dust. The walls were covered in packed shelves, and deeper in, towards the back, stood an enormous man with a curled mustache. Dressed in a black suit, waistcoat and all, he gave us a little nod.

It wasn't until we got up close that I realized just how tall the guy was. At least eight or nine feet. Shaq would have been dwarfed by this dude. He leaned down as we approached. “How may I help you, gentlemen?”

Joe rifled through his pockets for the letter. “We need to speak to Mr. Germaine Fox about a very important matter on behalf of, uh...” He looked over his shoulder, eyeing the other customers who were, thankfully, too absorbed in their reading to care. “The Veiled Order.”

The man pawed at his chin, his gorilla-sized hands rapping pensively at his jawbone. “I see. Please, this way. I expect this is a matter best discussed in private?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Joe. “Very private.”

We followed the giant through a door in the back. He had to stoop to get into the next room, and offered both of us a seat in front of a huge desk. The room wasn't anything like the storefront outside; for starters, it wasn't jam-packed with books or other crap. It was very neat, with the instruments on the desk spaced equidistantly and nothing featuring so much as a speck of dust. Apparently our host was the real OCD type.

There was something else, too. Perched atop the desk, staring pensively at the three of us, was an enormous freaking spider.

Confession time: I hate bugs. Hate them. Nothing ruins my day like seeing a spider or centipede dash across my carpet at home. This spider, though, was a cut above. Frankly, it belonged on the Discovery Channel, or Guinness. It was simply too large to be real; almost as big as a dinner plate, with eight long, furry legs and tiny, beady eyes that seemed almost emotive. I struggled to keep back a shrill cry and gripped the armrests of my chair. Joe was pretty uncomfortable too, by the look of it, and looked up at our host with a seasick smile. “S-so, uh, Mr. Fox,” he said to the giant man. “I have this letter which details our situation.”

The giant man smiled, then held his belly in laughter. “Oh, I'm afraid you're mistaken. I'm not Mr. Fox. Germaine Fox, the scholar and demonologist, is here.” He pointed to the desk.

He pointed at the goddamn spider.

I scooted my chair back about a foot and nodded gravely. “Hilarious... You really fooled me for a minute there. Can we talk business now, please?” I looked to the big man imploringly.

With a slight bow, he addressed the spider once more. “Let me know if you need anything, sir.”

“I will,” came the spider's reply. “Thank you, Jessup.”

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but I did know, right at that moment, that I'd probably be talking about this moment in therapy someday. The door to the room closed softly and the big man disappeared, leaving Joe and I with this spider.

Sorry. This talking spider.

“Hey there, fellas,” said the spider in what was possibly the most annoying Jersey accent I'd ever heard. “What brings yas out here today?”

TWENTY-FOUR

White-faced, I reached over and took Joe's arm. “W-when does the joke stop? When will we be done with the lizard people and talking bugs?”

One of the spider's long legs teased the corner of the desk, and a laugh drifted from its, uh, fangs. Mouth parts. Whatever. “Well, actually, bug ain't quite accurate, precious. I'm a spider, a rare one. An arachnid, if you wanna be technical. I'm gonna have to ask that you not come into my house and start throwing around whatever taxonomic bywords come to mind. In your world I think they have a name for that. Racism?” Germaine laughed again. “I'm just fuckin' with ya. What did the Veiled Order send you out here for?”

Nope. I couldn't handle it. The world was hanging in the balance and Kubo had sent us on a mystical journey to commune with a talking tarantula?

I wasn't ready to talk shop just yet, and stopped Joe from handing over the letter. “Hold on just a fucking second, now. We were sent here to talk to Germaine Fox. He's supposed to be, like, an expert on ancient weapons.”

“And a noted demonologist,” added the spider.

I furrowed my brow. “Yeah, but our boss never said shit about him being a tarantula.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that's where I'm gonna draw the line, kid.” The spider stood up, extending its hind legs and raising its bulk into the air in what I took to be a threatening stance. “Who you calling a tarantula, sucker? I'm a Brazilian Wandering Spider, scientific name Phoneutria, got that? There's a difference. How you gonna march in here with yer generalities and hate speech, eh? After all my community has had to put up with, after all the fighting my forebears did for civil spider rights?”

“That... that isn't even a real thing,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

Germaine burst into laughter and settled back down onto the desk. “Yeah, I'm just shittin' yah. But I really am Germaine Fox. That ain't no lie. The, uh, spider thing is kind of recent, I admit. See, I was fuckin' around with this artifact, this druid's staff, and I got in over my head. Accidentally turned myself into a spider and haven't been able to switch back for, oh... about a year now. No one's been able to help me out with it, either. Looks like I'm stuck this way.” He sighed. “You live and you learn. Just gotta take one day at a time. Know what I miss most, though? About bein' human, I mean. It ain't what you'd expect. I miss taking a piss. A proper leak. You boys know how a spider takes a piss? It's just not the same.”

I really didn't like this guy. If the spider wasn't quick about telling us what we needed to know, I was going to take off my shoe and let him have it.

Just kidding. I'd have Joe do it. I didn't want to get near the thing.

“Right, well, our boss gave us this letter. Contains everything you need to know about the mission we're on. It's... a doozy,” said Joe, unfolding the slip of paper Kubo had given him. “If you have any questions, uh... just ask.” He set the letter down on the desk before the spider, and to my surprise-- or perhaps disgust is really the more accurate descriptor-- the spider stood up and peered down at it.

I tried picturing what Germaine must've looked like as a human being. I took him as short, pudgy. Probably balding and greasy. Still, even the biggest sleazeball I could imagine was worlds more pleasant than... this thing. My journey into the world of the Beyond just kept getting weirder. I mean, a huge spider with a Jersey accent? Come on.

Germaine finished reading the letter and then pushed at the paper with his forelegs, easing it across the desk towards Joe. “I understand why you've come to see me, boys. That's a real bitch, you weren't lyin'.” The creature's mouth parts twitched pensively for a time. “The Scythe of Thanatos just ain't the kind of weapon you mess around with. If the fella's got his hands on that it's pretty much game over. Imagine Hitler getting ahold of the A-bomb first and you'll have some idea of what I mean. That thing's the Holy Grail as far as a necromancer's concerned.” Turning to a small shelf full of handsome books, the spider took a running jump off of the desk and catapulted itself onto the uppermost shelf. “I think I got something here that'll tell us a little more about the scythe and what we can do to stop it. I don't remember if it was in the Carte de Umbra Lungi, or... nah, it must have been one of the other books...” He chortled. “Sorry, fellas. This is gonna take me a minute. Been a while since I've read up on that thing.”

Joe and I looked at one another and shifted uncomfortably in our chairs. From the uppermost shelf, Germaine teased out a big, leather-bound tome and let it drop unceremoniously to the floor below with a loud thud. Then, jumping down onto the ground, he cracked the cover and started turning the pages with his tiny, spidery hands.

After a brief silence, wherein he studied the book, Germaine suddenly scurried out from behind the desk and scrambled up onto my chair, pausing on my armrest.

I didn't scream till the spider reached out and patted me on the back of the hand with its bristly appendage.

“It's like I thought,” said Germaine while I curled up into the opposite side of the chair. “That weapon is pretty much unstoppable. Inflicts a dangerous blight when it cuts ya. The curse keeps the wound from healing. Amplifies a spellcaster's death magic to outrageous levels. The wielder of that thing is essentially a proxy for the lord of death himself.”

I grit my teeth. We'd come all the way out here and met with this creepy fuck just so that he could tell us what we'd already guessed? “So, that's it? We're screwed, then?”

The spider raised a hairy arm and jabbed it my way. “I said 'pretty much', didn't I? Doesn't mean there isn't an out. I was getting to that.”

Joe leaned forward. “What is it?”

“Know anything about St. Michael?” Germaine's question seemed directed at me, and was tinged with amusement.

Ha-Ha. Good one. Ask the demon whether he knows anything about angels. “Can't say I do. Been a while since I've gone to Sunday school.” I tried to relax, but every time I did, Germaine moved like he was going to touch me. “What's that have to do anything?”

“Well, it's got everything to do with this, you dummy. See, once upon a time, St. Michael the Archangel got into a fight with this guy you probably know real well. Goes by the name of Satan? Yeah. Well, St. Michael's in the heat of battle against Satan and the Grigori when suddenly his sword breaks. This is a powerful blade, forged in heaven by cherubs and all that shit. Real primo piece of weaponry, know what I'm sayin'? Right when the Archangel needed it most, it broke into pieces, and where do you think one of those pieces ended up?”

Hell if I knew. I rolled my eyes. “Just get on with it.”

“A piece of that sword,” continued Germaine, “fell to Earth. Back in biblical times a blacksmith came upon it and, after melting it down, incorporated it into a sword of his own. You know the stories about King Solomon, yeah? This sword was given as a gift to Solomon for his virtue. He was gonna use that very sword to cleave a baby in half in that old Biblical yarn. Anyway, it was passed on through the ages. Can only be wielded by someone pure of heart, but a weapon straight outta Heaven should make the wielder immune to the ravages of the Scythe of Thanatos.” If spiders could grin, then Germaine was smiling like an idiot. “Course, that means you're out of the running, my fair demon-boy. Ain't no way you'd be able to touch it.”

That I couldn't wield a heavenly sword was definitely no surprise. What I wanted to know was how this guy knew about Gadreel. “How do you know I'm a demon?” I asked.

“I'm a renowned demonologist, remember? Wouldn't be worth all of my accolades if I couldn't spot one in my own room, no?” He leaned forward a little, hairs on his abdomen standing on end. “Somethin' weird about you, though. You possessed? Nah, that ain't it.”

“I've got, uh... a demon's heart in me,” I replied, patting my chest.

“No shit!” Germaine chuckled. “A real-life Demon-Heart? Ain't that something. Didn't know the Veiled Order was doing that kind of exotic shit. You took them up on that demon heart even though it meant goin' to Hell, eh? Not sure I'd have made the decision, but I respect it. Lifting cars and summoning lightning storms is hella cool, but I'm hoping for someplace a little less toasty when I kick the bucket.”

Right, because I needed yet another reminder of that. I sighed. “What kind of credentials can you possibly have in demonology, anyway? Is there a course you can take, a curriculum that covers that?”

“Oh, yeah. The Franklin County Community College down in Florida has an online program. Took just two years, as a matter of fact.” The spider rubbed its forelimbs together. “Any other questions or y'all ready to get the hell out of here?”

I didn't need to be asked twice. I got up out of the chair and side-stepped my way to the door.

And I guess Germaine decided to come with me.

Leaping off of the armrest, the spider landed softly against my shoulder, scurrying forth and clutching at my neck with its searching hands. “Time's a-wasting, gentlemen,” he said so close to my ear that I could feel his fangs grazing my skin.

I flipped out. Thrashing from side to side and trying to do anything I could to get Germaine off of me without using my hands, I loosed shriek after shriek. The big guy from earlier poked his head into the room, probably expecting to find a murder scene for all of my screaming.

Joe stayed back, watching from afar while trying not to laugh.

“Ah, quit your whining,” blurted the spider, never budging. I felt one of its eight legs caress the back of my neck. “Now, now, your skin back here looks all goose-pimply. What's the matter, kid? Don't like spiders?” His wheezing laugh filled my ears.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, my body itching all over.

“Well, I'm coming with you. To help you find the Archangel Saber. Obviously.”

“Come on, Lucy. Don't cause a fuss. Germaine obviously likes you.” Joe stifled a laugh, waltzing towards the door and waving me over. “We don't have time to lose.”

“That's right, you should listen to your buddy over there,” added Germaine. “I'm just gonna get cozy on these broad shoulders of yours. Don't suppose you got a place I can stay, do ya? Finding this sword might take a little while. But don't worry! I don't take up a whole lotta room.”

I wished I had this legendary Archangel blade in my possession right then. Not because it could supposedly save the world, but because I wanted to run myself through with it. Dying and getting shuttled off to Hell till the end of time didn't sound half bad when compared to acting as Germaine's personal chauffeur.

TWENTY-FIVE

“And that's why I don't actually eat birds. Spiders my size can do it, but the beaks are just too damn hard to digest.” Germaine remained perched atop my shoulder, and was discussing the most disgusting shit imaginable. We'd somehow managed to leave the Underground without the loud-mouthed spider drawing the attention of every passerby, and were presently walking past Mona's to the path that would lead us back to the alley behind Yao's.

When the three of us materialized in the dim alley, Germaine gave the closest thing to a whistle a spider was capable of. “Boy, I haven't been in Detroit for a long time. When last I was in Detroit, I was still a human, for starters. And the Lions were having a good year, too. How're the Lions these days? Better than the Browns, I hope. We don't get a whole lot of Earthly sports reporting in the Beyond, so I haven't been keeping up over the years.” He gave a toss of his tiny legs. “For all I know, all of the players I used to follow are dead and gone now.”

“I don't really watch sports,” I muttered, craning my neck away from him.

Joe snickered. “Yeah, Lucy is more interested in artwork. He's a sensitive, artsy type.”

The spider guffawed. “Lucy? Ain't no demon ever had a name like Lucy. What's your name, demon? Have we met before?”

I gnashed my teeth for a minute before replying. “The demon inside of me is called Gadreel.”

This seemed to impress the spider, because for a minute there, he actually shut the fuck up. “Gadreel? The fallen angel Gadreel?” he asked, stunned. “That's incredible. You know, usually when you see a Demon-Heart, it's a low-level grunt's heart they've used. You got royalty inside of you, kid. Hope you're bein' a good vessel and all of that. Down below, the name 'Gadreel' opens some doors.”

“Good to know,” I replied. Then, gulping, I decided to try my luck. Freaky though he was, this annoying spider seemed to know a lot more about demons than me or the guys back at Veiled Order HQ did. “So... I kind of rushed into this demon thing and didn't know that I was destined to burn in Hell after death. There, uh, any way to get around that?”

Germaine laughed so hard he was left sucking wind. “Get a load of this guy!” he said, reaching out towards Joe. “No, sir. You're one-hundred percent boned. The literature's pretty firm on that.”

I gulped. “E-even if I use my demonic powers for good? If I try to be a nice guy, and--”

“Nah. Still goin' to Hell, friend. God don't care if you're a swell dude. You've got bonafide demon blood running in your veins now; your souls are all caught up in one another. Where he goes in the afterlife, well, that's where you're headed. Sorry to break it to ya. Real shitty of those Veiled Order guys not to tell you ahead of time, though. Bet you're having a spot of buyer's remorse, eh?”

That was an understatement.

“This sword,” I said, trying to change the subject. “Where we gonna find it?”

“You're all business, I like that,” replied Germaine. “I'm going to have to make a call. Got this buddy who runs an armory. It's not so far from my shop. Spends summers living in Camden, working as a manager at a TGI Fridays. I'll call him and see if he can't get us an in. Last I heard, the sword, along with a lot of other awesome shit, was kept there. Famous buyers interested in rare weapons use the place to store their goods, kinda like a bank vault. Dunno who the current owner is, but we're just borrowin' it to save the world. I'm sure they'll understand.”

“Wait, this dude owns a warehouse full of artifacts but he works at a chain restaurant? Who do you think you're fooling?” I asked. “Joe, this spider's full of shit. We should take him to HQ so that Kubo can lay into him.”

Germaine sighed. “Say what you will, but TGI Fridays offers a competitive retirement plan.”

We left the alley, starting out into the parking lot where my Corvette was waiting. I fished the keys out of my pocket and unlocked the doors.

“This your ride?” asked the spider incredulously. “Your bosses are takin' good care of you, I see! I'm riding shotgun.”

While I climbed into the car, Germaine jumped off of me and stationed himself in the warm passenger seat. Joe was forced to squeeze into the back.

“Might want to buckle up,” I said to Germaine. “Oh, wait. You can't use a seatbelt, can you? Because you're a spider.”

Unfazed, Germaine skittered up the back of his seat and glared at Joe. “Why's he still going on about that? Is he ever going to get over it?”

I cranked the AC and roared out of the parking lot. “Where to? HQ? I guess we should let the Chief know we found his, uh... guy. What instructions did Kubo give you, Joe? What're we supposed to do now?”

Joe was already in the process of dialing Kubo's number. “Hey, Chief. It's Joe. Me and Lucy are here with Germaine. We picked him up, and he thinks he has an idea about how to stop Agamemnon.”

Germaine interrupted. “Is that the fella who wrote the letter? Ah, give it here. I'll talk to him.”

“Hold on, Chief. He wants to talk to you himself.” Carefully, Joe reached forward and set the black cellphone on the seat. Germaine then huddled his furry bulk over it and cradled it with his limbs.

“Hey, it's Germaine Fox here, I got your letter. I'm here with your boys, Lucy and, uh... the one with the slicked back hair like an extra from Grease. I'll tell you what I'm gonna do for ya. Got this buddy, Dennis, who works at the Celestial Armory. There's a sword there that should be able to compete with the Scythe of Thanatos. I'm gonna help them find it, but first we're going to have to find someone who can wield the thing. Lucy here won't be a good fit. Yeah, yeah, that's right. The sword will make the wielder immune to the scythe's blight.” At this junction, Germaine turned to look at me. “Kills a demon with a single blow, too.”

I admit I swerved a little. “It can what?”

“Yeah, all right, man. I'll talk to you later. We're going to visit Lucy's pad and get to know one another a little better. Meet us there? I'll try and get ahold of Dennis, too.” When the call was finished, Germaine pushed the phone off of the seat and then reoriented himself, facing the dash. “Says he might stop by for a visit. Wants to make sure you don't mess everything up, big guy.”

“That sword can kill a demon? Are you being serious right now?” I tried to envision a scenario in which my retrieving this weapon was a good thing, but kept coming up empty. I was pretty sure that, if such a weapon existed, the best thing would be for it to stay far, far away from me. In the wrong hands, it could... “That asshole Percy is going to end up with the sword, isn't he?” I asked, shifting my rearview mirror so that I was staring back at Joe. “He's gonna run in there with his angel sword, save the day and then hack me into pieces. That's how this is going to go, isn't it?”

“Who's Percy?” asked the spider.

“He's a hunter,” offered Joe. “He's been working with us on this case. Pretty tough guy and really good with a sword. He got roughed up last night during a fight with the necromancer's horde, but he's probably the best choice for this angel weapon you're talking about. He carries this big blade, with a bone for a hilt.”

“Sounds badass,” replied Germaine.

“Are you sure there's no other weapon that'll work here? Having the angel sword is nice and all, but Agamemnon, the necromancer, is a damn good fighter. What if Percy can't handle him?” I held my breath.

“He doesn't have to run laps around the guy, just has to cut him real good,” was Germaine's reply. “Seeing as how the necromancer's hyped up on death magic, it'll be a one-hit K-O. And never mind the undead. They won't even be able to come near him if he's holding the thing. It'll be a sealed deal-- if we can just find the sword.”

“And if we don't? What then?” I asked.

Germaine gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well, then I guess we'll just have to send you in, to bitch and complain till the necromancer decides he's had enough and kills himself. You're a real drag, you know that, Lucy? I've never known a demon to whine this much. You've got the one and only Germaine Fox in your car. Relax. We're gonna do this up right and you won't have to worry your pretty little head about a thing. May as well start planning the victory party. Open bar, buffet and strippers-- the whole shebang. For the record, I prefer brunettes.”

It didn't matter how much the boisterous arachnid in my passenger seat tried to smooth things over: I was panicking. This sword we were looking for could do me in with a single cut and deliver me to that fiery oblivion I'd been stressing out over for a while now. And with my luck, Percy was going to be the one wielding it. He was a shoe-in, a talented swordsman. He also happened to bear me a grudge; he'd already tried to kill me once, and wasn't altogether fond of demons. After the way I'd messed everything up the night before in the woods and nearly gotten him killed, it didn't take a lot of imagination to figure out what he might do with me if a fancy demon-killing sword just dropped into his lap.

We arrived at my place. I stepped out of the car, pacing around the lot while Joe crawled out of the back seat. Germaine followed, dashing up my pant leg and glancing around. “So, which place is yours?” he asked.

***

“I was expecting something a little nicer, considering the type of car you drive,” said Germaine, crawling slowly across my kitchen counter. “This place is all right, I guess. It'll do, anyway.”

“What, are you moving in now? Fuck off.” I reached into the fridge, pulling out a pair of beers and offering Joe one. When he refused, I wrenched off both caps and decided to enjoy two beers, chugging them one after another.

“Why do you bother drinking that?” asked the spider. “Won't get you drunk. A Demon-Heart is a real special kind of organism. When you're possessed, drugs and alcohol can still mess with you. But when you've got a demon's heart in your body, they won't do a thing. The demon's got your organs working overtime to filter all of the bad shit out. For that matter, it's keeping you young, too. You'll never die of old age, disease or poisoning with Gadreel inside of you, but the minute you do kick the bucket, it ain't gonna be too pleasant.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said, throwing my beer across the room. The bottle narrowly avoided Germaine, who raced into the sink to take cover. “Remind me again, why don't you? You don't think I know that? Ever since I found out I've hardly been able to think about anything else! Not exactly looking forward to the afterlife over here. Can we just stop talking about it? I wanna declare a moratorium on discussing what'll happen to me after I'm dead.”

Joe, sweet guy that he was, stepped in to console me. “You know, there's always a loophole with this kind of thing. Maybe it's not a certainty, Lucy. Maybe you'll be able to go to Heaven when the time comes, and--”

“Your pretty face is going to Hell, kid,” interjected Germaine. “And the sooner you make peace with that, the better.”

“Well... like you said, he won't die of old age. So it isn't something he'll have to worry about for a really long time, right?” offered Joe, opening the fridge and fishing out a beer. He decided he needed a drink after all.

“Sure, unless Percy the swordsman decides to run me through with this special sword after he's done with Agamemnon. Did you ever consider that?” I sat down at the kitchen table, head in my hands.

“He wouldn't do that,” replied Joe firmly.

“Oh yeah? And how can you be so sure?” I still had the taste of beer in my mouth, but the high was completely absent. I wished just then that I could get shit-faced one more time. To drink myself into a coma so that this mess would simply go away. It would have been so much easier.

“Because,” said Joe after a time, “he's a good guy. He looks out for the people on his team.”

That was it? I was supposed to leave my fate in Percy's hands because he was a “good guy”? Sounded like one hell of a gamble. “Whatever.” I pointed to Germaine. “You should call your friend and find out if we can get ahold of that sword. Agamemnon could strike at any time, so the sooner we get ahold of it, the better.”

The spider rested its bulk on the lip of the sink. “We're short on time, but I don't think you have to worry about the necromancer attacking the city tonight, at least. He'll wait till the new moon.”

“Huh?” asked Joe and I in tandem.

“The new moon. Did I stutter?”

“What about the new moon?” I asked. “What reason would he have to wait until the new moon?”

“Well,” began Germaine, “I'm sure you know by now what happens to you on the night of the new moon, right? That ain't no coincidence. The forces of darkness are empowered on the night of a new moon. The necromancer and his horde will be at their strongest that night; makes sense to me that he'd put off his big show till the time is right. You didn't know that?”

Fair enough. We had an extra day to come up with this sword and track down Agamemnon-- that is, if Germaine's thinking was correct. The odds were still stacked against us and I didn't like where any of this was going, but our lot had improved very slightly.

“We didn't know that, no,” admitted Joe. “But if what you're saying is true, we still only have a day to stop this war from going down. Mind calling your friend so we can get busy? Sun's going to be going down and the city will be crawling with zombies soon.”

“You do that,” I said. “I'm going to go lay down in bed. I need to clear my head. Let me know when you hear back and we'll get moving.” I slid my phone across the counter towards Germaine and started for my room.

***

If you want to, you can skip this part. Instead of napping, I engaged in a good bit of moody brooding. Heck of a time for me to go to pieces, but I had a lot on my plate. I tossed and turned in bed like an angsty teen and tried to work out my shit.

So, I was damned, and Germaine's advice was that I needed to get over it. Make peace with it.

That was easy for him to say.

When he died, he was off to Spider Heaven, or whatever.

But me? I've read bits and pieces of Dante's Inferno. I knew what was coming. There was a bonafide demon expert in my apartment and he was completely certain that my soul was bound for Hell. Usually when I encountered something in life that I couldn't change, acceptance was my go-to.

Not so, in this case.

Up until the fact of my damnation was made known, I hadn't actually put much thought into the existence of a Heaven or Hell. My time had been taken up by stuff like werewolves, zombies and witches, and I'd had precious little time to reflect on the bigger questions in life. I've never been a religious guy, had always figured that when I died, that would be it. End of story.

I liked it better that way.

Outside my room I could hear Germaine chattering with Joe. I held my pillow over my face to drown out his annoying voice. According to him, this angelic sword was the only way out of this mess. If we got ahold of it and cut down Agamemnon, then hooray for mankind!

But ol' Lucian? Well, there was no telling how I might fare in the deal. Even though Percy and Kanta were playing nice right now, who could say how long that might last? The mere existence of weapons like this one scared me out of my wits. Let's say Percy didn't skewer me the minute he got his hands on it. Someone else down the line certainly might.

This was the sort of thing that could keep me up at night.

I sat up, rubbing at my eyes and sniffing at the air.

No, goddammit. I wasn't crying. The pillow was dusty and it made my eyes water. You know you've got to replace those every few months because the dust mites just get out of control, right?

Well, Gadreel... I don't know what's going to happen to us when this is all over. But I do know we have to do what we can to save Detroit. I want to save the people of this city, and everything else I've tried so far has ended in failure. That necromancer is tough. If this sword is our only chance, then we'll try and find it. As for the consequences... let's worry about those later, eh?

My heart twisted in my chest, and I could almost feel the veins and arteries attached to it getting knotted. What this meant I couldn't say; if I had to guess, though, it probably meant the demon wasn't fond of my plan. Self-preservation and all of that. Who could blame him? Gadreel, a fallen angel, had no reason to care about the city or the millions living in it.

I patted my chest, quieting down my heart and taking in a deep breath. “Calm down there, bud. I tell you what, let's go out there and have some cake.” I stood up, straightening out my clothes and tossing my pillow back onto the head of the bed. “Worry about the necromancer first. Then, after the fight is over, we can handle the angel sword. Don't sweat it.”

I heard another voice outside my room; Kubo's deep drawl boomed in the air as he closed the door to my apartment. I stepped out of the bedroom groggily.

And then, looking out into the kitchen, I froze in my tracks.

TWENTY-SIX

“What in the hell do you think you're doing?” I screamed. “That isn't for you!”

Germaine met my furious gaze with his many eyes, up to his pedipalps in German chocolate cake. His legs were covered in frosting, and his forelimbs lifted small bits of the ruined desert to his waiting mouthparts.

“Settle down, kid!” he replied through a mouthful of frosting. “I saved you some. Don't go embarrassing yourself in front of everyone. Be a good host, why don't you?”

I immediately stormed across the room to the cabinets, rifling through the drawer I used to store my knives. Selecting the biggest one I could find, I made a dash for the table and narrowly avoided Germaine's frosted carapace. “You're done! Done!”

From the living room came Kubo and Percy in a hurry. They each took one of my arms and dragged me back towards the refrigerator, frothing at the mouth. “Cool your head, Lucy,” ordered the Chief. “I didn't come here to talk dessert.”

I spied Kanta lingering near my record player in the living room, smirking. She'd cleaned up since last I saw her; a silver sari, a fresh braid and, perhaps most impressively, her ankle wasn't all swollen. There were bright bruises there, but she didn't have any trouble walking. Dr. Sargasso, or Mona, perhaps, had patched her up. Percy, who struggled to contain me, didn't look like death, either.

As always, the Veiled Order's medical team had come through.

Which meant only one thing.

I was going to have to hack Germaine into such tiny pieces that not even Mona would be able to put him back together again.

Germaine ambled over to the edge of the kitchen table. “So, uh, I guess we're all here now, eh?”

Pushing me in the chest with an open palm, Kubo nodded. “That's right. It's nice to meet you, Germaine. I wasn't expecting...”

“Surprised the hell out of me, too,” I said, reaching out for the knife. Joe and Percy herded me back towards the bedroom. “That disgusting little thing isn't fit to live. When this is over with, I swear I'm going to--”

Kubo cleared his throat loudly. “Anyway, did you get ahold of your friend? The one in charge of the armory?”

Germaine gave the spider equivalent of a nod, body twitching. “Yep. He'll meet us there.”

“All right. Give me a minute,” said Kubo to the spider. Then, looking at me sharply, he waved towards the living room. “Lucy, a word?”

I pushed past Joe and Percy, glaring at the spider who'd ruined my cake. The box was still there, with the price sticker on it and everything. I wondered if there was any part of the thing that hadn't been touched by Germaine's fuzzy appendages, if any of it could be salvaged. “What do you want, Chief?”

Kubo nodded to the sofa. “Sit.”

Sighing, I dropped down onto the cushion and looked up at him expectantly. “What is this? You about to tell me I'm adopted or something?”

“No,” replied Kubo cooly. “I'm going to tell you about the plan we've come up with. See, the existence of this Archangel Saber is game-changing for us. The leaders of the Veiled Order are willing to do whatever necessary to procure it. We're setting out now to do so, in fact.”

I rolled my eyes. “So, we flying out to Camden, New Jersey where this douche lives?”

“You still don't understand how the Beyond works, do you, kid?” Kubo shook his head. “We're going to meet the guy at the armory. All of us will be heading into the Underground, where the two of you picked up Germaine. Once there, we're going to meet his buddy Dennis. Money talks in the Underground, and my bosses have a whole lot of it to throw around when they find something they want. Our job is going to be to enter the armory and leave with the sword.”

“Fine, whatever. But it doesn't actually belong to this Dennis guy, does it? I thought the sword was just stored in the armory for safe-keeping. What if the owner doesn't want to sell?”

Kubo arched a wooly brow. “I said we're leaving that place with the sword. One way or another. Got it?”

I couldn't hold back my laughter this time. “Now, hold up. You mean to tell me we'll steal the Archangel Saber if we have to? Steal a holy sword? That's pretty fucked up, even for me. Aren't there rules against that kind of theft?”

“Anyway,” continued Kubo, disregarding my sass, “we're all going into the Underground together. We don't know what we're going to encounter down there, or at the armory. There's... a rumor going around that Agamemnon's already scoped the place. A few informants have reported seeing someone matching his description in the Underground as recently as last week.”

“Sure, but he can't wield the sword. It'd kill him, wouldn't it?” I asked.

“Perhaps. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have guys on the inside who could smuggle it away and hide it. That's not the kind of weapon he'd like us to get our hands on.” He glanced over his shoulder at the others. “This is how things are going to go. We all venture into the Underground and meet with Dennis outside the armory. Hopefully we can get ahold of the sword and everything will be peachy. If not, prepare for a fight. After that, we're going to go looking for Agamemnon. Germaine thinks that the necromancer will wait till the new moon to launch his attack. We want to kill him before that. I'm afraid you'll be sitting that part out, though.”

“W-what?” I sat up, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, I have to sit that part out? That's the big fight. How can you leave me on the sidelines?”

Kubo reached out and poked me in the chest with his finger. “Because of the time bomb you've got in there, dummy. We'll have to have you tied up in anticipation of the new moon. It's already been decided that you'll be locked away in advance, once the sword is retrieved. My bosses don't want to risk anything. If you got loose amidst the chaos, then we'd have two targets on our hands.”

“No way. You guys need me! How can you take this guy on without me?” I protested, standing up and kicking my coffee table across the room.

I immediately regretted doing so. I mean, busting up furniture at the Veiled Order HQ was one thing, but that'd been my coffee table. Now I was going to have to replace the damn thing.

“It's already been decided,” repeated Kubo. “When we've retrieved the sword, you'll be bound up in HQ, to avoid any accidents, and Kanta will be given the Archangel Saber to wield against Agamemnon. When the new moon has passed, we'll let you out, like always. But in the event that chaos breaks out and we don't have a chance to lock you up in time...” He trailed off.  “And then there's the fact that you love a fight, Lucy. I know you-- you'll try and stay out of isolation so that you can participate in the fight against the necromancer. But the minute that moon's out, you'll be given over to the demon.”

“Jesus, Chief! Have a little faith in me, will you?” I shook him by the shoulders, and he frowned down at me like he really didn't appreciate being jostled. “I can control him! I can control Gadreel. I mean it! You can't just let me miss out on this fight, not after everything that's happened. Seriously... you could use my muscle. Don't tell me I'm wrong. I promise not to try any heroics, not to steal the show. You want to give the sword to Kanta and have her slay the necromancer, then fine. I'm all for it. But at least let me get a bit of the action, too.”

Honestly, I wasn't “all for” Kanta wielding the sword.

In fact, to my mind, she was the worst possible choice.

I looked over at Kanta with a grimace, finding her leaning against my living room wall, snickering. Her green eyes were lit up; bitch was likely daydreaming about killing me with her new weapon. “Chief, I've gotta say... have you considered just wielding the sword yourself? Or, I mean, what about Joe? His fire tricks are awfully cool and all, but I've been thinking for a while that he needs to diversify. If he faces off against Agamemnon with his lighter again, they're going to think he's a one-trick pony.”

Kubo's firm grip about crushed my shoulder. “Don't get so shaken up, Lucy. She's on our side. That sword can do a number on you, but you're not the target here. Relax, follow your orders and there won't be anything to worry about.”

Kanta's grin widened. “Yeah. Nothing to worry about,” she added, crossing her arms. “We're friends now, remember?”

I couldn't tell whether she was just having fun with me or whether she really meant to kill me when this job was done. Shit, who was I kidding? She was doing both; fucking around with me was just more fun to her. She had me on the hook and was just watching me writhe now.

“Let's get ready to go. I'll drive,” said Kubo, waving everyone towards the door.

Everyone shuffled out of my pad slowly. Germaine scurried behind the others as Kanta and I trailed behind. The smile on her face hadn't abated as we walked out into the hall. I was digging through my pockets for my keys when she spoke. “I hope you'll be on your best behavior, demon.”

I grit my teeth. I really wasn't going to have much of a choice, was I?

TWENTY-SEVEN

By now, I was getting damn tired of looking at Yao's. I'd been there way too many times in the last few days. The sun was starting to dip and the sky was painted in hues of fire. Though the day had been hot, the streets were cooling off pretty rapidly, thanks to a slight breeze that warned of rain. Crowding in around the golden light show on the horizon were heaps of dark clouds. A storm was coming.

Literally and figuratively.

Kubo sat at the wheel, chatting with Germaine, who was sitting on the dash. Joe was in the passenger seat, with Percy and Kanta taking up the second row. I laid out across the third row all by my lonesome, eyes closed and rather hot under the collar.

I'd worked my ass off on this mission. I was invested in it. And now Kubo wanted to shut me out before the big finale. Surely a guy like Kubo knew why that wouldn't fly with me. A guy like him was no stranger to grudges, to rivalries. He must've known just how badly I wanted to crack Agamemnon across the jaw. His bosses wanted to cover their asses, though. Locking me up a bit prematurely was seen as the safest option.

When Gadreel takes over, things tend to go south pretty fast. I'm not trying to make excuses for the demon-- he's a real asshole with a murderous streak that can't go unchecked. Still, I was beginning to feel like I could control him. Yeah, yeah, these esoteric texts they kept bringing up all talked about how that was impossible; that the night of the new moon was the demon's one night where he could eclipse me totally. A night when I was completely at his mercy. They'd driven that point home again and again. But there's more to life than what you find in books, and I felt pretty capable of controlling the demon's impulses. Maybe I couldn't control him one-hundred percent, it's true, but even on the night of the new moon I figured that I could curb his more destructive tendencies and keep him from spreading ruin. Gadreel wanted to kill Agamemnon just as much as the rest of us. Why couldn't the Chief see that and put a little faith in me? Damn it, I wanted a chance to really prove myself!

But it didn't matter either way.

I was going to participate in that fight, no matter Kubo's opinion on it.

Kubo turned right, deep in conversation with the spider. “Where do you think the necromancer got ahold of the Scythe of Thanatos? Any guesses? I don't think gods are usually in the habit of lending their weapons, are they?”

Germaine chuckled. “Nah. I bet you anything that the fella stole it. Worshipping at the altar of death for years probably gave him an in. I imagine he wandered for a while, searching different ruins for the thing. It was hidden someplace and the necromancer found it.” Germaine struggled to remain on the dash as the car sped up, and nearly fell into Joe's lap. Clawing his way back up towards the windshield, he went on. “You know, there's another possibility. Coulda been that the god of death really did lend it to him. That's a worst case scenario. If this Agamemnon is an avatar of Thanatos, a representation of the god of death here on Earth, then anything's possible. He could be a demigod.”

Kubo took his eyes off of the road to glare at the spider. “That can't be right, can it? Why would the god of death send someone like Agamemnon to start this war? What would he hope to accomplish?”

The spider rubbed its forelimbs together. “I'm reminded of some old stories. Myths, really, where a god might grant an acolyte of his some higher status. Perhaps Agamemnon dedicated himself to Thanatos all of these years and finally got in his good graces, right? Perhaps he was tasked with caring after the god's weapon, but then went rogue.”

Much as I hated him, what Germaine was saying seemed pretty accurate. I'd spoken with Agamemnon a bit. The necromancer had claimed to be “death itself”; had said that, once, he'd been merely a devotee of death, but that somewhere along the line he'd transcended his acolyte status. “I think the spider's onto something,” I said from the backseat. “When I encountered the necromancer, he said that he'd once been an acolyte of death. Now, though, he thinks he's 'Death itself'. Whatever that means. It's possible that he really did get some favors from the god of death, and that he was able to get the weapon in that way.”

“Fine,” replied Kubo. “But even if that is the case, then I don't imagine Thanatos is all too happy with what Agamemnon has done with this new power. God of death gave him a foot, but Agamemnon took a mile, eh?”

“Sounds like it,” said Germaine. “Pity we can't just call up ol' Thanatos and have him revoke Agamemnon's powers. That would be a hell of a lot easier than hunting for this sword and fighting him. If the god of death knew what he was up to, he'd probably be kind of miffed.”

“Well, why don't we?” It seemed like common sense to me. Why couldn't we tip off this powerful god and let him know that one of his dedicated followers was off the chain, upsetting the natural balance of things? “Can't we get ahold of Thanatos somehow and let him know what his boy's been up to?”

Everyone looked back at me and stared like I was an idiot.

“Let me guess,” I continued. “It's not that easy?”

“Sure ain't,” explained the spider. “Never mind that coming face-to-face with the god of death is enough to make a living creature explode into flame. Even when he's rounding up souls, Thanatos doesn't just enter the earthly sphere all willy-nilly. Unless you've got a line to the big guy, you can't exactly chat with him. He doesn't have Internet access, ya know? Don't suppose anyone in this car knows a helpful necromancer who's skilled enough to commune with the god of the dead, but not so powerful that he's working with Agamemnon? Yeah, that's what I thought. There's a reason you never see a god manifesting here on Earth, and it's because the gods have their own place. They exist elsewhere, beyond the Beyond, if you get my meaning. If they want to interact with mortals, then they have to send off some of their followers. They imbue 'em with some godly juice so they can get work done on that god's behalf. Avatars, demigods. Whatever. And I think that's what we're dealing with.”

When tangling with Agamemnon, I'd thought him to possess the power of a god. It seemed my initial assessment wasn't too far off of the mark.

We were rolling to a stop now. I sat up and looked through the tinted glass, finding the neon sign outside of Yao's burning dimly. Kubo parked, but let the SUV idle for a time.

“Before we get to it,” continued Germaine, “I wanna know what you're all about. Demon-boy back there is an open book. What about the rest of you? What're you bringing to the table?”

“Yeah, Chief. Introduce him to the rest of the class, why don't you?” I let my forehead rest against the glass. A few people walked out of the alley near Yao's, and I had to do a double-take. For a minute there, I'd thought them zombies. Narrowing my gaze, I discovered they were just drunk college kids.

“Joe here is a pyromancer. Percy is a skilled monster hunter with skills in tracking and trapping. Kanta is an exorcist. She will probably be the best choice for the Archangel Saber, based on her skill in harnessing holy energy.” Kubo then pulled the stack of seals from his breast pocket. “I'm a sorcerer. I've studied multiple disciplines, but ultimately my craft draws off of the old school.”

“Very nice,” replied Germaine. He looked at each of us and then scrambled to the second row, crawling up the bone hilt of Percy's sword. “And might I just say that this is the coolest damn sword I've ever seen? It's got a frigging bone for a hilt! Ain't that something?”

“Well, what about you, eh?” I asked, sitting up and threatening to flick Germaine off of the hilt. “What do you bring to the table?”

Germaine crawled back to the front of the car, pausing atop Kubo's headrest. “Other than good looks, you mean? Well, my special ability is inducing Priapism.”

I shook my head. “Inducing what?”

“Priapism, kid. Never heard of it?” The spider paused for a moment. “OK, you know them commercials for dick sweets, like Viagra? Know how they're always warning you to head to the ER if your joystick stays hard for longer than four hours? Well, that's called Priapism, and if it doesn't get fixed quick, you won't ever be able to get it up again. A Brazilian Wandering Spider's venom ain't always deadly, but it can cause Priapism.” The rest of us burst out laughing, but judging by the way Germaine twitched and muttered, he wasn't kidding. “Priapism ain't a laughing matter, kid. It's a medical emergency.”

“No, that's awesome.” I got up and threw open the door, hopping onto the pavement. “We're going to threaten a necromancer with erectile dysfunction. Now I've really heard it all.”

I felt a weight on my shoulder, and soon thereafter came the sensation of bristly appendages brushing against my neck. “All it takes is one bite,” he warned.

Kanta stepped out of the car and smoothed out her braid. “May as well bite him. Lucy hasn't got any game, so I don't imagine he gets much use out of his joystick.”

Germaine laughed so hard that he almost fell off of me.

Kubo locked up the SUV, and before he could even tell us all to get ready, I was blazing a path across the parking lot and towards the alley. Let's get this shit over with, I thought.

TWENTY-EIGHT

A group of six walking down a dim alley drew more attention than was wise.

Some passersby muttered as they saw us walk by, marveling at the sword on Percy's back. I heard one of them wonder aloud whether we were cosplayers or not; whether the spider on my shoulder was real or some kind of hyper-realistic stuffed animal.

We entered the alley, quickened our pace, and then hooked a sharp right into the inter-dimensional alleyway that led to Mona's cottage.

I don't know if “inter-dimensional alley” is really that accurate, but let's go with it.

During my first trip into the Underground, I hadn't encountered anything that I couldn't handle. Joe and I had had a run-in with a not-so-friendly lizard-guy and some others, but the minute I'd revealed my demonic nature they'd dispersed. The way we were heading in now, all together, was sure to bring a lot more attention to what was most certainly supposed to be a discrete errand. Why hadn't Kubo gone solo, or with a single partner? Marching the whole army down the street was going to raise some eyebrows.

He was likely expecting us to meet resistance.

I cracked my neck as we walked, ready to throw down at any moment. If that lizard-guy or his ilk presented themselves again, I wouldn't hold back...

We arrived at the trapdoor in the floor, but before he knelt down and threw it open, Kubo took to fussing over his paper seals. He whipped one of them out, the surface of it obscured in intricate ink, and muttered a few words under his breath. There was a puff of smoke, like something a stage magician might utilize to serve as a distraction between costume changes. When it cleared, there stood Kubo draped in a black cloak. But that wasn't all. What little I could see of his face, too, was different. His usually strong jaw had been filed down to something feeble-looking, and one of his eyes was a different color, sort of white.

He'd disguised himself.

“Why did you do that?” I asked him. “Should we all have worn disguises?”

Kubo smirked, displaying jagged, yellowed teeth that weren't actually his. When he spoke, though, the voice was all him. “See, there are more than a couple of things waiting for us down there that know my face. Better to be safe than sorry. The rest of you should be all right. I just don't want everyone and their mother knowing that an officer with the Veiled Order is poking around in the Underground. Ready?”

“Hold on a second,” said Germaine. Slowly, the spider crawled through the collar of my shirt, his furry bulk pressed to the base of my neck. I shivered and protested all the while. “There we go. I oughta stay hidden, too. Just in case.”

We took turns jumping into the chasm, and found ourselves standing in the woods outside Mona's. Kubo wasted no time leading the party down the necessary path, and even adopted an exaggerated limp. Behind him, Kanta and Percy stuck together, which left Joe and I at the rear.

Oh, and Germaine, too.

“Get the hell off of me,” I said, every hair on my body standing upright. I could feel the awful critter shifting against me as he struggled to stay put. “Just walk alongside us, for Christ's sake. Do you have to torture me every step of the way? Is this fun for you?”

A long leg teased the nape of my neck. “Better shut up, Demon-boy. Else the folk in the Underground are going to think you're talking to yourself.”

Joe hadn't said much of anything since we left my apartment. He looked down at his feet as we wandered on, lost in his thoughts. Come to think of it, the two of us hadn't really had a chance to talk one-on-one for a while now. We'd had our fight, but hadn't gotten the chance to patch things up yet.

“Hell of a mission we're on, huh?” I said, hoping to break the ice. All the while, I reached back and smacked at the arachnid under my shirt.

Joe nodded. “This guy might be something of a god. Pretty wild.” His voice was vacant, dreamy.

“I can't believe Kubo wants me to sit the big fight out.” Once more, I reached back and smacked Germaine. Finally, he'd had enough, and he burst from the collar of my shirt.

“Asshole,” muttered the spider, leaping onto the ground and speeding alongside us.

Joe shrugged. “Makes sense to me. If you can't control your pridefulness when you aren't one-hundred percent possessed, then I'd hate to see you out there when the demon comes out to play. You'd probably try killing us all, like last time.”

“Oh, come on.” All right, so he was still mad at me. “Its not like that. I'm not trying to be the hero here. Sure, I'm bitter about losing to the necromancer, but I've made peace with the fact that Kanta's our ace. Whatever. I just don't want to sit on the sidelines.”

Smirking, Joe glanced at the spider, who was charging on ahead at great speed. “You just don't think we can do this without you. There was a Veiled Order before you came along, you know that? And we did just fine without a Demon-Heart on our side. I think we'll take care of things neatly when we have this sword, even without your help, Lucy.”

I was conflicted; I wanted to plead my case and convince him that I wasn't just seeking glory, but I also wanted to punch him in the head. “Dude, I never said that. So you guys can take care of things without me. That's great. But when push comes to shove, does it really make sense to leave me out of it? I want to work with you guys. I know you're all capable fighters and that it's going to take a team effort to take down Agamemnon. And I've known it the whole time. I was just being prideful... I wanted to be the Davy Jones to our Monkees. But it doesn't have to be that way. We can all be Davy Jones. Just quit shutting me out, man.”

Joe slapped me in the arm. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about, or what it has to do with monkeys, but it isn't up to me in the end. It's the Chief's call. Maybe you've learned your lesson, Lucy, but I'm not convinced. You've messed up a lot, and I don't want to be the guy who just follows you around, trying to explain away your mistakes.”

“You don't know who the Monkees are? You're a Philistine, you know that?” I paused. “Anyhow, I get it. And I want to prove to everyone just how things have changed. But I can't do that if Kubo locks me up for the final fight. And... what if you guys can't handle Agamemnon without me? Then what?”

Joe kicked a pebble off of the trail. “Then I guess you can manage our funerals.”

We left Mona's place behind and entered the Underground. Our surroundings were transformed, and for a minute I fancied John Wayne might make his entrance from around the corner.

But instead of John Wayne, I found myself surrounded by alien creatures.

Percy and Kanta kept their gazes low as they pressed on behind the Chief. Germaine was riding Kubo's coattails, clutching the edges of the dusty cloak he wore. Without even looking at him, I knew Joe was holding onto his lighter.

“Where exactly is this armory?” I asked no one in particular.

Kubo turned back to look at me. “Keep your voice down.”

Germaine clued me in, fixing his eight eyes on me and speaking quietly. “It's a pretty short trek. A mile or two.” He scampered further up the cloak that Kubo wore. “Would be much easier if someone would just give me a ride.”

“Not if my life depended on it.” I buried my hands in my pockets, doing my best not to look at the curious figures walking by. We passed the brothel, the bookstore where we'd picked up Germaine, along with scores of weird-ass creatures. In the corner of my eye I glimpsed an animal of some kind. It was roughly the size of a dog, but its limbs were vaguely humanoid. I looked the other way to keep from taking the whole thing in, and caught sight of a leering werewolf. The wolf walked by, not bothering to conceal its true form in this place. Its fur was brown, its eyes yellow and fangs not altogether white. The dash of pinkish blood along the tips of its canines told me the thing had just enjoyed a meal.

I pulled my eyes away and just kept on going. I'd ruined things for everyone back at the park, drawing the attention of the horde with my lightning trick. I wasn't going to slow us down here, though. I'd learned my lesson. The sooner we got to the armory, the better. Up ahead there was a large fountain. It gurgled with crystal clear water, and upon its edges were seated a number of people bound up in discolored rags. They spoke in a grating tongue; the syllables reminded me of the magical language the witches in Mater Agatha's coven had spoken.

There were more bars along this stretch than anything, by the looks of it. Joe and I hadn't ventured this far down the road during our last visit, but every third or fourth building now seemed to house a tavern. Each sounded full of drunken revelers, and the noise of breaking glass emerged repeatedly like a poorly-timed cymbal crash. There were open storefronts, too. Some of the things on offer, hanging from hooks and lengths of string, are probably too indecent for description, but sellers specializing in tinctures, supplies for magic and other oddities were many. Now and then Kubo would linger over the wares of one of these merchants and appear to consider a purchase. Whether he was genuinely interested in their goods or simply wished to look the part was difficult to say.

None of us talked. We were just interested in blending in, in getting to our destination without trouble. Kubo had mentioned the possibility of encountering some of Agamemnon's guys down here, but I hadn't noticed anything even remotely zombie-like in the place. The sun was down, and the streets were lit by a series of hanging paper lanterns. Some storefronts boasted neon signs; still others were illuminated by large torches. The further we went, the more I started glancing into the dark alleys between establishments. If Agamemnon had sent some of his cronies down here, then they would probably stay hidden, out of sight, until an opportunity to attack presented itself.

I wondered if Agememnon's forces were comprised solely of zombies. It stood to reason that his death powers only allowed him to hold sway over the dead, though it occurred to me that an avatar of Thanatos might have a couple of zealous, living groupies. We hadn't encountered any yet, but it wasn't out of the question. Looking past Kubo, I hoped we were getting close to the armory. I wasn't sure what this Dennis guy would look like, but--

Kubo had stopped, and the rest of us nearly bumped into one another as he came to a halt.

There were two figures standing in front of Kubo, blocking his way, and a third coming up from behind us with heavy steps. I turned, only to find the werewolf from earlier, teeth bared in a low growl. I nudged Joe with my elbow, but he was already aware of the new arrivals.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Kubo in a low voice that was almost unrecognizable to me.

The two figures standing in front of us were wearing grey robes, and were in the process of pulling their hoods back. What I saw underneath them disgusted me.

Lizard men.

I don't know if that's the proper species name or anything like that, but they were man-sized things with elongated, scaly heads. Take a gecko's head and stick it on a man's body and you'll kind of know what I'm talking about. Actually, don't do that. It would be grotesque.

These two guys looked awfully familiar to me, from the narrow, piercing eyes, to the black claws they boasted on their stubby, reptilian fingers. Joe and I had been hassled by one of these things during our earlier sojourn into the Underground. Apparently creatures like these flourished here.

Reason one-hundred-and-one for why I don't think I'll ever vacation in the Underground.

“That one, there,” said the werewolf on our flank, approaching quickly. “With the sword.”

We all turned and looked to Percy, whose stance stiffened noticeably at being called out. He turned to the werewolf, sporting an uneasy grin. Combing a hand through his sandy hair, he motioned nonchalantly to the weapon on his back. “What of it?”

The werewolf sneered. “It looks awfully familiar. I don't suppose you're a hunter, are you? A Sterling, perhaps?” The creature's yellow eyes narrowed and the growl in its throat began growing in volume. Imagine a big, brown wolf standing on two legs, but with an extra twenty or thirty pounds of muscle. This thing looked nasty, a good bit beefier than the two werewolves I'd helped take down during my last case. “One of my brothers was killed by a hunter with a sword like that one. Rumor had it he was done in by one of the Sterlings.” He cocked his head to the side. “You wouldn't happen to be Percival Sterling, would you?”

Kubo put up his hands in a feeble show to the lizard men before us. “Now, now, I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding. My friend here has no quarrel with your kind. We are just looking to go on our way, off to visit some friends, so if you'll excuse us--”

“Can it,” muttered one of the lizard men, shoving Kubo to the ground. Germaine was nearly flattened in the Chief's descent, and sprang out at just the right moment. A shame; I wished he'd been turned into a spider pancake. That would have been about the only good thing to come out of this fight that was about to break out.

The trio was closing in on us. Kanta's hand was locked around her braid. All she needed to do was pull one of those hairs out and she'd have a big, gleaming trident to thrust into the bodies of these ruffians. She hesitated, though. She didn't seem to want to fight until combat became an inevitability. A wise move.

Percy, though, had other ideas.

Can I just say that it feels great not to be the guy who fucks everything up for once? I didn't even have to open my mouth, didn't have to make a boast or throw a punch this time. Instead, it was Percy who got things started, despite Kubo's harsh stare telling him to back down.

“As a matter of fact, I think I remember your brother,” said Percy, his hand slowly moving to the hilt of the sword. He touched it with two fingers, meeting the werewolf's steely gaze. “Though, it's hard to remember. My family has cut down so many of your kind over the years, and you all look the same to me.”

That did it.

With a savage roar, the werewolf launched himself at Percy.

The street was alive with hushed murmurs as all hell broke loose.

With a quick, practiced movement, Percy wrapped his fist around the hilt and whipped the blade from its scabbard, swinging it downward just in time to separate the werewolf's fist from its arm. The monstrosity's cries tore through the night, and a jet stream of blackish blood doused the ground. Percy wasn't through yet, however. He reached out and knocked the werewolf in the snout with the butt of his hilt. The creature stumbled to its knees.

The lizard men were on the move. Where Kubo had initially hoped to play it cool, he knew now that there was no choice but to fight. Before the first of the lizard men could approach Percy, Kubo reached out towards its neck.

The sound of gunfire made everyone in the street, myself included, duck for cover.

I watched as a couple of silver bullets sailed through the lizard man's throat. Its eyes shot open and a stream of blood trickled down its scaly lips. It was dead before it hit the ground.

Its partner, crouching low, tried to make a break for it, but before it could build any distance, I caught a whiff of burning fabric. It was on fire.

Joe's lighter was on, sticking out of his pocket just enough to be seen, and he'd tossed a few sparks onto the creature's cloak, igniting it. The faster it ran away from us, the faster the fire spread, until it was a screaming fireball rushing for the fountain we'd walked past.

Kubo lowered his hood, the illusion he'd cast to hide his appearance suddenly falling away. “We need to move. Now.” Dressed now in his suit, silver gun in hand, Kubo charged ahead. Kanta and Percy followed, running after him. Joe made sure the lizard man was burnt to a crisp before continuing on, and Germaine quickly darted up my pant leg, stationing himself on my shoulder.

I didn't even have time to protest.

“How far are we from the frigging armory?” I asked the spider, running behind the others.

“It's still a little ways away!” gasped Germaine.

Damn. We'd attracted a ton of attention. I hoped that the lizard men didn't have friends watching that scuffle, else we could expect to tangle with more of them. Kubo's disguise was gone, too; if anyone recognized him as a Veiled Order operative like he'd feared, then we might end up fighting through a crowd to get to the armory.

We turned right, following Kubo, whose face was covered in fresh sweat. “There it is,” he said, panting. “The Celestial Armory.” He slowed down just a bit as we rounded the corner, falling into a jog. He tucked his gun back into its shoulder holster and wiped at his brow. “We need to hurry. Cat's out of the bag, and anyone out here might recognize me. Germaine, is your friend going to be there?”

“Oh yeah, Dennis will be there,” replied the spider. “He's reliable, and I told him to get there early, in case we got held up.”

The building Kubo had pointed out was enormous compared to everything we'd hitherto seen in the Underground. It was made of stone, for starters, and was topped in a large, white dome. The entire structure was held up by pillars, and even from here I could see its enormous doors. It was a couple of blocks away, but it really stood out from its surroundings. There was something elegant about it, something that called to mind the stonework of ancient Rome. This building, I guessed, had been constructed centuries, perhaps millennia ago. It wouldn't have surprised me if there were ancient works of art stashed inside along with all of the mythical weapons-- which were works of art in their own right.

I almost asked Germaine about what else we'd find in there, but thought better of it.

Now was not the time to geek out over art or architecture.

We booked it through a narrow alley, breaking out onto a wide, busy street. Kubo ran past a number of riders on horseback, nearly getting himself trampled, while the rest of us darted and weaved through the foot traffic. We made it to a tall gate, a combination of stone and thick, wrought iron, which restricted access to the armory and effectively blocked out the riff-raff.

There were guards posted there; big guys in suits of armor. I didn't know if all of them were human, but they wore intense-looking plate like something straight out of a bedtime story. “The fuck?” I asked Germaine. “What, does King Arthur live here?”

Germaine jumped off of me and skittered towards the gate, where a lone figure was propped up against a stone support, smoking a Lucky Strike. The man was, surprisingly, incongruously, human. He wore a black polo shirt with the TGI Friday's logo on the breast.

This was our guy.

“Dennis!” shouted the spider. “There ya are!”

Dennis peered down at the arachnid and grinned with all the warmth one might afford a close friend. “Germaine Fox, how the hell you doing?” The Jersey accent was strong in this one; though Germaine was a spider, the two of them might as well have been brothers for the similarities in speech. “I was wonderin' when you might turn up.” He glanced at the rest of us curiously, taking a long drag. “These, uh... your buddies you were talkin' about?”

“That's right,” said the spider. “And we need to get in there pronto, man. Ran into a bit of trouble, like we expected. I tell you, this whole place is going downhill. What do you say? Can you let us in?”

“Of course.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a keyring. Slowly, he unlocked the gate and ordered two of the posted guards to lock up after him. The men walked over stiffly, the armor inhibiting their movements, and secured the gate after we'd all passed through.

Kubo introduced himself to Dennis, offering a handshake that was only weakly returned. “I'm with the Veiled Order, name's Kubo,” he began, “and we're here because Germaine tells us you can get ahold of the Archangel Saber.”

Dennis arched a brow and stopped suddenly, putting out his cigarette on the heel of his shoe. “Hold on... that's what you came lookin' for, Germaine? The frigging Archangel Saber?”

“Obviously. What else? Why, is something the matter?” asked the spider.

“I'll say there's a problem,” replied Dennis. He looked over at the rest of us, waving his hands in the air. “Of all the shit you coulda asked for, I can't let you have that one.”

Kubo glared down at Germaine like he was about to stomp on him. And damn, how I wished he would. “What do you mean you can't let us have it? Why not? Didn't Germaine tell you that we were coming for it?”

Dennis chuckled, shaking his head. His hair was greasy, tightly curled, and he smelled vaguely of deep-fried mozzarella. “Nah, Germaine here called me to say he was cashing in on a favor I owed him. He didn't say nothin' about letting y'all borrow a frigging holy sword. Pretty sure I would have remembered that.”

“What the hell, Germaine?” I said, reaching out and kicking him with the tip of my shoe.

The spider wheeled around, pointing a hairy appendage towards his buddy. “Dennis, you're my go-to guy for this kinda shit. I need you to come through for me with the hookup. We're talkin' life and death here.”

Dennis shook his head. “I can't do it. Strict orders from the owner.”

Kubo grabbed up a fistful of Dennis' shirt. “Who's the owner of the sword? My bosses will buy it from them, no questions asked. No price is too high.”

Dennis whistled, breaking out of Kubo's grasp and brushing himself off. “I'm sure your bosses are flush with cash and all that, mister... uh, Kubo. But money ain't the object. See, the owner of this thing don't care about money. And I know for a fact that he ain't gonna part with it. I guarantee it.”

“Who's the owner?” asked Kanta, stepping forward. She was playing with her braid again, probably considering ways in which she might persuade him through violence.

Dennis sighed, looking down at the spider that stalked around his feet. “You know, that's a breach of customer confidentiality. But I'll give you the name. He's a big guy, goes by the name of Agamemnon.”

I could be wrong, but I think that Kubo started laughing.

Either that, or it was the first time I'd ever seen him cry.

TWENTY-NINE

We spent a lot of time trying to talk some sense into Dennis, but it was all for naught. Aside from lying to us about being able to easily get ahold of the Archangel Saber, Germaine had fibbed a little about his closeness to Dennis. They were old drinking buddies... not exactly BFF's.

“Look,” began Germaine, “we're trying to keep the world from getting overrun with zombies. Get it? And your client, Agamemnon, is the one who's controlling them. Now, he probably bought this sword so that no one else would be able to get ahold of it. Smart move on his part. But he's fixin' to destroy Detroit-- to raise an army of the dead and overrun the Earth. So, we need this sword if we're gonna stop him.”

Frankly, this whole thing was comical. We'd come all the way here, risking our lives in search of a mythical blade, just to get turned away at the last minute. And why was that? Because this dumbass wanted to uphold his contract to the goddamn necromancer. It was the perfect plot-twist, the perfect kick in the balls, considering everything that was at stake. If Agamemnon could see us now, he'd probably laugh till his ribs were sore.

“Can't help ya,” replied Dennis. We were standing in the well-lit courtyard outside the armory. The guards around us remained still as statues at their posts. “Even if I wanted to violate my contract, which I don't, I couldn't help you.”

“Why not?” demanded Kubo.

Dennis nodded towards the monolithic building. “See, I was paid really well for this, but that ain't the sole reason. A stipulation in the contract was that Agamemnon would provide his own insurance on the sword. It's kept in a separate room, and he's got it surrounded by guards of his own. I don't know who he has posted there, but he promised me that to even look at that room would equal a painful, painful death. I haven't been down that stretch since I took on the contract. Not worth the risk. And have you ever met the guy? He's fuckin' intense, man. I believed him. Took him at his word, I did.”

“But he can't even use the sword,” I argued. “He's a necromancer. A sword like that one could kill him. He has no use for it, except to keep it from us. And in case you missed it, we're the good guys. We're trying to save the world. Don't you understand that?”

Dennis shrugged, scratching at his belly. “Sure, sure. And good on ya. But I don't have a dog in that fight. See, there's this little thing called integrity, and not everyone has it. But you know what it would do to my business if I went back on my contract? Nope, can't help you this time, Germaine. If you want to cash in that favor I owe you, I'll take you out to the titty bar like last time, but--”

Kubo socked Dennis in the sternum. The pudgy guy went white in the face and fell flat on his back. Kneeling down on the ground, Kubo dug into Dennis' wide eyes with a gaze that would have made me shrink away. “Listen up. This is how it's going to go. You're going to let us have that sword, or we're going to shove that integrity up your ass till you spend the rest of your life shitting blood. Got it?”

Germaine was a little more delicate. He wandered over, caressing Dennis' cheek gingerly with one of his arms. “I'm sorry, bud, but I have to agree with Kubo over there. You're being unreasonable. Let us have the sword; we won't tell a soul you let us have it. It's important, though.”

Dennis slowly sat up, clutching at his chest and coughing. “N-nah... you messed up this time, Germaine. I ain't... I ain't gonna let you pull one over on me like this.”

“Sorry to hear that,” said Kubo, pulling Dennis up by his collar. “Looks like we'll be taking what we came for.”

I have to say, I really liked this new, thuggish Kubo. This Kubo got shit done.

Dennis smirked, then winced as his chest ached afresh. “Oh, I wouldn't do that. You might get in there, but aside from the guards Agamemnon's posted, you'll have to deal with my security. I'll have you all rounded up by the time you even get close to the sword.”

Kubo shoved Dennis into Joe's waiting arms. “That's a chance we're going to take, then,” said the Chief. “Germaine, Lucy, you're coming with me.” He turned to Kanta. “You, Joe and Percy keep our buddy Dennis busy. If he gives you trouble, you have my permission to kill him.”

Dennis' bowels audibly loosened as Kanta pulled out a strand of hair and held the tips of the gleaming trident against his throat. “Sure thing, Chief.”

With that, Kubo led me and the spider up to the door of the armory. The door was massive, a good twenty feet high, and could only be reached by way of a tall set of stone stairs. And, of course, it was locked. “Shit, should we go back and get the keys from Dennis?” I asked.

Kubo ignored me and flipped through his stack of seals. “I came prepared for plan B, remember?” Teasing out one particular slip, he pulled me away from the door and pressed the seal into it.

Then we hit the deck.

An explosion rocked the armory, and a shower of stone and debris rained down on us. When I chanced to look up, my eyes watering for the dust that filled the air, I saw the gaping hole in the stone door. “Shit, Chief. That's a hell of a spell.” For the damage it'd done, Kubo might as well have strapped a stick of TNT to the door.

Kubo wasted no time. He dragged me to my feet and led me into the armory by the arm. Inside, I could already hear the resonant footfalls of goons in plate armor scrambling to find the source of the explosion.

Behind us, the guards posted near the gates sprang into action.

And I do mean sprang.

Since our arrival, I'd only seen those dudes in knight's armor shuffle around the grounds. When we threatened Dennis they hadn't so much as flinched. But explosions, apparently, were something they reacted to. They'd seemed slow, clunky, totally inefficient to me up to that point. Now the armored figures jumped into action and began sprinting towards Percy, Kanta and Joe with incredible speed, weapons poised for attack.

Inside the armory there were more of them, and we weren't a step or two into the place before they descended on us from every direction.

I hoped the others would be able to hold off the guards outside while the Chief and I busied ourselves looking for the Archangel Saber. I sucked in a deep breath and got ready to cross fists with the incoming knights.

“Keep your wits about ya, kid,” warned Germaine, taking cover inside my shirt. “These things are out to kill.”

Fists balled, I grinned. “Hold on, then. It's going to be one hell of a ride.”

THIRTY

I cut Gadreel's leash.

The demon surged to the foreground, meeting the first of several guards with a steady flurry. A straight right, a left jab and then a heel stomp left the suit of armor riddled with dents.

And mere suits of armor these things appeared to be.

I popped the helmet off of the next one, crunching it like a pop can, and found nothing underneath.

“They're enchanted,” explained Kubo, staying back and looking for the right seal for the situation. “If they're sufficiently damaged they'll shut down, like machines, but until then they're relentless. Blowing them to pieces is our best bet. Trouble is, I only packed a few of those seals you saw earlier, and we don't know what lays ahead.” He plucked one paper seal from the stack and held it between two fingers. “Let's try a different approach. I need you to pick me up, and when I say 'jump', you jump. Got that? I've got a spell here that's going to turn the floor into lava.”

“Like the game you play as a kid? Where you throw pillows on the floor and try not to touch the carpet?” I asked.

“No,” replied Kubo, glowering. “I mean real lava, you idiot.”

A suit of armor rushed towards me, wielding a battleaxe. These weapons, thankfully, were made of plain old steel. Had they been silver, I might've been in trouble. Parrying the crushing weight of the axe with my forearms, my skin was torn open, but the weapon failed at cleaving my arms off. I drop-kicked the suit in the legs and watched as it fell to pieces at my feet. “Whatever you say, Chief. Sooner we get out of here, the better.”

Germaine shrieked, peeking at my rear. “Look out!”

I turned just in time to catch a sword in the eye.

One of the suits had managed to get the jump on me, and it thrust a longsword through my head, spearing my right eye and pinning my body to the wall. I hadn't been fast enough to stop it, and the attack literally blew my mind.

OK, you're right, it's a shitty time for jokes.

My body went slack for a second there, but in the next I was punching the suit's arms apart. Slowly I yanked the sword out of my skull and crumpled to the floor, loads of blood and brain matter streaming from the enormous wound. A mere human being would have been done for after a hit like that one. Even though I was going to live, I tell you it hurt like a bitch. Getting the inside of my head probed with a razor-sharp blade wasn't really bucket list material.

The lava spell was put on the back-burner. Kubo crouched beside me, firing a few bullets at the remaining suits while I struggled to recover. I don't know why he thought that might be effective. The bullets didn't even penetrate. From behind me, I heard Germaine trying not to throw up. The spider was retching in my half-severed ear, and it was pissing me off. “G-glad you're OK, kid. But maybe next time try and dodge, eh? N-no one wants to see that shit.”

I glared over my shoulder at him, my face slowly mending. Bone, muscle and skin alike began a slow crawl, frayed ends reaching out to one another till every level was fortified. “Thanks for your concern,” I said when I could finally speak.

Kubo was in trouble. Two of the metallic bastards were taking turns slashing at him. One of them had a longsword, the other a frigging hammer. The tireless suits were incredibly fast, playing a game of whack-a-mole with the Chief. Kubo just barely evaded each time, but his movements were getting slower as he grew more exhausted. These things were relentless.

I managed to dispatch one of them with a kick, but didn't get to the other in time. Kubo was forced to do a log roll to avoid a jab from the longsword. With a grunt, I reached down and picked up the hammer the other one had dropped, raising it over my head and swinging with everything I had. Shit, the thing was heavy even to me. These enchantments had serious muscle.

The suit of armor crumbled away beneath the might of the hammer, and for the first time since our entrance, there was silence.

“Eat your heart out, son of Odin,” I said, wielding the hammer in one hand.

Germaine clicked his tongue. “Nah, haven't you seen the movies? If that were really Thor's hammer, you wouldn't be able to wield it.”

I hesitated. “D-do you mean that... that Thor is actually, like, real? The Norse god?”

“Oh, yeah,” replied Germaine with altogether too much casualness. “Believe it or not, those movies are pretty much documentaries.”

Meanwhile, Kubo wasn't looking so hot. He rose to his feet, clutching one of his elbows. Even beneath the suit, I could tell that he was seriously injured. “Elbow is broken,” he said through grit teeth. “The one with the hammer clipped me.”

Shit. Kubo was pretty much down for the count. He gripped his seals and peered out the door, where Kanta, Percy and Joe were still locked in battle with the other guards. “What're we going to do, Chief? If there's something waiting for us in that room where the sword is at, then you won't be able to take it on. Not with a busted arm.”

He nodded. “I'm going to stand back, help them out from a distance,” he said, motioning to the group in the courtyard. “You go on and find the sword. Take Joe with you. The two of you make a good team, and I think you'll be able to handle whatever comes your way. Germaine will stay with you so that you can identify the sword when you find it.”

My eyes went wide. “Y-you want me to bring Joe?” I gulped. That didn't sound like such a bad idea to me, and it was true that the two of us made a strong team, but I didn't think Joe was going to be up for it.

Kubo staggered out of the armory and whistled. “Joe, get in here.”

Joe was hanging back, near Dennis, while the other two struggled to beat back the remaining suits. Their weapons weren't well-suited to destroying thick armor. Kanta was pounding away on the things, but they still kept coming.

“Joe!” called Kubo, waving him towards the makeshift entrance in the armory door.

Joe finally broke away from the group, rushing in to meet us.

The Chief stepped out into the courtyard and gave us his orders. “I'm tagging out,” he said, cradling his busted arm. “You and Lucy go find the sword with Germaine. I'll support the other two out here. Hurry up, got it? And work together.”

Joe looked at the two of us in turn, the reticence in his gaze clearly telegraphed. “S-sure, Chief,” he replied.

“Well, don't act so excited about it,” I added, tugging him into the armory and leaving Kubo behind. “And don't get yourself killed, Chief. This fight is only just getting started,” I reminded him.

Kubo turned to the courtyard, using his teeth to pick out the seals he wanted from the stack in his fist. Nope, the Chief wasn't planning on checking out. Not yet.

Joe and I pushed through the armory. Up to this point, I hadn't actually gotten a good look at the place. I'd been too busy hacking apart enchanted suits of armor to admire my surroundings. But as I took a moment to look around, I saw that there was, as I'd expected, a good deal to admire.

The place was more or less a museum. Hundreds of glass cases lined what proved to be an immense showroom. This place was known to house mythical weapons of great rarity, and the art history buff in me salivated at the thought of exploring the whole place. Shame we'd gone and roughed up Dennis; I'd have really loved an in-depth tour of the joint.

I walked quickly between the rows of cases. In one, there was an ancient-looking bow and arrow, totally wooden. It didn't look remarkable, but was probably worth loads if it was being kept here. Further on was a huge sword, whose placard read Sword of Beowulf. “Are you kidding me right now?” I was giddy as a schoolgirl. “This place is full of awesome shit! Why didn't you tell me that they had all of these artifacts? It's a collector's paradise!”

Germaine reached over and smacked me in the cheek with one of his legs. “Because we ain't here to sightsee, you asshole. Get moving! We've gotta find that sword!”

Joe and I looked around the enormous showroom, from the countless cases spread out before us, to the large, domed ceiling overhead. “W-where, exactly, do we need to look?” asked Joe. “We could search for an hour and never find it in this room.”

Glancing this way and that, Germaine urged us onward. “It ain't gonna be here. If Agamemnon wants it hidden, then it's probably not gonna be housed with the main collection. Dennis said the sword is in its own room. I know there are other chambers in this place. Let's look for them.”

We pushed past the rows of glass cases. I did my best not to linger, I swear, but some of these things were just too awesome to pass up. There was a staff in one of those cases that supposedly belonged to Moses. In with an ornate sarcophagus was a dagger that'd belonged to Tutankhamen, and the blade was made from the iron found in a meteorite. I could have wandered the armory for hours.

The deeper we went into the showroom, though, the more I felt a strange dread welling up in me. It was a really peculiar feeling, like something was sneaking up on me. I stopped now and then, trying to sense where it was coming from, but couldn't pin down the source. Joe and Germaine felt nothing.

I took another step, and the feeling intensified by double.

“There's something going on in this place,” I said. “I can feel something weighing down on me. Something that doesn't want me here.”

Germaine perked up. “It's the sword! It's gotta be the sword!”

“Think so?” I asked, bracing myself against one of the cases. “It feels... it feels all wrong. I have the strangest feeling in my heart.” The thumping in my chest was surging up to new heights with each step I took. Whatever it was, Gadreel really disliked it.

“Follow that feeling, kid. You might lead us right to it!” urged Germaine.

“Yeah, keep going, Lucy. I'll bet it's the angel sword's aura!” said Joe.

Maybe Joe was onto something, but suddenly I just wanted to turn tail and get out of there. I was being actively pushed away by some force I couldn't see.

I pressed on with no little difficulty, walking towards the back of the room. I kept my head down, just focusing on the awful feeling that overcame me. I had a weird taste in my mouth. It was vaguely metallic; and this, too, only grew stronger the further I walked. Then, studying the way ahead, I noticed that the showroom branched off into a long hallway. “It's this way, whatever it is,” I said.

We started down the hall.

THIRTY-ONE

“Question is, which room is it?” asked Germaine as we stood at the end of the hallway.

We'd walked more than thirty feet and passed no less than ten doors on either side of the hall which all bore signs reading “no admittance”. Any one of them could have housed the sword we were looking for.

The air in this hallway was all wrong, and I was picking up more than just a bad vibe now. There was something more tangible than dread in the air, a certain stench I felt reasonably sure I'd whiffed before.

The smell of the grave.

“Joe,” I said, “keep your eyes open, man. There's something in here with us. I smell something weird. The living dead, maybe.”

Joe whipped open the Zippo. “You sure?”

Sniffing at the air, Germaine scoffed. “Nah, you're imagining things, kid. My sensory apparatus is a lot more sensitive than a human's, and I can't smell shit.”

I took another step, glancing at the stretch of doors ahead. “I'm not so sure.”

By the looks of it, this hallway stretched another fifty or so yards before branching off in two different directions. I was about ready to drop a trail of breadcrumbs, what with all the wandering we'd done. This place was massive, easy to get lost in. Pressing on, I booked it to the next split in the hall, the feeling of oppression never waning and my stomach playing host to a knot of dread.

Arriving at the end of the hall, the stench of death hit me harder than ever, and a glance around the corner showed me why that was. “Stop,” I warned Joe in a whisper, pushing him back the way we'd come. “Zombies. And...” I squinted, trying to size up and describe what I was seeing. “Something else.”

There were at least ten zombies standing in the hall just around the left-hand bend. And that “something else”, as best I could tell, was a massive humanoid shape. It wasn't Agamemnon; I was pretty confident of that. Unless he'd gained a hell of a lot of weight since last we met, and a few feet in height. No, this thing amongst the zombies stood a good ten feet tall, and its limbs were piles of ruddy hamburger. Was it a zombie? It certainly reeked like one.

“What do you make of that thing, Germaine?” I asked, brushing the spider off of my shoulder.

He hit the ground and peeked around the corner, quickly skittering back towards me. “That's no good. It's a construct, kiddo. A flesh golem.”

“A flesh golem?” asked Joe. “What the hell is that?”

Patting the floor with two of his arms, Germaine tried to explain. “It's a mountain of rotting meat, is what it is. Animated like those suits of armor, sort of. Except this thing's gonna have an attitude. When Agamemnon said he was going to provide his own security, he wasn't bluffing.”

“So you're telling me it's a zombie on steroids?” asked Joe, hitting the striker and turning on the lighter. “I'll toast it from a distance. No problem. They'll all burn before they even catch sight of us.”

“Do it,” I urged him. “When they're out of the way we'll storm the chamber they're camped out in front of. The sword we're looking for is in it.”

The sword was almost certainly around this next corner, and all we needed to do was destroy some zombies to get to it. Easy-peasy, right?

Not right.

I glanced around the corner, giving Joe the thumbs up.

And then I suddenly recoiled. “H-hold on,” I gasped.

Joe had already pinched off a fireball, and was ready to toss it. “What's the matter, Lucy?”

I palmed at my brow, finding a cold sweat brewing there. I looked around the corner once more, wanting to be sure of what I'd seen. “G-guys,” I said, “we need another plan.”

Germaine crawled up my back and perched himself atop my head. “What's wrong with you, kid? You're shaking like a leaf.”

Damn straight I was. “My brother is over there.”

Standing amidst the group of zombies was my dead brother, Conrad.

***

This was no time to be getting sentimental, and Germaine told me as much. “Listen, I'm real sorry for your loss and all that, but we've gotta take these things down, Lucy. Got me? The sword is probably just beyond there.”

I'd known for a long time that I might meet my brother in battle. Conrad had been raised by Agamemnon, just like I'd feared. And the timing of our reunion couldn't have been any worse. This was the moment of truth, the moment when we were supposed to snatch the weapon that would help us save the world. But here I was, chickening out at the last minute.

I'm pretty sure I've talked to you a bit about my older brother before. Conrad and I grew up together. He was a few years older than me, and to make a long story short, everyone loved the crap out of him. He was a charismatic guy, good looking and sharp. In the end, though, a drug addiction had done him in. I was the one who found him after he overdosed in the bathroom at my mom's place. Once upon a time, everyone used to tell me that I looked just like him, and when I turned the corner and saw him standing there with the rest, I could still see a faint resemblance.

A fair bit of skin had been lost to the processes of decomposition, and his face no longer maintained its usual shape. What remained of his face had dried up, was clinging precariously to the bones. The corners of his mouth were cracked, oozing black liquid too putrid to be considered proper blood, but his eyes... Those ice blue eyes were still as clear as they'd been on the day he died. It was chilling. I had zero doubt that it was him. Further driving my conviction was the outfit he was wearing. It was the suit my mother had chosen to bury him in. The grave had tarnished it, sure, but it was the same damn suit. I was positive.

“What's the hold-up, Lucy?” asked Joe. “That isn't your brother over there... it's a zombie. Let me torch them and we'll complete the mission, OK? Just stand back.”

I gripped his forearm and pushed him back into the hall. “No, hold on. Please.”

I'm no softie. I mess things up with my brashness all the time, and in any other situation I'm the kind of guy to shoot first, ask questions later. This find had stopped me in my tracks, though. Maybe you'll shake your head at me for screeching to a halt so close to the finish line, but this wasn't something I could do. I couldn't just toast Conrad up like the rest.

It didn't matter what Joe said, how he tried to justify this. That was my brother over there, for God's sake.

“Lucy,” said Germaine, trying to talk some sense into me, “that thing over there really ain't your brother. I promise you that. It may be his body, sure, and I don't blame ya for being upset. But it isn't like you can chat with him. It's not like he's standing there just waiting to catch up with ya. He's a shell, and he's being manipulated by Agamemnon, just like the countless others you've encountered. The only thing you can do... the only merciful thing you can do, is to destroy him and put him out of his misery.”

Wise words for a spider. I knew Germaine was right, of course. Hell, I'd known that to be the case before he'd even opened his mouth. But it didn't make it any easier on me, and it didn't incite me to take action, either. “I need a minute to think,” I said, slumping against the wall.

“We ain't got a minute, Lucy!” said Joe. “I'm going in.”

“Joe, c'mon...” I reached out to stop him.

Too late.

“We're wrapping this up now!” shouted Joe, revealing himself to the zombies assembled in the hall. The fire jumped from his lighter, tongues of flame raining down upon the shambling figures.

“No!” I reached out and batted the Zippo from his grasp. The silver case struck the floor and slid down the hall, disappearing at the zombies' feet. From behind the wall of smaller undead I heard a wild, inhuman cry.

The hulking, fleshy construct was coming for us.

I watched as the lesser foes disintegrated in the flames. Forced cremation is probably an awful way to go, and the undead loosed hisses and shrieks as their bodies fell away in the fire. My brother was among them. I watched in stunned silence as what remained of his body was consumed by Joe's attack. In the space of a few seconds Conrad was reduced to ash. One minute he'd been there, the next, poof, he was nothing but cinders.

I'd seen more zombies than I could count meet that same fate. But this time, it bothered me. It bothered me to no end. My brother clawed at the air as he went down, and even though Germaine and Joe had assured me that he wasn't really alive, the pain in those blue eyes said otherwise. How could I really be sure that nothing remained of my brother in that reanimated husk? I hadn't even had a chance to reach out to him, to try and reason with him. Maybe he would have recognized me...

As his body crumbled, I knew I'd never get the chance to find out. Reason told me that, yeah, he was just like all of the other zombies I'd faced off against. Mindless. Vicious. A servant of the necromancer. But you know what? Reason could fuck off. That burning body was my older brother, the guy I'd grown up with. The one I'd played soccer with in the back yard. The one who'd taught me how to ride a bike.

It would have been nice to reflect on Conrad's life just then, to have a moment of silence, at least.

Instead, I caught a wrecking ball to the gut.

THIRTY-TWO

A cannonball-shaped fist struck me in the center of mass and lifted me off of the ground. The fleshy construct, reeking of decay, had thundered down the hall and lashed out at the first target within reach. The breath was ejected from my lungs, and for a minute there, everything went blank.

Next thing I knew, I was slammed into the stone wall. The smooth, ancient stone I'd so admired  gave way as my body struck it. When the creature finally drew its fist away, I was nestled in the rock, half-buried in rubble. It reared back for another hit, a hammer-fist this time, intending to mash me into jelly.

Joe had managed to dodge the thing, and Germaine was cowering in a corner.

The click of the Zippo sounded, and when next I opened my eyes, the behemoth in front of me was roaring in pain. The creature was like something out of a Hammer horror film. Several different corpses had gone into its construction, but the parts didn't always mesh. Its hands were round and solid, lacking fingers, and covered in creases like deep wrinkles. Its face was expressionless, featuring eyes of different sizes and a cavernous hack-job of a mouth.

And now it was on fire.

The beast fell back, thrashing as the flames consumed more and more of its body. Compared to the other zombies, this thing was taking its sweet time to burn. It was thicker, meatier, more resistant to fire than the others had been.

I decided to help it along.

Pulling myself out of the busted wall, I paused long enough to take a deep breath. The jumble of broken ribs in my abdomen popped as I did so, the bones slowly returning to their proper places as if by magnetism. Then, jumping into the air, I buried my heel in the flesh golem's contorted face.

The hall shook as the creature fell to the ground. It wasn't long after that when the fire finally did its job. Standing close by like an orchestra conductor, Joe waved his hands back and forth, moving the Zippo furiously as though it were a baton. The flames had spread, and the construct's body crackled as it fell to pieces. It was dead.

“Holy shit,” said Germaine, crawling down from the ceiling and returning to my shoulder. “That was too much, boys. Next time, lets just stick to the plan, yeah? Too close for comfort.”

In the aftermath, I really didn't know what to say. My gut was still smarting from getting socked by the big guy, and Joe was ambling around in a daze. Spitting a little blood onto the ground, I stretched and made sure that all of my innards were well situated before staggering down the hall, over the mounds of smoldering ash that now covered the floor.

Joe stayed out of my way. Heck, his eyes stayed far away from me, and he instead looked down at his handiwork. “Hey,” he said to me in a voice nearly too small to be heard. “I'm, uh... I'm sorry, Lucy.”

“I'm sorry, too,” I replied. “For a lot of things. Sorry that, once, I was a dirtbag who hounded your mom for cash. Sorry that I couldn't fuck up Agamemnon before it came to this. Sorry that I let my head get too big and almost got everyone killed back in the woods. I could go on...” I forced a grin. “Ultimately, though... you don't have anything to apologize for, Joe. I should be thanking you. You had the strength to do what I couldn't.”

My zombie brother had needed dispatched. I'd known it all along. But if it'd been up to me then I'd have still been standing around the corner, thinking of ways to try and reach out to what was very clearly an undead shell. Just because I'd known what needed done didn't make the reality hurt any less. My stomach was in knots, and not just because I'd been sucker-punched. It was unlikely that anything of my brother had survived in that reanimated husk, but now I'd never know for sure. Joe had taken matters into his own hands, burnt him to a crisp before I could confirm it.

For the second time, my brother had died and I hadn't found closure.

The first time around, when he was buried, well... I never really mourned the loss. I'd felt a numbness, a sort of melancholy at his passing, but his death hadn't hit me like it did everyone else. I cared about him, but couldn't cry like everyone else. And for years, I'd carried that grief in a neat little package, wondering if there was something wrong with me. Seeing Conrad again, in the flesh, had overwhelmed me.

Now that the fight was over with, the numbness prevailed. I felt pretty shell-shocked, all things considered. The ominous feeling that'd washed over me earlier still persisted, but strangely enough, it'd taken a back seat to the melancholy.

“Hey, man. It's water under the bridge, OK?” Joe patted me on the shoulder. “I know it's hard on you. I can't imagine what I'd do if that were my bro. Or hell, if my mom had been raised like that...” He shuddered a little. “I'm sorry, Lucy.”

Germaine cleared his throat. “So, I'm not trying to break up this sweet moment. It's darling, really, but... you boys haven't forgotten what it is we came for, right? That sword is in one of these rooms here, ain't it? Do you still feel it, Lucy?”

I scanned the hall. The zombies had been standing guard outside of one door in particular, and as I walked towards it, pressing my hand to the stone, I felt a wave of panic course through me. “There's something in here. And I'll bet it's the sword.”

The door was one solid piece of rock. There was a locking mechanism, but without a key we weren't going to get in.

Let me rephrase that.

We weren't going to get in there nicely.

I laid into that door like it owed me money, and after a couple of blows, the stone fell away, revealing a small, dim chamber.

At its center was a glass case, and even from the doorway I could make out the shape of a long, straight saber in a leather scabbard. It was surprisingly simplistic in design for a sword forged of heavenly materials, but the intense fear that struck me at sighting it convinced me we'd found our mark. “That's it, all right.”

Germaine scrambled into the room and parked himself atop the glass case to verify. “I'll say it is! The Archangel Saber... what a gorgeous specimen. A legendary weapon, this.” He turned to Joe. “You might wanna bust this case and take the sword,” he urged. “Lucy here ain't gonna be able to carry it without killing himself, and if we aren't quick, we might run into more of Dennis' security.”

We'd made it. We'd found the mythical weapon that was going to save the world and put us on equal footing with Agamemnon.

So why did I feel so hollow?

THIRTY-THREE

Joe slung the sword over his shoulder and the three of us ran out of the armory. We encountered a couple more of the enchanted suits along the way, and I stayed behind to break them into scrap. When we finally made it out into the courtyard, we found Kubo, Percy and Kanta sitting around exhausted, panting, with bits of shrapnel all around them. Dennis was sitting there, too, looking furious. He'd lit a cigarette, and at seeing us exit the armory, he cursed under his breath.

“You and me are done after this, Germaine. You hear me? I know where you work-- I'm going to have your ass for this.” Dennis tossed down his cigarette and started marching towards us. Kubo kept him in check, his hand around the guy's sweaty collar.

“Write a letter to your congressman,” was the spider's rejoinder. “Everyone ready? We found what we came for.” Extending an arm Joe's way, he urged him to hand the blade to Kanta. “Give it to her, kid. See how she likes it.”

Joe handed the angelic sword to Kanta, who accepted it excitedly. Inspecting the dull, leather scabbard, she tugged on the hilt and drew out the blade.

I wish someone had warned me.

The blade slid out of its sheath, and the light that came off of it was damn near blinding to me. I reared back, covering my eyes. The blade had an otherworldly shine to it, and to stare at it was like looking directly at the sun. That sword had been crafted by entities intending to kill creatures like me; it was no wonder that I hated it. No one else seemed to react to the light; maybe they couldn't even see it.

“P-put it back,” I pleaded, palming at my watery eyes. “The blade is too bright.”

Kanta returned it to the sheath, grinning. “My, it's the real deal, isn't it? You can't even look at the blade, can you, demon?” She laughed, strapping the scabbard to her waist and toying with the hilt. “Good to know.”

I was seeing stars for quite a while after that. As we left Dennis in the courtyard and started racing through the streets, I wondered if my sight would ever return to normal after staring at that blade. We ran at full tilt, cutting through the crowded streets and rushing past the nightmarish denizens of the Beyond. All of that was old hat to me; after everything that'd transpired in the armory I felt drained, out of sorts. Like nothing could reach me.

We pushed through the Underground, past Mona's, and before I knew it, we were in the parking lot outside of Yao's. Somehow, we managed to get out of there without ending up in another fight. The night had deepened and the rain clouds had at least temporarily retreated. I wondered just how long it'd been since we'd first set off. Stopping to catch his breath and cradling his busted arm, Kubo threw open the driver's side door of the SUV and eased himself in. The rest of us followed, too tuckered out for chit-chat.

Even Germaine, loud mouth that he was, didn't talk.

The Chief started the SUV and we cruised out of the lot. What we planned to do now that we had the game-changer in our hands was anyone's guess. See, we still had a big problem.

Where the hell was the necromancer?

We'd been driving for a few minutes when something occurred to me. I sat up in the back seat. “Hey, Chief. Agamemnon has to be close to his zombies to control them, right? Like... within a few miles. Isn't that what you told us?”

Kubo nodded. “That's right. Why?”

Joe looked back at me, wide-eyed. “Then... then what were those zombies doing down there, in the armory?” he asked.

Kubo struggled to hold onto the wheel with his good arm and shot us a sharp glance. “What did you say? You saw zombies down there?”

“A fair few of them. And a flesh golem,” added Germaine.

Despite his broken limb, Kubo had been in reasonably good spirits up to that point. We'd had a hell of a time, but we'd accomplished our mission. His mood took a noticeable dive at that moment, however, and he fell silent. When he finally spoke again, it was only in confusion. “That... that shouldn't be possible.”

Germaine scrambled up against the windshield. “Maybe not... but with the Scythe of Thanatos, there's really no telling what he's capable of.”

Kubo gave the vehicle a little gas, gritting his teeth. “That means we're going to have a hell of a time pinning down Agamemnon's location. If he isn't bound by conventional rules, he could be literally anywhere.”

I was busy spacing out just then, but even I knew that was bad news.

Killing the necromancer was our biggest aim. We hadn't really considered an alternate plan. Fighting thousands and thousands of zombies certainly didn't constitute a workable alternative. If we couldn't find Agamemnon, then we were fucked. Sideways.

Kubo floored it, hitting the highway and racing in the direction of HQ. “Let's hope someone at headquarters has a lead. Otherwise...”

He preferred not to finish that sentence.

***

We marched into HQ, and from the first moment, Kubo refused to be taken to the medical wing for his arm. “There are bigger fish to fry,” he said as Amundsen came out to meet us, looking threadbare. “We've got a real serious problem.”

“What's wrong?” asked Amundsen, glancing at the sword on Kanta's waist. “Did you not manage to retrieve the saber?”

Kubo nodded. “Oh, we got the sword all right. Trouble is, our intel was all wrong. See, it appears that Agamemnon doesn't have to remain within a few miles of his horde... There were zombies waiting for us in the Underground. Do you understand what that means? He can distance himself, control them from afar. When it comes time for the war to start, he doesn't have to be on the front lines.”

Amundsen blanched, bringing an embroidered hanky to his greying temples. “Oh, dear.”

Was this really such a big surprise? Had no one in charge anticipated this sort of development? I'm no genius, but when a cranky death wizard ends up with a weapon belonging to the Grim-freaking-Reaper... you have to expect these kinds of exceptions to the rules. We weren't dealing with a run-of-the-mill necromancer in this case. We'd already discussed it; Agamemnon was something more, quite possibly an avatar of Thanatos himself. The rules didn't apply to him.

“Well,” said Amundsen, trying to keep things pleasant, “we have the sword, and that's half the battle.”

Kanta clutched the saber's scabbard, appearing impatient. “Don't we have any leads? What about that spot in the park where Lucy and I were taken prisoner?”

Amundsen sighed. “No, I'm afraid the park has yielded no further clues. There was a mass of zombies centered there, but further investigations have seen us come up empty-handed. If... if what Chief Kubo says is true, then there are likely large pockets of zombies all over Detroit. And that would explain why we've had no luck finding the main horde so far. Agamemnon is probably spreading his forces out, making them harder to detect. But when the battle begins, he is likely to hit us from all corners.”

“And... he's going to strike tomorrow night?” chanced Percy. “When the new moon is out and his forces are at their most powerful?”

“That makes the most sense,” replied Germaine. The spider sounded like the wind had been taken out of his sails. He crawled up onto a desk and spooked the attendant there. “We're in a pickle.”

Pickle was too kind a word. We were facing insurmountable odds. Technically, we'd been facing those odds from the very start, but finding the sword was supposed to make everything better. We had an A-bomb in our hands, but no target to focus on. Agamemnon was more clever than any of us had given him credit for. And more powerful, too.

Kubo winced, starting toward the elevator. “Nothing's changed. The plan remains the same,” he barked. “We have one day left to track down Agamemnon and stop this war before it starts. If we cut him down with the Archangel Saber, all of the undead under his sway will die as well. Unless he's managed to rewrite the entire book on necromancy, I know that much to be true. Lucy, go home and get some sleep. I want you back here bright and early. You'll be put in isolation, as planned. The rest of you, feel free to visit the medical wing for care, or head home. I'll be in touch if there are any new developments.”

There was nothing left for me to do but laugh. Kubo disappeared into the elevator, leaving the rest of us with Amundsen in the lobby. “Real great plan you guys have got, Mr. Amundsen. World's about to fall apart, we don't know where the enemy is hiding, but you're going to lock me up at the most critical moment. A stroke of genius.”

No one said anything.

Or, if they did, I wasn't around to hear it.

I left HQ and started walking home.

THIRTY-FOUR

It was four in the morning by the time I got home. I could have gotten there in a flash, sprinting like a maniac, but I'd walked at normal speed like an ordinary person. I'd needed the time to think, and when shit gets heavy, I listen to my feet. It's easier to work through things if I'm walking around.

Of course, by the time I threw open the door to my apartment, I hadn't really managed to sort anything out. Instead I was teeming with piss and vinegar, feeling kind of betrayed by the guys at the Veiled Order. You don't just lock up your prize fighter when the going's about to get tough. It's stupid, senseless.

But my annoyance with the decision extended way beyond that.

I had a bone to pick with that necromancer.

Several bones, actually.

I'd have liked to spend a day just picking all of his bones out of his twitching corpse, honestly.

This guy had gone around my city, raising the dead. He'd hurt me. He'd hurt my friends. And on top of everything else, he'd raised my brother from the dead.

Let me just lay it out, plain and simple.

There was absolutely no fucking way I was sitting out this fight. No chance whatsoever. Kubo could chain me up like a dog, but I'd chew through my own wrists just to bust out of there. If I missed out on this battle, if I didn't at least get to watch Kanta cut Agamemnon into ribbons, then I'd never be able to live with myself.

I began hatching a plan. Pacing around my apartment when I should have been sleeping and preparing mentally for a solid twenty-four hours of imprisonment, I cranked up Raw Power, fixed myself a glass of Jameson over ice and got down to brass tacks. Escaping from the isolation room at HQ wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world. For starters, the Veiled Order had gone all the way when prepping that room. Anything that got imprisoned in there wasn't coming out again until they said so...

The gears started turning.

I had an idea, about choked on my whisky when it crossed my mind.

Looking in my closet, I dug around and picked out everything I'd need to pull off an escape.

“All set,” I said, draining my glass. “Sorry to throw a wrench in your plans, Chief.”

After making my preparations, I paced out into the living room and fixed myself another drink. I was too keyed up to sleep and figured I'd pass the time with a little mindless television. The heavy stuff in life had taken up far too much headspace as of late. I didn't want to think about the mission at hand, about my brother, about what was going to happen to me someday when I died. Sometimes you just want to veg out in front of the TV, am I right?

I plopped down and dug out the remote from between the cushions, switching on the television. I'd left it on a local news station, and was about to change the channel when the BREAKING NEWS banner caught my eye.

Footage was being relayed by a news helicopter of the Renaissance Center in downtown Detroit. The “RenCen”, as we call it, is among the biggest buildings in the city-- in the entire State, in fact, and it's quite impressive. Seven skyscrapers, all linked together into a single complex. It's an unmistakable feature in the Detroit skyline, a landmark of no little import.

That's why I was so surprised to see parts of it on fire.

I tried to focus on the reporter's frenzied spiel. She was saying stuff about an “early morning attack”, something about “armed insurgents”. But the only thing I could hear as I watched was “The necromancer is moving in.”

I reached for my work phone, never once taking my eyes off of the screen, and read the little scrolling marquee at the bottom. Pundits thought this to be some sort of terrorist attack. The building had been invaded, allegedly, and a SWAT team had been sent there. For whatever reason, the members of that SWAT team had stopped responding, and the news anchors feared the worst. The center tower, the tallest one in the RenCen, was a hotel, and it was reportedly packed with guests. They were all being considered hostages.

Well, the reporters had something right. This was a terrorist attack. Just not the kind they were thinking of. I cringed as I imagined what had become of the people staying in the hotel. If they hadn't been killed and converted into soldiers in Agamemnon's army yet, they were going to be very soon. No matter how much the people on the news discussed terrorist organizations, I was sure that this was the necromancer's doing. It couldn't be a coincidence.

Agamemnon, flashy bastard that he was, had taken over the biggest, most eye-catching building in the city. And why was that? He was claiming the RenCen as the headquarters for the new world of death he was looking to create, and tonight, when the new moon appeared, he'd launch his attacks from there. The heart of Detroit.

I dialed Kubo. He answered with a grunt. “Chief, have you seen the news? Something's going down at the RenCen, and I'll bet you top coin it's Agamemnon's doing.”

“We're already on it,” muttered the Chief. “You're supposed to be resting up, Lucy. I expect you here in a couple of hours to start your isolation. No weaseling out of it, either. I'll come out there and drag you in by the ear if I have to.”

“Damn it, Chief! I get it, OK? I'll be at HQ in a little while. But... but the necromancer is in that building. I guarantee it. Listen, when I fought him before, he was a real showy type, right? He spoke in these grand, declarative statements. He thinks he's starting a new world, ushering in a new age where death reigns supreme. It only makes sense that he'd claim a building like the RenCen as his throne. That's where he's going to be tonight, calling the shots. I'd bet my life on it.”

“You're probably right, Lucy,” admitted the Chief. “And like I told you, we're handling it. But it's none of your concern. You're due at the lockup in a few hours. Don't be late.” Kubo cut the line.

I threw my phone down and watched as the upper floors of the RenCen building emitted large plumes of smoke. The war was starting.

THIRTY-FIVE

No, I didn't run straight to downtown Detroit and attempt to save the day.

I would have liked to, but for once, I decided to follow the rules.

Sort of.

I showed up bright and early at Veiled Order HQ, strolling into the main lobby and waving to the attendant. The place was bustling. Commandos were rushing around in preparation, and dudes in suits were popping in and out of meetings. Compared to all of this chaos, spending a day in the isolation room sounded pleasant.

The attendant paged Kubo, and within a few minutes the Chief came out to see me. He was wearing a thin cast on his arm. The break in his elbow must have been really severe if the medics hadn't been able to heal him up on the spot. “Well, well,” he said, cracking a grin. “Never thought I'd see you here on time! Imagine that. Come along, Lucy. We'll get you squared away.”

I followed him down the hall. “So,” I began, “how are things going? Do you guys have a plan?”

Kubo nodded. “We have some of our guys moonlighting as National Guardsmen. Agamemnon might be in there somewhere, but we won't know until we actually storm the place. We're holding off on doing so, simply because we want to get all of our ducks in a row. If we barged in, we'd be putting hostages in harm's way... and we can't do that. The eyes of the world are on us. Right now they still believe this is some Middle Eastern plot, but if the news helicopters capture the wrong thing, the jig will be up. We've contacted our friends in the military and think we'll be able to pull off a media blackout. Cell towers will be going down intermittently and news helicopters will be grounded for miles around. Once that's been accomplished, we'll move in. Trouble is... it might take a while to get that done.”

“It'll be too late by then,” I said. “Agamemnon has everything he needs to bring this city to its knees. If you don't strike now, before moonrise, you're basically handing the fight over to him.”

Kubo led me down to the isolation room. It's a concrete bunker in the basement of the Veiled Order complex, and is inscribed, floor to ceiling, with complicated seals that are meant to shut down my powers. As we walked towards the heavy, metal door, I had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming. The Veiled Order was making a big mistake. Kubo's excuse? “I don't make the rules, Lucy.”

Down in the basement, I caught sight of Percy. He was hanging out near the isolation room, arms crossed. Waiting for us, apparently.

The Chief handed me off to him, cranking open the door to the isolation room. “Percy here is going to do the honors. I've got a meeting to attend. Percy, once you've locked him up, make sure to come back upstairs. We have a lot of preparations to make this morning. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Percy, grabbing me under the arm and leading me into the cold, concrete room like a felon.

Kubo disappeared down the hall and stomped back up the stairs.

Percy guided me towards the center of the room, where the enchanted manacles awaited. No sooner had I walked in did I feel my powers waning. The magic circles all around us sapped my strength and left me feeling more human than I'd felt in a long time. The beating of my heart was steady, the turbid thoughts in my head were temporarily calmed.

In a lot of ways, this isolation of mine would have been a relaxing getaway if so much weren't hanging in the balance.

Percy pulled me into position and brought the manacles to my wrists. “Thanks for not resisting,” he said as he closed the shackles.

I smirked. “It's not often that Kubo lets someone else do this. I think the bastard enjoys chaining me up. Deep down, he's probably a sicko.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I asked him to let me do this,” replied Percy.

I frowned. “What, you get off on tying me down like this, too? Couldn't beat me on the battlefield, so you'll take a win wherever you can get it, eh?”

Percy shook his head. “It's not like that.” Once both of the shackles were on and I was stuck in the center of the room, he stroked at his bearded cheek and offered what I took to be a polite smile. “I just wanted a chance to thank you.”

“Wait, what?” I arched a brow. “You want to thank me?”

Percy crossed his arms. “I don't want you thinking I'm a fan of your kind or anything, but you've done a lot of good work. I admit that Kanta and I may have misjudged you. If you hadn't stepped up at the armory we wouldn't have gotten the sword. Joe told us all about it, about what happened back there. I don't blame you for wanting to fight tonight.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, rattling my chains.

“You don't really know me too well,” began Percy. “We kind of got off on the wrong foot, you and I. See, I spent years on the road with my old man, hunting monsters. That's what my line has done for ages now. My dad, his dad-- all hunters. And damn good ones, too. Demons, werewolves; you name it, we kill it. But he taught me a lot more than just how to kill things. See, my dad taught me when to stand down... when to listen to the orders of my superiors and obey them, even when I don't want to. That's what you've gotta do here, Lucy. I know you're worried about this fight, about the city, but I think you'll see very soon now that the Chief is right. Bringing you along is too dangerous. Still, we're going to pull through tonight, even though you can't come with us. You'll be with us in spirit. When we win against the necromancer, it'll be a win for all of us, and it wouldn't have been possible without your help.”

“You know, I've never thought of it that way before,” I said in reply to his half-baked, overly-sentimental anecdote. I pursed my lips a minute to keep from puking on him. Leave that shit on the Hallmark Channel where it belongs, is what I wanted to say. “Good luck tonight.” I reached out and shook his hand.

With that, Percy started for the door and began to close it. “Man,” he said, looking back at me one last time. “I don't know how you can possibly wear that big, bulky sweatshirt on a day like today. I'd be melting!”

“Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking!” I said, chuckling.

“See you tomorrow, Lucy.”

No, I thought. You'll be seeing me much sooner than that.

The door closed. Soon thereafter, the lock was engaged.

I took a deep breath and enjoyed the silence of the isolation chamber for a time, trying to decide just how long I should wait before busting out.

THIRTY-SIX

Once, when I was a kid, I watched this awesome TV show. There was this mysterious magician, and he spent time revealing the secrets to all of the biggest tricks in contemporary magic. Maybe I was just a nerdy kid, but I always loved that shit.

Never let it be said that all of that time spent in front of the TV was useless, either.

For today's trick, I employed something brutally simple. Percy had locked the shackles around my wrists, but I'd come in wearing something special. See, before leaving the house, I'd thrown on several sets of knitted wristbands and a baggy sweatshirt. It was definitely too damn hot out to dress this way, but thankfully, Kubo hadn't batted an eye at my choice of outfit.

Pulling out of the enchanted manacles was as easy as slipping off the sleeves of the sweatshirt and the wristbands beneath. By artificially widening my wrists, I'd given myself just enough space to bring my actual wrists through the metal loops, once they were free of the cloth trappings.

The chains hit the floor and I paced about the center of the room, a free man.

And, you know, I may have uttered “Presto-Change-o” in a dramatic tone of voice for my own amusement.

I felt pretty devious, busting out of my cuffs in this fashion. I hadn't had to rely on flashy magic or brute force for once. Nope, I'd found a way out using a trick I'd learned as a twelve year old.

Still, I wasn't completely out of the woods. There was the matter of the thick, metal door yet ahead of me, and by the looks of it, this was the mother of all doors. Maybe, if I'd had access to my demonic powers in this room I could have slowly punched my way through it. But with all of these magical seals at work, I was rendered an ordinary human.

I'd have to find some other way out.

I was about to walk over and inspect the locking mechanism on the door when I heard something drop onto the stone floor from up above. Then came the low chuckle. “Not bad, kid. Not bad.” The new presence in the room spoke in a thick Jersey accent.

“Fuck...” I turned to find Germaine dashing across the floor towards me. “They posted you in here to watch over me?”

“Damn straight they did!” replied the spider, stopping before my feet and looking up at me. “Kubo wanted me to alert the staff if you tried to escape. Been perched on the ceiling up there this entire time. You didn't even know I was there, did ya?”

I scoffed. “Sure didn't. But it would be a shame if something happened to you in this room, huh? Like, what if you had an accident and I just randomly stepped on you? Wouldn't that be a tragic way to go? And all because you insisted on standing in my way.”

A spider's eyes are incapable of rolling, but I got the distinct impression that Germaine intended just that gesture. “Yeah, OK, tough guy. But you've got me all wrong. See, I'm on your side in all of this. I agree with you-- the Veiled Order's plan stinks. They're waiting till they've got their media blackout in place to wage an attack, but they're playing a dangerous game. Wasting precious time. The necromancer's all set to ruin this city and they're just giving him more time to arrange his pieces on the board. Well, you know how many frigging pieces he's got? Thousands of 'em, kid. That angel sword won't be worth squat if we don't get in there and kill him quick. Daylight's burning, and daylight's the best time to handle this.”

The furry little bastard was winning me over. “It looks like it's just a boy and his spider against the whole world then, eh?”

Germaine laughed. “You could say that.”

I turned to the door. “That door's going to be a problem, though. I can't break through it. I'm just a normal human being now, with all of these seals in place. The demon in me is being subdued. If I could destroy the carvings I'd get my demon strength back. But... I use this room during every new moon. I probably shouldn't wreck it. Just getting through the door in some way is my focus.”

“Say no more,” offered Germaine, walking up to the door and scaling it. The locking mechanism was large, like what you might find on a jail cell, except it'd been reinforced enough to keep a full-grown gorilla at bay. There was a keyhole, and inside that keyhole was a latching mechanism. My fingers were too big to fit in there, and even if I'd thought to bring a hairpin or something, I'm not nearly experienced enough in lock-picking to figure out a lock like that one.

Germaine, though, had a couple of advantages.

Stuffing a few spidery limbs into the keyhole, he grunted and fussed with the mechanism until there was a loud “pop”. I could hardly believe my ears. “Did you really just unlock that door?”

Germaine landed upon the floor and breathed a great sigh. “Sure did. Not too many things have gotten easier for me since becoming a spider, but lock-picking is no trouble at all for me these days.” He held up his forelimbs for my inspection. “The instruments I've got to work with now are far more delicate than any pick you could ask for.”

I could have hugged that freaking spider.

But I didn't. Let's face it: That would be disgusting.

I gave him a bob of my head, though, and tested the door. Sure enough, it was open. Closing it back up, I paced around the isolation room, grinning from ear to ear.

“You want to leave now, kid?” asked Germaine, hopping up onto my shoulder.

“No, not yet.” Time was of the essence, but if I was too conspicuous in my escape, I risked being found out by Kubo or the others. Waiting a little while, giving them time to leave the building or get caught up in meetings, would be wiser. I'd bide my time and flee the building when the moment was right.

And when I left, the RenCen would be my first stop.

“We're gonna wait until Kubo and the others are busy,” I said. “Better yet... I might be able to blend in with the crowd.” Another idea was forming in my mind. “Germaine, I need you to leave the room for a minute. Can you crawl around out there and find out where the Veiled Order commandos keep their gear? If I can suit up like the rest of those guys, I can ride along with them straight to the RenCen without Kubo knowing.”

Germaine agreed. “Leave it to me. Crack the door and I'll find out where they keep the goods.”

I eased the door open a little, giving Germaine just enough room to escape, and then shut it. “Just make sure Kubo doesn't find you,” I warned.

From the outside of the door, I heard his grating whisper in reply. “Thing about Germaine Fox, kid, is that he's real discrete. They don't know Germaine's in the house until it's too late.”

The spider wandered off and I sat down on the floor, awaiting his return.

***

I didn't have to wait long.

Germaine came up to the door and whispered to me about twenty minutes later. “Searched the whole basement and found a room full of that black tactical shit you want,” he said. “I can lead you straight to it.”

Seeing as how I couldn't feasibly have a spider drag an entire suit of Kevlar body armor to the isolation room, the only option was for me to follow him. “Is there anyone out there right now? If someone sees me exiting the room, I'm toast. They'll sound the alarm.”

“Nah, coast is clear,” came the reply. “But you'd better hurry up.”

I cast off my sweatshirt entirely and stepped out into the hall, easing the door shut behind me. I glanced up and down the hallway, finding it empty. Overhead I could hear quite the commotion, however there didn't appear to be a whole lot going on at this level of the complex. Perfect.

Germaine broke into as fast a sprint as his small limbs would allow and I followed, doing my best to stay quiet. All it would take would be a single commando wandering down to make his rounds, or the Chief deciding to check up on me, and it would all be over. I could still break out of this joint, even if I was discovered, but I'd catch a lot more hell for it. Doing it my way, subtly, was a much better idea.

At the far end of the hall, on the polar opposite side of the basement level, we entered what looked like a locker room. White tile adorned the walls and floor, and several sets of black Kevlar armor were found sitting within cubbies. When I was certain that there was no one inside the locker room, I started rifling through each set of armor, seeking one that might fit. I'd never worn this kind of thing before, wasn't even sure how to put it on. I picked up one set and it fell to pieces. I'd been expecting something like a wetsuit, but there were separate parts; some that covered the legs, one for the chest and shoulders, pieces for the arms. “How the hell am I supposed to find my size?” I asked.

Germaine ducked in and out of the cubby openings, knocking body armor onto the floor and then searching for tags. “What size T-shirt do you wear? Maybe it fits the same way?”

I frowned. “This ain't a fucking Gap dressing room, man. It's possible this stuff is just one-size fits all. Or... I dunno. Maybe there's a big size and a bigger size.” I picked up a chest piece that looked a little too big for me and pulled it on over my head. The material was thick and heavy, and it certainly felt capable of stopping a bullet. “This'll do. It's a little big, but it gives me some breathing room.” I sought out the other pieces of the outfit and awkwardly put them on. A few minutes later I put on the black helmet and respirator and looked something like Darth Vader.

“The helmet is overkill,” offered Germaine.

“Yeah, but if I walk out there without it they're all gonna know it's me, you dumbass.” The respirator portion of the helmet blocked my eyes, giving me only two narrow lenses through which I could see my surroundings. Never mind peripheral vision; the mask didn't allow the least bit of that. I felt seriously stifled in the helmet, but knew I could take it off once I got to the RenCen. I just had to keep it on while I was hanging out around HQ. The inside of the helmet smelled vaguely like some other guy's sweat, but I did my best to ignore that.

“What now?” asked Germaine.

“I guess I should go find out where the other commandos are at.” I pulled the chest piece to the side. “Climb on,” I said. “You can come along.”

Germaine feigned tearfulness. “You want to bring along lil ol' me? I'm flattered, Lucy. That's the kindest thing you've ever said to me.”

“Climb on before I change my damn mind. And shut the hell up; if someone hears you talking out there we're going to be screwed.” Germaine nestled up to my chest and held onto the inside of the body armor.

Exiting the locker room, I found the stairwell and trudged to the first floor. I've read, again and again, that the best way to blend in someplace where you don't belong is to act like you're supposed to be there. Walk around with purpose, act natural. Stuff like that.

So, that's what I did. I walked right across the lobby, past the front desk and the attendant, and straight out the door.

The temperature had gone up since I'd last been outside, and from the moment I stepped outdoors, I knew this body armor wasn't going to work out. I felt like I was being slowly baked. The black material drew the sun like asphalt, and I wasn't even half-way across the parking lot when the lenses in the helmet started fogging up.

“Jesus Christ, can we take off the armor?” asked Germaine, panting. “You're cooking me in here.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, face dripping in sweat. “We have to keep this on till we get to the RenCen.”

From behind me, I heard a shout. “You there!”

I turned stiffly, trying to see through the cloudy lenses of the helmet. Around the corner, near a fleet of idling SUVs, was a commando. He was wearing the black armor like I was, but he'd skipped the helmet. I waved to him and started ambling his way.

“We're shipping out. Hurry your ass up,” said the commando, nodding to the vehicles at his back. “And you don't have to wear the helmet, you know. It's too damn hot for that shit.”

I cleared my throat. I'd have liked nothing more than to take the thing off, but I couldn't let this jackass see my face. If he knew it was the Demon-Heart under here he'd flip his shit, go running for Kubo. What I needed was an excuse. “Hey, say what you will,” I began, dropping my voice an octave to try and sound older, “but I feel safer with it on. You're all gonna wish you suited up when we're in the shit. Plus, this way, I don't smell those rotting bastards quite so much.”

The commando ahead of me opened the side door of an SUV and waved me inside, chuckling. “I guess I never thought of it that way. Get in.”

I sat down in the SUV, selecting a seat in the back row. I didn't want to draw attention to myself. I just wanted to be the quiet guy in the back, with the steamy helmet on. A couple of others piled into the vehicle after me, till every seat was filled. To be honest, I couldn't really see them. The lenses in my helmet were too damn foggy at this point to make out much of anything.

I heard the doors close and the SUV start. Then the driver addressed us. “Bit of a change in plans. We're heading straight for the RenCen. We've blocked all of the news outlets from the area and we're going to try and get the jump on the necromancer. A strike team will be going in discretely.”

I'd made it just in time! If I'd hesitated in the isolation room any longer, I might've missed out on my chance to participate in the battle. What we were setting out to do now was leagues better than the original plan. If we took out Agamemnon now, before nightfall, maybe we'd avoid a war.

Something was bothering me, though. The voice of the driver was awfully goddamn familiar. I couldn't tell if it was just the bulky helmet playing tricks on me or if that was Chief Kubo talking from the driver's seat.

I stuck a finger up past the edge of the helmet and scrubbed away the film of condensation on my lenses.

Yup.

It was Kubo all right.

My body tensed so hard I nearly turned Germaine into spider jelly. Of all the frigging vehicles I could have hitched a ride in...

THIRTY-SEVEN

Don't blow this. Don't blow this. Act cool.

Sitting in the back of this SUV while Kubo briefed the troops was pretty surreal. I could barely see the guy, but I suspected he was staring at me in the rearview mirror. Nothing I'd done so far could have possibly tipped him off about my identity... but I was convinced the bastard knew it was me somehow.

I sat upright and just listened to him rattle off the plan of action, his words echoing slightly within my helmet.

“We've succeeded in evacuating the surrounding area. Several blocks have been shut down and the residents are slowly being relocated. As a result, we're going to head in. We're going to meet a lot of resistance in there. Due to the possibility that the hostages are still alive we can't simply blow the thing up. That'd be terrible PR.”

There was some laughter in the vehicle at that part. I laughed too, just to play along.

Kubo continued. “We suspect that the necromancer is inside. All of you will be following Kanta, Percy and Joe. We've located a subterranean entrance to the building, through the sewer system. Once inside, you will support them as they fight their way through. We want to know what we're up against. If the necromancer is encountered, all the better. Secure any hostages and lead them to safety if possible. Kanta will be leading the strike, as she's armed with the Archangel Saber. She just needs to hack apart Agamemnon and we can all go home. Got it?”

A few “yessir's” were heard.

I don't know how long I sat in that SUV, sweating my ass off. The other troopers made light conversation. Some of the guys talked about “the game last night”, others mentioned what they planned to do after they were done with this job. I just sat there quietly. Better to play the stoic type than to risk being found out, I figured.

I felt Germaine squirm against me and lifted the chest piece of my armor just a bit to give him more room. What would I do once we arrived at the RenCen? It occurred to me that I wasn't armed. All of these dudes had guns on them; I could hear the clack of the straps as they balanced big rifles on their laps. Shit... didn't think that far ahead, did you? All I could hope for would be a chance to sneak away before anyone called me out on it. No one had noticed so far, but if I followed everyone else into battle without a gun I'd get a talking to for sure.

Better get used to all of this sweating, I thought with a seasick smirk. Hell is going to be pretty damn hot. Something I hadn't considered was the possibility that we might lose this fight. Yeah, we had the angel sword and I'd snuck in at just the right time to assist the rest of the team. Overall, things were looking promising. But there were no guarantees. There never were in battle, especially when your enemy was a super-powered necromancer.

It was very possible I'd buy the farm. And if I did, I knew just where I'd end up.

Hey, don't write off that possibility just because I'm sitting here relating this tale to you. For all you know I'm dead and dictating this from the Lake of Fire.

Make no mistake, death was a very real possibility. It'd never been realer, in fact. Not a pleasant thought right before go-time.

I kind of wished I could talk the matter over with Germaine, but in the SUV it just wasn't possible. That's right; I actually wanted to chat with the mouthy spider. I'd have spoken to anyone willing to listen just then. Expressing my fears in words seemed like the best way to vent, but I had no choice to bottle them up as we drove along.

And then the SUV rolled to a stop.

Well, time to shift gears. I banished those dreary thoughts and prepared to leave the vehicle.

It was true: I might die. But focusing on it too much would make it a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was alive right now and we'd made it to the RenCen, by the sounds of it. That meant that I still had time to cause Agamemnon a world of hurt.

And maybe I'd be lucky enough to see him get cut down today.

***

I could smell fire the instant I exited the SUV. Even with the respirator in place, the choking taste of smoke filled the air outside of the barricade. The Veiled Order, in cooperation with the Detroit police, had blocked off all of the streets leading to the RenCen, making it so that no one would be able to enter unless they'd been cleared by us.

We ambled out into the blazing sunlight, all of us a little twitchy in anticipation of the fight, and got into a line as we waited for Kubo's orders. When the Chief joined us, it was with a couple of other people who'd just stepped out of another SUV.

It took me a few minutes to realize it was Percy and Joe standing there next to him.

Through the foggy lenses they'd just looked like colorful, human-shaped blobs.

Gritting my teeth, I decided upon my first course of action. Before rushing into the building and kicking zombie ass, before rescuing any hostages or anything even remotely heroic, I was going to ditch this fucking helmet.

Kubo started talking, but I was too busy trying to get a look at the smoking set of skyscrapers ahead. The center building; that is, the tallest one, and the one I knew to be a hotel, wasn't actually on fire. At least, it wasn't actively burning down. From where I was standing, squinting at the far-off roof of the building from behind sweat-soaked lenses, there seemed to be something on top of the skyscraper that was burning. A few of the windows were leaking smoke, too, but only those in the upper stories.

Kubo began to explain. “During our last flyby we discovered something on top of the center building. It's a giant steel cauldron of some kind, and Agamemnon's guys seem to have filled it with straw and other flammable materials. The thinking is that they want some sort of smokescreen; they don't want us looking in there till they're ready to reveal themselves. It worked on the news helicopters, but we've managed to peek in through the walls with our thermal imaging tech and there appears to be a lot of movement inside. The zombies don't give off much, if any, heat. But the hostages do. And so does Agamemnon. We're not going in completely blind, but we're also not sure just how many enemy combatants we're dealing with here. I'll be hanging back, giving out orders.” He motioned to his busted arm. “I'd go in there if I could. We've selected a nearby entrance into the sewers from which we'll be able to breach the complex's basement. When HQ gives me the all-clear, these two will lead you on, along with Kanta. She was in another vehicle, but should be here any second.”

This was my chance. It was time to go before the lovely exorcist showed up and exposed me. The outfit had been a great idea on my part, but when Kanta showed up there would be no fooling her. I could trick her eyes without a problem, but she'd sense my demonic energies from far-off. I hadn't anticipated that. I started wandering away from the line, slowly. I walked past the bright orange cones and wooden signs blocking off the streets and began towards the RenCen. I wasn't about to sit around and wait for HQ to give us their blessing. The sooner we got in there, the more lives we could save.

“Where are you going?” asked Kubo, pointing to me. “It's not time yet.”

“Sorry,” I replied, voice low in the hopes that none of them would recognize me. “Gotta take a leak.”

Kubo sighed. “Should've taken care of that before you left headquarters. Hurry back here when you're done, got it?”

“Yessir,” I said, darting around a corner.

Germaine, panting like a dog, poked out from beneath the lower seam of my chest-piece. “Home-free,” he muttered.

Out of view, I took off the helmet and took a big, gasping breath. It was damn hot outside, but the breeze that washed over my matted hair felt incredible. I set the helmet down on the sidewalk and continued towards the complex, Germaine sitting atop my shoulder.

“Holy shit, feels good to be out of there. Any longer and I'd have come down with a serious case of dehydration.” Germaine glanced at the building as we approached. “So... what's your plan? I don't suppose you're gonna turn around and join the others going the underground route, are you?”

I shook my head. “Hell, no. We're going in from the top. We'll meet them halfway.”

“The top?” asked Germaine.

“Better hold on tight.” I began to sprint. There were a few cops hanging around the edge of the RenCen, sitting in their cruisers. I did my best to stay out of their way but didn't really care if any of them saw me. I was racing down the empty street like a gazelle, one of the seven skyscrapers in my sights.

“Jesus, kid,” gasped Germaine. “You're not going t-to jump, are you?”

Hell yeah, I was.

I'd run some tests during my downtime, done a bit of practice, and I have to tell you that my demonic vertical jump had become pretty incredible. I could leap higher than any mortal in the record books. But with a running start? Twenty or even thirty feet wasn't impossible. I'd considered trying out for the NBA; dunking over the heads of those seven-foot dudes would have been child's play to me, but Kubo had smacked me for even suggesting it.

I took off like a rocket, sailing through the air, leaving the cop cars and Veiled Order foot soldiers behind, and gripped the exterior of the building.

And then I climbed.

I'm not sure what it is that allows me to climb walls so easily. My skin doesn't change; I haven't got little hooks in my hand or anything that allow me a better grip. Scaling buildings or mountains was a simple thing now that I had Gadreel; as if held in place by magnets I had zero trouble climbing up obstacles, no matter the composition of the surface. I raced up the side of the building, going up about ten or fifteen feet, before I happened upon a window I could smash.

It was time to make my entrance. It wasn't so subtle as what Kubo and the rest had been planning, but it was fast. I hesitated briefly before kicking in the window and rolling into the room. There was no telling what I might find inside; for all I knew there were dozens of zombies jam-packed into this room, and they'd lash out at me the moment I entered.

That was a chance I'd have to take.

I buried my heels in the windowpane and sent a shower of fine glass into the room.

My feet met solid ground and the spider precariously clinging to my shoulder trembled like he was going to pass out.

“We're in,” I said, taking a moment to catch my breath and glance around the room.

It was dark in there.

And it wasn't exactly what I'd expected to find in a building overrun by zombies.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Germaine and I were in an office space. There was a desk in the corner with a somewhat antiquated PC on top of it. A potted fern sat near the window from whence I'd just scrambled in, the terra cotta pot now half-filled with shards of glass. Two comfortable-looking swivel chairs sat in the other corner, near the door.

But you know what was missing?

Zombies.

The room was completely untampered with. Where I'd expected to find a bunch of rotting bastards fouling up the place, I found only a comfortable-looking workspace where I could sit down and create some Excel spreadsheets. Color me disappointed.

“Where are they?” asked Germaine.

“Beats the hell out of me.” I tongued my molars and approached the door to the office, cracking it and looking out to the hall. The hallway was completely empty. The air in it felt undisturbed, smelled vaguely of air freshener. Not a sour or rotting note to be found. This simply wasn't adding up. “None out here, either?” I muttered.

One-by-one, I checked out the other offices along the hall.

The only upsetting thing I found was in a Mr. Crescenzo's office. Hanging on the wall was some hideous modernist piece drawn up in blues, yellows and browns. A real eyesore. The kind of thing that someone who wants to appear sophisticated and artsy might hang up in their office. Well, I'm here to tell you that a bunch of brightly-colored, ugly-ass geometric shapes shouldn't pass for art-- no matter how nice the frame. Whoever this Mr. Crescenzo was, he had awful taste. I plucked the picture off of the wall and snapped the whole thing over my knee. Maybe upon returning to work he'd find the sense to hang up something truly tasteful in its place. A Picasso, a Goya--

“Where the hell are all of the zombies?” asked Germaine. He sounded almost offended at the lack of foes in the tower. “They sleepin', or what? The whole world's mobilizing against them outside and there ain't a single one to be found.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, maybe they packed up and left. Found some better things to do.”

Something occurred to me as we started for the stairwell. Zombies were capable of operating in the daylight. It'd been explained to me that they were weaker in sunlight, and so tended to operate mainly after dark. Though the zombies had moved into this complex and had plans for it, they were probably in no state for a full-on fight.

“Zombies are weaker by day, yeah?” I asked Germaine, climbing up to the next level. “Why doesn't Kubo just storm the building and kill them all with ease? Seems obvious.”

Germaine kept an eye on my rear as I started down the hall. “These secret societies are all the same. Bloated. Inefficient. They're all about bureaucracy, kid. I agree with ya, but the fact of the matter is that these guys don't really care about getting in here and saving the hostages. They just want to do things their way. Know what I mean? They'll save the world, but they'll do it in their own arbitrary fashion.”

This floor, too, was empty of zombies.

“What the hell, man? There ain't a single zombie in this whole building, is there?” I spit on the ground, doubling back towards the stairwell. “Most of the activity seemed to be coming from the hotel building. Maybe we should just focus on getting over there, huh?”

Germaine agreed. “Let's do it up, kid.”

I'd never been in the RenCen before, so finding my way to the center building was going to be tough. I guessed that the seven skyscrapers were all linked, and that they shared walkways by which the hotel could be accessed, but I had no idea where they were. I burned more than half an hour trying to find a way to the hotel building, and the entire time I encountered no one, living or dead.

Wandering through this empty building was creeping me out a whole lot more than the zombies would have.

I made it down to the ground floor and found what appeared to be a hallway linking the building I was in to the hotel. “Jackpot,” I said, pushing open the door and starting into the passage. The hallway was lined in windows, and a well-manicured courtyard replete with flowers and shapely trees surrounded us on both sides.

“Nice place,” said Germaine, staring out the window as we passed. “Might get a room here sometime if I'm ever back in town.”

The hallway was perhaps forty or fifty feet long. I walked slowly, not sure what I'd find once I passed through the other door. Arriving at the metal double doors whose signage welcomed would-be guests to the hotel, I placed my hand carefully upon the handle and pushed it open.

On the other side of the door was a lobby.

A lobby dressed in a light wreathe of smoke and the stench of rotting flesh.

THIRTY-NINE

My hackles went up the minute I walked in, and for good reason. The place smelled like a slaughterhouse. It's a tough thing to describe; the smell of blood, of meat left to fester in the heat, permeated every inch of the lobby and struck me with all the force of a punch to the nose.

But there was no one to be seen in the lobby.

“Where the hell is that smell coming from?” I asked. “And the smoke?”

Germaine buried his face against me to try and shut out the smell. “I haven't the slightest. Let's, uh... let's turn back, eh?”

So, there were zombies in this complex after all. Without having entered the other five buildings, I had a pretty strong hunch that the rotting invaders were relegated to this skyscraper alone. I stood for a while, listening, but heard nothing. The cries or sobs of tortured hostages never rang out, nor did the characteristic death rattles I knew the zombies to make when they sensed a threat.

There was silence.

“I've got a real bad feeling about this, kid. Didn't the Chief say that this was zombie central? I can smell the bastards but I can't see them. And I don't like that. Something's going on here.” Germaine jumped off of me and scaled the handsome counter where ordinarily a clerk would have been stationed. “Feel like we've walked into a trap, to be honest.”

I kept on walking, passing through the lobby and into one of the hallways that I presumed would lead me to the hotel rooms on the first floor. I stopped short, though, pausing at the threshold to said hallway because I saw someone.

I'd been expecting a rotting corpse, something eminently punchable. What I found instead, though, was a little girl. She walked very slowly down the hall, on tip-toes, and held something black in her hand. Approaching her slowly, I motioned to Germaine and brought a finger to my lips. The girl was walking down the hall, wearing a ruffled, knee-length dress with a flower print on it. Her red hair was naturally wavy, but looked awfully out of sorts. Maybe the girl was lost, looking for her parents? I closed the distance between us, trying to get a look at what was in her hand and hoping that I might catch her attention without scaring her.

That black thing she was holding looked an awful lot like a timer. As I snuck up behind her I saw the three red zeroes on the side of the thing.

And then I put two and two together.

I've seen enough action movies in my day to know what that was.

An explosive.

“H-hey,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Little girl? Could you... could you come over here?” I chanced, quickening my pace. “I'd like to talk to you for just a second.”

The girl didn't turn around. She just kept on walking. She never walked faster or slower, but maintained the same leisurely pace. As if she were being led, compelled. And then, when I was within a few feet of her, I noticed just how pale her skin was. Reaching out to touch her shoulder, I found her cold as ice.

The little girl turned to face me, eyes completely glazed over and trails of dried blood at the seams of her mouth. A zombie.

Germaine and I jumped back, anticipating an attack, but to our surprise the zombie girl paid us little mind and kept going down the hall. She turned a corner, leaving our stunned asses behind.

“Follow her,” said Germaine. “Follow her. I don't know where she's going, but if we follow her deeper in, then I think we're going to figure out what's going on in this place.”

I took my time in walking down the rest of the hall, and the stench of death waxed to nigh unbearable levels as I turned the corner. The lights along the next stretch were flickering and the doors to numerous rooms were hanging open. Soft footfalls were the only sounds that broke the silence.

Aside from the little girl, I glimpsed three other figures shambling down the hall. They were disheveled, but they didn't look like they'd just crawled out of the grave. Like the child, they all held black devices that I took to be explosives. “What the hell is going on?” I asked the spider, pointing to the figures ahead of us. “Why aren't they attacking us? Where are they going with those?”

I started jogging down the hall, calling after the undead, but got no reply. They didn't even turn around, were living in a completely different world, by the looks of it. I followed them down the hallway and into a large atrium where there was a sprawling fitness center. The atrium was dotted with large columns, and it was to these supports that the undead were flocking.

I watched as the little girl tapped a button on the black device in her palm and then wrapped her arms around the nearest column. The other zombies did the same. Walking through the atrium, I saw no fewer than ten or fifteen zombies gathered around the columns with explosives in hand. They were clinging to the things, apparently planning to trigger explosions and bring the whole house down.

I gulped. “Germaine,” I began, canvassing our surroundings and studying the undead in our midst, “I think these people were guests at the hotel. And Agamemnon is controlling them. They're spreading throughout the entire hotel with these explosives. The necromancer isn't using this place as headquarters after all...”

“He's going to destroy it. And he's going to make them do it.” Germaine pointed to the zombies. “Any way we can steal the explosives?”

“There must be tons of them...” I walked over to the little girl. She was still as a statue, her little arms wrapped tightly around the concrete pillar. The device in her palm was counting down from thirty minutes. “This thing is going off in thirty minutes...” I didn't even have to think about it. Though we might be able to get rid of some of the explosives, there was simply no way we could hope to find every last one within the space of a half hour. It just wasn't going to happen.

“What are we going to do?” Germaine sounded panicked, the hairs on his body bristling. “The Veiled Order is going to be busting in here from the underground. If they do, they're going to get crushed when the building comes down. And every first responder in the city is just outside. They'll all get smashed, too.”

I hated that necromancer, but I had to hand it to him. If you want to start a war and cripple your enemy before it even starts, then killing the first responders and anyone foolish enough to stumble in early is the best way to do it. This takeover of the RenCen was a distraction. A good one. The eyes of the world were on this building and the city's emergency forces were focused on infiltrating it. Once it went boom, well, they'd all go with it. Agamemnon was about to seal the deal.

I rushed out of the atrium, finding still more zombies with bombs in their hands. They lingered in the corners of every room, clung to whatever supports they could find. They'd been placed strategically, in spots where the explosions might be particularly devastating. This skyscraper was coming down, and it was coming down in a ball of fire. It was too late for the guests in this hotel; without even exploring the numerous floors of the building I felt confident of that. Agamemnon had slain them all and then raised them to do his bidding. But there was still time to save everyone else. I had to let the Veiled Order know what was really going on in here. They needed to evacuate, change their plans before it was too late and everyone ended up dying in the blast. I'd deal with the consequences later. Kubo would probably eviscerate me for busting out of HQ, but that wasn't important just then.

“We need to go tell everyone about what's coming,” I said. Germaine scrambled up my back. “Before it's too late. We can still salvage this if we pull out of the area and get everyone to safety.”

The two of us dashed back into the lobby.

Except this time, it wasn't so empty.

FORTY

You know me. I'm almost always up for a fight.

Well, you can file this particular instance in with those fleetingly rare moments when I'm not at all interested in throwing down.

The lobby was crawling with zombies. They were still spilling into the room from the stairwell as Germaine and I ran in, and there was someone else there with them.

Agamemnon.

It'd been a little while since I'd last seen the bastard. He wasn't wearing his cloak now. No, he'd gotten rid of that and was aiming for the God-Emperor look. Shirtless, he'd drawn strange, curved symbols all over his muscled upper body in what appeared to be ash, and had covered his face completely as well. Holding the Scythe of Thanatos in his meaty fist, he reminded me vaguely of a demon.

Once, I'd seen what Gadreel really looked like. After getting the transplant done, Dr. Sargasso had wheeled in this ancient mirror that allowed me to glimpse the demon's true visage and, suffice it to say, I wasn't a fan of what I saw. With his face smeared in a thick layer of black ash and his eyes still that burning yellow color, he looked pretty fearsome.

I stopped in my tracks and tried to figure out the odds of us leaving this place alive. I count twenty... no, thirty zombies. And I'm sure there are more coming. So, a load of zombies and a necromancer demigod versus... me and a spider whose only talent is causing erectile dysfunction. We were sunk.

The zombies were lurching towards me, the air filled with their gravelly, broken voices. I did the only thing I could think of under the circumstances. I wasn't going to make it out of here easily. But Germaine still stood a chance. Someone needed to let Kubo know about what was happening in here, and if I didn't survive, then he'd have to do it. I picked him up and threw him back into the hallway. “Get out of here and tell them, before it's too late!” I shouted.

Germaine landed on the ground and cast a vaguely mournful look my way before running full-tilt away from the lobby. “D-don't get yourself killed, now,” he said as he disappeared into the hotel. “I'll handle it!”

Zombies are weaker during the day than they are at night, it's true. That's probably why I was able to hack apart more than ten of them before they finally overwhelmed me. They came in waves of four or five, reaching for my limbs and attempting to pin me down. Agamemnon stayed back all the while, his white teeth bared in a wicked grin. I knocked heads across the room, splintered ribcages and yanked spines from rotten bodies, but it was all for nothing. Fresh zombies piled into the room faster than I could put them down, as if the necromancer wished to assure me that he had an ample supply.

A few missteps and I was pinned.

Agamemnon drew near, silencing his minions and looking down at me with delight in his yellow eyes. He passed the scythe from one hand to the other, and I have to admit that, with the makeup job, he looked more or less the way I'd always imagined a god of death might look. “To think that I should meet you here this day,” began the necromancer.

I struggled against the horde. “Can't say I really like what you've done with the place.”

Agamemnon smirked. “Demons are prideful creatures, but you... you are just a fool. You could have escaped all of this, but instead you came here. It's as if you wish for me to release you from this life. You wish to return to the hellfire, is that it?” He leveled the razor-sharp tip of the scythe at my throat. “I'm going to do what I should have done long ago. Your meddling is tiresome. Good riddance.”

A flash of silver.

A hiss of pain.

My throat was hanging open and my blood soaked into the carpet.

FORTY-ONE

Not that the story ended right there or anything. Agamemnon leered down at me and admired his handiwork. It was a clean cut, straight through the windpipe. And it burned, terribly.

“You will die,” he explained, standing upright and digging the butt of the scythe into my sternum. My heart thrashed in protest. “It will take time, of course, but you will die. And when you do...” he chuckled. “Well, I suppose we've already discussed that, haven't we?” Agamemnon paced around. “I wonder why it is that you ever thought you could stand in my way. The Veiled Order is a cancer, demon. It has sought to control our kind from the very start. They are small-minded, heavy-handed. You were a fool to serve them.”

Gadreel didn't need no stinking windpipe to speak. The demon took over, and the zombies pinning me to the ground barely contained me as I attempted to lurch at the necromancer. “You're awfully confident in your plan,” growled Gadreel. “But what will your master do when he's found out about this, hm? Does the Lord of the Dead appreciate it when his followers wage wars on his behalf? Without his say-so? I imagine your punishment will be immense. You laugh at the thought of my being committed to hellfire for eternity, but what of your fate? You earned the trust of a god, were granted tremendous power and became a vessel for him. But then you betrayed him.” I smacked my blood-slick lips together. “I'd love to be a fly on that wall, I tell you. When he finds out what you've been up to with his little toy there...” I nodded to the scythe.

“Silence!” Agamemnon gripped the scythe in both hands and brought it down in a wide arc. I felt the blade shear my flesh. He cut a thick groove in my belly, passing straight through the black body armor. My entrails were on the verge of bursting through the cut; had he gone any deeper my guts would have come out to play. He hit me again, apparently losing his temper at being called out, and tore up my left leg. The limb was left nearly separated at the knee. Forget walking on it.

I winced and loosed silent screams, but the demon quickly reined me back in. “You chose tonight to attack because of the new moon. Should I live till then, you'll be in for an awful surprise. You'd better hit me a few more times, necromancer. Make sure I'm good and dead before moonrise. Else you'll find yourself facing off against something you can't hope to--”

The butt of the scythe found its way into my eye socket. He really dug it in there, growling. “You know nothing.” Stepping away, Agamemnon watched me with disgust as my fractured body tried to heal. The gash across my throat, the one on my stomach and the grievous wound to my leg began to heal slowly, but progress was halted as the scythe's curse took over. “For years... so many years, I have dreamt of a new world. Decades have passed since I first dedicated myself to the rites of death. And now, with the blessing of Thanatos, I have gained the power to make that world a reality. Death will reign, demon, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. I will rebuild the world in His image... Thanatos and I are one and the same; I have been granted his power and I act in his name. When you address me, you would do well to remember that.”

“It's good to know that this operation of yours has his blessing. I was worried for you,” Gadreel replied, cracking a bloody smile. “When he made you his vessel he gave you carte blanche to use that power for whatever you liked, did he? The god of death is a generous one...”

The way Agamemnon scowled told me everything I needed to know. Our hunch had been correct; after worshipping for ages at the altar of death, Agamemnon had been granted immense power by the god of the dead. He'd gained access to the god's weapon and was now abusing that power to fulfill the plot that had filled his imagination since the day he'd first appeared on the Veiled Order's radar. Trouble was, he still had to answer to Thanatos himself. And even though the god of death probably delighted in mass murder, I couldn't see him being too happy about Agamemnon's actions. This war of his threatened to turn the natural order on its head.

“You had to go and bite the hand that feeds,” I said, staring up at him.

Agamemnon cleared his throat. “It matters not. You stay put, demon. Before this day is over I'll have killed and raised everyone dear to you. I know that your friends from the Veiled Order are drawing near. Even now my minions are tracking their movements.” He closed his eyes. “They think to enter through the basement, do they?” He laughed inwardly, shaking his head. “I hope they hurry. If they aren't careful, they'll end up buried in rubble. Why, by my estimations, we've only about twenty minutes or so until the charges go off and the city is plunged into chaos. They'll struggle for hours, trying to put the pieces together. And then, when the sun sets, I will lead my army through the city. We will burn it to the ground, turn it into a cemetery.” He smiled. “I rather like cemeteries.”

I was stunned. The necromancer had eyes and ears everywhere, by the sounds of it. From all over the city his underlings were feeding him intel. I struggled against the horde but was held in place, my fractured body aching afresh.

“Don't worry,” he said. “They won't encounter any resistance. Not until it's too late. Like you, they'll wander too deep into the trap to make it out. They think they can save the city, the world. They're mistaken.”

Agamemnon balanced the scythe on one shoulder and left the room. Leaving through the hallway where Germaine had skittered off just moments prior, I heard him laughing.

I didn't feel good about what was happening here.

The fate of the city, possibly the entire planet, was in the hands of that trash-talking spider.

The zombies weren't letting up, either. I tried to break free multiple times, but their bodies were rigid, unmoving. They gripped my limbs tightly and seemed to turn to stone. Some of them had linked their legs together, forming a bizarre, humanoid trap I couldn't escape. The cloud of zombies upon me fell completely silent, dedicating the whole of their power to keeping me pinned.

If I could have healed up enough to gather my strength, maybe I could have forced them off of me. But it was no use. The wounds would start to heal a bit, only to open anew. My body was overrun with fever.

The building was going to explode, and everyone in or around it, including my teammates, was going to end up crushed. I was going to die; slowly, painfully. And when I was dead, my soul was going to get shipped straight to Hell.

Germaine, I thought, you've got to warn the others. Save them, at least. It's too late for me. But if they can pull out of this spot and take on Agamemnon elsewhere, then they still stand a chance at bringing him down. Fuck the bureaucracy. We've got the Archangel Saber. If Kanta can just get close to him with it then maybe we'll win...

I closed my eyes and focused on healing. I needed my strength. Dying terrified me, especially when there was so much on the line. The beating of my heart filled my ears. It was a somewhat troubled sound; the labored lub-dub sounded like an engine on its last legs. Gadreel was struggling to stay afloat, and I heard that distressed heartbeat loud and clear. An SOS. The demon's message was loud and clear. It didn't come through in words. The lobby was still and quiet as a morgue. But I felt the force of Gadreel's will echoing through my breast all the same.

He was telling me one thing and one thing only.

I need your help.

***

I don't have anything to give you, I thought. If not for Gadreel, I'd have been dead by now. Worse, I'd have been resurrected by Agamemnon. I didn't know what the demon thought me capable of giving. How could I possibly help him? He was the one with the superpowers. Though the two of us had a symbiotic relationship, my fleshy human body was simply a vehicle for him. A shell. My strength had measly, common limits. My endurance was strictly human. A mere man couldn't reach deep enough to shoulder this pain, much less to break free from a stranglehold like this one. I was at a loss.

Still, the demon seemed to plead. I need your help. I need your help. I. NEED. YOUR. HELP.

Pain. White hot pain shot through me. When something hurts a lot, people like to use that cliché, “I can feel it in every fiber of my being.” That's what it felt like. As I laid there, hot and twitching, I could envision my insides being turned inside-out by this pain. Each muscle fiber struggled to gain a foothold and subsequently stumbled. There just wasn't enough gas in the tank. I did the only thing I could think of.

I cried.

Real heroic, eh?

The pain was too much for me, and as the fever coursed through me I found myself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. “What do you want from me?” I spat out the words silently, unable to speak without my windpipe intact. Tears poured without surcease. “What do you want from me?”

The demon's refrain was the same.

I need your help.

I need YOUR help.

For an instant there, that heartbeat of mine was the only thing that existed. And in that same instant, I finally understood what Gadreel was asking for. The demon's will flashed through my mind, clear as day.

We're in this together. I'm giving it everything I've got. Reach down there, deep down, and give it everything you've got, too. I can't do it alone. I need your help.

Before you die, they say your entire life flashes before your eyes. I don't know if that's true. I mean, I'd technically, kinda sorta died once already, and that hadn't really happened. But laying in that hotel lobby, I did get a flash of something. A memory.

I was a young kid again.

And I was sitting in a puddle of cold water, my red sweatshirt completely ruined.

And there was that big, grinning bully, Juan, standing over me with his stupid buckteeth.

“Are you going to cry, you little bitch?” he asked, over and over again.

That was when the change happened.

Gadreel was giving this his all. His everything. Though I was the weakest link in our chain, I still had something to give.

Eyes brimming with hot tears, I grit my teeth till my molars creaked. You want it all? I thought. You've got it. You can have all of my hate. All of my anger. All of my sadness. You can have it all, demon. Because we're standing the fuck up right now. This isn't the end. Not yet. My body trembled as I surrendered completely to the anger.

My heartbeat quickened, stabilized, fell into a fiercer rhythm just then.

It's entirely possible I was just hallucinating, but my pulse sounded not a little like the opening chords of “Search and Destroy”.

And then, from the hallway, I heard a familiar voice. Germaine. “It was in here. Get ready, because Lucy's in the thick of it. The necromancer is inside. We ain't got long before the whole place comes down!”

No, no, this wasn't how I'd wanted things to go. Germaine had led everyone into the building. Right where Agamemnon wanted them. “Turn around!” I tried to scream.

The words died in my severed throat.

FORTY-TWO

Kubo threw open the door, and Kanta, Percy, Joe and Germaine followed close behind. They'd come alone, without any of the commandos. That was just about the only intelligent thing about their visit to the hotel.

The Chief was red in the face, but not because he'd been running. From the minute he walked in and set eyes on me, I could sense his anger. There are scarier things in the world than Chief Kubo, though, and one of them walked in not two seconds later.

Agamemnon and a score of zombies burst into the lobby, throwing the team's arrival into chaos. The ambush was working just as the necromancer had intended. I wondered how it was Kubo and the others had made it here so quickly. They'd likely gone in by themselves, hoping to infiltrate the building early, only to meet Germaine half-way.

It didn't really matter, though. Agamemnon had all of us arranged just where he wanted us. I had no way of knowing just how long those explosives had left, but they were going to go off soon. When they did, it'd be game over.

Strolling in like a king, flanked by marching undead, Agamemnon raised his scythe in the air. “Well, as predicted, the cavalry has come. I suppose you intend to stop me?”

Kubo, his busted arm still in a sling, leveled his gun at the necromancer and fired off two shots in quick succession. The bullets hit their mark, sinking into Agamemnon's bare chest while the horde moved in. I watched from beneath the web of stone-like zombies as the necromancer's wounds quickly healed over. He hadn't even flinched as the bullets connected. Silver was awfully painful for a creature like me, but he'd shrugged it off like a mosquito bite.

At the same time, Kanta took the lead, unsheathing the Archangel Saber. The luminosity of the blade alone was sufficient to force back the mass of undead, and as she held it out in front of her, I felt the zombies atop me quickly weaken. I wasn't spared from the sword's power, either. Already suffering, my eyes began to burn, and I squeezed them shut as tightly as I could to block out the blinding light.

The sight of that sword knocked the grin straight off of Agamemnon's face. “Where did you get that?” he demanded. Holding the scythe out in front of him, Agamemnon ignored everyone else in the room. So far as he was concerned, only Kanta and the sword in her hand was real. “Where did you get that weapon?” he shouted again.

Kanta waved the blade before her slowly, warding off the cowering zombies who only moments ago had been closing in on them. “I think you know exactly where we got it.”

Our theft of the sword apparently hadn't reached Agamemnon. That poor sap in the Underground, Dennis, probably hadn't gotten in touch with the necromancer to let him know, fearing the consequences. Rightfully so; Agamemnon would have flayed the guy if he'd known what we did.

Agamemnon motioned to his minions. “Attack!”

The undead flinched at the sound of his voice and began to approach Kubo and the others once more. A single wave of the sword was enough to beat them back, however, and they gave up yet more ground, crowding around the necromancer fearfully. That's right; Kanta didn't even have to cut the things. They knew what that sword could do. These shambling, rotting things couldn't process a whole lot, but they were capable of fearing the Archangel Saber.

Scowling, Agamemnon switched tactics. “This building is set to explode in less than five minutes. I will survive the blast, but the rest of you will not be so fortunate. I don't suppose that the grudge you bear me is worth dying for, is it?”

Persuasive though that argument might have been, Kanta wasn't having it. “So be it. I'll strike you dead, no matter the cost.”

Joe and Percy were hanging back, near the door. Judging by the wild looks in their eyes, they weren't too keen on the dying part. Germaine was clinging to the scabbard of Percy's sword, while Kubo took hold of a spare clip and began picking off zombies.

“Enough talk!” barked Kubo between deafening headshots. “It's over, Agamemnon.” One after another, the cowering zombies hit the floor. Pausing only to reload, Kubo made quick work of the horde. Before long there were only a handful left in the lobby with us. He shot a couple of the undead that clung to me as well, breaking the chain and setting me free.

Of course, I wasn't really in a position to go anywhere. My left leg refused to heal, and I still couldn't speak for the gash in my throat unless the demon took over. If I'd tried standing up on my one good leg, chances were about fifty-fifty that my guts would spill out. No, I stayed right there on the floor where I was, breathing heavily. Kanta had this all wrapped up. No sense in my trying to be the tough guy again.

Agamemnon was furious, and the sweat accumulating on his brow was beginning to smear the ash on his face. I wanted to make some joke about his mascara running, but, you know... I couldn't talk.

Joe and Percy pushed through the corpses and pulled me across the lobby, towards the door. They looked at me with alarm and pity. I felt like a train wreck but could barely imagine what I looked like at that moment.

“So be it,” said Agamemnon, raising the scythe and approaching Kanta. “This room shall be your grave.”

The fight of all fights began. In one corner was Kanta, armed with the Archangel Saber. It was a frightful thing to me, what with its materials having come from Heaven itself. In the other corner was Agamemnon, wielding a scythe that belonged to the Grim Reaper. Even he was spooked by the sword, though.

Considering the nature of the weapons, it was clear that whoever landed the first blow would be the winner. That made this fight surprisingly normal. This was something of an old-fashioned duel; you got one shot, and one shot only. The first one to get hurt would end up dead. Despite my injuries, I managed to sit up a bit and watch. Kubo backed up towards us, reloading his gun yet again and preparing to step in.

The two combatants fell into a slow dance, weapons poised for a quick strike. Despite the power of that sword, I felt Kanta was at a major disadvantage in this bout. She was tough as they came, no doubt, but Agamemnon's skill on the battlefield was incredible. He was the best fighter I'd ever faced. One wrong move and Agamemnon would tear her to shreds. Moreover, the scythe, and his impressive stature, gave him a lot more reach and power.

The weapons met. Agamemnon swung his scythe like a punk with a baseball bat, and though Kanta managed to block the attack, the force of the necromancer's strike left her rattled. Sparks flew as the blades met, and they remained locked against one another in a power struggle for a few breathless moments until the two of them pulled away and prepared for a second go.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out.

It was Kubo. Kneeling beside me, he took a potshot at the necromancer. The bullet grazed Agamemnon's leg and was probably intended to serve as a distraction to him. The effect was the opposite, however.

Agamemnon's focus was unshakeable. His mind was like steel, and even the crack of a silver bullet wasn't enough to force him from his trance. Kanta, though, was taken by surprise and flinched. That was the opening the necromancer needed, and with the same dirty trick he'd used on me, he stooped low and knocked Kanta's legs out from underneath her.

Kubo unloaded his gun, blasting Agamemnon again and again, but by that point, it was too late. The necromancer was on the move. He took a step back, accepting the bullets without complaint, and prepared his next strike; a downward slash. He was going to marry Kanta's spine to the carpet beneath.

Kanta lost her grip on the sword. The Archangel Saber went tumbling across the floor, well out of her reach. The blade was half-lost within a mass of corpses. Sensing the attack from above, Kanta rolled to one side, pulled a hair from her head and narrowly avoided being routed. A gleaming trident materialized in her hands, and with it she met the necromancer's hammer-blow.

But she was still pinned to the ground. If she gave an inch, the tip of the scythe was going to end up buried in her chest. Kanta panted, lifting the trident like a bar on a bench press with altogether too many plates loaded onto it, and struggled against Agamemnon's might. Her arms were shaking already. It was clear how this was going to go.

Joe and Percy stepped in, preparing their attacks while Kubo went looking for a seal to use. All the while, Kanta was on the chopping block, about to give up the ship.

A fresh slew of zombies from the hallways kept the three of them from interfering. With the angelic sword out of sight, buried in a heap of bodies, the zombies had their fight back. They sprang from all of the dark corners and laid into Percy, Joe and Kubo something fierce. The trio held their ground, but were sufficiently blocked from rushing the necromancer like they'd wished. Kubo was forced to resort to his gun once again, and as the bullets finally ran out, he whipped out his Ka-Bar and simply tried to keep himself from being crushed by the stampede of undead.

And so went the world. The necromancer was a hair's breadth from killing Kanta. When that was done, he'd kill the rest of them before they could recover the sword and then the building would explode. He would live, all of us would die, and he'd be free to take over the city, just like he'd planned.

In the chaos, Agamemnon forgot all about one vital player, however.

No, I'm not talking about me.

I'm talking about Germaine-fucking-Fox.

FORTY-THREE

The Brazilian Wandering Spider pounced.

I hate bugs, make no mistake, but as I watched Germaine rocket off of Percy's back, spiral through the air, and land on Agamemnon's boulder-like shoulder, I wanted to cheer.

“All right, you evil prick,” shouted Germaine. “I hope they've got Cialis in this new world of yours, cuz you're never getting it up again!” Germaine sank his fangs into the necromancer's flesh for everything he was worth.

Surprisingly, Agamemnon reacted. Cringing, he tried to toss the annoying creature from his shoulder. The fangs were in too deep, however, and with every twitch, Germaine just dug in deeper. “You vile little--” The necromancer, his focus temporarily weakened, gave up some ground against Kanta, who pushed back with renewed gusto against the Scythe of Thanatos. Her trident looked about to fold; her weapon was creaking, bending slightly as it staved off the necromancer's blade.

Germaine had gifted her a bit of time, delayed the inevitable for a few minutes, but it couldn't last forever. Agamemnon was going to double down and break through her trident. He was still going to win, unless something drastic was done. Kubo, Joe and Percy weren't faring well. There were so many zombies entering from every entrance that they scarcely had room to move. Joe tossed a series of fireballs about the lobby, but his aim was thrown off by the constant blows of the undead, and as a result he burned up more furniture than anything. Percy could hardly swing his sword, they were so crowding in on him. And the Chief, poor guy, was getting hammered, barely able to stay upright. He'd lost his knife and was forced to pistol-whip his way out of the throng.

There was only one thing to do. The plan entered my mind, and if I'm being honest, my entire being recoiled at the very thought of it. But another moment's consideration was all it took; I knew what had to be done.

I needed to take hold of that angelic blade and get it back to Kanta.

This mythical weapon was made for killing creatures like me. Just looking at it was enough to bring me to my knees. If I could somehow get over there and take hold of it, I felt ninety-nine percent sure that it would kill me on the spot.

Was killing Agamemnon worth it? If I grabbed that sword, I could possibly end this fight and help kill the necromancer. But that would be it for me. Curtains.

It was a snap judgement on my part.

I used what little strength I had to lurch upward. I dug my one good leg into the floor and threw myself forward, over the heaps of dead zombies, and towards the hilt of the saber. As I did so, my wounds were torn open afresh. Gore spilled from my mouth and throat, and my entrails dragged behind me. I landed with a wet thud upon a number of corpses, and then clawed my way over them. It was from this cold pile of dead zombies that I loosed the sword. Like King Arthur yanking Excalibur out of the rock, I reached out, wrapped my fingers around it, and--

If I had been able to make a sound at that moment, my screams would have been heard over the cacophony.

What I felt at that moment was pain beyond pain. I lifted the sword but was instantly rendered blind by the light that came off of it, and as I rolled towards Kanta, the pain shooting through my arm temporarily snuffed out all sensation.

The end of the line. Next stop, Fire and Brimstone Avenue. Pain eclipsed everything, and I had what I can only describe as an out-of-body experience. Probably, my soul was being torn from my body.

What occurred next, for the longest time, seemed like a hallucination to me. I felt someone's hand on top of mine, wrapped around the saber's leather hilt. Hovering just over the scene, I watched as Kanta took hold of the sword. It was her hand I was feeling. There was another hand on the hilt, too.

The demon's.

I was floating above the scene like a cloud of smoke, looking down at Kanta and the hideous monstrosity, Gadreel, wielding the sword in unison. I could feel the sword in my hand even as I hovered there.

And then, all at once, the three of us gave a solid thrust.

FORTY-FOUR

With the Archangel Saber wedged deep into his gut, Agamemnon stopped in his tracks. Massive and muscled though his frame was, he was suddenly enfeebled, barely able to remain standing. The room was completely silent. Joe, Percy and Kubo stood in the corner, watching the titan fall with wide eyes. Germaine wandered over and joined them.

Letting go of the sword and feeling a few drops of the necromancer's blood strike me in the face from above, I found myself back in my physical body. I was completely shot, drained, and at that moment it didn't feel like I'd ever manage a recovery. Even demons had limits, and it seemed to me that I'd pushed so far past them with my little stunt that our death was imminent. It didn't matter; standing there and watching the life flicker in Agamemnon's eyes was worth it.

The necromancer groaned, taking a few steps back. His horde had fallen still, silent, as if they too had been run through by the angelic blade. Kanta rolled out from underneath him and savagely ripped the sword from his abdomen, strewing his entrails across the floor in the process.

The job was done.

Crisis averted.

The necromancer was dead and we wouldn't have to worry about the war he'd planned on waging. Soon, when he'd drawn his last breath, all of his minions would crumble and the world would be saved. Or so the narrative had gone up to this point.

Make no mistake: Agamemnon did die. He took his time with it, wincing and falling to one knee. The scythe he'd so proudly carried fell from his hand and quickly disintegrated into a fine, black powder. The zombies in the room followed suit, till it was just Agamemnon kneeling before us, grimacing in his death throes.

Even in death, however, the necromancer retained his brutality. While bleeding out in the hotel lobby, Agamemnon looked at each of us in turn. His eyes were a plain, ordinary brown now; no longer the terrifying yellow I was used to. His lips were twisted into a cruel sneer in the moments before the end, and he uttered what would become his final words. “Well,” he said, “was it worthwhile?” Agamemnon looked at me last, before finally falling onto his back and taking in a final, soupy breath. “I'll be seeing you in hell very soon now, demon. The building... is set to detonate any second now.”

The necromancer died.

And if we didn't hurry our asses up, we were going to be right behind him.

***

Joe and Percy held me up and dragged me out of the lobby. We were going to make a run for it. My wounds were slowly healing now; after the Scythe of Thanatos had disintegrated, its curse had been lifted. Still, my demonic energies were at an all-time low after touching the angelic sword and I couldn't even summon the strength to walk on my own feet.

Germaine hitched a ride on Kubo's sling while the Chief charged through the doors and led us to the nearest exit. Kanta was next in line, her body shaking for the exertion of the fight we'd just narrowly won. Percy and Joe did their best to keep up, shuttling me down the halls while I struggled to remain conscious. I wasn't sure how much time we had before the building was set to explode, or how we'd manage to get far enough away from the complex to avoid being crushed.

I heard Kubo scream into his radio. “Tell her to do it now!”

When next I opened my eyes, I got an eyeful of sunlight. We'd found an exit and were booking it down the street. The cop cars I remembered had moved since I'd last been outside; apparently the message had gotten through about the explosives and the first responders had gotten away. Good thing.

A series of explosions like firecrackers tore into the building. I turned my glassy eyes upward and watched as the center tower began breaking apart from the top. Its uppermost levels wobbled and began to split as the supports were taken out by Agamemnon's explosives. Walls were reduced to rubble, and the entire structure began to tumble at incredible speed. The wreckage and dust were going to overcome us any second... Anyone within a few blocks was in serious danger, and I hoped that the evacuation had been thorough enough.

But as I watched the destruction, I grew increasingly confused. I was out of it, sure, but the sight of the center tower and the center tower alone blowing up didn't make any sense to me. The pieces of the building were in free-fall and the other six skyscrapers in the complex should have been significantly damaged, at least. That wasn't what happened, though. In my stunned state, I squinted at the hotel building and watched as its destruction was neatly, unnaturally contained.

It was like a big, invisible wall had been constructed around the exploding building. It dampened the sound of the blasts dramatically and kept the destruction contained to a very limited area. The physics of the explosion were all wrong. When Kubo stopped and looked up at the mess with a grin, I knew something was up.

“H-how did that happen? Why is the whole RenCen not going to pieces? How did you contain that blast?” My voice was awfully hoarse; Gadreel had gotten around to fusing my windpipe back together and talking was still somewhat painful.

Kubo palmed away a veil of sweat and laughed. “It was pure, merciful chance is all it was.”

Joe and Percy lowered me to the sidewalk, where I managed to sit up on my own. “Bullshit. What'd you guys do?”

Joe knelt down beside me. “Our original plan was to seal off the building. See, we wanted to keep Agamemnon and his monsters from escaping it if possible. We called in, uh, a specialist to help us with that part. The Chief had a few men inscribe seals in the four corners of that building to strengthen certain spells. Isabella took care of the rest.”

“Isabella?” I cocked my head to the side. Isabella was the weirdo magician girl I'd worked with during the hunt for Mater Agatha. She dressed strangely, in a brown sack-like outfit, and referred to herself in the third person. A real eccentric type. She was considered a magician, a specialist in illusions, but when the situation called for more muscle she had some pretty crazy tricks under her cap. When I'd lost control after defeating Agatha, it'd been Isabella's invisible wall trick that'd saved everyone's ass. Like a magical mime, Isabella was capable of building impenetrable psychical walls. Apparently the Veiled Order had used some variation on that technique to limit the explosion's reach. Damn clever.

Kubo elaborated. “Isabella had to be flown in from abroad. She answered the call when we first started looking for people to take up the fight against Agamemnon, but we weren't sure she'd make it in time. She touched down just this morning. We wanted to lock the necromancer in there with the psychic wall technique. The seals I had placed around the building amplified Isabella's power so that she could scale her spell up to size. 'Course, when we were arranging it, we didn't know about the bombs. Didn't learn about those until Germaine here met us near the entrance to the building. We ran into each other after we'd come up from the sewer system and he told us everything.” The Chief walked over and kicked me playfully in the leg. “You're grounded by the way.”

I grinned. “It was worth it.”

From behind came a number of Veiled Order commandos, along with a thin, stooping girl in brown garb. It was Isabella. The outfit she wore was the same one I'd seen her in last; burlap-like material embroidered with messy star-shaped symbols in black thread. Her unkempt hair spilled out of her hood as she stood at Kubo's side, twitching and muttering to herself. She held her hands out before her, watching the building crumble. Now and then she'd shift her hands, seemingly smothering the wreckage and further containing its spread until it was merely a sky-high column of tightly-packed grey rubble.

“That was incredible magic, Isabella,” offered Joe, standing up. “Top notch.”

“I've never seen anything like it,” added Kanta. “We should have brought her into the fold sooner. She would have been very useful.”

Kubo shook his head. “Nah, I'm afraid that's not how it works. We only have Isabella on loan for short periods.”

“Mother doesn't want Isabella to work too much. Mother says overwork is dangerous to Isabella's health, but Isabella is strong and sometimes helps people.” Isabella relaxed her hands and smiled awkwardly. Then, without warning, she reached out to Kubo's sling and began petting Germaine. “Isabella likes kitties,” she added.

Percy grimaced. “Hey, who is this chick? Why does she talk like that? Is she homeless or something?” he asked me under his breath.

“Beats me,” I replied. “But she saved our bacon. She can be as weird as she wants.”

Germaine purred. “You know, girlie? I like you. You aren't like the others, unwilling to show a spider some love.” He turned to Kanta and pointed a jagged little arm her way. “So, exorcist... you gonna plunge that sword into Lucy's heart now that we're all done with this necromancer business?”

I laid back on the sidewalk and sighed. “Oh, here we go.”

Kanta gripped the hilt of the sword and walked over to me, a playful grin on her lips. “I've been thinking about it,” she said, weighing me with a steely glare. “But I've decided to let him live for now. He's an idiot. And a creep. But he's also pretty useful.” She chuckled. “I think he may have redeemed himself.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said, rolling over and slowly gaining my feet. My leg had healed enough for me to stand, and I held onto a lamppost for better support. “Don't suppose you'd be willing to take me out to dinner sometime? I'm a big eater, but since I'm a trusted teammate now, you wouldn't be averse to shelling out for demon-sized portions, would you?”

Her hand returned to the sword. “Don't push it. You did good work inside, but I can still think of many reasons why I should cut you down on the spot.”

Percy reached out and shook my hand, his cheeks red for all of the running. “She's just giving  you a hard time. I, for one, am happy to call you a friend.” He paused, laughing nervously. “Didn't think I'd ever say that kind of thing about a demon, but... you know. Thanks for your help. Glad you broke out when you did. If you hadn't then we'd have been toast.”

“Hear that, Chief?” I said pointing to him. “You'd have all been toast without me. I hope you're taking notes. I want you to mention all of this in your speech to the higher-ups at Veiled Order HQ before presenting me with a lifetime achievement award.”

Kubo took me by the arm and pulled me along. “Oh, I've got an award for ya. Two shiny bracelets with your name on 'em, as a matter of fact. I'll let you wear them all night.”

FORTY-FIVE

Well, how about that? We got back to HQ with more than enough time to chain me up and keep Gadreel from going postal in the city. Not that he would have; the demon and I were both pretty spent after the day's fight, and even once my wounds had been patched up I doubt we'd have had the gas to do anything wild. I tried to convince Kubo of that, but he didn't really care.

Into the isolation chamber I went.

And this time, I didn't try to break out.

Joe came by to visit me before evening really set in, and he told me about what'd been going on on the outside. The news outlets bought the terrorism angle completely, and the destruction of the RenCen was rightfully decried in the media. The city authorities were on full-alert after the incident. I don't know what strings the Veiled Order was going to pull to smooth this mess over, but it was going to take some doing. Thankfully, aside from the guests in the hotel that'd been turned by Agamemnon, there were no other casualties to report. Our operation hadn't been neat and tidy, but we'd done a damn fine job protecting the city, all things considered.

“So,” I asked Joe, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “We cool, man?” Now that the necromancer was out of the picture, I had plenty of time to stress over the other things going on in my life. I'd avoided death this time and had even survived contact with a holy sword, but someday I wouldn't be so lucky. I didn't want to think about what awaited me at the end of that road. And then there was my friendship with Joe. “I don't want to spend all night locked up in here wondering if you're talking shit behind my back,” I said with a grin.

Joe had smuggled in a few beers for us. Bringing alcohol into HQ, and especially to the isolation room, was totally against the rules. But it was worth it. He emptied his can and crunched it between his hands. “Well,” he belched, “I only share beer with friends of mine, so I guess you're in good standing, Lucy.”

I took a sip. “Where do we go from here, man? This last mission felt like it was going to be the last. Now that it's over I don't know how to feel. Know what I mean?”

“The Chief will find us something to do. Make no mistake.” Joe snickered. “And if he doesn't, we'll find ways to keep ourselves busy. I tell ya, we should look into throwing our own party. Those friends of yours are boring, but I bet that they'd loosen up under the right circumstances.”

“Oh, sure. And who would you invite?” I asked. “We gonna have Isabella DJ the thing? Germaine serving drinks?”

“I was thinking we'd get some drinks into Chief Kubo and see what happens.” Joe yawned and picked up all of the empties. “I'm gonna head out, Lucy. Have a good one. I'll see you when you're out, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” I stood up and gave a little wave. “Hey, one more thing. What's everyone else up to? Percy and Kanta. And, uh, Germaine?”

Joe snickered. “Germaine will be real glad to hear you're asking about him. Honestly, though, I dunno where they all got off to. Kanta and Percy just walked off. The job's done and their checks must've cleared. I saw them talking to Amundsen and then they just wandered away without a word.”

I breathed a little sigh of relief. The friendly exorcist was out of the picture. For now. At least I wouldn't have to worry about her changing her mind and lopping my head off with that new blade of hers.

“Germaine's still hanging around here somewhere. Was talking to the Chief last I saw him. I'm sure he's sticking around for a while... after we stole that sword I think people will be looking for him in the Underground. He'll probably have to sell off his book shop. Anyway,” continued Joe, “I'll see you tomorrow, Lucy.”

“See ya.” The door closed and Gadreel and I were left to our own devices.

Plopping down on that cold, concrete floor should have been boring as hell. But you know what? It was just what we needed. The peace and quiet was more relaxing than I can express.

We did pretty good back there, I thought. Thanks for giving me that push.

My heart rate quickened for a moment. I think that was Gadreel's way of telling me that he appreciated my going the extra mile back at the RenCen; that he saw the two of us as partners, and that he'd gained some degree of respect for me even though I was just his lowly human vessel.

Well, either that or I was getting some indigestion from chugging so much beer on an empty stomach.

***

Kubo came by to unlock the door in the morning, looking just as ragged as he had when last I'd seen him. He hadn't done much sleeping in the past sixteen hours, had been too busy participating in meetings and whatnot. My work might have been done, but the Veiled Order's bureaucratic nightmare was just beginning. “This way, Lucy,” he said, stifling a yawn.

I followed him out of the room and massaged my wrists. He led me out of the basement, into the main lobby and then outside, into the parking lot. I was planning on a breakfast. A big breakfast. I figured I could call up Joe and invite him out to the nearest Golden Corral for an hours-long binge-fest. After that? The world was our oyster. A trip to the mall, maybe, or a double-feature sounded mighty fine. Kubo had other plans however, and he led me through the parking lot towards the back of headquarters.

I wasn't sure where he was leading me until the airplane came into view.

About a half-mile from the HQ's backdoor was an airstrip. Parked on it was a small, white airplane. Gathered around the plane were a few people; Amundsen was there. Some commando, too, who I took to be the pilot. Joe was also waiting nearby. Not knowing what to make of it, I followed Kubo all the way to the edge of the airstrip. “You guys sending me on a trip or something? Mighty kind of you, Chief.”

Kubo smirked. “It's not exactly what you're thinking. You're going on a trip, all right, but there aren't going to be any drinks with little umbrellas in them.”

Amundsen walked over to greet me with a gracious handshake. “Hello, Lucian. I never got a chance to thank you for your work yesterday. You did an excellent job, and your service helped us win the day.” His pale skin glowed in the sunlight. “There is something we must discuss, however. I'm sorry that we couldn't give you any forewarning.”

Darting across the side of the airplane was a familiar shape. I cringed as Germaine came into view. “Heya, kid. We're goin' to Tibet!”

I laughed. “Tibet, eh? Sounds like a blast. Send me a postcard.”

Amundsen's expression softened a little. “Actually,” he began, “Germaine is right. I... I'm sorry to spring this on you, however the heads of the Veiled Order, having been informed of your behavior yesterday, are requesting that special actions be taken to address your... impulsiveness.”

“My behavior? What behavior are we talking about here, exactly? We talkin' about my ass-kicking, world-saving behavior? Because if they want to praise me about that, then I'm all ears.” I crossed my arms.

Kubo patted me on the shoulder and gave me a push towards the plane. “They're not too happy that you broke out of the isolation room, kiddo. Well, that, and the fact that you endangered countless of our men during earlier incidents. You were pretty reckless on this mission.”

I rolled my eyes. “You fucking serious? I helped save the frigging world yesterday. You were both there. You know it. Hell, I don't even know who these “bosses” of yours are! I've never seen 'em in my life. What do they know about me?”

Amundsen tried to explain everything in a comforting tone, but with every word he spoke the true nature of this announcement became clearer. “Rules are rules, Lucian, and I'm afraid that our bosses within the organization are sticklers. You did excellent work yesterday, it's true, and I've no doubt that they thank you for that. Nevertheless, they wish to nip your problem with insubordination in the bud. You see, it has been arranged for you to visit a temple in Tibet, run by monks. There, you will learn mindfulness techniques that should help you control the demon. Germaine will go with you, and--”

“Whoa, now,” I interrupted. “You're sending me to fucking Tibet with him?” I'd warmed up a lot to the spider, but I wasn't really looking to take a vacation with him.

“Hell yeah, you are!” blurted Germaine, climbing up onto my shoulder. “I think you're an interesting study in demonology, kid. Never really been able to take a close look at a Demon-Heart before. For instance, I was a hundred percent certain that touching that sword yesterday was gonna kill you. But it didn't! Ain't that the damnedest thing! Goes to show that even a pro like me can stand to learn more about demons. You might have more surprises left in ya.”

“Like... maybe I can still avoid going to Hell when I die?” I chanced.

“Nah, that's all wrapped up,” continued the spider. “But listen, I'ma come along with ya. We're gonna tackle this Tibet trip together. I'll be right there with you the entire time, practicing this mindfulness stuff and seeing whether we can't take you to the next level. And just think-- it'll all be over in a mere three months.”

Three months?

Three goddamn months?

I turned and took Kubo by the arm. “Listen, this isn't going to work out, Chief. I... I can't fuck around in Tibet for three entire months. Least of all with just Germaine for company. You're killing me here. What about my car? Who's going to look after the Corvette? And my apartment? And then there's my parents; I don't want them getting too worried. This just won't work.”

The Chief loosed a caustic laugh. “See, that's the funny thing, because you're acting like this is optional. It ain't.”

Amundsen gave me a pleading look. “Chief Kubo is right, of course. This order has been handed down to us. You don't have a choice, Lucian. I am sorry. But you leave immediately.”

My entire body tensed. “And if I refuse?” I asked.

Kubo looked me up and down, shaking his head. “No, I don't think you'd like what happens if you do that.”

I was flabbergasted. Insulted. “Are you threatening me?” I asked. “What are you implying, Chief? That you're going to hunt me down and kill me like some villain?”

“Cool your head, Lucy,” replied Kubo. “All I'm saying is that our bosses are willing to go to whatever lengths necessary to secure their assets. You're an asset to them... and you're volatile... impulsive. If you won't cooperate, you aren't giving them a lot of options. This'll be easier on you... on everyone, if you just go along with it.”

I looked to Joe. “Can you believe this shit? Guy helps save the damn world and now the big, bad rules lawyers over here treat him like a criminal!”

Joe shrugged weakly. “Lucy, they just want to help. They want to help you learn to control the demon better. That's all. It's not really like that...”

“No, I heard the Chief loud and clear. His bosses-- same ones that gave me this demon heart to begin with-- think I'm a threat. I get it.” I was fuming, ready to knock out everyone within reach.

You needn't remind me; I know I've done a lot of stupid shit. I proved my recklessness early on in this mission while trying to play the hero. But this sendoff was damn harsh. I really felt like I was being coerced into this trip. There was a not-so-subtle hint in all of this that, if I failed to comply, I'd further anger these mysterious bosses. I didn't even know their damn names; the people running the Veiled Order were giant, purple dinosaurs for all I knew...

“I'll go,” I said, walking to the plane. “I'll go. I know that I deserve this... I was irresponsible in trying to stop Agamemnon. It's true. So, I'll go. I'll take my lumps and spend... three goddamn months in Tibet with the freaking spider scholar over here. But I want you guys to know one thing.” I turned and looked them in the eyes. “I won't be threatened. Not by all of you. You guys are just following orders, and that's well and good. But we're a team. I understand that now. Doesn't that mean anything to you, or your bosses? I thought it did. Rules are rules, I guess, but following the rules doesn't mean you have to be an unthinking asshole.”

Amundsen was increasingly apologetic. I knew that he didn't want to alienate me. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place and was only sending me off because he'd been told to. He wanted me to look at the bright side, to think of what I might gain if this training in a foreign land actually helped me control Gadreel better. Germaine was simply curious; I was his subject for further study. Joe had come along to see me off. I wondered how he felt about all of this.

Kubo's feelings on the matter were never in doubt. I trusted the guy and knew he was only passing along the orders he'd been given. I knew he wanted me to take this trip so that I could become a more valuable asset to the team. He wanted me to take things to the next level, to become a stronger person. If it'd been just me and him out there, he might've carried on the conversation in a more supportive way. But the threatening undercurrent in his speech hadn't been lost on me.

I felt reasonably certain that Chief Kubo would never hunt me down. That, even if his bosses and I had some sort of falling out, Kubo would never do anything to harm me. But the meaning of Kubo's words was plain. He may as well have said: “If you choose to disobey, I can't guarantee your safety. This organization will judge you a threat and come after you with everything they've got. Better to do what they say.”

I stepped onto the plane with Germaine and the silent commando climbed in along with us. There were only four seats inside, all of them plush and comfortable. Looking out at Kubo, Joe and Amundsen, I gave them a lazy wave and a frown I hoped they'd remember.

“Well,” I said, “guess I'll see you dicks in three months.”

END.

Thank you for reading! I hope you've enjoyed Roaring Blood. Want to read the next book in the Demon-Hearted series? See where Lucy, Kubo and the others end up next time? Consider joining my mailing list below for news and updates on the series!

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