Authors: Elliott Kay
“Aw,
come on!” Lester fumed, taking her expression all too seriously. “You said
this
city, not others! Look at this list! I’ve told you all kinds of stuff!”
“Yes,
you have,” Lorelei agreed. “You’ve been most forthcoming.” She slid the list
away from him, folding and tucking it into one pocket of her sleek leather
coat. “Suspiciously so, I’d say.”
“Wh-what’s
that supposed to mean?”
“You
seem happy to keep me on the subject. Perhaps so we don’t stray too close to
another?”
“Are
you serious? For fuck’s sake, what am I supposed to do? You barge in here, you
threaten me, you tell me you’re gonna set me up to take a fall with my boss.
What more do you want?”
“I
want to know what you’re hiding.”
“All
kinds of shit!” the exasperated demon replied. “Who do you think you’re talking
to here?”
“I
suppose that’s to be expected,” decided Lorelei. She stood calmly. “Perhaps
it’s time I took my leave. I imagine you have packing to do.”
“Yeah,
yeah,” Lester muttered, rising with her. “I’ll walk you out.”
“That
won’t be necessary. I know the way.”
The
other demon scowled. “Oh, but you’ve been so polite. Ought to at least let me
return the favor. Besides, I gotta check on my club, anyway.”
“You
are the host,” Lorelei conceded, or more accurately condescended. “Lead the
way.”
“You
first. I wouldn’t want to lose track of you.”
Lorelei
opened her mouth to respond, but a shrill, inhuman cry from outside the office
cut her off. Lester’s eyes widened with anger and suspicion. He brushed the
mouse on his computer reawaken his monitor and its feed from the security
cameras. His hand went into the pocket holding his gun. “What did you do?” he
demanded. “Who are you with?”
She
didn’t give him time for more questions. Lorelei jumped up onto his desk,
crouching low to grab his face with her talons extended. She dragged nasty
gouges into his skin as she roughly shoved his head back. The bearded man
stumbled away hard enough to put a crater in the drywall. She followed up
quickly, grabbing the wrist holding his gun to keep it turned away from her. A loud
bang split the air as Lester inadvertently pulled the trigger, but the bullet
struck neither of them.
“No!
Don’t hurt master!” rasped the imp in the corner. It leapt up from its hiding
spot to stand on the filing cabinet.
“Help
me, damn you!” demanded Lester.
Lorelei
looked up to see a pained expression on the little thing’s reptilian face, but
then it belched out a stream of tiny shards of ice. Lorelei dodged the worst of
it by stepping off the desk and turning her back to the thing. The imp still
drew a painfully frigid line of frost along the back of her coat. The blast
caught her wings, too, normally invisible and intangible in mortal environments
bout now distinctly painted by magical frost. Despite the pain and the jarring
cold, Lorelei kicked the filing cabinet over, sending the imp tumbling from its
perch.
Though
Lester wasn’t strong enough to overcome her grip on his right wrist, his left
hand was still free. He sprouted talons and slashed at her face and neck.
Lorelei grabbed the back of his head and shoved his face right through his
desk, splitting the wood in two with the force of the impact.
“For
Sammael!” the imp chirped as frighteningly as it could, coming out for another
blast. Lorelei put her arms up in front of her face to shield herself from the
next stream of painful frost, pushing into it until she could reach out and
grab the insipid little thing. “Ack!” it yelled as she got her hands on its
arms and raised it up.
Against
Lester or any other demon wearing flesh, Lorelei could rely on brute strength
and skill. The imp, though, would bounce back from that too easily. Such an
enemy required less subtle tactics. As much as she would have rather held such
power in reserve, she had few other options. Lorelei shoved the thing against
Lester’s office window overlooking the parking lot. “This, too, is for
Sammael,” she grunted.
The
thing screamed, knowing what was coming, but it couldn’t save itself from the
blast of fire from Lorelei’s mouth. The stream of flames instantly melted a
hole straight through the plastic white blinds and the glass behind it. In only
the space of a few heartbeats, the imp’s screams ended. Lorelei tore its
charred remains asunder and then looked to its master.
Still
on his back and bleeding freely from his smashed nose, Lester angrily fired his
pistol. Lorelei jerked and grunted as every bullet struck, staggered by the
powerful impacts. A modern pistol or rifle could inflict a terrible beating on
a demon such as Lorelei, but it would take more than that to kill her. Yet the
bullets, the imp’s icy breath, and the oppressive cold of the magical wards
over the building all added up to terrible damage. Lorelei thought in the brief
gap between gunshots that she had clearly underestimated the dangers here. Even
beyond this, the club still held more than one demon. Lorelei cursed herself
for endangering Alex by bringing him here. She could not afford to prolong this
fight while he was in danger.
Lester
got off the entire magazine from his pistol. Most of his bullets struck. Gasping
for breath, Lorelei nearly collapsed against one side of Lester’s ruined
desk—and then overturned the whole piece on him with a furious shout.
“Fuck!”
Lester yelped, fighting to get clear. Though not as strong as Lorelei, he
pushed the wrecked furniture off roughly, crawling away his back.
It
gave Lorelei a moment to catch her breath. She shook her head to clear the
ringing from the two bullets that struck her skull and left her hair matted
with blood. At first she thought she could hear more gunshots, or perhaps mere
echoes of those that struck her. Then she realized the sound came from the
hallway.
Alex.
The thought banished the worst of her pain and disorientation. Alex needed her.
Lester
made it to his feet right before Lorelei spit a small cloud of flame at him,
burning his skin and igniting his clothes.
It
wasn’t a power Lorelei could use lightly or frequently. The attack frightened
Lester more than it hurt him. She couldn’t work up a second blast at full
strength so soon after dealing with the imp, nor did she want to risk setting
the building on fire with Alex in it. As Lester screamed and fought to tear off
his shirt, though, she felt some measure of satisfaction. He fell to his butt,
tripped up by his own feet as he ripped away burning fabric.
Lorelei
stepped into a resounding kick against Lester’s head, knocking him onto his
back once more. Before he could rise again, she brought her foot down hard on
his sternum. She repeated the move again and again, each time with all the
force she could muster until she could hear and feel the cracking of bones.
“Should’ve brought my own gun,” she huffed, stomping again and finally hearing
a loose crunch and a gurgle from her opponent.
Wasting
no time, Lorelei crouched low. She brought her taloned fingers up through his
belly and into his ribs, deliberately hooking in to tear open his broken chest.
Lester screamed in agony and fear as she ripped apart ruined cartilage and
shattered bones, then went silent as his body went limp.
A
wispy green cloud escaped from the vicious wound. It formed a vague head,
shoulders, and wings, but demonstrated little control over its rise as it
floated through the air. The shape bent at Lorelei and hissed angrily, yet it
dissipated noticeably with each heartbeat. The frigid power of Lester’s wards
faded all around Lorelei, too, confirming that her work here was done.
“Goodbye,
Lester,” she said to the spirit’s last, fading remnants. “Pray we do not meet
again.”
* * *
The
bar turned out to be a fairly defensible position at first. Alex caught on
quickly to using the baseball bat. The skills of his earlier selves leaned more
toward blades than clubs, but he had little trouble adjusting. If nothing else,
he knew how to fight in close quarters.
The
rack of drinks covered his back. The counter didn’t completely block attackers,
but the obstacle it presented bought Alex time and made it easier to see
threats. Guys jumped over the barrier at either end to come at him from both
sides, but the narrow passage between bar and shelf meant they couldn’t swarm
him. Alex moved left, then right, then to the left again, knocking one attacker
out of the fight before pivoting to the next on his other side.
Survival
depended on staying out of anyone’s grasp. His opponents were angry men, and
some were bigger than him. Still, few were trained fighters, and this situation
didn’t come down to a matter of life or death for any of them. A solid blow
proved enough to drive back most. No one stood up to more than three hits.
Their intimidating numbers didn’t benefit from any coordination, either. They
acted like a mob of individuals all interested in showing off for the woman who
sent them into battle. Everyone wanted to be the one guy to bring down her
enemy, and that saved him.
He
rarely swung the bat, preferring to keep both hands on it rather than risk
anyone catching hold of his only weapon and taking it from him. One man managed
to do that, sacrificing his ribs to hook the bat under his armpit when Alex
opted for a full swing, but the rack of booze right beside them provided an
easy counterattack. Alex swept a bottle of gin off the shelf straight into the
big man’s head. He went down with the ensuing mess of broken glass and wasted
alcohol, freeing Alex and his bat as the next attacker behind him made it over
the crumpled body of the previous assailant. Alex spun, got his hand on the top
of the bat again and jammed the base of his weapon into the new attacker’s
nose. He stepped back as the new guy stumbled, brought the bat up and swung it
down to finish the man off with a blow to his shoulder.
Demons
could overpower him, but Alex knew how to handle mortal threats. It wasn’t
long at all before he lost track of how many bones he’d broken, arms he’d
dislocated or teeth he’d knocked out. Desperately fighting for survival, Alex
unconsciously blended the lessons and talents of so many previous lives: a
veteran legionnaire’s experience with a short weapon in crowded fights, the
channeled rage that carried him through raids and feuds in colder climes, and
above all, the savvy of a piano player who’d worked in all too many of the
toughest saloons.
None
of that made him bulletproof.
Gunshots
boomed as soon as he stood without an upright opponent to either side. Bottles
and mirrored glass on the rack behind him exploded with each impact. Alex
yelped and dropped low. “They’re
all
cowboy bars,” muttered one of the
men he used to be.
Fortunately,
his closer opponents seemed properly averse to bullets despite whatever hold
the demons had over them. The bar cleared out with the gunfire as every guy
still able to flee did so. One or two of them even had the sense to grab their
friends curled up on the floor with concussions on their way.
That
left Alex with another thought: by now, the normal patrons—the ones not so
enthralled by Karma and the others that they’d leap into a fight—had all bailed
on this madness. None of the other dancers or servers remained, either; they
seemed to have rushed for other exits. That was the good news. Presumably,
someone had called the cops by now, too. Alex didn’t know what to think of
that, but at least it appeared the club was down to him, the bad guys, and
Lorelei, wherever she was.
More
bottles broke. A couple of bullets pierced the bottom of the counter. He needed
to get out. For that, he needed to stop the shooting so he could make a break
for it without being cut down. Alex looked around again at the cabinet shelves
and drawers behind the bar for anything he could use. Soon enough, he hit on
something appropriately crazy.
Another
gunshot destroyed more bottles over his shoulder. He checked his sleeves.
Nothing had fallen on him. Amazingly, his shirt was still largely dry. That was
an important consideration, given his plan. This would be crazy, but that
seemed par for the course these days. He snatched one of the surviving bottles
up off the rack and dropped down again, hoping his remaining enemies still had
some degree of survival instinct left in their heads.
The
bottle of absinthe broke against the shelf full of dish towels on Alex’s first
swing. The lighter from the cabinet did the rest. Alex backed off as flames
quickly spread. In the space of only a couple breaths, he became sure the bar
would catch, too. He didn’t hear any more gunshots, but within a few more
seconds, he heard guys yell, “Oh shit, something’s burning!” and “Fire! We
gotta get out!”
“Oh,
fucking mortals,” said a feminine voice behind Alex. He felt her hands on him
before he could turn to face her, and then he was off his feet with the room
spinning around him. His attacker slammed him down hard on his back against the
bar. Ignoring the pain, Alex swung his bat in retaliation, missed, and then
felt the weapon torn from his grasp.
Another
pair of feminine hands grabbed his arms and held them back on the other side of
the bar, heedless of the burning wood and alcohol. His attackers slid him a few
feet away from the flames, but he still felt the heat. They seemed able to
resist it. “You can’t possibly know how far you’ve set us back,” said Chance.
She loomed over him with a cruel sneer on her lips. Beyond her, Alex could see
the club was now completely empty except for Chance and Karma, along with
Destiny, now slowly walking over from the hallway to join them. She looked
worse for wear after her injuries from the mirror, but was still standing and
still furious.