A Devil in the Details (29 page)

It was only a piece of one-inch pipe, maybe two feet long, bent at a right angle at one end. But it was heavy, and it would serve as a makeshift
tonfa
until I could find something better. A brief search found another of similar shape, and now I had a pair. It was better than nothing.

I put my back against a concrete wall and waited, my new weapons resting against my forearms. Against a sword or knife, I could parry with them, disarm with them, snap bone. Against that maw full of fangs, I could maybe break a few teeth before it crushed my arm to jelly.
Wonderful.

The corner I sheltered in would be good to protect my flanks, but I was also pinned with nowhere to retreat. I couldn’t stay here.

“Come out, come out, little slayer.”

I resented that. “I’m just wiry!” Never let it be said that I didn’t go down a smart-ass to the end.

The hound padded around a column, every muscle illuminated by the flashes of lightning. It was smiling. Splattered all over with yellow mud, it looked even more like some giant dire hyena from prehistoric times. Were there dire hyenas? I guess I’d never know.

I dropped into a fighting stance, hoping the thing hadn’t seen me favoring my right leg. If I could dodge left the first time, I was good. If it forced me right, onto my bad leg . . . Oh, who was I kidding? I was puppy chow.

It came fast, faster than anything that size had a right to be. I ducked left, improvised
tonfas
guarding my right side, and I was running again. The hound hit the concrete wall with all four feet and bounced off in pursuit. This was no leisurely chase now. I was armed, the contract fulfilled. Now the demon meant to kill.

The tingle down my spine told me there was a snap coming at my hamstring, and I jinked hard right. My leg screamed in pain, but held, and the vicious teeth snapped loudly on empty air. I wasn’t so lucky next time, and something sharp raked down my left thigh. I was never sure if it was claws or teeth.

There was no electric pop, no shock from my wife’s warding spells. I’d forfeited that protection when I had negotiated for a strictly physical fight. At the time, it had seemed a fair trade, but now I frantically wished for something,
any
thing more between my skin and those wicked teeth.

The demon’s massive paws threatened to tangle with my own feet as we ran, and it threw its shoulder into my hip. I let the fall take me, rolling through it and back to my feet. I swung into that mass of solid fur and muscle with one pipe, and connected hard with something that sounded like it hurt. Blight wafted off into the air and the thing snarled, but it kept coming.

I could feel my blood soaking through my torn jeans only because it was warm against the rain-soaked chill. There would be no finding a better place to fight. I was done running, and the demon knew it. It held me at bay and circled, trying to find an opening. One lunge met with my makeshift
tonfa
, metal against muzzle, and I heard a crack as one of the sharp canines shattered. The white bone chips evaporated into black mist, flitting away to join with the rest of the demon’s spent energy. It backed away, shaking its head and growling. Man, did that thing look pissed off.

They say, when you’re about to die, your life flashes before you. People talk about seeing loved ones gone before, or forgotten things from childhood. Maybe I should have been thinking of my wife and daughter, soon to be without husband and father. I wasn’t. My only thought, which I voiced crystal clear above the pain and pounding adrenaline, was, “Hotel phones don’t have caller ID.”

The demon actually paused at that, head tilted comically to the side.

“Hotel phones don’t have caller ID. He said that’s how he found where I worked.” A rumble started somewhere in the demon’s chest, and it gathered itself to spring again. “How did he know where I worked?”

Thunder crashed, deafening both of us, and in the flashing light, I spied another figure standing behind the demon. The demon followed my gaze, and I was too surprised to even take advantage of its distraction.

I thought at first it was Kidd, until I realized it was too tall, too skinny. Then hope flared irrationally, and for one interminable heartbeat, I thought it was Miguel. The stranger walked forward, and a flash of lightning illuminated his face.

“He made it his business to know.” Paulo appeared from the depths of the parking garage. His usual T-shirt and jeans had been exchanged for ill-fitting studded leather armor. A machete, the blade so old it was nearly black, dangled from one hand.

The demon backed away to put both of us in its sight. “Treachery . . . fouled contract . . .” I swear, it lisped around its broken teeth, and it made even that sound purely evil.

The dark teen kept his eyes on the demon as he spoke. “They stalked you, Jesse Dawson, as they stalked
mi hermano
and Señor Archer.” He pointed the stained blade at the hellhound. “So now I stalk them.”

T
he storm itself seemed to grow quiet to listen to Paulo—or, not Paulo apparently, but Estéban, Miguel’s younger brother. I know, I probably should have seen that coming. What can I say? I’m a bit dense at times.

The rain stopped as if a faucet had been turned, and the swirling wind died. In its place, the air grew heavy and still, and I struggled to breathe through the pea soup atmosphere. The immense pressure of some great and invisible hand pushed down on us. Only the wail of the storm sirens remained, strident and ululating. Maybe you’ve never been through a tornadic storm. Trust me when I tell you, all of the above are
bad
things. We were running out of time.

The thunder in the distance was a quiet rumble, barely distinguishable from the demon’s throaty growl. “Deceit, treachery. To bring another to fight your battle. The bargain is broken, Jesse James Dawson. Your soul is forfeit.”

I laughed, leaning against the wall to get what rest I could. My right leg was throbbing, and the cuts down my left thigh stung fiercely. Any moment I could use to collect myself was vital. “The deal is broken, you’re right, but you don’t get my soul. The deceit was yours, and Kidd’s. His soul is yours to keep.” In case you’re wondering, that makes me a hard-hearted bastard. But the man had gotten two good men killed.

To prove me right, the tattoo on my right arm abruptly crackled and flaked away, leaving unmarred pink skin beneath. I was free.

I could see now how it had played out. “Mascareña. It’s just over the border from Arizona, isn’t it.” The baseball schedule, dammit. I’m so fucking stupid! “Kidd just drove down from spring training. And he had an exhibition match in Toronto. That’s how he found them. And how the boy found us.”

I’m sure Kidd’s demon promised him all kinds of things if the man would help lure champions into combat. They set seemingly innocuous terms, then sprang them when Guy and Miguel were unprepared. “Under the full moon” my ass. Good men, good fighters, and they never had a chance.

The hellhound snarled, but it knew I was right. Blight dribbled from its mouth, no doubt from the stump of broken fang. Its concentration was wavering. “Then our business is concluded.”

“No!” We yelled in unison, Paulo and I. Estéban!
Dammit.
The boy tried to open his mouth, and I silenced him with a glare. He was a child, comparatively. He had no place here. “You have something I want. I propose a new bargain.” I had no time for this. The air was hot and muggy beneath the low-hanging clouds, and no rain fell. No wind stirred. We were in deep shit. But I couldn’t let it get away. I couldn’t let it lie in wait for me again, springing when I wasn’t ready. This had to end now.

“I listen.” The hound’s eyes flashed red, reminding me of Axel. If I lived through this, I was going to throttle him.
Damn you, Axel, why couldn’t you just tell me?

“I offer you the soul of Jesse James Dawson, in exchange for the souls of Miguel Alejandro Cristobal Perez and Guy Thomas Archer.” Full names have power. They’d known mine as well, just in case. Ivan planned for everything.

The demon barked a laugh, and more blackness escaped its maw to wind away through the concrete columns. Somewhere out of sight, a portal was forming. “One soul for two? Even yours is not worth so much, Jesse James Dawson.”

“Then add mine. I offer my soul.” Paulo- Estéban needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. “I offer the soul of Estéban Paulo Juan-Carlos Perez.” Man, I bet he hated learning to write all that as a child.

Before I could come up with a suitable objection, the demon nodded. “Done! Name your terms!”

Fuck fuck fuck.
I didn’t want to be responsible for the kid’s soul, too, but it was too late to quibble now—too late in more than one way. “We fight here and now, as we are. We finish this now.”

In a perfect world, I would have named some time in the future. I would have let myself heal, found my sword, something. The odds weren’t in my favor, in the rain-slicked mud, armed as I was with pipes, and already gimped in both legs. But I stood a better chance, fully aware and as prepared as I was going to get, than letting this thing get the drop on me again.
Guy, Miguel . . . I hope I’m doing right by you guys.
I couldn’t afford to be wrong.

That hellish muzzle wrinkled in a grin. “Done.”

The contract mark burned bright and fast across the back of my hand. No elaborate tattoo, this, but an ugly black slash of burned flesh. I heard Estéban gasp when his own seared in, but I didn’t even notice the pain.

I pushed off the wall, my improvised
tonfas
held at the ready. This was going to hurt. Paulo- Estéban stepped up beside me, worn machete still leveled at the hound.

“What are you doing, kid?” I didn’t dare take my eyes off the hound to ask.

“You said ‘we’ fight here and now. I am part of ‘we.’ ” He was pale under his dark skin; he was terrified. His brother’s armor was too big on him, a boy who hadn’t yet seen his full growth. Had he watched Miguel fall? I wondered. Had he seen his brother’s soul ripped from his body? I had to give the kid credit, though. No matter his age, or experience, his hand was steady on his brother’s weapon. I felt bad for ever thinking he’d run away.

And damn, I was proud of the boy. He was right. At that moment, I could have called in an army to send the hound back to Hell, and it couldn’t have done a thing about it. Even demons can fuck up contracts.

The black hound’s hackles came up in a rage- filled snarl, but it didn’t even bother protesting. It was caught in the haste of its own negotiations, and it knew it.

Beyond the walls of our concrete arena, the storm sirens blared on, and the light trickling through the clouds was a vomitus green. The thunder was gone, chasing the front to the east. All that was left was the oppressive calm, the harbinger of something catastrophic.

Neither Estéban nor I moved. I waited, holding my weight gingerly on my right leg. I could lunge to my left from there, and though my blood had soaked the torn denim of my jeans, I wasn’t crippled yet. The kid stood to my left, a thrum of tension in my peripheral vision, maybe waiting for some signal from me.

I never had a chance to give it.

The hellhound sprang without warning. I dove right, Estéban dove left, and just like that we were separated. The black nightmare whirled, faster than before, proving it had only been toying with me all along, supremely confident in its own ability.

I couldn’t get near it without meeting fangs, that wedge-shaped head snapping from side to side impossibly fast. Every time Estéban moved in behind it, it would spin, sending the boy darting back out of reach, then turn again to meet me coming. I got no more than a handful of glancing blows in, and I’m not sure the kid hit it at all.

Something tickled my cheek, and I realized it was a strand of my damp hair, stirred in the smallest of breezes. To the west, I could hear what might be the murmur of traffic on the highway, except for one crucial fact. The highway was directly to our east.

It was coming. The time for smart fighting was through.

There was no more dodging or feinting. I kept the pipes whirling and moved in. Black fog wisped away where they landed, and the demon was forced to put its full attention on me. One gleaming fang laid my knuckles open to the bone, but I kept my grip and used my other hand to clout the thing across the eyes. The copper scent of my blood was overpowering in the heavy air, and the quiet hum of traffic had grown to a tiny roar.

The hound lunged against my unsteady right leg, and it finally crumpled.
Traitor
, I thought, bringing my arms up to shield my throat. Instead of following to rip me to shreds, the demon let out a bellow of pain and spun, one massive clawed foot planting right in my guts. “Oof!” My breath left me in a rush, but I could see the handle of the machete sticking out of one muscled flank. Estéban had buried it almost to the hilt.

The hound forgot about me. I heard the kid scream as it lunged, and beneath that, the sickening sound of breaking bone. The black essence seeping from the blade trickled across the muck, wafting dangerously close to my legs. I scrambled, still on my rump, to get clear before that numbing blight could touch me.

Estéban screamed again, out of my sight, and the hound shook its head like a terrier with a rat. I grabbed for the machete hilt, and dragged myself to my feet with it, wrenching it free. The black fog poured from the wound, a deadly river flowing over the mud toward the unseen portal. The demon had Estéban’s arm in its hideous maw, crushing the bone in those powerful jaws. Even then, the kid tried to fight, fingers gouging at the beast’s eyes in desperation.

There was grit in the wind and it stung my cheeks. I would remember that later. Now, I only ducked my head to keep my vision clear. Grabbing a handful of mud-matted fur and stabbing the machete in with the other, I climbed those hulking shoulders, ignoring the burning cold that came as the blight ran freely.