Death's Apprentice: A Grimm City Novel (16 page)

He didn’t bother to turn around to see. “Throw him out in the lobby with the others.”

“No, sir. It’s … someone else.”

The Devil glanced over his shoulder. The witch—cheaply attractive in a sleek pencil-skirted business suit, her overdone mascara and eye shadow stark against her dead-white skin—shrank back from his gaze. As she did, a seven-foot-tall, sullen-looking giant brushed by her in the doorway.

“Who are you?” The Devil glared at him.

“My name is Hank.” The giant gazed straight back. “I really wanted to speak to your lawyer. But he said he was busy. He sent me to you instead.”

The Devil tilted his head back, surveying the man’s bulk. “Oh, yes. The one with no fear.” He gave an ugly smile. “Quite an impressive number of kills you’ve had today, Hank. But so far, the three you were sent to find are still not dead.”

“That’s why I’m here,” said Hank. “I wanted you to know that they’re not as easy to find as your little guy thought. There are so many dirtbags in this crappy town that it could take me a week to find the right ones.”

“I don’t have a week.”

“I know.”

The Devil mulled the problem over for a moment, then gestured toward the chair on the other side of his desk. “Looks like I’ll have to speed things up somehow. Take a seat.”

As Hank struggled to squeeze himself into the chair, the witch cowered back against the open door, her eyes fastened with avid devotion upon her master.

“I think … I have something that will help you.” The Devil crossed the office and pressed a four-digit code into a keypad on the side wall. The wall slid open, revealing a cabinet of solid magnesium that reached to the alcove’s ceiling. When the Devil laid his hand flat upon the surface of the cabinet, magical symbols began to glow there, turning from dull red to blazing yellow-white, as though heated by their own inner fire.

Hank looked at the desk in front of him, and saw the same twisting symbols imbedded in the black stone. The central symbol on both the desk and the cabinet was larger than the others. In both cases, it was a majestic, eight-pointed star.

On the front of the cabinet, that glowing, central symbol separated into two equal halves as the cabinet doors clicked open. Inside it hung a dismantled suit of armor, larger than anything even the giant hit man might have worn. An equally massive shield and sword were at the armor’s side, all of them constructed of the same gleaming magnesium. On the breastplate of the armor was the star-shaped symbol again, placed right above the wearer’s heart.

“There was a great war…” Dark meditations tinged the Devil’s voice. “Long before the advent of humanity. This is the armor I wore in the final battle.” Pride and bitterness sounded in his words. “Before I was imprisoned inside this …
pathetic
body.”

He turned toward Hank, his gaze locking straight into the hit man’s eyes. “There were three who fought me, fierce in their righteousness. Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, and their wings were such as to cast this world into shadow. They were the ones—I’m sure of it—who planted the tree in my garden centuries ago. That’s why I’ve never been able to destroy it, no matter how often I’ve tried. It just stands there. Year after year. In expectation of the day when Fate will bring me face-to-face with the three warriors who are prophesied to be my greatest mortal adversaries.”

Hank gazed at the armor and nodded thoughtfully, digesting everything he’d just heard. “I think I get it now … Your lawyer refused to tell me who I was working for. But I should have guessed.”

The Devil scrutinized the hit man’s reaction. “And now that you know it, does it make a difference?”

Hank mulled it over for a second, then shrugged. “Why should it?” he said without the slightest hint of intimidation. “Man or Devil, makes no difference to me.”

The Devil gave a satisfied nod, and turned back to the cabinet. From inside it, he took out a dagger and what appeared to be a crystal flask. “If it was archangel magic that planted the tree and brought those three together, then it’s about time I countered their tricks with some archangel magic of my own.” He laid them both on the desk. “Magnesium, of course—” He pointed to the dagger. “And this—” He held up the flask. “Solid diamond. To hollow it required arts beyond human craftsmanship.”

As Hank watched, the Devil drew out the flask’s glistening, translucent stopper. At the same moment, the dagger’s blade burst into flame, as if the weapon somehow knew that its power was now required.

“Only a weapon forged in Heaven,” said the Devil, “can pierce an archangel’s skin.” He took the burning dagger by its handle and raised it before Hank’s gaze. “And once such a weapon is alight, only shield and armor of magnesium can turn aside its blow. Armor—” He pointed toward the open cabinet. “Such as that.”

Hank nodded at the dagger in the Devil’s hand, its blade sheathed in flames. “So, the knife … Is that what you’re going to give me?”

The Devil shook his head. “No. I’m going to give you something even more powerful. Something that will allow you to recognize instantly those who have the desire, and above all, the
ability
to do me harm.”

The Devil put the burning edge of the dagger against his other palm, and cut deep into his own flesh. He clenched the wounded hand into a fist, then laid down the dagger and picked up the diamond flask. He held his fist above the flask’s opening, but instead of a trickle of red blood, a fiery magmalike substance filled the vessel, drop by incandescent drop.

When the flask was full, it looked as if a solar flare had been captured within it. The Devil replaced the stopper, then held the flask toward Hank. “Take it.”

Hank warily eyed the radiant object. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“It’s simple,” said the Devil. “When the blood is exposed to anyone who intends to attack me, it will react.”

He watched carefully as Hank took the flask. The burning substance remained quiescent inside the hollowed diamond. He nodded in satisfaction, assured that the giant hit man was no immediate threat.

Hank carefully stowed the diamond flask inside his jacket, extinguishing for the moment its fiery light.

The Devil walked over to the opposite wall and punched in the key code. The metal cabinet disappeared as the false wall closed. “So—” He gestured with his hand to dismiss Hank. “You have what you came for. Leave me, and get back to your job. I wish to be alone now to—”

To his surprise, the giant hit man raised a finger. “One question first, if that’s okay.”

Hank worked his huge bulk free from the chair, then brushed past the Devil and strode to the office window. He opened his mouth wide and exhaled on the glass, fogging a hand-sized patch. One blunt fingertip touched the glass and drew the symbol.

“What the hell does
this
mean?” Hank looked back at the Devil. “I’ve been seeing it all day. And now I find it here, too, on the desk and on that armor.”

The Devil’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not used to having people disobey me. Luckily for you, I know it’s your pantaphobia that’s to blame—which is still something that I need.”

Hank didn’t care. “And the symbol?”

“Very well—” The Devil humored the giant, and held his own hand an inch away from the eight-pointed star that Hank had drawn, as though admiring it. The symbol suddenly burst into flame, etching itself into the glass.

“In short, it is me…,” he said. “Or more accurately … it is God’s name for me. My crest. My truest, simplest symbol. At its purest, it is a symbolic representation of the primordial quasar that I formed on the first day of creation, from which all subsequent stars were born. But it is also the flag that my army fought under in Heaven. That is why those who serve me bear this mark.”

Hank nodded. “So, the little guy. If he has this on his ring, it means that he’s more than just your lawyer, right? It means that he’s part of something bigger. Something … bad.”

The Devil tilted his head to one side, studying Hank with narrowed eyes. “You could say that, yes. If you wanted to. But—” He began to grow suspicious. “Why do you need to know so much about him? I sense that you’re keeping something from me. Is that true?”

Hank shrugged. “Why would I do anything like that?”

“Possibly…,” said the Devil, “because you are not quite as stupid as you look.”

Before Hank could move away again, the Devil reached out and laid his hand on Hank’s brow to read his thoughts.

“I see a woman … and a child…” The Devil closed his eyes and pressed his hand tighter against the other’s forehead. “I see an obligation … and hatred, too … for the man I call my greatest friend…” The Devil opened his eyes and removed his hand. He looked at Hank with scorn. “I was wrong. You
are
a fool.”

“Why—” Hank saw no point in denying it now. The Devil knew why he was there, so he threw off the charade. “Because I care for someone?”

“No. Because you meddle in things that don’t concern you. And meddling like this will only get you killed.” He fixed Hank with his sulphur-blue eyes, as if staring down a rogue bull. “At any other time, I’d let you go ahead with it and destroy yourself. But I still need you, so I’ll give you a warning that I expect you to heed.” He lowered his voice to a threatening whisper. “The man who took that child has the ability to kill you as soon as look at you, even with your great size and strength. On top of that, he is under my own personal protection, so any move against him is a move against me.”

“And Ren-Lei?” demanded Hank. “What about her?”

The Devil regarded him with contempt. “Forget her. If she isn’t already dead, she soon will be. So just get back to the job I’m paying you for, and stop wasting any more time.”

Hank could feel his knuckles going white with frustration and anger. “But … who is this damned dwarf anyway? Why does he do such terrible things?”

“Because I allow him to, that’s why!” Sadistic pleasure mixed with pride in the Devil’s voice. “He is my Lieutenant, my second-in-command. He has been my closest ally ever since the war in Heaven. But after he fell to earth with me, he was not bound by the same rules of behavior that I was. I am forbidden to pass on the sins of a parent to its child. But he is hampered by no such distinction. Therefore, when someone seeks advancement through him—and enters into a contract by shaking his hand—he takes the child of those he’s dealt with as his payment, just as I might take a person’s soul. Then, down in his lair, he consumes the bodies and drinks the blood of those babies—as an affront to the senile God who cast me out and crushed my followers beneath His heel.”

Silence filled the office, hard and oppressive. After a moment, the witch spoke in a small voice from the open door: “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

The Devil dismissed Hank with another wave of his hand. “And this time, do as you’re told.” He crossed back to his desk and swiveled his chair around so that he could gaze out at the low-lying storm clouds roiling across the city. “For both your own sake and mine, forget my Lieutenant—and find me those three opponents that I need.”

Hank glanced at where the burning symbol had eaten into the windowpane. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll get back to finding them straight away. With this glowing blood of yours, it’ll be a breeze.”

Another empty moment passed, then Hank turned and followed the witch out of the office.

13.

The back door of the town house creaked open an inch with a single push from Hank’s palm. He had already torn the rust-corroded padlock and hasp from the rotting wood and tossed them aside. Peering inside, he saw nothing but darkness and dust.

He’d had to shove his way through two separate crowds just to get to this doorstep. The first had been right inside the lobby of the Devil’s office. After finding out that the Devil’s lawyer wasn’t just some kind of weird sicko, but something worse, he’d pushed his way through the mass of supplicants, clutching their file folders and manila envelopes stuffed with photographs and testimonials. Lining up like that to beg the Devil for an extension on their contracts, they had reminded Hank of the densely packed cattle at the city’s slaughter yard. Those poor beasts had no more chance of rescue than these two-legged ones. But at least there in the lobby, with the stench of their anxious sweat clotting sickeningly in his nostrils, he’d found the answer that he needed so badly.

“If you’re looking for the dwarf, I can help you.…” The woman in the middle of the crush looked like a high-up executive from some multinational fashion firm. An older woman, who still would have been striking, if not for the anguish that had consumed her face. “I only have a week to go before my contract’s up, and that bastard is going to screw me, I know.” She kept her voice down so that the witches wouldn’t hear. “Someone over by the door heard you discussing his Lieutenant. Believe me, we all know him. And we all hate him as much as you do.”

“But do you know—” Hank lowered his voice, too, and bent down so that none of the witches could see him. “Where I can find him? The big boss said he had a lair. But where is it?”

“Across the square.” The woman squeezed his arm. The thought of revenge, from anyone, seemed to excite her. “There’s an old town house there. One of the oldest in the city. It’s boarded up now, but I saw him enter it once.”