Raw Power: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Demon-Hearted Book 1) (22 page)

On the walls, which were clotted in dust and cobwebs, I could just barely see the remnants of a mural depicting an oasis. There was a body of water surrounded by white sand, replete with palm trees and nude, tastefully-rendered feminine figures. It wasn't exactly a professional job, the amateurish strokes in the palm fronds giving the artist away, but it had a certain charm. You'd never find work like this in a museum; I'd never written dissertations on this kind of art in college, but, like a good bit of graffiti on the side of an abandoned building, it'd probably made for quite the conversation piece during the bar's heyday.

Looking over Kubo's shoulder, I noticed he was climbing down a flight of stairs into a space of terrific darkness. I stood at the top and demurred. “You've got to be kidding me. Why we going down there?”

“Because I prefer to do business in the Speakeasy,” came the cheery reply from below.

But the reply hadn't come from Kubo.

***

The voice that'd answered me from somewhere in the unlit cellar of Willard's Speakeasy was that of an older man, somewhat airy. The tone had been even and cheery, but it freaked me out all the same. Someone had actually been waiting for us in that dark basement?

I started down the stairs reticently, just as Kubo's ghostly will-o-the-wisps lit up the depths ahead of me dimly, and braced myself for the sight of this waiting stranger who Kubo now addressed as “Ernie.”

“Ernie”, I thought, just had to be code for “giant, slithering half-snake dude” or “enormous spider that can talk and cast spells.”

When I set foot in the cellar and looked out across the bare concrete floors, at the long, dusty counter where Kubo now sat, and got my first proper look at Ernie, I have to say I was a little disappointed.

When you've been rubbing elbows with half-serpentine witches and other weird-ass folk, the sight of a mere ghost is underwhelming. Quaint.

And that's what Ernie was. A bonafide ghost.

Standing nearly as tall as Kubo and propped up on his elbows behind the bar, Ernie winked at me, his ethereal features outlined in a shimmering blue light. He looked to be an older man; if forced to place him, I'd peg him for about sixty, maybe older. He had big, emotive eyes, clear and blank as polished diamonds, and wore an oversized coat. Long, greasy locks of hair escaped from the edges of a slouching beanie cap, and when he walked, I found he did so with a noticeable limp.

That was weird. Did ghosts keep their maladies after death? It was hard to imagine the soul of a dead man hanging around long after his passing, while still having to deal with a bum knee.

“Hi,” I managed, sidling up to the bar and keeping my distance from the floating, ghostly spheres. “I'm Lucian.” I extended my hand to shake his without putting much thought into it, and then startled as he reached out and passed his own hand straight through mine. I couldn't feel his touch, but a terrible cold seized my fingers and saw me wince.

“Welcome, Lucian,” said Ernie with a grin. Most of his teeth were missing, and those that remained didn't look to be in particularly good shape. More and more he was reminding me of a homeless person. He just had that look; the unkempt appearance, the oversized coat, the limp.

Kubo perched himself atop a barstool caked in grime and nodded to the ghost. “I hear you have something for me, Ernie.” From his pocket, he drew a large, highly-polished piece of coinage. A Kennedy silver dollar, unless I was mistaken. The chief turned it between his fingers, catching Ernie's eye. “You saw something in your nightly walks, I take it? Something related to Agatha's gang?”

Still watching the silver coin reservedly, Ernie started chewing his lower lip aggressively, like he wanted to get ahold of it right away. Wringing his hands and subtly panting, the ghost looked like some sort of junkie in need of a fix. “You're all business, ain't ya, Kubo?” He laughed nervously, then leaned forward. “Yeah, I'll tell ya a thing or two.” He looked from me to the chief, and closed one eye. “You won't hear this one anywhere else. Ernie's big scoop.”

 
Setting the silver dollar on the bar with a loud and satisfying
clack
, Kubo slid it to Ernie, leaving a trail in the dust. “Ernie here has been dead a few years. In life, he worked for us as an informant. When he died, his soul stuck around and he continued working with the Order. Though he's centered here, in the spot where he died, he's able to travel during the night and goes on nocturnal walks through Detroit, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. Then he gets back to us if anything trips his bullshit alarm, get it?” Kubo cleared his throat, a grin teasing the corner of his mouth. “And he likes his silver, too.”

Ernie pawed at the coin lovingly, picking it up and rubbing his bluish, ghostly fingers across it. “That he does, that he does! Kubo knows just what I like!” With a shiver, Ernie sent the coin flipping through the air with a flick of his thumb, and then caught it.

“How's he doing that?” I asked Kubo, leaning in and keeping my voice down. “His hand passed right through mine. How can he, like... touch things and move them?”

“Ghosts can't physically interact with the living,” replied Kubo. “But they can move inanimate objects without much of a problem. If they reveal themselves to us, we can see them, but otherwise they remain invisible. That's what makes them ideal informants. They can, and do, walk the streets at night, and for the most part, nobody has the slightest idea they're being watched. Certain craft users or supernatural beings may be able to see ghosts outright, or sense them, but Agatha and her friends probably don't have that ability. Ernie here is indispensable.”

Ernie did an exaggerated bow, chuckling. “Mighty kind of you, Kubo, but why'd you bring this kid along? I get the feeling he doesn't know much about the Beyond or anything. He a new hire er something?”

“Yeah,” replied Kubo, stretching at the shoulders. “But never mind Lucy here, what've you got for me? I held up my end of the bargain. You've been paid. Now tell me what I came to hear.”

 
“Sure, sure.” Ernie pocketed his coin. How it remained inside of his ghostly pocket I hadn't the slightest. “So, I seen some things. I'm walking down the street last night. Few hours before sunrise. Crossing the street around Miami Avenue, when I see this car, right? Suspension's rockin', windows all fogged up, and I look inside to find two young folk getting it
real
good, you know?” His eyes widened as he donned a salacious grin. “The things they were doin', boy.” He whistled. “She had her--”

“Stay on topic, you old lech,” interrupted Kubo, knocking on the bar with his fist.

“Right, yeah. So, anyhow, after all that, I'm walking towards this old church. Old Baptist place... eh...” Ernie closed his eyes, his brow furrowing into a series of bluish wrinkles. Then, he snapped his fingers. “Emmanuel Baptist Church! That's the one, over on Ford Street? Near the old Biloxi theater house?”

“That church is closed, last I checked,” said Kubo, looking rather disinterested in what Ernie had to say.

“Oh, it is. It is closed. Been that way a couple of years now. Which is why it was so surprising to me when I saw a couple uh people slippin' in real discrete like.” He crossed his arms, standing upright, and motioned to me with a thrust of his chin. “See, kid, there's something you've gotta know about old Ernie, and that's that his eyes never miss nothing. Got the best eyes in the game, sharp as a barn owl tracking a--”

“Goddammit, Ernie!” shouted Kubo, kicking at the bar and making the whole thing rattle. “Just spit it out! Enough of this grandstanding bullshit.”

Shaking his head, Ernie hobbled around behind the bar for a moment, mumbling to himself. “Yeah, all right. I'll tell ya what you wanna hear, no bullshit, no bullshit.” The bar was still quivering for Kubo's kick as he went on. “I see a few dark shapes, like things wearin' cloaks, slipping in through a side door. I tell you, I pass by that door all the time on my walks, and I've never seen it open. Fact, it's been padlocked for ages. But not anymore. And these cloaked folk, they just slink into the place like they own it. Naturally, I couldn't resist looking inside, and I followed them in. I didn't get too far, since they had some pretty powerful wards in place. It was witchcraft.” Ernie placed a palm against his breast. “Powerful witchcraft, I'd bet my afterlife on it. And when they took off their hoods inside the joint, I seen 'em through a window. Was that mother of all whores, Agatha.”

“How do you know it was her?” I asked, looking between Ernie and Kubo. “Have you seen Agatha before? What if it was someone else in there?”

Kubo shook his head, waving a hand at me as though I were an annoying fly trying to land on his sandwich. “Never mind him. So, you saw Agatha. What the hell was she doing in that church?”

Ernie ran a few fingers against his chin as he considered the question. “Seems to me they were fortifying the place, preparing for something. Something big, if I had to wager.” He grinned. “And you know me, I'm a betting man, Kubo. Anyway, the wards in that place were so strong I couldn't even enter. They're planning something there, trying to make sure that people steer clear.”

Kubo stood up, nodding firmly. “Excellent, Ernie. I appreciate the tip.” Turning to me, Kubo pointed up to the staircase. “Let's hit it.”

“Wait,” I said, looking back to Ernie. “You want to tell us some more about what you saw in that car last night? I mean, since the important part is over now?”

“Shut the fuck up, Lucy.” Kubo gave me a light shove in the arm towards the stairs.

“Curious, though,” I continued as I fell into step behind Kubo and started following him upstairs. “How did you die, Ernie?”

From behind the bar, Ernie grinned widely. “What can I say, young fella? I liked the drink a little too much and caught myself a spot of that cirrhosis.” He shrugged. “There are worse ways to go, I'spose.” Waving at us, I saw him reach into his pocket and palm the silver dollar again. And then, gradually, he faded from view, the bluish glow surrounding his body dying out. Ernie was gone, and the sound of his shuffling, disembodied footsteps could be heard throughout the cellar.

As we left the building and started across the gravel drive towards the SUV, Kubo glanced back at me. “He's a goddamn liar. You know that, right?”

“What do you mean? About the Agatha thing? You think he made it up? Seeing her in the church, I mean.”

“Nah, that's solid intel right there.” Kubo climbed into the driver's seat and slammed his door shut. “I'm talking about the way he died. Wasn't cirrhosis that did him in.”

I arched a brow. “Well, why would he lie about that? He certainly looks like he might've been a drunk in life.”

“Oh, he was,” continued Kubo. “And a notorious gambler, too. I came by for intel once a few years back and found him dead in that very cellar. He'd been playing russian roulette with one of his buddies, the prize being a pint of cheap booze.”

“Shit,” was all I could think to say.

“Today, we prepare,” said Kubo, changing the subject and pulling out onto the main road. “Tomorrow morning, when I've had time to take care of a few things, we're going to crash that party as a team. Get some sleep, because I'm going to need you up early tomorrow, got that? We get one chance at stopping them. We blew it last time, but we got lucky. The witches were too sloppy and old Ernie caught them sneaking around. We won't get a chance like this again, so it's do or die.”

I nodded. “Will do.”

As we drove on, I remembered standing in that nursery some nights before, trying to smuggle that infant away from the witches. The ambush in the warehouse district, and the subsequent explosion courtesy of Joe soon thereafter, also flashed through my head. I balled my fist and tried to ward off thoughts of what might happen to that kid if we didn't come through this time.

Kubo was right.

This was do or die.

And if I had my say, those witches were going to die.

THIRTY-ONE

Ever struggle to sleep before a big test or a hot date? You toss and turn all night. It's like your head wants to keep you up, think about everything that could possibly go wrong and come up with a plan. But at the same time, your body can't keep up. It craves rest. And when the alarm clock goes off, you're a damn mess.

That's precisely what it was like for me that night when I tried to get to sleep, except it was made all the worse by the demon inside of me, who could sense the oncoming fight and seemed to be getting excited. Whenever my thoughts turned to punching Agatha in the throat, my heart would begin to thrash violently, and my mind would run into lengthy, violent daydreams. I wasn't too good at controlling the direction of my thoughts when the demon got involved, but I tried my damnedest to do a little relaxing.

I ate a big meal, treated myself to a large platter of sushi from a local spot, and washed it all down with some Asahi from the local asian market. Then, with a fully belly, I took a long, hot shower, delighting in the steam until my water heater gave out and started spraying me with ice. Afterward, I put on some comfortable clothes, a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, and hopped into bed with a book.

I couldn't read for shit, though.

I'd hardly cracked the cover when my mind was inundated in perversely violent fantasies. When reading proved futile as a sleep aid, and my John Coltrane record sounded every bit as unpleasant to me as the last time I'd tried to listen to it, I put out the lights and burrowed under the covers.

The night was mostly sleepless.

***

I was standing at the kitchen counter, brewing up a pot of coffee, when the firm knock came at my door. Palming at my eyes and trying to make it look like I hadn't spent the whole night fucking around, I opened the door and presented with the least groggy smile I could furnish.

I wasn't fooling anyone, though.

Kubo, Joe and Isabella stood outside my door, and from the minute he laid eyes on me, the chief was madder than hell. “Lucy, you damn idiot, you look like you haven't slept a wink.” He grabbed onto the shoulder of my sweatshirt and dragged me into my own place, slamming the door shut after the other two had wandered in behind him.