The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2 (20 page)

Cain leaned back against the wall as he checked and rechecked his ammo supply and the silvery shotgun’s functionality. “Go. I’ll keep them busy.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me repeat something so stupid, okay?”

Bethany planted herself in front of him, close enough for Cain to feel her warmth again. But it was more than warmth he saw in her expressive face. White-hot anger. “You think I’m that kind of woman?”

“Says the girl who lied to my face about ten times in the past two hours.”

“I won’t let you take the hit for me.”

“I would if it were me.”

“Bullshit. You’re a decent guy, even if you work very hard at playing the asshole.”

Cain peeled his back from the concrete wall. As much as arguing with the pain in the butt made him feel more alive than he’d felt in years, they didn’t have time for this. “Fine. Stay here and get a faceful of spawn. Just don’t call me asshole again. Ever.”

She cracked an irreverent grin. “Then stop acting like one.”

“Ready?”

Bethany lost her smile. She shortened the sling on her submachine gun so it rested directly on her chest, pulled a fresh magazine – her last that Cain could see – from her belt and clipped it on her harness. To Cain’s shock, she fished a gold-coloured grenade from her jacket pocket.

“What?” she asked. “You don’t use these?”

He would’ve loved having a bit of time to ask where she got her gear. In fact, he would’ve loved just spending some time with her without having half of hell trying to make ribbons of them. “The glass wall across the terrace, the funicular to the tower is there. I’ll make us a door as we run for it.”

Before he could react, Bethany fisted the front of his ruined coat, hoisted herself up to him and kissed him square on the mouth. “I don’t care what they say, I like you.”

It took him a good five seconds to get his wits about him once more. The timing couldn’t possibly have been worse. He took a long breath, nodded.

“Here we go.”

Cain kicked the door wide and ran out.

They barely made it ten feet when the first few spawns to catch a whiff of them wailed and screeched a warning to the rest of the horde. Like fingernails on blackboard. The sky became alive with black wings as the air filled with the smell of ash and sulphur. Concrete chunks rained down around them, broken loose by talons and claws, or ridged wings hitting walls as the spawns spiralled downwards to catch their prey. Cain fired ten shots out of his thirty-two magazine before he’d taken ten steps. The glass wall was still at least 300 feet away. By his side, Bethany’s small black MP5
tack-tack-tacked
death at eleven bullets a second. He hoped the trigger-happy woman would keep a few for later because something told him they were in for more “fun”.

As if the power of his thought alone had made the real thing manifest itself, gunshot that was neither hers nor his echoed around them. Muzzle flashes to the right registered in the corner of his eye. More keepers. Dammit.

“Cain!” Bethany yelled. “Door!”

Just as Cain aimed his shotgun in front of him and fired, a giant spawn landed ahead of them, blocking their access to the tower base. Cain fired half a dozen slugs into the spawn. He’d never seen one so big. Leathery wings made miniature tornadoes of snow when it raised itself to its fullest. The thing must have been twenty feet tall!

A small golden item arced ahead of them.

Bethany skidded to a halt, gripped his coat tails, which barely slowed Cain. He understood a split second before thunder temporarily deafened him. He only had time to turn his face away. The detonation happened right between the spawn’s legs. It blew up in a giant geyser of gooey chunks and thick, dark liquid that splattered in a wide radius. Bethany and he were pelted with debris both hard and soft, liquid and solid. More spawns landed around them. Some seemed more interested in feeding off their brethren’s remains than in attacking the two humans, but others came for them. One in particular made a beeline for Bethany. She turned her MP5 to it, let fly bullets that slowed the beast. But didn’t stop it.

Cain could do nothing but watch from the corner of his eye as half a dozen smaller spawns came at him, wings spread and talons out. His shotgun recoiled with each shot. His wrist throbbed but he kept going.

When Bethany screamed – pain had a universal sound, no matter the victim’s location, age or culture – Cain whipped around, thinking he could pump a few into the spawns after her. Too late.

Like in a slow-motion movie, the demonic fiend struck in an arc. Bethany caught the taloned appendage in the side, bent over the limb before being projected sideways. More gunshot from the other keepers erupted in tiny concrete volcanoes around him. They had seconds before the enemy closed in enough to place their bullets with more accuracy.

While Bethany tumbled to a stop, Cain pumped one, two, three, four shots into the advancing spawn. Finally, he hit its head. He didn’t wait for it to hit the ground before he ran to Bethany, who struggled to stand.

“I—I’m good.” She slung her submachine gun in front, stumbled forward. “I’m good.”

Together, they ran at the wall of glass panels. As he’d said he would, Cain fired a single shot at the connection between two panels. For a second, the wall turned milky-white. Just when Cain was considering wasting another round on his “door”, the wall disintegrated into a cascade of cubic diamonds. Broken tempered glass crunched like gravel when Bethany and Cain rushed into the base of the tower. A counter curved away from the wall and would provide temporary shelter as they waited for the funicular elevator. Bullets hit the marble wall on either side of the steel doors. Cain crawled amidst the raining debris, mashed the button on the access panel.

Through the window, the sky was taking on brown and orange hues. Dawn couldn’t be far off. He checked his watch again. Half past five or so.

“It’s here.” Bethany’s voice sounded higher-pitched than usual. She popped up above the counter, emptied her magazine through the broken wall then crouched back. A riposte several seconds long made ribbons of decorative banners, swiss cheese of partitions and clanged against the waiting area’s aluminium poles. Cain pulled the empty magazine, dropped it, loaded the last three shells he had. The incendiaries.

The doors slid apart. He didn’t need to urge her to be quick about it when she passed him at full sprint. He backpedalled into the giant funicular made of bay windows and steel beams. Spawns had begun to land around the broken glass and scrambled inside the tight opening. Like vultures trying to squeeze in through a doggy door. Gunshot accompanied them. The keepers were close, too.

Cain fired the first of the incendiary shells. Magnesium and flint cores, they’d been meant to penetrate the target and blow it up from the inside. The closest spawn caught it in the belly. Its bony ridges and skeleton triggered the charge. As the elevator pinged its arrival, the spawn exploded. A firestorm that reached the cathedral ceiling. Flames leaped out in all directions. Because he wouldn’t be able to use the incendiary shell up in the tower, he fired a second one into the lobby. The conflagration turned the air desert-dry and oven-hot. Gunshot stopped. Wails and shrieks drowned even the swoosh of blood flow in his ears. As the doors closed, a wave of heat buffeted the cabin.

At the rate of seven feet a second, the funicular took them up towards the tower’s apex. Around them, Montreal had begun to wake. Deep orange slashes crisscrossed the sky. Dawn was less than an hour away.

“We need a plan.” Cain turned to her, caught the look of pain she quickly masked beneath her usual bravado. “Ideas?”

“Lemme think, okay.” Bethany leaned against the wall, closed her eyes. Cain wasn’t fast enough to keep her from sinking to her butt. Her rictus of agony cut through his temporary shell shock.

“Where are you hurt?” He leaned over so he could take a look.

“I’m good,” she replied through her teeth. “Nothing to it.”

Bright red blood seeped through her fingers as she pressed a hand to her hip. Cain knelt by her side. “You’re not good, a spawn got you.”

“Not for the first time.” She grinned, grimaced. “We should start our own biz, you and me. It’d be fun.”

“Fun like tonight? No, thanks.”

Cain peeled her fingers off the messy wound. An injury from a spawn’s demonic touch wouldn’t heal unless cleansed with holy water. Fever would set in, infection, hallucinations. For this woman, a long and agonizing death that could take years before another trip downstairs. At least she had a run of secrets to show for it. Asmodeus might leave her alone and send her back up right away.
If
she were very lucky.

“You know how it goes, Bethany. You know how it always ends for those like us.”

“I know. I just . . .” She cleared her throat. “I wanted it to be different.”

As soon as they reached the top, Cain slipped his arms under Bethany and carried her just outside the door. She winced when he deposited her back on to the carpeted floor. He then dragged a metal garbage can from the landing, dropped it in the funicular doorway so none of the keepers or Berith’s unfortunate host could call it down to them. The doors closed with a ping, hit the garbage can and slid back out again. And again. The funicular would stay at the top. Plus, if all went well – and his luck suddenly turned for the better – they’d need a ride down.

The sky was turning orange and mauve, with bands of brown and amber across the horizons. Daylight was minutes away. Not fast enough.

“Hold still.” Cain pulled out of his coat pocket a handful of the little bags of holy water. They looked like fast food packets of ketchup. He tore one open, dribbled some between her fingers, then more right into the wound while she held the torn vinyl wide. Blood and holy water turned her white outfit pink.

The spawn’s talon must have dug deeper than he’d thought. There was so much blood. Too much. He used all his holy water to make sure the wound was clean. Working on the gash also meant he didn’t have to meet her gaze, which she kept on his face the entire time. Neither stated the obvious futility of cleaning a mortal wound.

“Would you stay?” Bethany asked.

He knew what she meant.

“Yeah.” He sat by her side, knees drawn up. She’d pulled herself to a sitting position along the wall. A more dignified way to go.

Fresh blood continued seeping through her fingers. “It’s too bad.”

“What is?”

“Timing,” she grunted. “I – I would’ve . . . asked you out . . . like on a real date. Been meaning to for years.” She smiled despite what must have been terrible pain. “You won’t . . . b– believe this, but I’m kind of shy.”

Cain laughed. Couldn’t help it. “Yeah, shy. We can always plan for next time.” He didn’t know if either of them would be sent back to the mortal plane after such a huge fuck-up. He knew for a fact Berith would want some time to play with him before he shot him back up to earth.
If he
did.

“I just wish . . . I – I just wish things were different.”

He patted her knee. Heat seeped into his cold hand and he found taking it off her was much harder than it should have been. So he left it on her leg. She pressed her own hand over his. Blood coated their skin. A bond made of pain.

“Take them, okay.”

Cain shook his head. “It’s your only bargaining chip, without them, Asmodeus—”

“He would anyway. And I d – don’t give a shit.” She grimaced as she reached into her belt. “Take them.”

Earlier that night, he would’ve done anything to get his hand on the little black box Bethany presently proffered. But as he looked at it now, he didn’t have the heart to take it from a dying woman’s hands. Especially Bethany’s hands. “It won’t make a difference for me. I pissed him off too many times.”

Bethany rested her head on his shoulder. “Lied to the cops. Wrapped my car . . . around a telephone pole.” She pulled her hand away from the wound, rubbed her crimson fingers together. “Killed t-two others . . . was drunk.”

Cain understood then why she’d been sent directly to the eighth level. He’d always wondered about that, because if the woman was a major pain in the butt, she didn’t look like a hardened criminal. But liars, cheaters and usurpers populated the eighth. And drunk drivers who pretended to be sober.

“You?”

Cain swallowed hard. “I killed two people, too. My brother Abel, then later, myself.”

“I knew . . . y-you were
the
Cain.”

What was there to say? He acquiesced with a nod.

She pressed the little box in his hand. “D-don’t be a hero.” Her voice grew weak, her eyes closed. “I hope . . . see you . . .” Her head lolled on her chest.

He knew she still lived because her body hadn’t yet burst out in ashes and glowing embers. But he checked for a pulse at her neck, wanting it to be steady and strong. Weak, shallow. Barely there. She wouldn’t be waking again.

Cain took the little black box, slippery with Bethany’s blood, and turned it around in his hand. He’d watched Berith gorge on secrets, all at once like a glutton, or savour them one at a time, placing the fragile gold paillettes on his tongue. He’d seen demons sell them for more damned souls like Bethany and him. Like cards on a poker table.