“Just rip it off like you always do.”
“You rip it off. I have to do the next part and it sucks.”
Shaking his head, Ash bent over the still form of the gargoyle, flexed his claws, grit his teeth, and got to work. It wasn’t exactly a quick job sawing through that thick neck, and when he was done, he had gargoyle blood all over his arms and his hands were cramping.
He dropped the head, straightened, and glared at Belial. “Happy?”
Bel rolled his eyes and raised his right arm. It burst into flame from the elbow down. He held his palm out and launched a steady stream of hellfire at the two pieces of gargoyle. This part was Belial’s job because he was the only one of the four of them capable of summoning the flames of Hell at will.
Burning a body to nothing took time. It wasn’t like the shit in movies where it ignited and disappeared in seconds. They must have stood there for five minutes while Bel launched pure, concentrated hellfire at it full force until finally, all that remained was a pile of ash.
And ta-da.Ladies and gentlemen, that’s how you kill a demon.
Bel dropped his arm, flames extinguishing.
“Damn.” Meph kicked at the ash pile. “I can’t believe the little beast actually found a gun to shoot at us.”
“This is America.” Raum shrugged. “Anyone can find a gun.”
“This isn’t America, dumbass. It’s Canada. People aren’t supposed to have guns in Canada.”
“Whatever. They’re basically the same.”
Meph whistled low. “Don’t let the Canadians hear you say that, man. They may be polite, but they’ve got plenty of pride—”
“Will you shut the fuck up so we can get out of here before we get interrogated as suspects for a goddamn club shooting?” Bel snapped.
Nobody was interested in that, so Ash, Raum, and Bel shifted back to human form. Disappearing their wings, they yanked their shirts over their heads, and then all four of them strode across the club to the back room, searching for another exit away from the crowds.
Halfway there, Ash froze, turning back and checking behind him. Thanks to his curse, his senses sucked, but he could have sworn...
He shook his head, telling himself he was imagining things.
They found another emergency exit behind a pile of boxes in the back room. Useless in a real emergency and probably about to earn the nightclub a hefty fine, but it suited their purposes.
Tossing the boxes aside, Ash pushed open the door and slipped into the night, his brothers behind him, leaving the club and the pile of ashes behind.
3
OperationInvestigation
Eva had stayed cowering behind the bar until a police officer found her and coaxed her out. After giving a statement she was barely aware of—shewasaware she said nothing of whatever she’d seen, because what had she seen?—she was allowed to go home.
The cops had told her that, miraculously, besides a few cuts and bruises in the scramble to escape, there had been no casualties or serious injuries in the gunfire. It was as if the shooter had been targeting someone in particular—or four someones, like Ash’s brother had said.
Days passed, and Eva didn’t stop obsessing over that night. She bartended at Bootleg the next couple nights, barely paying attention to what she was doing until a customer yelled at her for mixing up his drink three times in a row. After getting sent home early, she collapsed on the couch in her apartment, petting her cat absentmindedly. She stared at the wall while images of gorgeous men with wings and horns danced through her head.
She’d always had a sense that she wasn’t quite normal. Sometimes it felt like there was something dark inside her, coiled and waiting for the day it would finally break free from its cage. Nothing in her life experience could explain the root of such a feeling, however, and she’d always done her best to ignore it.
But now, she couldn’t help but wonder... was this it? Was whatever she’d seen the catalyst for finally understanding that inexplicable lack of connection within herself? Or—unfortunately more likely—was the dark thing inside her actually some mental illness causing her to suffer from vivid hallucinations?
Annoyed with her constant obsessing, she scooped Thelonious off her lap, dumped him on the couch, and sat down at the grand piano that was her favorite part of her apartment.
The gas stove in the kitchen had to be from the seventies and the wood floors were all slanted one direction or another, but she’d demanded the lease the moment she’d stepped into the place and seen that piano waiting there. Apparently, it had been brought up decades ago by some determined tenant and no one had ever bothered to move it, which had made Eva a very happy camper indeed.
Her apartment was in an old factory building that had been converted into living spaces with a few businesses on the ground floor. Bare metal pipes snaked across the high ceiling, and the balcony was just a fire escape with a spiral staircase that led to a shabby, graffiti-ridden alley out back.
She’d covered the wall of windows with hanging vines and hung canvases of her art all over the walls. Musical instruments leaned in every corner or hung from mounts, and Thelonious roamed about the funky vintage furniture like he was the king of her castle. The walls were bare brick inside, and the big windows rattled when it was windy. It broke her bank to heat in the winter, but she didn’t care. It was worth it for the piano.
