Roaring Blood (Demon-Hearted Book 2) (20 page)

On the other, I was fucking pissed that Joe had been put in charge here, instead of me. I wanted to complain, to give him a hard time about it, but knew it wouldn't help my case. Holding my tongue was damn hard.

“OK,” I said. “So how does this work,
fearless leader?
”

I couldn't help myself.

Joe reached down and pulled open the door. “We go down there. I've got Germaine's address. He operates out of a small book shop, apparently. Plan is we walk through the Underground, head straight for his place and make no pit-stops along the way. I'll give him the letter, explaining the situation, and he'll tell us what we need to know.” Then, with somewhat less certainty, he added, “Hopefully.”

Joe and I stepped into the yawning abyss before us, and before I knew it we were standing in front of the quaint cottage where Mona lived. My stomach had floated up into my chest like I'd been shaken up in a lurching elevator. “I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that,” I said.

Joe started around Mona's place, walking down the path whose purpose I'd puzzled over for so long, and buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The leather was scored and dirty; if the stitching gave out any more, the thing would simply fall to pieces.

I followed him down the worn footpath, passing a dense, seemingly limitless sea of green pines. From the packed woods around us there came queer sounds; probably the noises of unearthly woodland creatures. I stayed close to Joe, wondering if stepping off the path wouldn't see me spirited off to some new and more horrific world.

In a flash, there was another scene change. We were standing on a wide dirt road in the middle of a rustic town. Looking around at the ramshackle wooden buildings I felt like we were in the Wild West. A few figures, draped from head to toe in rags, went by on horseback. Standing in an alleyway, over a gutter swollen with fresh rain, I glimpsed a black-skinned creature with four arms and a headdress made of gold. It seemed to be pedaling shiny wares, waving with its many hands to passersby in the hopes of making a sale.

If you want the look of this place in a nutshell, it was pretty much like any big city you've ever visited. There was activity everywhere you looked; people of all stripes trying to sell you things, hand you pamphlets. Except, in this case, they weren't human. Some of them were, probably, but the ones that stood out to me most, like our friend with the four arms back there, were most certainly not. The buildings were old, almost all wooden, and my surroundings really did make me feel like I was on the set of a Western movie. It wasn't a mere facade, though; the smells of horse droppings, of both repellant and mouth-watering cuisines, mingled in the air and made it clear that people really worked and lived here.

Don't look at anyone. Don't look at anyone
. I lowered my gaze and just kept on following Joe while he sought out the address he'd written down. We were looking for one person and one person only in this dimension replete with unnatural terrors, and the last thing I wanted was to interact with some of them. By the side of the road was something I took to be a magical beggar; it was human-esque, but was blindfolded and had its mouth stitched shut. It bobbed upon the remnants of a fence post, waving its hands around in search of offerings. I did like everyone else who crossed its path; I looked away, crinkled my nose and pretended it wasn't there. The papery look of its skin... the coarseness of its wild, black hair, the yellow color of its nails... I was about ninety-percent sure, too, that the thing could see me despite the blindfold. It was too goddamn horrifying.

Suddenly Mona, the ol' snake lady, didn't seem so out there.

Joe slowed a bit, something catching his eye as we advanced. “Don't go staring,” he started, “but the Chief did want me to know that Agamemnon may have some friends in the Underground. They might be on the lookout for suspicious types... outsiders. We fit the bill. If anyone should ask, we are
definitely
not with the Veiled Order, clear?”

I nodded. To my right we passed what was, by all appearances, a brothel. There was a large, dusty curtain blocking the front entrance, and the air emanating from its windows was scented in sweet perfume. Doubtless to ward off the omnipresent stench of horseshit. A woman with not one, not two, but
four
sumptuous breasts contained within a barely-there contraption made of lace beckoned pedestrians in a language I couldn't understand. Well now, that's not quite right; the way she moved and smiled as I glanced over at her told me everything I needed to know. Maybe I'd written off the Underground prematurely...

Joe pointed to a small building up ahead. “That looks like the place. You ready?”

I pulled my gaze from the brothel and hiked up my pants to try and rid myself of the tightness that'd developed in my crotch. Gadreel was in the mood for some stress relief, but it wasn't the best time for that kind of thing. “Y-yeah,” I muttered. “We just walk in and announce ourselves?”

Joe gulped. “I hope so. Kubo didn't really coach me on this part.”

We began for the entrance of the little shop, whose sign read, in boxy letters, “Books”. Wow, this Germaine fellow was quite the businessman. A distinctive name for a bookshop; right to the point. I liked that. Joe ambled to the door and pushed it open, twitching nervously as a bell sounded.

Before we could make it all the way in, though, something called us back into the street.

“Hey,” came a voice, followed by a tug on my shoulder. Joe and I looked back to find a figure wrapped tightly in a brown cloak. The hood was drawn so that only the individual's yellow eyes were visible. A grayish hand, tipped in black claws rested on my shoulder with more firmness than I usually allowed a perfect stranger. I stiffened at the touch, sensing pure hostility right away. “Don't think I've seen you two around here before.” The voice was masculine, but carried with it a bit of hiss.

My imagination filled in the blanks. This was a lizard person or some shit. I pulled away and shot Joe a quick glance. I wished he'd just go into the bookstore and handle the job we'd come for, but he didn't move, instead closing the shop's door and looking at the cloaked guy. “We don't want any trouble,” he said, his hand trending to the pocket where I knew him to keep his Zippo.

“No trouble, no trouble,” came the reply from deep within the nest of brown fabric. “As long as you pay, that is. Human folk gotta pay to walk these streets.” The yellow eyes narrowed and I had a gay old time imagining the hideousness of the smile the thing was sporting. Thank God I couldn't see it. “Don't see pretty boys like you too often.” He sniffed the air. “Too clean, too neat. You, uh... with the Order?”

This raised a couple of eyebrows in the vicinity. At the mere suggestion that Joe and I were agents with the Veiled Order, a couple of folks darted off. Still others fixed us with steely looks and seemed to be considering whether or not to murder us on the spot. I was getting the impression that our organization was not well-liked around these parts.

I tittered, wrapping an arm gingerly around the cloaked monstrosity's shoulder. “The Veiled Order? Pfft, nah. Those guys? We hate
those
guys, right, Joe?” I looked back at my partner while fumbling around for my wallet. I picked a twenty out of my stash and slipped it into the creature's palm, shuddering when I touched its skin. It was craggy, like a lizard's. Reminded me of the time a teacher in elementary school had brought in their pet iguana. This thing's skin felt exactly the same.

The cloaked thing took one look at the Jackson in its palm and then furrowed its unseen brow. “What is this?”

I took a step back. “W-well, that's a whole twenty dollars, as a matter of fact. Redeemable anywhere in the United States of America. Dunno if you've ever been, but...” I licked my lips.

“Lucy...” started Joe, taking a cautious step towards me. A few onlookers had begun to crowd in on us. I was too focused on the cloaked lizard-thing to get a good look at them, but the dark shapes in my periphery all spelled trouble. We were about to have a showdown in broad daylight.

Suddenly, I had an idea. Reaching down deep, I poked the demon inside of me, letting him surface just long enough to make himself known to the assembly. I met the hostile gaze of the cloaked lizard man and sneered. “What's the trouble here, friend?”

The creature suddenly doubled back, dropping the twenty on the ground.

The thing was too chickenshit to tangle with a demon. Good to know. His voice drifted out in a small laugh and he motioned to his fellows, urging them away. “It seems I was mistaken. These men are aboveboard. Good day...”

Wrangling Gadreel back into the pit of my stomach was a real treat, let me tell you. He seemed to think it was go-time, and if I wasn't going to let him run up a tab at the brothel then he wanted to loose some steam in a street fight. I strained my mental muscle and forced him back into the background, sighing. Then, I joined Joe at the entrance to the bookstore. “Crisis averted.”

He grinned. “Barely.”

Opening the door, the little bell sounded once again, heralding our entrance. I stepped inside and got a noseful of dust. Ancient paper and the smell of good tobacco filled the air in this place, which was lit by a combination of dust-flecked skylights and Moroccan globe-lamps. Allowing my eyes to adjust to the dimness, I found this joint looked nothing at all like any bookseller I'd ever been to. There were a bunch of desks scattered throughout the room, and a few studious-looking guys sat behind them, poring over volumes that looked ready to crumble to dust. The walls were covered in packed shelves, and deeper in, towards the back, stood an enormous man with a curled mustache. Dressed in a black suit, waistcoat and all, he gave us a little nod.

It wasn't until we got up close that I realized just how tall the guy was. At least eight or nine feet. Shaq would have been dwarfed by this dude. He leaned down as we approached. “How may I help you, gentlemen?”

Joe rifled through his pockets for the letter. “We need to speak to Mr. Germaine Fox about a very important matter on behalf of, uh...” He looked over his shoulder, eyeing the other customers who were, thankfully, too absorbed in their reading to care. “The Veiled Order.”

The man pawed at his chin, his gorilla-sized hands rapping pensively at his jawbone. “I see. Please, this way. I expect this is a matter best discussed in private?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Joe. “Very private.”

We followed the giant through a door in the back. He had to stoop to get into the next room, and offered both of us a seat in front of a huge desk. The room wasn't anything like the storefront outside; for starters, it wasn't jam-packed with books or other crap. It was very neat, with the instruments on the desk spaced equidistantly and nothing featuring so much as a speck of dust. Apparently our host was the real OCD type.

There was something else, too. Perched atop the desk, staring pensively at the three of us, was an enormous freaking spider.

Confession time: I hate bugs. Hate them. Nothing ruins my day like seeing a spider or centipede dash across my carpet at home. This spider, though, was a cut above. Frankly, it belonged on the Discovery Channel, or Guinness. It was simply too large to be real; almost as big as a dinner plate, with eight long, furry legs and tiny, beady eyes that seemed almost emotive. I struggled to keep back a shrill cry and gripped the armrests of my chair. Joe was pretty uncomfortable too, by the look of it, and looked up at our host with a seasick smile. “S-so, uh, Mr. Fox,” he said to the giant man. “I have this letter which details our situation.”

The giant man smiled, then held his belly in laughter. “Oh, I'm afraid you're mistaken.
I'm
not Mr. Fox. Germaine Fox, the scholar and demonologist, is here.” He pointed to the desk.

He pointed at the goddamn spider.

I scooted my chair back about a foot and nodded gravely. “Hilarious... You really fooled me for a minute there. Can we talk business now, please?” I looked to the big man imploringly.

With a slight bow, he addressed the spider once more. “Let me know if you need anything, sir.”

“I will,” came the spider's reply. “Thank you, Jessup.”

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but I did know, right at that moment, that I'd probably be talking about this moment in therapy someday. The door to the room closed softly and the big man disappeared, leaving Joe and I with this spider.

Sorry. This
talking
spider.

“Hey there, fellas,” said the spider in what was possibly the most annoying Jersey accent I'd ever heard. “What brings yas out here today?”

TWENTY-FOUR

White-faced, I reached over and took Joe's arm. “W-when does the joke stop? When will we be done with the lizard people and talking bugs?”

One of the spider's long legs teased the corner of the desk, and a laugh drifted from its, uh, fangs. Mouth parts. Whatever. “Well, actually, bug ain't quite accurate, precious. I'm a spider, a rare one. An arachnid, if you wanna be technical. I'm gonna have to ask that you not come into my house and start throwing around whatever taxonomic bywords come to mind. In your world I think they have a name for that. Racism?” Germaine laughed again. “I'm just fuckin' with ya. What did the Veiled Order send you out here for?”

Nope. I couldn't handle it. The world was hanging in the balance and Kubo had sent us on a mystical journey to commune with a talking tarantula?

I wasn't ready to talk shop just yet, and stopped Joe from handing over the letter. “Hold on just a fucking second, now. We were sent here to talk to Germaine Fox. He's supposed to be, like, an expert on ancient weapons.”

“And a noted demonologist,” added the spider.

I furrowed my brow. “Yeah, but our boss never said shit about him being a tarantula.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, that's where I'm gonna draw the line, kid.” The spider stood up, extending its hind legs and raising its bulk into the air in what I took to be a threatening stance. “Who you calling a tarantula, sucker? I'm a
Brazilian Wandering Spider
, scientific name
Phoneutria
, got that? There's a difference. How you gonna march in here with yer generalities and hate speech, eh? After all my community has had to put up with, after all the fighting my forebears did for civil spider rights?”