Skeleton Crew (22 page)

Terrence shook his head. “I can do it. Need some props, though. I'll live.”

“You were right, Terrence. The way to hurt these fucking things is to kill the juice. My spell is really defensive mojo. It would work even better if I could modify it into an attack spell.”

“Yeah, the problem with the crawlers is there's always a
lot of them. But even with the ones that work alone, killing their juice takes a while. Most of them don't lie down and curl up while you working them over.”

“I'll give it some thought on my next coffee break,” I said. “In the meantime, it's nice to know the fucking things have a weakness.”

I spun my eye-in-the-sky spell and sent it outside. The soldiers who had been standing guard at the front door were dead. There was no sign of Anton. I hoped he'd had the sense to make himself scarce. He wasn't going to accomplish much against a demon with his gun or machete. I didn't know whether the crawlers could eat souls, but I sure as hell didn't want Anton to go out that way.

A fat man in a white suit sat in a red Cadillac convertible parked on the other side of the driveway from the office.

The hood ornament had been replaced by a large white cross. The man looked up at my eye—which should have been invisible—and a fleshy smile peeked out between his heavy jowls. He waved.

“There's a preacher parked out front,” I said.

Terrence eased forward, trying to stay out of sight, and looked out through the shattered window. “Maybe he needs a room,” he said. “But I don't see a hooker in the car.”

“I don't know, I think this guy's got some juice. You hang back, I'll see what he wants.”

I walked out of the office, picking my way carefully between Terrence's dead muscle. The preacher opened the door of the Cadillac and clambered out, his face flushing with the effort. He stood and straightened his toupee, then smiled that beatific smile again. I was pretty sure he was even fatter than Anton—before he'd become a zombie, even. I checked him out with my witch sight and saw black
juice radiating from him in waves, like the stink from a cartoon skunk's tail.

“What the fuck are you supposed to be?” I said, stopping in my tracks and gripping the forty-five more tightly.

“You don't recognize me, Ms. Riley? I'm disappointed.” He looked down at his gut—creating a few more chins in the process—and straightened his lapels. “I suppose it's the new suit.”

“Valafar,” I said. “You're possessing that man.”

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “Ironic, isn't it? He's hideously fat, don't you think? A true glutton—and not just for food, mind you. Most appealing.”

“Thanks for showing up and giving me another chance to kill you,” I said. “You ran too fast the last time.” I started pulling juice from the parking lot, and I hoped Terrence was doing the same.

“That was neither the time nor the place,” the demon said. “Nor is this, if you ask me. But go ahead, kill me if you must. No need for witchcraft—the gun will do nicely.” He sighed and spread his arms.

“You'll just possess someone else.”

“Well, sure,” Valafar said, shrugging. “But you'll ruin my suit. Not that it will last very long, anyway—I wear them out so quickly.” One of his eyes popped and flames licked out.

“What do you want?”

“I want…what is it you say? A sit-down, yes, that's right. A parley.”

“What do you and I have to talk about? You're a demon, I'm a human, sooner or later we're going to throw down.”

Valafar nodded. “Yes, I'm a demon. So what? What does that mean, anyway, a demon? It's just another word for bad guy. You're a bad guy, I'm a bad guy—we're all bad guys to
the sheep, stumbling their way through life until it's time for them to be slaughtered. It's semantics.”

“You're a psychopath. Born without the knowledge of good and evil. It's not in the cards for you and me to be friends.”

“Oh, right, you know that because it's what your own personal demon told you, and of course he would never lie.”

“Okay, we're talking. I'll ask again—what do you want?”

“Will you trick me into revealing my secret plan?” the demon asked.

“I doubt it. I figure you're itching to tell me anyway, otherwise you wouldn't be standing here flapping your fat face at me.”

Valafar giggled. “I'll tell you the honest-to-God truth,” he said. He started to cross himself but seemed to get lost about halfway through and wrapped it up with a vague flutter of his hand. “I don't have a plan. None of us do, not really. Not even world domination. Oh, sure, we do want the world—we want it
back
—but not to rule it. We just want to have a little fun.”

“You should try Disneyland.” In my defense, I regretted the quip as soon as the words were out of my mouth. My bad, Anaheim.

“I believe I shall,” he said. “A whole park filled with people—with children—all for my amusement. It's a lovely concept, these amusement parks. Sadly, I believe the current situation has forced it to close, temporarily. It will have to wait until things die down a little, if you'll excuse the expression.”

“So you just want to kill people. I'm still not seeing the point of all this talking.”

“Oh, not killing, exclusively,” the demon said, “though there is great power in murder, as you know. Kill enough people and you may become a sorcerer. Kill a great many more and you may become a god.”

“At least you don't have delusions of grandeur or anything.”

“No delusions, Ms. Riley. I am an ant, a worm…a parasite surviving on the shit in a worm's asshole.”

“Now you're making sense.”

“But it need not always be so,” Valafar continued. “It is the pursuit, the process, the
becoming
that really matters. If a single, nasty little world must be reduced to ashes in this most noble endeavor—surely that is a small price to pay for transcendence?”

“Aaaaaand now you're boring me again.”

“When I am alone at the end of days I shall run amongst those ashes, I shall wallow in them, and I shall be a more beautiful, a more wonderful, a more
perfect
thing than could ever crawl forth from the blood, filth and cum that lubricates this—”

I raised the forty-five and shot the preacher in the forehead. I saw the flame in his eye wink out just before the bullet pierced flesh and bone. The man sank to his knees and toppled over on his side. I took a look at the corpse with my witch sight and the black cancer growing inside it was gone. I walked up to the man, knelt and pulled his spirit from his body, binding it to the driver's seat of the Cadillac. I reached down and gently closed his eyes.

When I stood up, Terrence was at my side. He stared down at the body for a moment, and then covered it with a thin, frayed blanket from the motel. “You feeling me now, Domino? Ain't none of us going to be the same after this.”

I nodded and reached around Terrence's wide back with
my gun hand, pulling him to me and resting my head against his shoulder. “I feel you, Terrence,” I said. “But who knows? Maybe some change will do us good.”

 

The drive down to Inglewood from Oberon's place had taken two hours, even with the traffic spell. The freeways were choked and the surface streets weren't much better. I could have saved a lot of time by just getting on the phone and telling Terrence his days as a boss were over, but I hadn't been willing to do it that way. I felt pretty good about that, and if I hadn't gone to see him he might be dead. But now I had to get back up to the warehouse district south of downtown, and if anything the traffic was even worse. The civilians didn't yet understand a zombie apocalypse was underway, but they knew some bad shit was going down and it seemed a few million were seizing the opportunity for some paid time off.

I stayed on Manchester at the entrance ramp to the Harbor Freeway when my traffic spell didn't open enough space in the gridlock for me to ride a bicycle through. I drove east on Manchester to Alameda and turned north. I was swimming upstream against all the traffic headed south out of the city when some asshole with a fully loaded pickup turned in front of me from Gage and promptly shuddered to a dead stop, lying on his horn. Ahead of me was a sea of cars packed door handle to door handle across all four lanes. The BMW and Bentley dealership on the corner was being looted—more like vandalized, since even if you could steal a car you wouldn't be able to drive it anywhere. Several cars in the outside lot were burning, others had been smashed, and rioters had broken out the plate glass and were getting started inside. I pulled out my cell and called Chavez.

“Where are you?” he said when the line connected.

“I'm a little over three miles from the club, but I'm not moving. I'm going to have to hike it. What's it look like there?”

“We're standing room only, D, and the civilians are freaked the fuck out. But hell, it's already a fucking riot outside so I'm not sure how much worse it can get.”

“Get a handle on it, Chavez. Any other problems?”

“The usual. We've had some zombies try to get in. Some are just hungry, others don't know they're dead and they're just as scared as the living. We put them down.”

“Okay, I'm on the move. No idea how long it will take me to get there.” The distance wasn't far, but there was a pretty good chance the zombie apocalypse would slow me down. I slipped the cell phone in my pocket, drew my forty-five from its shoulder holster and got out of the car.

The asshole in the pickup truck got out, too. He pulled a golf club out of the back and stalked up to the driver's window of the Camry in front of him. He reared back and swung the club like a baseball bat, starring the safety glass. The zombie who was driving the Toyota pushed the glass the rest of the way out of the frame and reached for the asshole, trying to drag him inside the car. She was a middle-aged Latina and her skin was gray and blotched. She grasped for her attacker and snapped yellow teeth at him.

The asshole dropped the golf club and ran. A small, high-pitched voice screamed from the open cab of the pickup. “Daddy! Don't leave!”

I stopped in the middle of the street and looked north at the ragged line of cars that choked all four lanes, and then some. I heard gunshots, though I couldn't see the shooters and didn't know who their targets were. Then I ran over to the pickup and ducked my head inside. Two little boys, the oldest no more than six or seven, sat huddled together on
the bench seat. They were crying and shaking from head to toe. “Your daddy went to get help,” I said. “He asked me to take you someplace safe. Will you come with me?”

The youngest boy just shook his head. The oldest said, “We're not supposed to talk to strangers.”

I could juice the kids and feel bad about it later. It would be the smart thing to do. “I know, little man, and that's usually real good advice, but it's not safe here. Maybe if we weren't strangers, then you could talk to me. I'm Domino, like the game.” I smiled and held out my hand. The oldest boy looked at it for a moment and then shook it. “I'm Ethan and this is Dylan,” he said.

“It's very nice to meet you, Ethan and Dylan. Will you let me take you to a safe place?”

“How will we find Daddy?” Ethan asked.

I could find the guy easily enough. I wasn't sure the kids weren't better off without him. I understood getting a little freaked out by the zombie apocalypse, but you don't run off and leave your kids. “I'll find him,” I said. “Once you're safe, I'll find him and bring him to you. I promise. Okay?”

Ethan nodded and they slid across the seat to me. I helped them out of the truck and took Ethan's hand. “Now you hold on to Dylan's hand,” I said. “And no matter what happens, stay right beside me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Domino,” Ethan said, taking his brother's hand.

I looked north up the street and then back at Ethan and Dylan. I pulled juice from the streets and dropped protective wards on the boys. “It's not far,” I told them. “But it's going to be really bad.” I spun up a charm and let the magic flow over them. “Keep your eyes down at your feet. Don't look at anything else unless I tell you. And if you see anything, don't remember it.” I didn't want to use magic to compel
them, but I figured this was no different from the protective wards.

“Yes, Domino,” they said in unison.

“Good. There are a lot of bad people around here, and I don't want you to be scared if I have to fight, okay?” The boys nodded, but they didn't seem convinced. I squeezed Ethan's hand and we set off into the slaughterhouse.

It didn't take long to put my suspicions to the test. We'd just started down the sidewalk when a gang of looters came out of a lot filled with commercial trucks. A punk who looked like he was in his late teens dropped one of the cardboard boxes he was carrying and CDs spilled out. He saw us and grinned.

“Check it out,” he said to his friends. “Someone brought us a MILF!” The friends all laughed. There were five of them. The leader bent down and pulled a knife out of his boot. “Come here, bitch,” he said, walking toward me. “You give it up real sweet, we won't hurt the kids.”

I extended my hand to him, palm out. “Vi Victa Vis,” I said, and punched him through a chain-link fence into the grille of a large panel truck. His homeboys dropped their loot and ran. Ethan and Dylan started bawling but their eyes stayed on their sneakers.

It took us more than three hours to walk through the endless warehouse district that stretched south from the edge of downtown. By the time we got to the intersection at Washington, I'd lost track of how many spells I'd cast. We saw a few rioters and a lot of zombies. A large pack attacked the gridlocked cars at the railroad tracks near Twenty-Fourth, and I learned my wallflower spell didn't have any effect on Zed. I couldn't say whether it was smell or some arcane sixth sense, but the zombies locked onto us immediately. There were too many for the ghost-binding spell and
they came at us too quickly, so I had to use fireballs. The screams of dying zombies and the smell of burning meat terrified Ethan and Dylan and further slowed our progress. I told myself the charm I'd used meant they wouldn't keep it with them long. We kept walking.