K Stewart - A Devil in the Details

The demon barked a laugh, and more blackness escaped its maw to wind away through the concrete columns. Somewhere out of sight, a portal was forming. “One soul for two? Even yours is not worth so much, Jesse James Dawson.”

“Then add mine. I offer my soul.” Paulo- Esteban needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. “I offer the soul of Esteban Paulo Juan-Carlos Perez.” Man, I bet he hated learning to write all that as a child.

Before I could come up with a suitable objection, the demon nodded. “Done! Name your terms!”

Fuck fuck fuck. I didn’t want to be responsible for the kid’s soul, too, but it was too late to quibble now-too late in more than one way. “We fight here and now, as we are. We finish this now.”

In a perfect world, I would have named some time in the future. I would have let myself heal, found my sword, something. The odds weren’t in my favor, in the rain-slicked mud, armed as I was with pipes, and already gimped in both legs. But I stood a better chance, fully aware and as prepared as I was going to get, than letting this thing get the drop on me again. Guy, Miguel… I hope I’m doing right by you guys. I couldn’t afford to be wrong.

That hellish muzzle wrinkled in a grin. “Done.”

The contract mark burned bright and fast across the back of my hand. No elaborate tattoo, this, but an ugly black slash of burned flesh. I heard Esteban gasp when his own seared in, but I didn’t even notice the pain.

I pushed off the wall, my improvised tonfas held at the ready. This was going to hurt. Paulo- Esteban stepped up beside me, worn machete still leveled at the hound.

“What are you doing, kid?” I didn’t dare take my eyes off the hound to ask.

“You said ‘we’ fight here and now. I am part of ‘we.’ ” He was pale under his dark skin; he was terrified. His brother’s armor was too big on him, a boy who hadn’t yet seen his full growth. Had he watched Miguel fall? I wondered. Had he seen his brother’s soul ripped from his body? I had to give the kid credit, though. No matter his age, or experience, his hand was steady on his brother’s weapon. I felt bad for ever thinking he’d run away.

And damn, I was proud of the boy. He was right. At that moment, I could have called in an army to send the hound back to Hell, and it couldn’t have done a thing about it. Even demons can fuck up contracts.

The black hound’s hackles came up in a rage- filled snarl, but it didn’t even bother protesting. It was caught in the haste of its own negotiations, and it knew it.

Beyond the walls of our concrete arena, the storm sirens blared on, and the light trickling through the clouds was a vomitus green. The thunder was gone, chasing the front to the east. All that was left was the oppressive calm, the harbinger of something catastrophic.

Neither Esteban nor I moved. I waited, holding my weight gingerly on my right leg. I could lunge to my left from there, and though my blood had soaked the torn denim of my jeans, I wasn’t crippled yet. The kid stood to my left, a thrum of tension in my peripheral vision, maybe waiting for some signal from me.

I never had a chance to give it.

The hellhound sprang without warning. I dove right, Esteban dove left, and just like that we were separated. The black nightmare whirled, faster than before, proving it had only been toying with me all along, supremely confident in its own ability.

I couldn’t get near it without meeting fangs, that wedge-shaped head snapping from side to side impossibly fast. Every time Esteban moved in behind it, it would spin, sending the boy darting back out of reach, then turn again to meet me coming. I got no more than a handful of glancing blows in, and I’m not sure the kid hit it at all.

Something tickled my cheek, and I realized it was a strand of my damp hair, stirred in the smallest of breezes. To the west, I could hear what might be the murmur of traffic on the highway, except for one crucial fact. The highway was directly to our east.

It was coming. The time for smart fighting was through.

There was no more dodging or feinting. I kept the pipes whirling and moved in. Black fog wisped away where they landed, and the demon was forced to put its full attention on me. One gleaming fang laid my knuckles open to the bone, but I kept my grip and used my other hand to clout the thing across the eyes. The copper scent of my blood was overpowering in the heavy air, and the quiet hum of traffic had grown to a tiny roar.

The hound lunged against my unsteady right leg, and it finally crumpled. Traitor, I thought, bringing my arms up to shield my throat. Instead of following to rip me to shreds, the demon let out a bellow of pain and spun, one massive clawed foot planting right in my guts. “Oof!” My breath left me in a rush, but I could see the handle of the machete sticking out of one muscled flank. Esteban had buried it almost to the hilt.

The hound forgot about me. I heard the kid scream as it lunged, and beneath that, the sickening sound of breaking bone. The black essence seeping from the blade trickled across the muck, wafting dangerously close to my legs. I scrambled, still on my rump, to get clear before that numbing blight could touch me.

Esteban screamed again, out of my sight, and the hound shook its head like a terrier with a rat. I grabbed for the machete hilt, and dragged myself to my feet with it, wrenching it free. The black fog poured from the wound, a deadly river flowing over the mud toward the unseen portal. The demon had Esteban’s arm in its hideous maw, crushing the bone in those powerful jaws. Even then, the kid tried to fight, fingers gouging at the beast’s eyes in desperation.

There was grit in the wind and it stung my cheeks. I would remember that later. Now, I only ducked my head to keep my vision clear. Grabbing a handful of mud-matted fur and stabbing the machete in with the other, I climbed those hulking shoulders, ignoring the burning cold that came as the blight ran freely.

The hound reared up to its hind legs, almost standing upright, and I clung tight, wrapping my legs around its throat. Esteban, wounded as he was, still managed to grab hold of a furry ear and yank, wrenching the creature’s head to the side. It thrashed and writhed, trying to unseat me with no success, but managed to stomp right in the middle of the downed kid’s middle. Esteban retched loudly, and I stabbed the machete in again for a better hold. For all those massive corded muscles in its neck, the demon dog could not turn its head to get at me, no matter how it snapped and slavered. “Yee-haw, motherfucker.”

I raised the machete in one hand and brought it down at the base of the creature’s skull. There was a satisfying crack of bone, but it refused to concede, bucking and flinging itself into the wall. My head cracked against the concrete, and I held on only through sheer stubbornness. The moment it landed on all four feet, I hit it again-and again. Each time, the river of blight grew, flowing over my legs where they were locked around the hound’s throat. I may as well have been standing up to my knees in ice, the only consolation being the relief from pain in my right leg.

The creature quit snarling after the third hit but refused to leave its feet, drunkenly staggering this way and that. Four more blows were needed for the head to come free from the hulking shoulders. I went with it, tumbling over and over in the mud with the grisly trophy still held in one hand.

By then I could no longer hear the tornado sirens under the storm’s roar. The head, a snarl fixed forever on its vicious muzzle, dissolved into blight between my fingers. I couldn’t wait long enough to watch the rest of the body dissipate back to its hellish origins. There was no more time.

Esteban stared blankly at me with eyes glazed in pain and shock, and I grabbed his good arm, dragging him to his feet. “Run!” I screamed in his ear, but he couldn’t hear me. I couldn’t hear myself. The tornado was here, and we had nowhere to go.