John Miller - Death Draws Five

The Angel took the narrow, twisting lanes automatically, turning without thinking until on the edge of the poorest part of town she drove through an open wrought-iron gate into a tree- shaded park with a scattering of white stones and gray monuments like candy tossed on a gently rolling field of felt. She parked the van and it gratefully shuddered to a well-deserved rest. John Fortune looked at her from the corner of his eye, without turning his head.

“Your mom’s here?” he asked.

“That’s right,” the Angel said. She got out of the van and after a moment he followed her.

It was quiet in the cemetery, and cool. Her mother’s grave was on the side of a hill sheltered by a giant pecan tree that spread its branches above a score of graves like a benediction. The slab was small, and bore only a name and two dates, 1961 - 2001. The Angel stood before it, then sank to her knees in the cool grass, putting her hands on the earth as if to caress that which lay underneath it.

“Hello, Mama,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve come to see you again.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I know it’s been a long time since I been able to come by. I know I’ve been out in the world, which you told me was so evil and so dangerous, but there was just nothing here for me. Nothing for me to do, Mama. No way for me to live. You must understand that.”

Her mother had not wanted her to go out into the world. She had told her, over and over again, of its traps and perils. After all, she’d gone out herself and had gotten nothing out of it but a bloated belly and a daughter cursed at a very young age. Probably from the tainted blood of her beastly father, whom she never spoke of. But maybe, just maybe, by the evilness of her own contaminated soul.

“And I’ve been out in the world doing good. Really, I have. I bought someone to see you.” The Angel turned and beckoned to John Fortune, who was standing a respectful half a dozen paces back, watching uncertainly. He came forward as she gestured, and nodded briefly.

“Hello,” he said.

“You’re in Heaven, Mama, so you must know who he is. You must know something of what is planned for us poor sinners on Earth. You—”

“Must know he is the Devil incarnate,” a voice said behind them.

The Angel whirled, instinctively shielding John Fortune with her body. Behind them was an ancient mausoleum. Shimmering upon its cracked stone wall was a circle of darkness, a tear through the fabric of space. Two men and a thing had come through the tear. She recognized the Cardinal. The man with him was restraining something with a collar and leash that might have been human, but walked like a dog on four limbs. That had an inhuman face with deep set eyes and slavering jaws, and a long snout whose damp nostrils quivered as it sucked in great lung-fulls of air and tried to lunge at the Angel and her charge. A third came though the doorway and laughed. He was big and handsome as an angel with golden hair and large blue eyes and a strong, dimpled jaw. The Angel felt her stomach clench. She couldn’t tell if it was with fear, revulsion, or desire.

“I told you Blood would find her eventually,” the Witness said.

Contarini nodded. “Start with the girl. The boy is for later.”

He let go of Blood’s leash and the joker/ace leapt forward on all fours like a hound, drool frothing on his gaping jaws. The Angel tossed a stern, “Stay here,” to John Fortune, and stepped to meet him.

Blood sprung into the air screaming. She met him with a grim scowl, catching him with one hand on his throat and one on his crotch, pivoted, and slammed him to the ground with most of her strength. He hit like a bag of cement tossed from the roof of a five-story building, grunted, and got back to his feet. But he wavered as he came towards her, breathing heavily. The Angel could see that his heart was not in this.

She smiled. Even though he was bigger than her, he was no match for her righteous strength. The only thing that had saved him from the full force of the body slam was the thick sward and soft dirt he’d landed on. Nothing, she thought, could save him from her fists.

He leaped at her again, his powerful haunches launching him like a tiger. This time she met him with a hammering upper cut that spun him end over, sending him flying back in the direction he’d come. Contarini had to dodge his flailing limbs as he flew by.

The Cardinal ground his teeth in rage. “Useless creature,” he spat at the cowering joker who tried, but couldn’t get up. He turned to the Witness. “Take care of her! Teach her a lesson.”

The smiling ace stretched like a cat. His knuckles made crackling sounds as he clenched his hands into fists. He approached slowly, smiling confidently. Smugly, really. He had a reason to be smug, the Angel thought. He was still the most handsome man she had ever seen.

“Remember the lesson I taught you before,” he said as he approached. “Now it goes further.”

The sudden sound of the van’s horn startled them both. The Angel whirled to see John Fortune behind the wheel, a determined expression on his face, leaning on the horn and bouncing up and down on the seat as the van rolled over the bumpy sward, bearing down on them.

The Angel leaped away just as Fortune slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel. The van sideswiped the Witness. He didn’t even try to get out of the way. There was the thud of metal slamming into flesh and the van flung the Witness twenty feet in the air where he hit the spreading branches of the pecan tree that was nodding over the nearby graves. Branches cracked and broke and fell along with the Witness.

John Fortune wrestled the van to a stop and shouted out the driver’s side window, “Get in! Get in!”

The Angel responded to the panic in his voice. Her first thought was to check to see if the Witness was still alive, and if he was, to kick his ass as hard as she could. But she realized John Fortune was right. They had to get out of there. Fast.

The sliding door on the driver’s side was crumpled inward, but was still holding on the frame. That was good. The van engine’s was idling at such a high rate that it was threatening to sputter out at any second. That would be bad. She reached the passenger’s side door and pulled it open. John Fortune floored the gas pedal before her butt hit the seat. The van slewed around crazily for a moment, then the tires gripped the turf and they headed for the unpaved road running though the cemetery.

As the Angel glanced back she saw Cardinal Contarini crouched behind one of the monuments, shaking his first at them and screeching something in Italian. The joker looked up groggily, a blank expression on his inhuman face. The Witness was still laying under the broken tree limbs on her mother’s grave.

That was close, she thought, leaning back in the seat. She looked at the boy who, beyond denial, was her savior. He was concentrating on guiding the van over the winding cemetery lane, but he glanced back at her.

“See,” he said. “I told you I could drive.”

She smiled at him. His smile glowed back at her like the shining sun. They left the cemetery, hitting the city streets. The van rattled along making alarming sounds as John Fortune cruised at a sedate thirty miles an hour. The Angel realized that there was no way it was going to get them to Branson. It would be lucky if it got them beyond the city limits. She guessed that this situation could be classified as an emergency, and she reached for her cell phone. She hit The Hand’s number on the speed dial.

“President Barnett’s of—”

“Sally Lou!” the Angel said, trying hard to control her voice so that John Fortune wouldn’t get more worried than he already was. “Let me speak with President Barnett—fast!”