Thomas Sniegoski - In the House of the Wicked

“If you wish to see the girl alive…”

“One of your…things already tried to kill me,” Remy interrupted. “Why should I trust anything you have to say now?”

“An unplanned misfortune,” the voice explained. “My creations sometimes have strong attachments to memories that do not belong to them, which in turn cause problems with their function. That was the case in your situation, and I apologize.”

Remy glanced at Francis to find him staring at the cloud, his finger twitching on the trigger of the gun that was once named the Pitiless.

“In any case, you will do as I instruct, or the girl-beautiful, vivacious Ashley-will meet a fate that I wouldn’t wish on your dog.”

Remy was taken aback by the acknowledgment of Marlowe.

“Get on with it,” he snarled, angered that the voice knew so much, and he so little.

“You will come when you are called,” the voice said. “And you will come alone.”

Remy waited for more, but there was nothing. The roiling smoke collapsed in on itself, gradually receding back into the open mouth of the skull like some enormously long tongue.

“I guess it told you,” Francis said, putting the gun away.

“It did, at that.” Remy’s eyes were still on the skull as Francis bent to retrieve it.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I really don’t have a choice,” Remy replied. “I wait until I’m called.”

“Figured that’d be your answer.” Francis pushed past him into the bathroom, returning with a towel in which he wrapped the skull.

“And what are you going to do with that?” Remy asked.

“I’m gonna to take it to somebody who knows about these things,” Francis answered. “I doubt that making something like this is easy. Maybe someone in the know might be able to narrow down the playing field.”

Remy nodded, liking what he was hearing. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, thought you would.” Francis put the towel-wrapped skull under his arm. “Even though it’s probably a waste of time.”

“Don’t say it,” Remy said firmly.

“Hey, you know me,” Francis said. “Always the voice of reason. Guys that can do shit like this usually play by their own rules.”

“So I’ll play by his rules until…,” Remy said.

“Until?”

“Until it’s time to play by mine.”

Francis nodded slowly as he turned his back on Remy. A section of air in front of him started to shimmer, like the reflective surface of a pond caressed by the wind. “I’ll give you a call if I learn anything,” he shot over his shoulder. Then he reached out with his free hand to tear away the vibrating section of air, ripping a hole in the very fabric of reality.

Remy could only stare as his friend entered the passage he’d summoned, and the wound in time and space quickly healed behind him.

Francis had never been able to do that before.

Remy was aware of the passage of time by the movement of the shadows beneath the drawn window shades. He watched the shadows grow stronger, bolder, pooling in patches around the room, growing in strength as the daylight surrendered its supremacy once again to the inevitable night.

He had switched off the lamp after Francis had departed, preferring the solitude of darkness. Carol Berg had called repeatedly, but he did not pick up. He couldn’t bear to speak with her now.

He couldn’t let her know that this was all because of him. All he could do now was sit and wait.

And do everything in his power to make things right.

Remy’s eyes fell on a deepening stain of black on the closet door. There was something about the shadow and the swiftness with which it seemed to move across the wooden surface, blotting out the slats as it flowed down to the floor like dripping ink.

Remy stood and cautiously approached the door, feeling the cold radiating from the area. This is it, he thought as he reached out for the door, not surprised to feel nothing beneath his fingertips but cool air. A passage had been opened for him, and he did as he was expected to do, stepping into the blackness.

The entrance gradually constricted and closed behind him, leaving him standing alone in a world composed entirely of shades of darkness. He turned slowly, attempting to get his bearings. Every one of his senses was alive, searching for something, anything, to take hold of. The place smelled of cool dampness, like an old basement, and that strange hollow sound he had heard over the phone was carried in the air.

He raised his hand, willing it to be filled with the divine light of Heaven, and his fingers started to glow, dispelling the shadows. Holding his burning hand aloft, he walked farther into the shadowy world. There was a bizarre landscape beneath the cover of darkness, and Remy thought he might have seen movement among the inhospitable terrain.

There was a sudden flash of brilliance, followed closely by what sounded like a clap of thunder, and Remy experienced an intense pain in his burning hand, and quickly pulled it to him.

There was no doubt about it; he’d been shot.

“Extinguish your damnable light, you fool,” boomed a voice from somewhere in the gloom.

Remy fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding hand against his chest, waves of pain coursing through his body with each beat of his heart. He could feel his rage growing, eclipsing any logical thought. The pressure of Ashley being taken coupled with the shrieking pain in his injured hand made it difficult for him to see beyond the violence that the Seraphim could unleash.

But he managed to hold it together, watching as a pair of muted green lights like cat’s eyes grew steadily closer, as did an engine’s roar. And then a vintage limousine stopped just inches from him with a squeal of brakes. Remy stood as the driver’s-side door swung open and a powerful figure unfolded itself from within, rifle by its side.

“Sorry for shooting you,” the man said. “But your fire would have drawn the beasts in droves.”

He stepped into the green light thrown by the vehicle’s headlights, and Remy could see that the pale skin of his face was adorned with swirling, patterned tattoos. He slung his weapon over his shoulder and smiled.

“Besides, what harm could a little gunshot do to an angel of Heaven?”

Remy’s anger was about to be unleashed when a horrible roar echoed through the endless night surrounding them.

“They’ve seen your light after all,” the pale man said. “We should get to the house quickly.” He turned and strode back to the car, pausing as he opened the driver’s-side door. “Are you coming, or do you plan to acquaint yourself with one of the hungry beasts that call the Shadow Lands home? It’s really up to you.”

Remy hesitated, but then the roar came again, this time much closer, and he climbed into the passenger’s side of the limousine beside the tattooed figure.

“Thought you’d change your mind,” the man said, putting the car in drive, turning it around, and stomping on the accelerator.

Remy had no idea how he could tell where he was going in the inky darkness, but it was obvious that he could.

“Shit,” the pale man hissed as he glanced into the rearview mirror.

Remy turned to look out through the back window, and was shocked to see something quickly coming up behind them, its monstrous shape faintly illuminated in the greenish glow thrown by the vehicle’s taillights. Then it fell back, once again lost in the swirling darkness. And just as he was about to look away, Remy thought he saw something else: a small humanoid figure wearing a hooded cloak and peering out from the shadows, before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

“Hold the wheel,” the driver bellowed, releasing his grip before Remy could even reach across. The car began to swerve, but Remy managed to take hold of the wheel and control of the vehicle.