Shakedown, page 13
“No. But we’re talkin’ about demons, here, Cordy. They’re not known for givin’ stuff away. There’s always a price.”
“I thought you said the price was three-quarters of a million dollars?”
“That’s what Graedeker bought it for. He doesn’t know what the mob guy paid—and that’s the part that worries me.”
Cordelia frowned. “Are you saying he traded his soul for a bottle of Scotch? I don’t think I believe that—and I work with you.”
Doyle took a sip from his mug, then nodded. “Doesn’t really ring true for me, either. Still, his luck turned bad after he dealt with the Serpentene.”
“By that standard, you must have hocked your soul a dozen times since I’ve known you.”
“Everythin’ but, Cordy. Everythin’ but.”
Feldspaar was having a crisis of faith.
He was loyal to his tribe and their beliefs. He was also loyal to the First Warrior-Priest, and sworn to follow his commands without question.
These two things had never come into conflict before.
Baasalt’s ideas had stimulated him in a way he had never felt. At first he had found them disturbing, frightening even; but the more he considered them, the more sense they made.
Feldspaar was a warrior-priest—but other than forays for sacrificial victims every few decades, he rarely saw even the chance for battle. His position was more about maintaining the status quo than conquest.
Until now.
Baasalt? he thought. They were back in the sewer tunnels, close to the Skin of the World. I have some questions.
Good. Ask them.
This game you introduced—are you preparing our people for battle?
Baasalt gave the mental equivalent of a chuckle. Very good. Yes, I am. Once our people have become accustomed to thinking in terms of the possibilities of open space—instead of merely recoiling in horror at the mention of the Void—they will be ready for the next step.
And what will that be?
Seeing the Skin-Dwellers as a resource we are not fully using. Seeing the Skin of the World as a place that rightfully should be ours. Seeing that conquering the Void itself is not only possible . . . it is our destiny.
Feldspaar could feel the rightness of Baasalt’s words.
I will follow you, he thought.
So will the rest . . .
“Doyle? Did you hear that?” Cordelia said.
“What? I didn’t hear anythin’.”
“Are you sure? I thought I heard a noise.”
“That’s generally what people do with noises.”
Cordelia glared at him. “Leave the sarcasm to the experts, Doyle. I’m assuming you at least understand the word expert?”
“That would be a fine example right there, I’m thinkin’—”
Crash!
“That, I heard,” Doyle said, jumping to his feet.
“Sounded like it came from Angel’s place,” Cordelia said. She glanced nervously toward the elevator Angel used to get from his living quarters to his office. “What should we do?”
“Go see what it is?” Doyle suggested.
THUMP!
“Are you crazy? It could be some horrible demon-monster-thingy! If it’s crashing around in Angel’s place, it has to be some horrible demonmonsterthingy! And fending off HDMTs in the middle of the night is not in my job description!”
“You know, for someone halfway through a freakout, you’re pretty handy with the acronyms.”
She punched him on the shoulder. “It’s a gift. Now go see what it is.”
“Me? I thought you just said—”
“I said it wasn’t in my job description. Since you’re the guy that gets visions, obtaining information definitely falls into your area. Come see me if you want paperwork filed or coffee made.”
“Well, all right—” Doyle grabbed the sword Angel had been practicing with earlier off the wall and hefted it in both hands. He slid open the folding metal cage that formed the elevator door, then turned around. “But I want a fresh-brewed cup of coffee ready when I get back. Or possibly medical aid.”
“I’ll try to get Angel on his cell. And Doyle—be careful.”
Doyle closed the cage door and hit the down button. No problem. Just a cat or something. I can look like a hero to Cordy, and I can probably do it without making an ass of myself.
Probably.
The lights were out, of course. He slid the cage door open and fumbled for the light switch. Nothing happened when he clicked it on.
Just a burnt-out bulb. Not a deliberately smashed light designed to set me up for the fatal heart attack I’m going to have when something reaches out of the darkness and wraps around my throat. Nope.
“Hello? Look, if you’re a burglar, there’s nothin’ down here worth stealin’. The man doesn’t even own a TV.”
He took a cautious step forward into the dark, holding the sword over his head and gripping the handle tightly with both hands.
“And if you’re a—horrible monster-demonthingy, you should know I’m holdin’ a piece of steel specially designed t’lop the heads off unholy creatures o’ the night. Swear to God.”
The voice that spoke to him wasn’t audible to the ear; it echoed inside his brain, instead.
It is foolish to lie to a telepath. We are here for our brother.
“Uh-oh . . .” Doyle whispered.
Angel’s cell phone rang just as Kate was finishing dessert.
“Hello?”
“Angel? Listen, you’ve got to get back to the office. There’s something in your apartment and I don’t think it’s friendly.”
“Where’s Doyle?”
“He went down to check it out. He’s—”
Angel could hear distant crashing sounds. “—definitely not friendly,” Cordelia said.
“On my way.” He hung up and swapped his phone for his wallet. “Sorry, gotta go,” he told Kate. “Emergency.” He tossed a few bills on the table. “Had a great time. Thanks.” He turned around and bolted for the door.
Thank God, he thought.
He phoned Cordelia back as he got into the car and roared away. “I’m headed your way. Give me an update.”
“Okay, well, there was a lot of crashing and banging. Oh, there’s some more.” Angel could hear it in the background. “Pretty sure that yelp was Doyle . . . that sounds like furniture breaking. Don’t know what that muffled thump was . . . that yell was definitely Doyle . . . okay, I think that was your china cabinet. Wait, you don’t have a china cabinet. Another, louder thump—that’s weird. It almost sounded like it came from above me—
Whump!
“That one definitely came from overhead—”
“Cordelia, get out of the office! Now!”
There was a loud WHUMP! even Angel could hear . . . then nothing.
“Cordelia? Cordelia!”
Cordelia peeked up over the edge of her desk. The outer office was filled with a cloud of plaster dust from the large hole in the ceiling.
A figure stirred, then rose from the floor. The figure of a Tremblor.
“I knew keeping him in a cardboard box was a stupid idea!” Cordelia whispered into the phone. “He just Bugs-Bunnied his way into the office!”
“Excuse me?”
“He used his—his magic shoveling powers to rip his way through every floor between the roof and the office. Don’t they have stairs in the middle of the Earth? He almost fell on me!”
“Cordelia, calm down. I’ll be there soon. In the meantime, if you can make it outside you’ll be safe.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work, Angel. He’s between me and the door—and he’s just noticed me.”
“Stay out of his way. He may simply want to escape.”
“You’re kidding, right? Well, there goes my plan to Xena his rocky butt.”
You. The touch of another mind to her own. Ohmygodlookpleasedon’thurtmeIcouldn’tposs,,ibly beanytroubletoyouthoughyoucertainlyaremessingup MY eveningI’msorrysoanywaywecanbefriendsright???
The mental touch abruptly withdrew. Cordelia caught the faint impression that the Tremblor was . . . overwhelmed?
Doyle had always hated dodgeball.
In junior high, he’d decided that Hell consisted of an eternal game of dodgeball—except instead of sadistic jocks pelting you with large rubber balls, sadistic demons would do the same with red-hot boulders. It would go on and on, the demons making humiliating comments about how you ran like a girl, and every time you got beaned you would have to start all over again.
The one time in my life I get something absolutely dead right, he thought, and I don’t have any money on it. Figures.
He was crouched behind Angel’s overturned kitchen table, or at least what was left of it. The sword was lying on the floor beside him; at the moment it was about as useful as a flyswatter.
KRAACK!
A large hole appeared a few inches to the right of his head. The football-sized rock that had made it punched through one of Angel’s kitchen cabinets as well, and probably deep into the wall after that.
How was that?
Better. You are still overcompensating for the pull of gravity. Watch this.
Doyle flattened himself just in time. The last of the table smashed apart as the next rock hit, sailing by only inches above his head. He darted to the next piece of cover, an overturned bookshelf.
Despite the fact that overhearing their conversation had probably just saved his life, Doyle really wished they’d shut up.
See? That was called a “fastball.” Apparently the proper positioning of your digits can even cause the projectile to curve in midflight.
Amazing. And you learned all this from the Skin-Dweller’s mind? I had no idea they knew so much.
Oh, yes. The movement of spheres through the Void occupies a great deal of their thought processes. Here’s a variation they call “bowling.”
Doyle groaned, but scooted to the side. A second later, a rock smashed through the middle of the bookcase at floor level.
Cordelia waited for the Tremblor to attack or run away, but it did neither. It just stood there, its shovel-shaped tail swaying back and forth slowly behind its head.
“Mr.—um—Mr. Marlboro? You can go now,” Cordelia called out. “We’re dropping all charges. You made parole. You get out of jail, free.”
“Cordelia!” Angel said over the phone. “Don’t attract his attention!”
The Tremblor quivered, then shook himself. A low rumble filled the air.
“Oops . . .” Cordelia breathed.
The rumble increased. Books fell off shelves. The desk began to jitter on the shuddering floor.
The glass partitions separating the offices shattered, as well as the windows in the outer office. Cordelia screamed and covered her head as shards flew through the air.
And just as suddenly as it had begun, the shaking stopped.
You have destroyed me.
The Tremblor stalked forward. It stopped before Cordelia’s desk. I have looked into the Void, and the Void has looked into me. I cannot get away from it now. It is there every time I close my eyes.
It raised both its massive, rocky fists.
And you will pay!
Its fists hammered down, smashing the desk into splinters. Cordelia scrambled as far away from it as she could, into a corner. She cut herself on broken glass and hardly noticed. She had to get away, to get outside—
She was right next to the broken window.
Without thinking, she straddled the window sill, found the thin ledge with her foot, then climbed out. She inched her way down the ledge, praying that the Tremblor would forget about her once she was gone.
The bricks beside the window exploded outward. Cordelia screamed and nearly lost her balance. The Tremblor’s spade-shaped tail jutted out from the wall it had just rammed its way through.
It withdrew—and a moment later, it slammed through the wall at another spot.
This time it was a lot closer to Cordelia.
* * *
Look, guys, Doyle thought as loud as he could. There’s no reason t’use me for target practice. If you want your pal, go ahead. We were gonna let him go anyway.
There was a pause in the bombardment.
Feldspaar. Stay here with the Skin-Dweller. I will fetch Maarl.
A hulking form stomped out of the darkness, silhouetted by the light filtering through the cage of the elevator. It trudged its way over to the concrete stairs, then up them. For some reason, it came as no surprise to Doyle that the demon had a pickax sticking out of the back of its head.
“So—you’re just gonna wait ’til your buddy comes back and then you’ll leave, right?” Doyle called out hopefully.
Not until I try a few things. Baasalt said this was called a “knuckleball” . . .
Another rocky missile smashed into the wall.
“Wait!” Doyle yelled. “Hey, have you ever heard of something called—uh . . .” He thought desperately. Basketball? No. Football? Worse. Golf? Introducing clubs—not a good idea. Same with tennis, badminton, cricket, polo . . .
“—bobsledding?” Doyle asked.
Baasalt could feel the confusion and rage in Maarl’s thoughts. It increased as he drew closer.
Maarl, he thought. Maarl, it is I. Baasalt, First Warrior-Priest. Calm yourself—you are safe.
No! I will not be calm, not ever again! All peace has been taken from me—where once was serenity and stability, all is empty chaos!
Baasalt entered the room where Maarl’s thoughts emanated from. The Tremblor was punching his tail through a wall, having already made several large holes. He did not seem to care that he was gradually exposing himself to more and more of the Void.
Maarl. STOP. He broadcast as forcefully as he could.
Maarl paused. His whole body still vibrated with anger.
You have looked into the Void, Baasalt thought. I can see it plainly.
It has tainted me! Corrupted me!
No. It has made you stronger.
How can you think such a thing?
Because I, too, have looked into the Void.
What? No, it cannot be—you are First Warrior-Priest!
Touch my memories. See for yourself.
Maarl did so.
His body stiffened in shock as he relived Baasalt’s experience—not just the memory of looking into the Void, but the memory of Baasalt’s reaction to it. His initial fear had been swept away by an immense feeling of potential, of endless possibilities. It had thrilled him to the very core of his being, had given him the feeling he could do anything. The Void was still dangerous, still powerful—but it could be controlled. It could be beaten .
Do you see? Baasalt thought. Do you understand?
Maarl met his leader’s eyes. Yes, he thought numbly. Great Heart of the World, yes. Forgive my weakness, Baasalt. I did not have the courage to see as you did.
You are not weak. You are strong. Can you not feel it, deep within you now? I can. You and I have faced the Void, and we are still here. We can show others our vision. We can lead them into a new era, where the Void fears us.
Baasalt held out one rocky claw. Will you join me? Will you stand beside me in this great adventure?
Maarl did not hesitate. He reached out and grasped Baasalt’s claw with his own. I would be honored, First Warrior-Priest.
Good. Then let us quit this place.
They headed for the stairs.
What I need, Doyle thought, is a plan. Specifically, a plan that doesn’t involve me gettin’ a rock put through my skull.
He was running out of cover; there wasn’t much left of the bookshelf he was currently hiding behind. The Tremblor, though, seemed to have no shortage of rocks.
If I could just get t’the stairs, I could get outta here. But there’s no way Roger Clemens here is gonna let me do that. Doyle’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness; the light coming from the elevator cage was enough to let him make out a few details. The Tremblors had come in through the tunnels Angel normally used, and they’d brought a pile of rocks with them.
Doyle’s eyes flickered over the wreckage of the apartment. He’d just had an idea—now, if only what he was looking for hadn’t been smashed into bits . . .
There. Of course, it had to be lying between him and the Quake demon—and he had no idea if it had been broken.
Ah, well. Never said no to a gamble before.
Doyle dived out from behind the bookshelf, grabbed the camera and held it up. He fumbled for the button while the Tremblor cocked one massive arm behind its head.
The flash went off. The blinded Tremblor bellowed, let fly and missed Doyle by six inches.
Doyle sprinted for the stairs.
They met at around the halfway point.
One moment Doyle was barreling up the stairs at full speed; the next he was lying flat on his back, on a landing between floors. After a few groggy seconds, he realized he’d run into something at full tilt and rebounded.
He looked up into the face of a Tremblor.
“Uh,” Doyle said.
“Doyle! Get out of the way!”
Angel’s voice.
Doyle threw himself, headfirst, back down the stairs.
Angel launched himself at the Tremblor, delivering a flying kick to the demon’s chest. Off-balance on the steps, it tumbled forward and crashed into the other one. They both bounced off the wall and continued downward.
Falling down a flight of concrete steps was not the most pleasant experience Doyle had ever gone through, but he didn’t have time to complain. He had other things to worry about, like half a ton of living rock tumbling toward him like an angry avalanche.
He hit the bottom and rolled clear. An instant later, two Tremblors smashed into the spot he’d just vacated.
Doyle got to his feet, trying to ignore the pain of his bruised body. As long as Angel was here, they had a chance.
The Tremblors disentangled themselves and got to their feet as well.
“Angel?” Doyle said hopefully.
