Collateral Damage (Demon Squad Book 8) (16 page)

“Over here, Frank.”

I spun to see Rala step into the room, her orange and black face a mask of sadness and sympathy and I don’t know what all else. She looked as if she carried the weight of the world.

She pretty much did.

In her arms was the limp and headless body of the woman I loved: Karra.

Nineteen

I don’t know how long I spent cradling Karra’s body, but by the time I’d emerged from my fugue, I was alone in the room with her, the place dark. My face was crusty, and just the effort of blinking made it crackle. I sat up and rubbed at my face until I felt somewhat human, and then staggered to my feet.

Rala sneaking out and stealing Karra off the cross had been the greatest thing ever. I could only imagine the scene as a dragon appeared out of nowhere and made off with the maiden right in front of the entire city. Sooner or later I’d have to watch the news footage on that, but there was still more for me to do. I had Karra’s body, now I needed to reclaim her head.

At least that was easy in the grand scheme of things.

A quick pop out to Siberia, a little digging, and I was back, the two parts of Karra reunited. I carried her into the room where Styg waited, and set her gently on the ground near a mystical circle he’d drawn using the supplies the fiends had gotten him. The others knew nothing of why I wanted her body back beyond the most obvious of needs. I was grateful, however, that they’d helped me get her back. They couldn’t know how much it meant to me.

“Ah, we have a body at last,” he said with a golf clap. “Now I have something to do besides chat up these charming fellows you left me with.”

I knelt beside her body for a minute before climbing back to my feet. The coldness of the room made mist of my breath. “If you do anything but bring her back, I will crawl inside your guts and climb out through your mouth, do you understand me?”

“That is an excellent visual, I have to say. You should write that down.” I stepped toward him a growl welling in my throat, and he raised his hands to placate me. “Easy now. We’ve already established my role here, so no need to get flustered with the help. As long as you’re true to
your
word, I’ll be true to mine.”

“How long?”

He shrugged. “It’s always different. A day or two at most if you don’t mind me sacrificing some of your guard dogs for the blood needed.”

“Do what you have to, but make her live again, Styg,” I told him, turning away to leave. “Make her live.”

If he said anything after that, I didn’t hear him out in the hall. I slammed the door shut and made my way back to my quarters. Scarlett met me there, Abby cradled to her chest.

“You’ve such a brilliant daughter. She clearly takes after me.”

Abby grinned and played with strands of Scarlett’s hair, twirling it around her chubby little fingers.

“All that’s from her mom,” I argued, my thoughts lingering on Karra and the process she was undergoing through Styg. Despite living with a necromancer, I had no real clue how any of that brand of magic worked.

“I was kidding, Frank.” She stared at me until I raised my eyes to meet hers.

“Ah, yeah, right. Sorry.” I couldn’t stop thinking about Karra, my brain already slipping back to the maudlin possibilities.

“It’s okay,” she said, leaning Abby in so she could give me a squishy wet kiss. I reveled in it. “I have the answer from Heaven.”

My focus snapped back to Scarlett. She handed me a folded sticky note she’d scribbled on.

“Be careful,” she told me, but I was already halfway out the door.

#

There weren’t a whole bunch of folks up in Heaven who would take my calls let alone make an effort to come all the way down to earth and chat me up, but Duke Forcalor wasn’t just any angel. We had a history.

He met me in the desert a few miles from town.

“You lead an interesting life, young Trigg,” he said, greeting me with his version of my preferred name. He’d always done that, choosing not to antagonize me with Triggaltheron like everyone else did. It was part of why I respected him so much.

“I’m nothing if not consistent.” I took his proffered hand and shook it, his grip firm, skin soft as though he’d never worked a day in his eternal life.

He looked just like he always had. His loose shirt and pants were made of the finest silk, and the shimmered with stars as he moved. The white tail of his hair was tied behind his head, and there was no trace of facial hair to be seen. All of it lent him the look of a twenty-something pirate rather than one of the most renowned of demon lieutenants to rule in Hell. Still, it was a pleasure to see him again despite our last meeting being full of the fire and brimstone of Heaven’s wrath.

Forcalor had once been my father’s greatest advisor, a surprising advocate for peace between the factions of Heaven and Hell. He’d
fallen
with Lucifer but he’d never given up hope that one day he could return to Heaven and fulfill his role as an archangel to the Throne. I’d helped him to make that dream come true, at least to a degree.

Now that God was gone and not coming back, and Metatron sat in His place in Heaven, the duke was home, his advice finding the ear of the new ruler. That had a lot to do with Forcalor carving out the time to help me when he could. He was nothing if not grateful.

“Were you able to find anything out?”

He nodded. “Of course, but my vows to Uriel and the Voice of our Lord keep me from offering that information to you.”

I groaned. This was the way it was with the supernatural world. No one wanted to do anything for anyone without it coming with a price tag or a commitment for service. The shit was getting really old.

“Then what was the point—?” My voice crackled with frustration as I started to read him the riot act.

“Don’t let your temper get the best of you,” he told, cutting me off before I could do just that. “I’d thought being separated from Azrael might cool your ire some, but it seems I was wrong. Heaven will not be pleased to learn this.”

I bit back what I really wanted to say and offered up a gesture of peace, my hands clasped before me. “I’m besieged on all sides by an enemy who’ve killed my woman and threaten to do the same to my child. Forgive me for my lack of patience.” Unconsciously, the furnace of my power ignited as a warning. For all the duke’s status, I was still the inheritor of the lion’s share of Longinus’s magic, its energies manifested of the soul of the Earthbound Jesus Christ. I was no bug to be swatted aside.

A prince of politics, he must have realized that. “Forgive
me
, young Trigg. I did not mean to make light of your dire circumstances. I also did not mean to imply I wouldn’t help you, but that I cannot do so directly, as I am forbidden by Metatron.”

I nodded, still a little ticked off, but I could understand his position. The same power I’d taken from the former Anti-Christ was exactly what had put me on the no fly list with Heaven. It hadn’t helped that I’d mistakenly allowed a piece of the Angel of Death into my heart, quite literally. My decisions had always been suspect, but with him influencing my actions, things had quickly gotten out of hand.

“There is a church with no name, not too far from here,” Forcalor went on. “The
priest
there can offer you the peace of mind that I cannot.” His gaze narrowed on mine. “He will be waiting for you. But be warned, treat with him honorably lest he find you wanting.”

I laughed. “I’m the Devil and he’s a priest, Forcalor. How can he
not
find me wanting?”

He shrugged. “I have done what I can for you, young Trigg. Make the most of it.” An image of the church appeared in the air before me, shimmering with the duke’s magic. I’d just enough time to digest the information I needed before it and the duke were gone, nothing but the barest whisper of brimstone left in the air.

#

The church was exactly where Forcalor had said it would be, settled in a derelict area of west El Paseo, more slums than suburbs.

It was a rundown, shack of a thing. The roof looked in need of new shingles, and the boards of the walls were so warped as to look like waves running down toward the dusty yard that encircled the place. A pitiful cross jutted from a raised watchtower at the front of the building. Rust had gnawed at the thing so it looked almost entirely orange, only splotches of white standing out.

I made my way up the wooden steps, each
creaking
a warning as my weight settled on them. The stained-glass windows that bookended the double doors had faded over the years, their colors subdued and gray. The religious images in the glass were dim and hard to define. I wondered what kind of priest might be lurking inside the ramshackle church, but the obvious answer was the crazy kind.

The parking lot had grass growing up through the asphalt, the painted lines almost invisible. The railings that had once led people inside were gone now, only the poles left behind. It didn’t look as if anyone had come here in a long, long time. Yet I found the doors unlocked. They swung open with a disconcerting ease given the state of the rest of the church.

Inside was more museum than place of worship. An array of candles lit the room in a flickering yellow, which cast dancing shadows across the walls. The carpet had long since faded from blood-red to a weepy mauve, the sharpness bled out by the years. Wooden pews looked to be torture devices. Low backs and minimal padding, it would take the determination of the truly faithful to sit through more than a few minutes of hallelujahs without complaining about splinters. The walls were covered in all manner of antique symbols that seemed to drip dust: images of the crucifixion, great looming, ivory crosses, and even one fade painting of Longinus putting the spear to Christ. A cold chill went down my spine at seeing that one.

I walked toward the dais erected at the front of the church. It stood only about a foot above the ground, if that. This was no platform for ego. Unlike the rest of the place, covered in the markings of religion, it was a barren place. A podium was set in the center of the stage, the paint fading at its edges. Only a single statue decorated the dais. It stood with its arms spread to the heavens, eyes seeking and audience upwards. It was an image of Christ, though strangely different from the man I remembered. He looked familiar, of course, but his appearance was hardened, less angelic than I was used to seeing. It was an older, harder image.

“Been a long time since we’ve had adherents to the faith join us.”

I spun at hearing the voice echo through the empty church. A man stood just ten feet behind me, smiling. I hadn’t heard him approach. That spooked me.

“I’m not what you might call faithful,” I answered.

He laughed. “Says the man who’s met God face to face and bears the power of the Son within his veins.” If his words weren’t enough to set him apart, his appearance most certainly did. He looked nothing like a priest.

Tall and wiry, the man dressed in jeans and a plain blue T-shirt, heavy work boots at his feet. We could have been fashion twins. His hair was long, the front pulled into a ponytail that joined the rest in the back, hanging over his shoulders in gray waves, making him look like Legolas. Despite its color, there was enough to make a lion jealous. His face stood at odds to his hair. Clean-shaven and boyish, he likely got carded every time he went to the liquor store. His eyes stood out like golden orbs. There was a brightness to them I couldn’t attribute to the candlelight.

“I’ve been around the block a time or two,” I admitted. “Still doesn’t exactly put me in line at the pearly gates.”

He grinned. “I can’t imagine Heaven has much room for the Devil these days.”

His words caught me off guard, my senses slipping out of their own accord. What they brought back only confused me more. “Who are you?” His essence was a void, emptiness in the ether that offered me no clues as to who or what he was. He clearly wasn’t human, though.

“Forgive me,” he said, still smiling. “I am Father Du Lac, though most find it easier to call me Lance.” He stuck his hand out. “Pleasure to meet the infamous Frank Trigg.”

I took his hand and shook it, pulling back quickly, still a little weirded out. This guy knew way too much about me. “I presume Forcalor told you I was coming?”

“He did indeed.” He waved me to a pew. “Come, sit, and let us speak.” Lance dropped onto the stairs of the dais just a few feet from the pew he’d directed me to. I sat, still uncomfortable.

“Then you know why I’m here.”

He shook his head. “No, the duke could do little more than inform me that you’d be seeking me out. I suspect Heaven would disapprove of his helping you beyond that.”

I laughed. “You got that right, Lance.” I glanced up at the cross behind the altar and sighed. While I knew damn well God was nowhere within listening distance, it felt odd sitting in a church discussing…well, anything.

“So tell me, Frank, why have you come?”

It was weird talking to the priest about matters of revenge, but since he knew who I was and hadn’t tried to douse me in holy water yet, I figured I’d give it a shot. What did I have to lose?

“I’m looking for information regarding Trinity,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “I presume you don’t mean the religious concept.”

“Most definitely not. More like the religious fanatics.”

Lance made a face that didn’t exactly speak of brotherly love. “Foul creatures those three.”

On that we agreed. “What can you tell me about them? Why would they be working for the US government?”