Hounacier (Valducan Book 2) (4 page)

"Smokey? Its head," he said. "Is it feline, like a tiger?"

She nodded.

"That's a yes."

"Looks like we found one of Allan's mist cats," Sam said.

Orlovski frowned, his low growl resonating in Malcolm's earpiece. A year before, Tiamat, the Mother of Demons, had been summoned in Tuscany. Before they'd killed her, the beast had hatched at least half a dozen new demon breeds onto the Earth. Allan and Luc had encountered one in Naples only two months later. Allan, who loved naming the new species, had dubbed it mist cat. Arguably, it was one of his better names. All they knew about them was that they were fast, could leap incredible spans, and silver did fuck-all against them.

The Russian drew his pistol and ejected a magazine. "Switching to brass jacket, amethyst tips." He slapped the new mag in place and racked the slide.

"Tiffany," Malcolm said, his voice calm. How many men are there aside from the monster?"

She swallowed then shook her head. "I don't know."

"It's important, Tiffany. Try to remember."

"Two," she said uneasily.

"Two? Are you sure?"

"Movement!" Sam snapped. "Back door."

Malcolm and Orlovski shared a look. "Tiffany," he said. "We need you to stay here, all right?"

She grabbed his arm. "No! No!"

He stood. "You'll be safe."

"Coming out the upper front window," Sam said. "Shit, it's big."

Malcolm hurried out of the crawlspace. "We'll be back. Stay here." Squeezing Hounacier, he followed Orlovski to the open door way.

Orlovski pressed himself against the wall, Amballwa gripped tight in his hand. "Sam, where are they?" he whispered.

"Man headed your way. Has a gun. Can't see the demon."

"Keep watching." Malcolm replied, voice low.

Leaves crunched outside, drawing closer. Malcolm held his breath.

A long shadow, cast from the house above, grew in the doorway, sealing out even more of the light. The footsteps slowed then stopped.

A bead of sweat trickled past the corner of Malcolm's eye. Slowly, he let out his breath. Through the cinderblocks, his enemy was only three feet away.

The shadow swayed. Leaves crunched, and the tip of a black pistol cautiously poked through the open doorway. It inched further until a hand became visible.

In a blur, Orlovski grabbed the shooter's wrist and yanked. A portly man yelped as he fell through the doorway, his cry cut off as the kukri slashed his throat to the bone. Blood sprayed out in a fan, hitting Malcolm's cheek. Gurgling, Arnold Hobb crumpled to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

Without a word, Orlovski charged through the open doorway and out into the yard.

Malcolm ran out behind him, cutting wide in case of a shooter. "Sam, where is it?" He scanned the darkened woods for movement.

"Not sure. It looked like it jumped into the trees."

He craned his neck, searching the tangled canopy. Beyond the house, above the drive, a flash of vivid green eyes.
There!
Leaves shuddered as the beast sprang to the neighboring trees and into shadow. "Front of the house!"

Malcolm hurried to where he'd seen the beast, Orlovski a few feet behind. He just had to get close enough for his tattoo to pinpoint it.

They came around the corner when Sam's voice yelled over the radio. "Behind you!"

A gunshot blasted from the house. Malcolm wheeled in time to see Orlovski pitch forward. The long-legged man stood in the front doorway, shotgun aimed.

Diving to the side, Malcolm scrambled behind a giant woodpile. He drew his sawed-off and clicked off the safety.

Orlovski groaned and tried to stand. A second blast hit the Russian's leg, and he crumpled.

"Taras!" Sam screamed.

"Shooter," Malcolm hissed. "Where is he?"

"Still on the porch."

Remington in hand, Malcolm peeked around. The man swung the gun up and straight at him. Malcolm dropped, splinters exploding above him. Logs buckled and rolled off the pile. Keeping low, Malcolm scurried to the other side, hoping the gunman was still trained on where he'd just shot. He rounded the edge, spotted the man, and fired.

The shooter leaped to the side, and the window behind him shattered inward. Some of the shot must have hit because he lurched as he raised his gun back. Malcolm aimed the second barrel.

Four quick shots rang out. The man dropped his gun, staggered, then fell.

Orlovski lay on his side in a haze of smoke, pistol outstretched.

Malcolm charged up to his partner. "Taras, hold on!"

Groaning, Orlovski shot the dead man once more before dropping the pistol and clutching his bloodied leg.

Malcolm clambered up beside him and checked the wound. "Shit." Blood soaked the Russian's pants around three large holes in the back of his thigh.

Orlovski let out a long hiss, his jaw tight. "I think it's broken."

"Hold on, brother." Malcolm sheathed Hounacier and flicked open a knife. He slit the black fatigues just above the wound and peeled them open. Blood coated the back of Orlovski's thigh, pouring from the ragged holes.

The Russian's breaths quickened, his eyes clenched. "How bad?"

"You'll live." He sliced off the rest of the pant leg to make a tourniquet.

Orlovski clawed the ground beside him, reaching for his fallen kukri. "Amballwa."

Pausing his work, Malcolm grabbed the holy blade and set it in his partner's gloved hand. "Here."

Orlovski clutched the handle, pressing it against him. "Breathing…really hurts."

"I'm sure it does," Malcolm said, forcing the dread from his voice. In Orlovski's vocabulary, "really hurts," was somewhere beyond agonizing. "Vest saved you."

"I can bring the trauma kit," Sam offered.

"No," Malcolm said. "Stay there."

"But—"

"No!" He slipped the cloth binding under Orlovski's leg, and the Russian howled. Malcolm started the knot when the blue scarab tattoo on his wrist suddenly scuttled to the side. Dropping the tourniquet, Malcolm spun and ripped Hounacier from her sheath.

A lean creature crept down the trunk of a nearby tree. Smokey vapor wisped off its skin, impossible to differentiate from its gray fur. A low snarl came from behind its bared fangs. Slits of vibrant green shone from the pupils of its cat-like eyes.

Malcolm stood, Hounacier before him. The beast cocked its head and leaped, trailing vapor like a comet's tail. Growling, it circled to the side, pacing like a jungle cat, then stood erect.

Leaves crackled as Orlovski fumbled for his pistol. "Move!"

"Stay down." Narrowing his eyes, Malcolm stared down the demon before him, seven towering feet, claws splayed.

"Move!" Orlovski rolled to the side and fired. Bullets peppered the beast with blossoming puffs of mist. One took it in the face, and the monster roared.

It charged, Orlovski's rounds ineffectively pluming off its body. Holding his ground, Malcolm displayed his left palm. His skin itched as the tattooed eye stretched open. The beast froze, averting its eyes. Smokey mist blew away as if caught in a tempest.

Seizing the opening, Malcolm attacked, hand still displayed. He slashed Hounacier across, aiming for the demon's neck, but the monster stumbled back. It lurched away from Malcolm's next swing but not before Hounacier bit into its shoulder.

It sprang to a tree then onto the porch roof. Hateful green eyes glared down as it paced back and forth, claws clacking on tin.

Malcolm followed, staying between it and his partner. Blood dripped from Hounacier, evaporating before it hit the ground.
Time to end this.
Orlovski's leg needed tending, and he had internal injuries. Malcolm stepped back and knelt, feeling for his sawed-off. Orlovski's brass and amethyst bullets were as useless as silver. Malcolm's loads were iron, bronze, marble, and quartz. He hoped one of those would work. His fingers curled around the grip.

The mist cat crouched on its forelimbs, obviously unconcerned with the shotgun. It leaped.

Malcolm whipped the gun up and fired. The blast caught the flying demon cat in the chest. Yowling, it recoiled and hit the ground just a few feet away. Malcolm dropped the empty sawed-off and lunged, hacking Hounacier down into the wounded creature. The blade bit into its back as it tried to rise. It staggered and snapped its teeth. Sidestepping, Malcolm brought the machete down into the demon's skull.

Yellow-tinged turquoise fire spewed from the demon's wounds, quickly spreading out over its corpse. Its burning blood shimmered along Hounacier's blade. Malcolm stared at the ethereal flames. Mesmerized, he raised the flaming blade up toward his face, the cool metal touching his temple beside his right eye.

No!
He fought the machete, struggling to pull it away. "Not there." His arm shook, unable to overcome Hounacier's desire. Malcolm grabbed his wrist and managed to gain some control. The trembling blade moved as a dousing rod, finding an open patch of skin on his left inner forearm. Allowing Hounacier its gift, he loosened control. It sliced along his flesh. Malcolm hissed as flaming demon blood entered the shallow cut.

Hounacier ceased her fight. A trio of pale, golden lines glowed beneath Malcolm's skin for a brief moment then faded.

"Thank you," he breathed.

Orlovski groaned behind him.

Malcolm turned back to his injured partner. Orlovski's waxy face looked ghostly, hued in the demon fire's light.

"What…were you doing there?" Orlovski moaned.

Malcolm tied the tourniquet and cinched it tight. "Fixing you up."

Orlovski shook his head. "No. Y…you cut yourself."

"Don't worry about it." Taking a nearby stick, Malcolm looped it into the binding and tightened the tourniquet down. "We're going to get you out of here."

Samantha's voice yelled though his ear bud. "Mal, scanner got a call on Tiffany Mayhew. She called in!"

"What?" Malcolm looked back at the cinderblock shed, its door still open. "Where is she? Did she leave?"

"I…I didn't see her. She must have gotten out when I was watching the fight. Mal, police are coming."

Fuck.
"How long?"

"Don't know."

Malcolm ground his teeth. Orlovski shot, three corpses, police imminent. At a guess, twenty minutes before the first police car. In thirty, every cop in the county would be all over. What had Tiffany told them?

"What do we do?" Sam asked.

A faint light moved within the torture room's door.
There!
Malcolm ran to the building and looked inside. Hobb's body now lay on its back, his blood pool disturbed by bare footprints. Tiffany sat huddled in the corner, clutching a serrated knife, her face half visible in the glow of a cell phone pressed to her ear. "Tiffany?"

She flinched as she saw him then seemed to relax.

He smiled, keeping his voice calm, "Is that the police?"

Tiffany nodded.

Keeping clear of the blood, Malcolm stepped inside. "The bad guys are gone now." He held out a hand. "Let me talk to them."

She seemed to hesitate then slowly offered up the phone, her blood-stained hand trembling.

"Hello! Hello, Tiffany!" said a woman's voice from the speaker.

Malcolm took the phone and clicked it off.

"Why did you do that?" Tiffany yelled, eyes wide.

"We need your help. My partner is hurt."

"But—"

"Tiffany!" Malcolm drew a breath. "Please. Help him."

She wiped her tear-streaked face, smearing a little of Hobb's blood on it in the process.

"Mal," Sam said. "What are you doing?"

"Trust me." He helped Tiffany to her feet and led her out of her prison to where Orlovski lay.

She froze, seeing the demon's corpse, blanketed in ghostly fire. Already, some of its features had begun to melt back into the form of its now dead host.

"Tiffany," Malcolm urged, pulling her hand. "It's dead. But my friend needs you."

"Mal," Sam repeated, her voice strained. "What the hell are you doing?"

Orlovski looked up as Malcolm and Tiffany knelt beside him. "We've…gotta go." He gulped air. "The police…"

Malcolm smiled comfortingly. "Will be here soon. You've lost a lot of blood. Do you remember your name?"

The Russian closed his eyes then nodded. "I'm Eduard Lukov. I sell picture frames."

"Mal," Sam's voice echoed in his ear. "You can't be serious."

"That's right," Malcolm said. "Eduard, this is Tiffany. She's going to stay with you, okay? Tiffany, did you tell the police about us?"

She nodded. "Yes. I told them you let me out and killed one of them."

"All right," he said. "We need you to change your story for us. Eduard saved you. Only him. They brought him in a couple hours ago and tortured him. But he escaped. He killed one, took his gun, then let you out of your cell."