Read Queen of the Dark Things Online
Authors: C. Robert Cargill
“And I'm one of those gears.”
“One of the most important gears. Or you will be. You can be. If you don't fall off the machine first.”
“So you can't see the future?”
“I can see
futures
. I can see the maybe that exists if everything stays the same. But there is no future. Not yet. The future is just a now waiting to happen that may or may not ever arrive.”
“Why does this all sound so familiar?”
“Because you've heard it all before. You just weren't listening the first time around because you didn't like the answer.”
“You're the second person to say that to me.”
“Oh? Then maybe there's something to it.”
“So you're going to tell me what you want me to do? Or am I supposed to guess?”
Coyote shook his head, chuckling. “Colby, if I told you what you would become one day, you would do all the wrong things just to spite me, no matter how important a role you play. You believe too much in freedom. In choice. What you don't realize is that you've already made your choices. Now you just have to live through them.”
“You mean
with them.
”
“No. No I don't. Your wishes are your wishes, whether you make peace with them or not is entirely your business. Whether you live to see them out is what concerns me.”
Colby sighed long and deep. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“If I tell you, then it's not really a choice. And if it's not a choice, it means nothing.”
“Fuck you and your riddles and this headache. I can't take your shit when I'm not hungover; I sure can't handle you right now. Please. Just leave.”
Coyote smiled wide, his teeth glistening in the morning light. “You know what's really going to piss you off, Colby Stevens?”
“What?”
“When the headache is gone and your mouth doesn't taste like that and you can finally think straight for the first time all day, you're going to think back on this conversation and you're going to wonder. You're going to wonder hard. And you're not going to know whether I've been messing with your head this whole time.”
“Oh, I hate you.”
“And if that weren't bad enough, when you remember that I didn't tell you to do anything at all, you won't have any idea what to do.”
Colby buried his head in his hands and swore a string of unintelligible curses so long and unappealing that even Coyote blushed.
“Don't trust anyone to be who they appear to be, Colby. Not even me. I'm not your friend.” He patted Colby on the back, squeezing his shoulder warmly. “I got you a half hour to leave the border of the Limestone Kingdom. That was ten minutes ago. I suggest you start walking now. I'd use the trees.” Coyote turned, walking away.
“Hey, Coyote.”
“Yeah?” asked Coyote over his shoulder.
“Thanks.”
Coyote smiled one last time, then nodded so sadly that even the smile was unable to hide it. And with that, he was gone.
Colby looked around, expecting for a moment to catch the hint of a pointed ear or the flash of a red cap behind a bush or in the trees. He didn't trust the things of the Limestone Kingdom and he supposed he never would. If they'd promised him twenty more minutes of peace, they'd be waiting to kill him in fifteen. There wasn't much time, so he took a shallow breath, reaching out with his thoughts, wading deep through the moist earth, looking for the oldest, gnarliest roots he could find. Then he turned and walked full speed into a fat, ancient oak, disappearing into its trunk, vanishing completely.
T
he most foolish mistake man often makes is believing that evil lurks only in the darkness. There is no safety in the sun. Only shadows fear the sun. And shadows are just the dark reflections of daylight. True evil is as at home in the bright light as it is in the darkness. And it has no qualms about snatching you right out in the open.
Colby's headache hadn't subsided. Though it hadn't gotten worse, it sure felt as if it had. His head continued on like an out-of-sync kettledrum, his mouth like he'd been eating a litter box. But it wasn't the worst hangover he'd ever had. Thus far, on the walk home, he'd only sworn off drinking four times. Some days he'd already managed that before breakfast.
He wandered in through the west side of town, up through the forests, past the suburban sprawl, and on into the oldest parts of the city. The trees were ancient here in comparison to outlying Austin; they were older than many of the buildings sprouting up as the city yawned and stretched its arms. The buildings were clustered together, tightly packed along the streets. It was greener here, homier here. And yet he was mere blocks from the newest buildings, towering slabs of condos swallowing up whole city blocks.
This was a place where he was used to seeing old spirits. Most of them were echoes, remnants of people long gone. Sometimes they were angels, demons, nightmarish things of all kind and sort, perched on ledges, stalking prey, sitting along the lake. For the most part, he'd stopped paying attention to them. They were like the faces of people on the bus. You see them, but you don't really
see
them. They're just background, so much static to be filtered out. But sometimes, just sometimes, he saw things that were just downright out of place.
And that's what he saw as he closed in on downtown.
An old man, untamed beard yellowed with age, clothes ragged and worn, riding a crocodile.
Now, this being Austin, Colby's first thought was how had someone managed to get a license for a crocodile?
That had to be illegal
. Then, as the haze of his pounding head cleared a bit, and his memory kicked into gear, it dawned on him that this was no man at all. And he realized just who, and more important, what this man was.
He was Agares, another of the Seventy-two, ruler of the eastern portion of Hell. Or so the story went.
He was decrepit, hair having fallen out in patches, drowning in wrinkles, hands speckled with liver spots, jowls drooping below his chin, beard holding on for dear life. His expression was cruel, hateful, like he was pissed at just being alive. And the crocodile beneath him seemed every bit as old, scales thick, scarred; teeth ocher with plaque, chipped, a number of them missingâno doubt left long ago in prey. When Agares laid eyes on Colby, his scowl became harder, sinister, as if he was ready to charge and kill Colby for no other reason than he didn't like the look of him.
Then the demon raised its hand, giving a slight little wave, and sat still, watching Colby walk past.
Colby's heart raced. He didn't know what to do. This was uncharted territory for him. Before last night he'd never seen a single one of the Seventy-two. Now one was strolling through Austin as if he was going to the corner store, and waving to Colby. A duke of Hell was a powerful thing; there was no fighting it were it to come to that. So Colby continued walking, trying to pretend he didn't see it.
Agares never took his eyes off Colby, not for a second, not until Colby had walked out of sight around a building.
Colby felt relieved, terror subsiding. He didn't know why the demon just let him pass, or why he was even here at all. Frankly, he didn't care to know; he just kept walking, pretending it hadn't happened.
Until it happened again, a few blocks deeper into the city.
This one Colby could not mistake for anything other than what it was. A large, strong, black wolf, its muscles bulging, fur sleek and full, bearing a rider, an angel, sprawling feathery white wings, china white skin, and the large, bulbous, brown feathered head of an owl. Andras, great marquis of Hell, sower of discord and confusion. In its hand it wielded a massive sword that gleamed in the shadows; with its other hand it pointed at Colby, a single, extended finger tracking him as he walked in its direction.
The owl-headed beast stared at Colby with its beady black eyes, its beak unmoving, its feathers ruffling as if it was ready to pounce. But he didn't move. He just stood there, staring, his wolf growling softly, just loud enough for Colby to hear.
And Colby kept walking, eyes down, the icy-cold glares of demons piercing any semblance of bravery. His insides quivered, turning to jelly, knees weak, breath short, chest caving in. If they wanted to kill him, they could and they would. But they didn't. And that's what scared him most. Whatever this was, whatever they had in mind, they wanted him to know that he was in their grasp whenever they wanted.
Pressing forward, deeper into the city, his pace quickened, trying to shorten the time between himself and the Cursed and the Damned. He thought about slipping into a tree, but there were too many people watching. That was the kind of attention he didn't need. So he hoofed it, uneasy with the knowledge that an owl-headed wolf-riding demon might be right behind him, steps away from cleaving him in two and dragging his soul straight down to Hell.
Eyes down, stride long, steps furious.
He stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light, looking around nervously.
The light changed and he sped across the street as fast as he could without running. Then, as his foot touched the curb, a voice called out, grating and malicious, its bass and tenor reverberating through his bones as if they'd been struck by a tuning fork. “Collllllllbyyyyy.”
He turned and saw the king of terrors, Asmodeus, a three-headed titan of a man, one head like a bull's, another like a ram's, the centermost that of a man, hideous, distorted. All six of its eyes cut bitterly into Colby from across the street. In front of Asmodeus stood an ordinary man, dressed for work, waiting, having just missed the light. Asmodeus approached from behind, walked right into him, melding until they were one, the demon no longer visible.
The man convulsed, shaking from a seizure, limbs twisting in odd directions, head nearly snapping atop his neck. Then the shakes calmed and he settled, the demon inside shifting uncomfortably as if trying to get a new suit to fall right. He put a single foot forward and stepped into traffic.
The light changed, a speeding truck slamming into him. The man was thrown like a rag doll, his bones powdered all at once, but the demon still stood in the place he had stepped out of. The truck screeched to a cockeyed stop, never having had the chance to brake before hitting the man, driving right through Asmodeus, all three of the demon's heads smiling. He stood there as the chaos of the accident unfolded around himâpeople screaming, the driver rushing out yelling obscenities, traffic coming to a standstill before the body even stopped rollingâbut Asmodeus never took his eyes off Colby. He just wrung his hands, cracking his knuckles, savoring the look of horror on Colby's face.
Colby ran. He didn't have time to play it cool anymore, didn't have an ounce of bravado left. Though his head still pounded and his throat was still raw and his stomach toppled like a carnival ride, he didn't notice, not a bit. All he knew was fear. Hell was coming for him, they were sending him a message, and it was reading loud and clear.
They were not going to let him go; they were not going to let him say no. He was theirs, and if they didn't want him to get out of this alive, he wouldn't.
He rounded a corner to the final stretch to the barâa straight shot of only a couple of blocksâlegs pumping like a track star.
And then he slowed, his muscles pulling him to a painful, sudden stop. He stood there on the sidewalk, eyes agape, mind reeling, entirely unsure how even to process what he was seeing.
Madness. He saw pure madness.
The buildings, the streets, this whole section of sun-drenched city, was lined from top to bottom with dozens of the Seventy-two. Demons and angels with forms as mind bending as any you could imagine. Angels with animal heads, dragons, serpents, jungle cats with wings and serpent tails, three-headed dogs, hounds with the faces of men, men with the faces of hounds. And everything in between. They stood along the sidewalks, on the ledges of buildings, lined the rooftops above him. Dozens, perhaps all. Colby couldn't tell. All he knew was that he recognized them, each and every dangerous one. He knew their names; he knew their deeds; he knew that every last one of them was staring right at him, never for a moment taking their eyes off him.
Not a one said a word. They stood silent, vigilant, faces cruel and emotionless, watching, waiting to see what he would do.
Whatever this was, whatever they wanted him to do, it was big.
He knew it was important when they sent two greater demons. Now he was staring down what might be all of them.
There was no talking his way out of this now.
He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and started walking.
Just a few more blocks
, he thought.
Just a few more blocks.
The demons, silent and unmoving, just watched.
O
ne of the only things more depressing than the current state of the Cursed and the Damned was seeing it cower in the alley from daylight. Though it had no windows, there was something about the harsh, stinging light of midday waiting just outside the door that made it all the more sad. Bars were places meant to be refuges from the dark, not suppliers of it. While it was easy to forget the time of day, and buy into the shadows of the piss-poor lighting and dim booths, all that goodwill went away the moment you stepped into the bustling afternoon of downtown.
It was enough to kill a buzz if you did it wrong.
And the only thing worse than all this was seeing that bar, in daylight, through the angry throbbing buzz of a hangover, knowing what hell waited on the streets and rooftops outside.