The Night Beat, From the Necropolis Enforcement Files (50 page)

“Come on,” Benny said. “You’re talking Judas, right? And that means his best friend, too, since they work together more often than not.” Ralph and I both turned and looked at him over our shoulders. “What? I told you I had a good friend who’s pretty powerful. So he let some things slip out of school. So what? As has been amply stated, I’m on your side.”

“Who is your good buddy the warlock? You never told us.”

Benny sighed. “You just talked to him.”

“The Count? He’s not a warlock!”

“No.” Benny grinned. “You forget -- liches are dead spell-casters.”

“Monty? Monty’s your buddy?” I looked at Ralph. “Every hour, it’s new information. Am I the most uninformed being in all of Enforcement?”

Ralph shook his head. “Didn’t occur me, either.” He eyed Benny. “But I’ve also never seen any lich cast a spell…in over four hundred years.”

“You mean you don’t know that they’re casting them,” Benny said. “Look, kids, liches are powerful. But the ones on our side are smart enough to lay low.” He patted our shoulders. “You want me to tell you about the others?”

“What others? And why do you know so much more about the undead than we do?”

He shrugged. “Watch the road. I’m in real estate and I’m a fence. It pays to do your research in both cases. So, I researched. And by the others, I mean those undeads who have additional talents, more than their undead race would insinuate.”

I groaned. “Okay, this is information for another time, unless it helps us now.”

“Well, you already talked to one of them, if I’m not mistaken.”

I thought about it. “Merc and L.K. are also warlocks? As well as wraiths?”

“Let’s say they’re continuing to cast the same kinds of spells as undeads as they did as living rock stars, and leave it at that. The Bard, too.”

Ralph heaved the big canine sigh. “Are we the only undeads who don’t do all the fancy spell-casting?”

“Oh, any being can learn it,” Benny said cheerfully. “You just have to have an open mind and a willingness to experiment.”

“You a spell-caster, too?” Why not? Maybe everyone did it other than me and Ralph. It’d been that kind of week.

Benny snorted. “Hardly. But, as I said, if you want to be a good fence, you need to know what’s coming through, what it does, what it’s worth, who needs it, and who should be kept away from it.”

“You know,” I said to Ralph, “when this all started, I felt pretty competent.”

“I know what you mean.”

“So, you think someone cast a spell on Judas?”

“Benny, call him Jude, okay? It’s easier.” It also kept newer undeads of certain religious persuasions from attacking him before they understood just what his role in Yahweh’s grand scheme had been. “But, yeah, I think so.”

“I don’t buy it,” Ralph said. “Jude’s too powerful not to notice.”

“Agreed, over a long period of time. Only, I don’t think it required a lot of time. A lot of effort, probably, but not time. It’s like when Nero escaped when we were here before. Everyone else was focused elsewhere, he slipped off quietly, by the time we caught on, he was long enough gone you couldn’t catch him.”

“Of course, Wagner let Nero get away.” Ralph wasn’t trying to hide the snide.

“I’m sure. Now. But however it was done, my guess is that Jude was blocked just long enough to cast the spells that blocked him and let Abaddon in. Then blocked again when Slimy showed up, dragging Apollyon and the Adversary along with him. That’s all it would take. Jude’s focused on keeping them out. Once they’re in, it’s our job to spot and stop them.”

“And we’re doing
so
well.”

“Why the sad dog face? We’re alive, we’re together, we have the bag of badness, and Benny the Know-It-All Fence. I think we’re doing pretty well.”

“Here’s hoping that can-do attitude helps us when it matters,” Benny muttered.

“No worries. We’re about to find out.”

Chapter 68

We reached the parking lot for the Little Church. It wasn’t blocked, but it wasn’t empty, either. There were a few nicer cars parked near the entrance. I pulled in next to what I was pretty sure was the S-Class we’d lifted. It was nice to have a semblance of confirmation that I was on the right scent.

We got out of the car, Benny clutching the bag of evil goodies. “What do I do if someone attacks me for this?” he whispered.

“Scream like a banshee, run like a werewolf, hold onto it like a miser.”

“You’re such a help and a comfort.”

“I do my best for all citizens of Prosaic City and Necropolis.”

Ralph sniffed. “How about for citizens of other cities and, I think, countries?” He sniffed again. “And these cars were at the cemetery the other day, at least some of them were.”

More confirmation. No conclusion, but at least confirmation. “Well, let’s just say that I think they’re going to be relieved to see us and leave it at that.” Honesty forced an addendum. “Or else they’re going to all try to kill us. But, you know, either way, we’re ready.”

“We are?” Ralph didn’t sound convinced.

“Yes. We have everything we need right here.” I hoped.

We entered the Little Church quietly. It didn’t look like anything had happened. “It was practically destroyed when I saw it Sunday,” Benny whispered in my ear.

“Some spells work faster than others,” I whispered back.

What the church wasn’t was empty. It was hardly filled to capacity, but there were at least a couple dozen people here. Which fit with the number of cars in the parking lot.

“Most of these were at the cemetery the other day, for that funeral,” Ralph said, sniffing up a storm.

“Isn’t that Reverend ‘Jeremiah’ Johnson?” Benny asked, nodding towards the good-looking man in the center of the group. “He must be sick about what’s gone on in his church.”

The base of my tail started to vibrate. “Benny, is he a good man or a charlatan?”

“Actually, he’s a good one. I know, hard to believe. But he
does
believe and he wants to help people. Very decent. Pity about his son.”

The base of my tail shared that it loved Benny and wanted to keep him around forever. “I know how they did it.”

“How who did what?” Ralph asked.

I didn’t answer. I was too busy looking for a minion. Of any kind. Only, none were in evidence. I considered the possibility that this was a trap -- the possibility was high. Then again, we didn’t have a lot else to work with. Because if I didn’t get the beings responsible for the spell that had blocked Jude onto our side, pronto, we were probably going to lose.

There were two distinct groups of people in this church -- those who clearly spent their lives preaching the Word in one way or another and what I was about a hundred percent sure were our favorite group of deaders’ nearest and reasonably dearest. They were divided, with the Right Reverend and his wife literally bridging the gap.

The humans were involved in what seemed like an animated conversation on both sides, but they noticed us, finally. A man dressed in what I was pretty sure were African ceremonial religious robes nudged Reverend Johnson and he gave us his attention. No toothy smile, though. None of the humans looked happy.

“Can we help you?” Johnson asked.

I strode forward, Ralph trotting next to me, Benny scurrying behind. “Detective Wolfe, Prosaic City P.D. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

The humans all looked at each other. Clearly, questions were not on tonight’s church social agenda. “What about?” Johnson asked. “And why do you have a…dog…in here?”

“K9 unit. He’s trained to sniff out drugs, bombs and illegal immigrants.” Ralph started sniffing all the attendees. “Good boy. So, Anthony Tomio, how many of you know him? Oh, and protestations that you’ve never heard the name will be met by some nasty police brutality.”

“Brutality?” Johnson asked.

“I believe in truth in advertising. Now, show of hands, how many here know or have at least met Tomio?” I ensured my voice didn’t sound kindly and Ralph put on the low-level growl that all canines can do that shares said canine is considering the benefits of going Cujo.

Led by the few kids in attendance, all those in the relatives crowd raised their hands, some quite slowly. Seeing this caused a goodly portion of the religious leaders’ paws to go into the air, the Right Reverend and his wife included. With typical group behavior, finally all arms were raised. Minus one.

The one individual who didn’t raise a limb was small and mousy-looking, dressed like an old-fashioned Anglican minister. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re referring to,” he said nervously as I gave him the full benefit of my attention.

This time I didn’t even need to give an under-the-breath command. Ralph was on him faster than a starving dog on a week-dead possum. The little guy shrieked and the humans started to make a fuss.

“Humans -- back off!” I barked, literally. I was louder that way.

The “little man” changed fast. He was still little, but a lot more powerful. I heard one of the women shriek. “He looks like Adolph Hitler!”

Ralph and Hitler boiled around each other. Ralph was doing serious damage, but Hitler was talking, and that wasn’t good. I desperately wanted to get in there and help kick evil warlock butt, but I didn’t think it was wise to leave Benny and the special bag unprotected.

Happily for all, Black Angels One and Two deigned to take an interest. There was a flurry of wings and then Ralph jumped back and out of the fray. He scrambled back to me and Benny. “That was gross. He tastes awful. Worse than the Adversary.”

We both gagged. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Are they winning?” Benny asked nervously.

I turned back and watched them rend Hitler limb from limb. I heard him begging for mercy. Miriam laughed, a very harsh, terrifying laugh. The humans huddled closer together, both groups mingling out of fear.

“Why are they being so…horrible to him?” one of them asked.

Magdalena looked over her shoulder. “Lord, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Then she went back to the task at hand.

Ralph went to the woman who’d asked. “He actually
is
Adolph Hitler. And before they were angels, before they had a place in the pantheon of the religions of this world, they were Jews. Think about it.” He looked around. “Anyone else with a stupid question?” There was a pleasant silence, if you didn’t count the sounds Hitler was making.

Dusting a powerful minion isn’t the same as dusting your average baddie on the street. As with fallen angels, warlocks require specific steps. We’d rarely had the time in the past. Yet Black Angels One and Two were well into the process and no other major minion, or even a minor minion, was on hand to try to stop them.

I went to Johnson. “Why did they decide to sacrifice him to us?”

Johnson looked blank. “I’m sorry?”

“The missing bodies,” Miriam called. I really did idolize them, but they weren’t the most communicative operatives out there.

However, I had most of my puzzle pieces put together and that one fit in nicely into one of the holes in the big picture. “As Ralph said, the being our best teams are destroying there is really Adolph Hitler. He’s been the highest level warlock on the Prince’s team since he died on the Earth Realm. The Prince is evil incarnate. You’re all about to help bring Armageddon about, though I’ll wager you either think you’re stopping it or about to ascend in the Rapture. Which is it?”

Johnson shook his head. “We were warned that evil demons would come and try to ruin God’s plan.”

“Right. They did. And you’re working with them. You did some kind of prayer that blocked our agents and allowed some of the most evil of the Prince’s minions onto this plane. And you did it at least twice. I want to know what that spell was.”

Everyone was silent. Lots of foot shuffling and eye contact avoidance. Okay, it’d been a long week. “Fine. Ralph, Benny, we dust them all.”

“What?” Johnson looked horrified. “You can’t just kill us!”

“Can and will. If the Prince’s side wins, we’re all dusted or evil minions anyway. And despite the fact the bad guys showed you your loved ones, they’re dead and they’re not ascending to heaven, nor joining us on the undead realm.”