Demon portals are not like ours. Maybe it is because they live in there, or maybe it's because I went through on the last, hatred fuelled push of a dying demon, but time passes in there. It feels like a long time. Like forever.
So cold. Can't see anything. Hands throbbing in pain, knotted hard enough into the demons neck stump that my claws are driven through into my hands. I am not going to let go. Let go and I know I'll keep falling and falling. Stench of death and electricity all round me. As if responding to my very thoughts, the demon falls. Hits. Bang my head hard on its back and grey out. Something pulls at me. Somehow force my hands to grip tighter. It pulls harder. Kick out, connect with something soft. Hear a grunt of pain. Pulls again.
“Cat, would you just let go! You are safe.” Never let go. Only safety is holding on. Pitch black and cold. “ Pizda ti bosanska! Cat, LET GO! We have got to get this freezing muck off you.” Vaguely recognise the voice.
“Can't see.” Whisper hoarsely. Feels like I am talking through a thousand razor blades.
“Of course you can't, cretino, your eyes are still frozen shut.” A different voice. Also recognise it. “Now let go so we can get you somewhere to clean you up.”
“Can't. Fingers won't move.” Hear a swift, whispered conversation. Can't make it out. Someone leaves and quickly returns. Feel warm liquid on my hands. A warm, wet cloth on my face, loosening the binding on my eyes. Force one eye open, see Sergei's concerned face inches from mine as he washes away the frozen demon ichor. The other eye slowly opens. James, pouring hot water over my hands. Ah, I see the problem. My claws. Send the retract signal. They stay stubbornly extended. Grit my teeth and force my hands open slowly, claws sliding painfully out of my flesh.
“The others? They are safe?” Voice still a whisper. James hands me a drink of warm water. Rinse and spit a couple of times, then take a swallow. Painful but not too bad. Feels like I have been running in the winter now. James and Sergei glance at each other.
“They transited to Seattle to help the other teams. Last we heard they were all alive, feeling very vengeful and finishing the mop up there. They know you are alive and will return as soon as the job is done. Now, let us get you to your quarters, fed and cleaned up. You have done enough.” I am too tired to argue. As Sergei knows, without eating substantially and some rest, I will be useless for days. Using enhancement carries a very heavy metabolic price. Besides, the state I am in at the moment, either of them could take me down with one hand. I nod wearily. As we leave, a small popping explosion rings out from the door.
James explains. “That is one secret room that will never be secret again.” A squad of the Guard jogs up to take up position outside the room. They glance in and gape at the demon, then look at me in awe. My legs shake as I walk around the corner, head high, shoulders back as far as their stiffness will let them..
“They out of sight yet?” I whisper to James. He simply grunts, and picks me up, carrying me like a child. No complaints here.
* * *
“Trackers report the building clear, Sir”. A youngster, still in training. Painfully aware that it is his first mission. Check on him. Two confirmed banishments. Not a bad start at all.
“Good. Start everyone falling back to recall.” It would be far easier and quicker to do it over the comm net, but give the young one some task to do. Maybe pride will help him sleep tonight. Kick something. Piece of a metal store sign, jagged along one edge where it had been ripped down from the wall. Idly bend, pick it up and turn it over. Try to make out what it says, slowly walking back to the rendezvous point. Footsteps and a clicking from the side corridor.
“What you got, Luis?” Seraphina gives a tired smile. “Souvenir?” He snorts with laughter. The thin plaster of the wall beside her erupts, the long clawed arms of a War Lych reaching for her with eerie speed. She stumbles back, slipping in a puddle and falling with a hard bang on the floor. Sound of running feet as anyone near races to help. It is nearly out of the wall now. Seraphina scrambles backwards across the floor, no time to get up. No time to free a hand to banish it. Flash charges with a hoarse roar, tripping the Lych as it finally struggles out of the hidden access way. No time to think. No time. With a cry of pure, frustrated rage, Luis raises the sign and brings the jagged edge down hard on its extended neck.
It collapses. Not moving. Franco, first around the corner, throws a banishment at it.
Nothing happens. It is dead. Luis looks around frantically. This can't be happening.
“Zero Cruz. Welcome.” del Toro's voice is warm, slightly sad. Wickham helps Seraphina up as she gives Luis a mischievous smile. “I knew I had to be here for some reason.”
Luis groans. “Margareta is going to kill me for this.”
Seraphina looks compassionate, but still amused. “Not this time, Luis. Not this time.”
* * *
Living with one who many consider to be a goddess, or at least her Earthly avatar, has it's upsides. The main benefit at the moment is not being killed instantly by a pissed off sharpshooter who is black belt in seven martial arts. Margareta stalked into the pool area like a dog, facing down a pack of wolves, and made a beeline for the Jacuzzi.
“This is ...” she started, glaring at me, hands dangerously close to her gun.
“What was meant to be.” Seraphina interjects. Voice cold enough to give me a chill in the hot water. “It was foreseen. Do you doubt what must be?” Margareta sags.
“No, dama, but ...”
Seraphina turns to me. “Yuli is ready for you. Go get your massage, so your claws will retract fully and you won't rip up the sheets and my back yet again. Margareta, shed your uniform and get in here. We need to talk. And I am too cold to sit out of the warmth.” What do you do? I left, rapidly. Mamma never raised no fools.
Head for one of the big massage rooms. Most of the side rooms holding one or two people are full anyway. The healers are big on physical therapy, and touch, along with the emotional therapy of talking out the nightmares. Some, me included, prefer semi privacy for baring the soul as well as the body. But today, I think I will serve best in the group sessions. They need me. An example of, whatever they have been through, someone else has been through worse. And that we all understand and don't judge. I really need to talk the wild ride out of my system. The Catholics and the Communist Chinese both had the right idea. Talk out your actions. Share the sins, the terrors, the regrets, and they have less power over you. It works. It is why we do it. We share. We don't judge, or comment. Just listen.
Settle on a table next to Hong and Wickham. Trent is finishing his tale. Slightly proud of his first mission, yet ashamed of the fear he had felt. A stillness settles over the room. Yuli starts massaging my back and legs. He knows me well enough to avoid my hands until the tale is told. I can get heavily into gestures at times, and my claws are not kind to human skin and flesh. Trent, finished, asks the traditional question: “Felix Stevens, do you have something to share?” Deep breath.
Tell the tale. All of it. Unedited. Stream of consciousness. The rage, the pain, the terror and the sheer, wild, feral joy I took in killing the supposedly unkillable. And the intense fear and loneliness of that wild ride through nega space on the back of a corpse. It spills out, like vomiting up bad meat. It ends. Finally. I pass the ball to Sherilee, one of the Protection team. And Yuli finally starts to work on my badly overstrained hands, massaging the extra muscles and persuading my claws to relax. Like a blessing. Like a benediction.
* * *
Don Brent leans back from his desk and rubs his eyes. Tired. Haven't been this tired since that three way double cross that landed him in charge of one of the ripest and most lucrative territories of the Family. A life of trying to stay ahead of the police on four continents has given him an instinct. One that tells him that the serious battle is still to come. All the information he has coming in is confirming that. Paris. The next major show down, according to his sources.
Show no fear. Show no worry. Prepare for it. Plan. Use what you got to minimise risk and maximise return. That is the usual. This time though ...
Regret helping Cat? No. Debts are always paid in full, no matter what the personal cost. His one, fixed rule in dealing with people. You owe. You pay. Full stop. Hold the small fry to it, the shopkeepers and small businesses, and holds to it himself. Unfashionable. But there you go.
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