The Unnamed Story - Part 5

Oh, there it was, on the floor behind Jonas. A sludge demon too small to even be graded. The little creature was trucking along at a snail's pace, leaving a glittering trail of slime behind it. If it weren't black, it would have looked like nothing quite as much as a gigantic, mobile booger.

"I don't see anything, so they must have already left," Jonas said. "The other invocations weren't as big. Not even humanoid sized. Maybe the demons slipped out with the tenants."

"No, there's one right there," I answered, and pulled the generic banishing rune from my pocket. A quick underhand toss, and the goober went back to the nether, accompanied by a surge of alien disappointment.

"Oh, quiet. I'm not going to shoot something that can't fight back," I said.

"What? I didn't ask you to," Jonas said.

"Never mind," I said.

Jonas shook his head, and began the work of scrubbing the chalk lines off the floor with a rag from his pocket, starting from the inside and working his way out. I stood watch, still wary, and keeping alert in case the third demon showed up.

About halfway through, Jonas stopped. He turned his face up, and sniffed. I copied him, wincing as my ribs protested.

"Do you smell smoke?" he asked.

"Yes. Hurry," I answered.

Hunger boiled in my belly, accompanied by a possessive surge - only the first emotion was aimed at me. Was the gun talking to someone?

"I think we need to have a discussion about who owns who, mister," I said, still scanning the piles of junk for intruders. No source of the smoke was apparent, yet.

Jonas paused, looked at me, and then resumed scrubbing.

The weapon was puzzled by my comment, and quieted for a moment. Then my vision blurred, acquiring an overlay of color. The entire garage floor was laced with trails of green. A red point of light was dancing along the pavement, tainting whatever happened to be in its path. It intersected with one of the glowing green trails. The red turned from a tiny spark to a blinding wash of color.

My vision snapped back to normal. I fought back a surge of nausea, staggering, and then gasped. The faint hint of smoke in the air was strengthening.

"Tess, your nose is bleeding," Jonas said.

"Nevermind that, run!" I shouted.

On cue, fire arrived at the end of the trail of slime. Sparks flew to the concrete ceiling and extinguished, but some of them fell into the cardboard boxes that were stacked in a pile nearby. The dry, dusty fuel ignited.

"Shit!" Jonas exclaimed, dropping his cloth.

I turned, trying to run, and the floor bucked and heaved. Jonas grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet, hustling me towards the exit. The ground seemed out of sync with my feet, and I couldn't tell where the concrete ended. It was covered in a gray mist.

My weapon muttered an apology, but that didn't help worth a damn. I still couldn't see where to put my feet.

The fire, which was growing to a conflagration faster than we could move, had eyes. They watched us with malice. Paws swiped at us, and licks of flame snapped at our heels. At times, the fire lifted away from its fuel to reach for us, tearing at our clothing and leaving blisters in its wake.

The Unnamed Story - Part 4

Jonas pried open the demon's beak, and I tossed the banishing rune into its mouth. It swallowed, single eye bulging, and then imploded with a loud bang, returning to the elemental plane where it had been summoned from.

I holstered my weapon, who whispered his contentment.

"You all right?" Jonas asked.

"Bit my tongue, and I think I have some bruised ribs," I answered.

"Let's wrap up here, and I'll take you to get something hot to eat. That was some shooting, by the way. New gun?" Jonas asked.

"Yeah, I passed the sixth mastery," I answered. "Master Dan gave it to me as a present. Looks like it packs quite a punch."

Jonas grunted.

"Haven't been able to pass the third," he said.

He would have to let go of his hatred, for that. There was no point saying anything. Our mutual master of Discipline had told him often enough, and I didn't want to spoil Jonas's good mood.

"Our orders indicated the complaint originated in the basement," I said, avoiding the subject. "Let's see what bass-ackwards mistake the summoner made. Maybe our missing tenants will turn up while we're at it. Management is going to want that in our report."

Jonas nodded and led the way. I followed, keeping silent. The stairs sent a jolt of pain through my torso with every step, and only an effort of will kept my gasps inaudible. If Jonas realized how hurt I was, he would try to send me out, and he wouldn't make any extra effort to find the missing people.

We found the summoning circle in what had once been an underground garage. It had been converted into a storage area when magic came and the inevitable horde of imps made vehicles useless. I could still smell the tang of oil, but it was overpowered by cold concrete and dust.

The apartment manager had cordoned off spaces for the tenants using ropes and orange traffic cones. Clutter abounded. Old cardboard boxes vied for space with bicycles, musty furniture, and an assortment of random junk.

Someone had shoved the belongings out of four sections, swept the floor clean, and drawn their invocation using white chalk. I looked it over. The lines were precise, perfectly drawn and without the signs of the smudging or screwy spelling that would indicate an amateur mistake. I turned on my phone and took a picture, recording the inscription for study.

"Tess," Jonas said, his tone uneasy. "Is it just me, or are there three invocations in that thing?"

My weapon was in my hand without conscious thought. Free of the muffling influence of his holster, he roared in my mind, furious and possessive.

His ire didn't appear to be aimed at me. I spun on my heels, searching for the target of his anger. My ribs screamed with the motion, making me falter, and I pressed my free hand against my side. That didn't help, so I used it to steady my gun, instead.

The weapon hummed in my hand, dragging at my attention. I couldn't spot his target. A nudge, almost a tugging feeling, turned my head toward my partner.

The Unnamed Story - Part 3

At the sound of our voice, the whole mass of tentacles jerked and retreated. A basketball-sized eye peered out of the door to 213, and then disappeared. Sloshing and crunching noises, followed by a thud and a squeal, echoed through the hall.

"Shit," I said.

Dinner, the gun whispered.

"You don't think it ate them, do you?" I asked.

"Maybe," Jonas answered. His indifferent tone reminded me, again, that the well-being of the residents wasn't high on his list of priorities.

There was no point in dithering. I moved from the potted plant to the opposite wall, pressing my back against its surface. Weapon pointed at the ceiling, I inched sideways until I was a foot away from the open door, and then stopped. Jonas was close behind.

Inside the apartment, something slurped. I peered through the doorway, sure that the creature would hear the sound of my heart beating or the breath that whispered through my mouth one slow inhale at a time.

The demon was staring back at me.

I grabbed for the banishing rune in my pocket. My sudden motion must have startled the demon, which shrieked and flung a half-dozen tentacles at me. Two wrapped around my waist, pinning my arm to my side, and two more wrapped around my legs. The last pair reached up towards my gun arm, but when demonic flesh touched enchanted metal, the rubbery limbs sizzled and jerked away.

A sudden, hot burst of excitement from my gun, and then I was pulling the trigger. I didn't so much aim as point and click at the seething mass of black, rubbery limbs that were wrapped around my body.

BOOM!

I missed. I couldn't believe that I missed, but a hole the size of a dinner plate in the floor attested to it. The demon screamed and crushed me in his grip, clutching and twisting me like a rag doll. White streaks crawled through my vision.

My partner tore after the still-shrieking demon, chasing it into the apartment. My knees buckled and I fell to the ground, landing next to the severed, steaming ends of the tentacles that I thought I'd missed. Saltwater was leaking out of the wounds like air from a punctured tire, and the iron grip around my body slowly relaxed.

I took a breath, tasting blood, and pushed myself to my feet. My gun was still clutched in my right hand, humming with satisfaction. Thuds and squeals echoed from the interior of the apartment. There was no time to waste; Jonas probably had the creature well in hand, but he couldn't banish it.

The rune was inscribed on a smooth, polished glass sphere about the size of a silver dollar. It fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. I fished it from my pocket, switching my gun from my right to my left hand in the process, spat out some blood, and went to find the fight.

"Little help, here?" Jonas asked.

He'd ripped a twitching tentacle off the demon's body, and was punching the demon every time it tried to move. His blows left noticeable purple marks on the demon's body. I was starting to feel sorry for it; the poor thing had never stood a chance, and Jonas was being particularly ruthless.

"Open it up," I said.

The Unnamed Story - Part 2

Tuesday 5/27 I'll publish my post for the My Writing Process blog tour, whether I've found a second person to tag or not! In the meantime, please enjoy a second helping of The Unnamed Story.

Of course the gate was locked, with no apartment manager in sight. Jonas hit ageing hinges with a spinning kick. Sparks flew, and I backed away. He slammed his boot into the metal a second time. The gate groaned and buckled. On his third strike, it gave way with a shriek of tortured metal, falling to the ground.

"You know," I said, "Right over the entryway, there's a key box for the Fire Department. I could have opened it."

"Waste of time. Let's go," Jonas said.

"Demon first, or summoning circle?" I asked.

"Remember that one time in OC?" Jonas answered.

I did. The rust demon we'd been after had eaten away at the structural integrity of the building so much that when we'd eliminated his summoning circle, the whole place came down around our ears. We'd had to dodge chunks of concrete on the way out, and while we were running for our lives, the demon had taken advantage of its escape to eat everything metal on the block, from manhole covers to horseshoes. It had cost the city millions, and our insurance adjuster had been pretty upset. Fortunately, we hadn't been liable.

"Demon first," I said.

Jonas was faster than me, and his enchanted boots and gloves would give him an edge if he turned a corner and came face to face with our quarry, so he scouted ahead. I followed, drawing my weapon and releasing the safety. The strange, living warmth and eager shiver of metal and plastic in my hand both enticed and repulsed me.

The weapon felt hurt by my discomfort.

"Shh, you know I don't mean it," I whispered, stroking the barrel with my free hand.

A distant sense of hunger answered me; the discontent murmur of something alien whispering in its sleep.

"I'll feed you soon," I answered.

My stomach cramped.

"I'm hunting your dinner right now," I answered, keeping my voice as quiet as I could.

The weapon rewarded me with a pulse of excitement and pleasure, and I shivered. I'd only been issued the new gun a week ago. It - he, actually, since the weapon had a definite masculine feel - had been awarded by my master when I had passed a series of brutal exams that proved my ability to utilize demonic artifacts without corruption.

Artifacts weren't supposed to have feelings, or a gender. My last gun hadn't talked back to me, and I wasn't sure I liked the experience.

Jonas halted, dropping to a crouch and looking down the hall, using a large potted plant as cover. I caught up, and then sank to the floor next to him. The hall ahead was filled with a tangled nest of tentacles, and stank of saltwater. Chunks of plaster had been ripped out of the walls, probably by the demon's suckers as it moved around. The way we'd come was clear. Open doors and ravaged scenery suggested that the demon had come from the other direction.

"Looks like it's taken up shop in 213," Jonas said.

"Where the fuck are all of the residents?" I asked. "Have you seen any of the people that are supposed to be living here? I haven't."

"Don't know," Jonas answered.

The Unnamed Story - Part 1

It occurred to me that a certain segment of the population might think there's something political in this. There isn't. It's just a story, and I've been having fun with it. I have no intention or desire to bring politics into anything, thank you very much, so please keep them to yourself.

The Unnamed Story: Part 1

The atmosphere changed when I crossed the border between Downtown and the Pits. The scent of pollution and the sound of traffic receded into the background; magic was too strong and erratic to risk any sort of modern technology. Horses and mules clopped around on cracked pavement, moving with a kind of hyper-aware tenseness, as though ready to bolt at any moment.

It isn't that machines don't work in magic zones, it's the imps. They adore heat, and their little bodies gum up the works of anything that gets too hot. Take the standard internal combustion engine, for example. Imps absolutely love engines. The moving parts will kill the stupid critters, of course, which means the engine ends up filled with stinking purple goo. Expensive as all hell to clean, and finding tiny body parts for days afterward is pretty distressing. Except for the head and skin color, imps look so human.

My partner and I hustled through the Pits on foot. Our instructions led us to an area that at first glance looked normal, minus the broken glass festooned all over the city street.

“1543 Second Street,” I said, checking my notebook. “This is it.”

Right on cue, a tentacle writhed out of one of many shattered windows of a three-story apartment complex, and I swallowed.

“You've gotta be kidding me,” my partner Jonas said.

The thing was matte black, scars and octopus-like suckers glistening and pale gray against rubbery skin. It quested around, feeling the hot Los Angeles sidewalk until it found a battered fire hydrant. With an excited quiver, the tentacle wrapped itself around the device and yanked it out of the cement. Water gushed upwards in a torrent. The tentacle doused itself in water and then retreated. Moments later, several more tentacles burst through neighboring windows, rushing for the artificial geyser.

“According to the complaint, one of the tenants summoned a Grade-1 water demon into the basement. Could be worse, could've been a fire demon. There are several hundred legal residents living in this building,” I said, swaying back on my heels while I surveyed the monster.

“How many illegal ones?” Jonas asked.

I shrugged and stuck my little notebook where it belonged, back in a weatherproofed interior pocket of my jacket. The tentacles retreated into the ravaged apartment building, leaving nothing but broken glass and fountaining water in their wake.

“Doesn't matter," I said. "Management only released two banishing runes to me, one calibrated to water and the other generic. We'll send this puppy back to the Nether and get out quick.”

Jonas scowled.

“Stupid and shortsighted. If it was up to me, we'd have this place cleared of illegals in a week,” he said.

My partner stomped towards the apartment entrance before I could answer. I shrugged again, following him. At fifteen thousand clinks a pop, banishing runes weren't cheap. Deporting every single illegal demon resident would bankrupt us. We'd had that conversation before. Jonas would pepper every demon and mixie with banishing runes if he thought he could get away with it, whether they had papers or not.