Hellgate London: Goetia Page 11

  The vidscreen showed night all around the ATV, but the onboard infrared systems lit up the landscape. Sensors constantly swept the rolling countryside for any signs of life.

  In the distance, the dark clouds above London hung heavily over the tall buildings. Seated in the sling seat, Leah kept watch and silently hoped all of them made it back from the coast alive.

  Thirteen

  As the guards closed in on him, Warren tried to stand his ground, but the drug in his system kept his senses spinning. He couldn’t focus enough to direct an attack. They were on him in seconds and beat him to the ground. Their hard fists slammed into his face and body. Even though it shook him physically, he didn’t feel most of the assaults. Likely, the same drug that weakened him also removed most of the pain. It was an unexpected benefit, but not one that was going to save his hand from being cut off.

  They forced him prone, facedown on the floor. Men sat on his legs and his back to keep him helpless. Someone screwed a pistol into the back of his neck. The barrel was cold and hard.

  “No one said you have to be alive when they remove your hand,” a man yelled into Warren’s ear. “They’ll take it off your dead body even easier.”

  The Cabalists had never truly taken Warren in as one of them. He had barely known them when the initial group he had met summoned Merihim. Few forgave him the deaths of all those people. Naomi had been the only one to show him any kindness or respect.

  Now it looked as if Kelli was more true to him while she was rotting away in one of the rooms of his sanctuary.

  Fear ran wild within Warren, like a rabid animal jacked up on amphetamines.

  “Get his arm up here,” Cornish ordered.

  At least three men struggled to pull Warren’s arm up from his side. He yanked and pulled against them with all the strength that he had. Since the demon hand had been grafted onto his arm, he knew he had become faster and stronger than anything human. At least, faster and stronger than any human he had so far met.

  In the end though, he was one man against several. They pulled his arm forward.

  “Hold it still,” someone ordered.

  Even with his senses ricocheting inside his head, Warren realized they had made a mistake. He almost laughed. Except that he knew they would correct the mistake as soon as they caught it. To make matters worse, they might not catch that mistake until it was too late. He might end up with no hands at all.

  “It’s not this hand,” a man said. “This hand is human. Get the other hand.”

  The guards struggled to bring Warren’s other arm forward as they took his other arm back. Warren stopped fighting when he realized that struggling against them also served to break his concentration.

  It was hard mastering the panic within him enough to shove it away and allow him to focus on building his energy. He tried to ignore the trapped feeling he had as he lay on the floor with his arm stretched out. He gathered his power and envisioned what he wanted to do.

  “Do you only want the hand?” a man asked. “Or do you want part of his arm too?”

  “Just the hand,” Cornish answered as coldly as though he. were ordering a cut of meat from the local butcher.

  “Someone pass me that bone saw.”

  When there was no time left, as he felt the cold bite of a sharp, serrated blade against his wrist, Warren unleashed the power within. A violent shockwave exploded from Warren’s body and hurled his attackers from him.

  They sailed in all directions, many of them yelping at the sudden contact against the floor or walls.

  Surprised by how well the attack succeeded, Warren pushed up from the floor and stood swaying. He faced Cornish and pointed the demon’s hand.

  Flames poured from Warren’s fingers and streaked for Cornish. The First Seer crossed his hands in front of him. Flames encircled Cornish and filled the room with heat. Still struggling to stay on as feet, Warren tried to peer through the flames but couldn’t see anything. He fully expected nothing to be left of the man but charred bone, and he didn’t know how the other Cabalists were going to deal with that.

  But in the next moment, Cornish stepped through the flames. His robes smoldered in several places. Smoke eddied up from his hair and clothing. He patted several embers out and smiled.

  “Well, after that, I don’t know if I’ll be needing your demon’s hand if that’s all you can manage,” Cornish declared.

  It might be different if I weren’t drugged, Warren thought. He summoned his power again, but it was hard to manage because it kept slipping through his fingers.

  Cornish gestured. In the next second, Warren felt as though he had been kicked in the chest by a mule. He left his feet and flew backwards into a group of guards. AD of them went down flailing.

  Several of the guards tried to hold on to Warren. He broke their attempts to hold him while he rained blows on exposed faces. Eventually, they let him up.

  No longer able to bear the drug in his system, Warren changed tactics. He concentrated on the drug, visualizing it as a liquid in his bloodstream, as a poison that wasn’t part of him. He’d never tried to affect anything in his body. Once he had the image smoothed out, he used power to burn out the poison inside him.

  Almost immediately, he began to feel better. His head cleared and he was better to able to focus.

  Cornish gestured again, and once more Warren was driven backwards. This time, though, he kept his feet through sheer willpower.

  It wasn’t going to do any good, he knew. Ultimately they were going to have what they wanted. Cornish gestured again, and Warren rebounded from the wall behind him. His breath left him in an explosive rush. Black spots whirled, flared, and died in his vision.

  Panic escalated within him. What he felt now set off the old fear that he’d had as a child when his stepfather had beaten him and his mother. The medicines and counseling he’d received as a child after he’d caused his stepfather’s death—the police investigators had ruled the shooting a suicide, but Warren knew he’d caused the man to shoot himself—had taught him to wall that fear away. He’d never been able to rid himself of it.

  Now it was back. He didn’t want to be afraid. He didn’t want to be hurt. And he didn’t want to die.

  Then don’t die, Merihim whispered into his mind. You’re not as valuable to me dead.

  For one hideous moment Warren realized that he wouldn’t be free of the demon’s control even in death. Merihim could animate his corpse and order him to serve him still further.

  As he stared at the Cabalists regrouping to come at him again, Warren’s vision cleared. His breath returned as his heart rate slowed to more manageable levels. He felt Merihim’s strength within him.

  Your enemies are my enemies, Merihim stated. There’s more to this encounter than meets the eye.

  Warren didn’t worry about that. He wanted out of the meeting alive. He pulled himself together and stood a little straighter.

  The Cabalists noticed the change in his demeanor. A few of them hesitated.

  “Give up, you fool,” Cornish ordered. “Accept your fate and I’ll make it as painless as possible.”

  Painless? Anger grew stronger in Warren. There isn’t anything painless about being too weak to take care of yourself.

  The demon’s hand rose before him, and he couldn’t honestly say whether it was through his effort or Merihim’s. For the moment they were one.

  A shimmering wave passed from Warren’s hand. The Cabalists braced themselves for a violent attack. Instead, the shimmering wave touched the first four Cabalists. They stood in surprise as it wound around them.

  Then one of them laughed. “I guess he doesn’t have anything left.”

  In the next instant, though, the blood veins in the men’s flesh turned black. The patterns, looking like streets and roads that crisscrossed each other, stood out against pale and dark flesh alike. Then, the men’s flesh turned putrescent green and they started screaming in agony.

  The other men stepped back from them, as if w
hatever their comrades had might be contagious.

  The four men dropped onto the ground. Their faces writhed in anguish as they tried to hold themselves up. Their efforts only delayed the inevitable. In the end, they fell to the floor and slumped bonelessly.

  Warren knew they were dead. He’d felt the life leave them.

  The Cabalists stepped farther back from Warren. They looked to Cornish for guidance.

  “Don’t hesitate, you fools!” Cornish exploded. He gestured and a wave of flame spewed from his palm.

  Warren knew he couldn’t get out of the way in time. He also knew he hadn’t ever seen anyone else wield that much power. Something was wrong. He remembered Merihim saying there was something else going on.

  Instinctively, Warren held his hand before him. The whirling mass of flames halted only inches from him, then it blew out as effortlessly as a birthday candle.

  Fear showed on Cornish’s face then.

  Warren turned his attention to the four dead men on the floor. He tapped into the dark energy that Merihim passed through his body. At his silent command, the four dead men reanimated. Their limbs jerked and shivered.

  The Cabalists drew back to the entrances to the room. The dead men lurched to their feet and stood before Warren. Their flesh showed virulent green with corruption.

  Even though Warren had raised a great number of zombies from the graveyards and from the dead he’d found lying in the street, he’d never seen any like this. Like a pack of hungry wolves, they sprang at Cornish.

  The First Seer tried to turn and run, but it was already too late. He was slower than the zombies. They grabbed him and bore him to the floor on his back.

  “Stop!” Cornish yelled. “Get them off me!”

  A couple of the more stalwart among the security guards rushed forward. They wielded truncheons, but they had no effect on the zombies other than to draw their attention. The zombies rose and lashed out with arms that struck like battering rams.

  One of the zombies punched through the chest of a Cabalist. The man died in an instant, and his skin turned the same mottled green with black veins by the time he sank to his knees. When the zombie that had killed him yanked his arm back, the newly dead man rose as a zombie as well.

  The other man tried to break free of the second zombie’s grip. Despite the kicks and punches, the zombie took him to the ground and threw itself on top of him. His teeth found the screaming Cabalist’s throat and savaged it like a wild animal.

  “Warren!”

  As he cut his eyes to Naomi, Warren caught sight of the man dying then returning almost immediately as a zombie. It was all he could do to watch.

  “Warren.” Naomi approached him slowly. She held her arms out to her sides. Frightened tears shimmered in her eyes. “I had nothing to do with this.” Her gaze implored him to believe her.

  One of the new zombies stepped quickly to intercept her and keep her from reaching Warren. Naomi drew back. She had no defensive powers. Her talents primarily lie in divination.

  “Please,” she said in a tight voice. Tears streamed down her face. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  Let her die, Merihim whispered.

  No, Warren said. She’s my friend.

  She led you into this trap.

  She said she didn’t know. Warren felt the hunger within him to see Naomi dead. He knew it wasn’t his own; it was feeding into him from Merihim. It was everything he could do to restrain it.

  You’re a fool to believe her.

  Warren didn’t believe her. At least, he didn’t believe her entirely. But he didn’t want to kill her.

  “Don’t hurt her,” he told the zombie.

  The creature froze in place.

  Hesitantly, Naomi lowered her hands from in front of her. “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely.

  One of the Cabalists pulled a pistol from his robes. Apparently not all of them believed their spells and powers were answers to all problems.

  Fourteen

  The Cabalist guard leveled the weapon in front of him. Warren saw that it was a traditional handgun that fired bullets, not flames or sonic waves or anything else used by the Templar or the special commando units that occasionally still fought within London.

  Warren flicked the demon’s hand in the man’s direction. A wave of fire leaped forward just as the man squeezed the trigger.

  The harsh detonation of the pistol sounded overly large in the enclosed space. The wave of fire flared briefly as it caught the bullet and burned it up. The man was caught flat-footed as the whirling flames engulfed him. He managed one scream before the flames stabbed greedy fingers down his throat and seared his lungs. Dead already, he collapsed.

  Warren walled away his fear and leaned on the demon’s strength. “If any more of you raise your hands against me, I won’t rest until I kill you all.”

  The surviving Cabalists looked at the smoldering and poisoned bodies before them and quickly fled the room.

  Merihim’s mocking laughter roared in Warren’s head.

  Bruised and aching from the pummeling he’d received, Warren stepped toward the First Seer. Cornish stared up at him with frightened eyes.

  “Do you want me to beg for my life?” Cornish asked.

  Yes, Merihim told Warren. Let him beg. You never feel as empowered as you do when you have someone begging for his life before you.

  The thought sickened Warren. He didn’t want to hear the man beg.

  You’re too weak, Merihim told him. You have all that anger stored up inside you, all that fear, and you don’t utilize it to its full advantage.

  “I’ll… beg if you… want me… to,” Cornish said. His voice was soft and hoarse.

  He’ll lie to you, Merihim said. He’ll beg for his life today, then he’ll plot to take yours tomorrow.

  Warren didn’t doubt that. He’d seen Cornish’s kind all his life. Bullies who made the most of their power, whether they were a manager at a quick mart he’d worked at or the building super where he’d shared the rent of a flat.

  So many people with just a little power let it go to their heads. Having power only made them worse.

  “I…beg you,” Cornish said.

  Even lying there in the grip of the zombies, the First Seer had trouble saying the words. Warren knew the man would never recover from the ignominy of his rough treatment at Warren’s hands. He would live only to send more people after him, and he would never risk being this close again.

  Warren knew that because it was what he would do if the roles were reversed.

  And still he stayed his hand.

  You’re a fool! Merihim exploded. This man offers you nothing in return for any kindness you might show him, and he’ll harbor only a thirst for revenge. If you let him live you’re only signing a death sentence for yourself.

  Warren turned away before the fear overcame him and he did what the demon wished. Naomi stood nearby watching him.

  Look at her, Merihim ordered. Look into her eyes. Does she think she sees a man willing to he forgiving? Or do you think she sees a man afraid to seize his destiny?

  Warren didn’t know. He didn’t want to think like that. He wished he could be gone from that place immediately. He wished he’d never come.

  You came because you wanted to impress her. How impressed do you think she is?

  Warren ignored the voice and tried to walk through the door. He didn’t know if he would even live to walk outside. But he couldn’t move.

  No, Merihim said. There’s more here than you think.

  Abruptly, the mirror on the table that Cornish had been gazing into turned molten red. At first Warren thought the smoke rising from it was caused by the table burning. Then he saw that the smoke came from the mirror’s gleaming surface.

  * * * *

  Merihim took shape in the climbing smoke pooling against the ceiling. He formed with his back to Warren as if he were ashamed of his chosen vassal.

  The demon had a blunt face and a square jaw covered with red scales. T
wo horns jutted from his forehead and towered above him, adding another foot of height. Scars ridged his brow and cheeks from past battles had turned black with age. Massively muscled and broad, the demon stood almost eight feet tall. Blue-green armor made of lizard scales from a vanquished monster covered his body. A long, heavy broadsword hung at his hip, Naomi shrank back. She’d only seen the demon in visions, never in the flesh.

  Merihim ignored Warren and strode to the First Seer spread-eagled on the ground by the poisoned zombies. The zombies all hummed like children at the demon’s approach.

  Warren knew from his own use of the zombies that the response was more a generation of the power they sensed than out of any emotional well. Zombies held nothing over from their former lives. They were automatons that awaited orders from whoever had raised them.

  Effortlessly, Merihim dropped into a crouch beside Cornish.

  “What secrets do you hold, little man?” the demon asked.

  “Don’t kill me,” Cornish begged. “Please don’t kill me. I can serve you better than he does. I can be more than he is.”

  Warren didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected Cornish to try something like that. And if the demon took the First Seer up on his offer, what would happen to Warren?

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw Naomi staring at him. If his life was forfeit, she knew hers was too.

  “No.” Merihim’s voice was flat and mocking. “You already serve another. That’s the problem. You already staked your life with the one you chose to serve.” The demon traced the ridge of Cornish’s left eye with a thick talon. “I doubt your master would let you live after your offer.”

  “Please. You can protect me. I know you can protect me. You’re stronger than she is.” Cornish struggled fiercely but hopelessly against his zombie captors.

  Merihim grinned, and the expression was totally without compassion. “How could I ever trust you? You change sides as soon as the way becomes difficult.”

  “I won’t. Take me. I will always be yours. I will always serve you.”

  Warren felt sorry for Cornish because he knew the demon wouldn’t show mercy. But Warren also felt afraid because he knew Cornish’s fate could one day be his.