At The Gates

Chapter Four

After gating through the closest portal to Baalth’s territory, we emerged from an alley onto the dusty streets of downtown El Paseo. A short walk later, we slipped across the invisible boundary into Old Town a few hours before dawn.

Most of the late night revelers were already done, gone home or passed out in some darkened alley. The morning crews had yet to get out of bed.

We skirted what was left of Fiesta Street, the major party area of Old Town, and were surprised to find the street quiet; eerily so.

Though, in retrospect, considering Baalth had set off the magical equivalent of a nuke smack dab in the center of Old Town just a couple weeks back, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

Nothing says go the fuck home like an uncontrolled detonation of magical energy.

In a moment of weakness, his men assaulted and kidnapped in the heart of his territory, Baalth had lost it. He left behind a smoking crater several blocks in radius as a reminder of his power. He’d paid to rebuild it, though the work had only just begun. While he could pay to keep the citizens silent, trust was a lot harder to buy. It’d be a while before Fiesta Street lived up to its name again. Damn shame, I tell ya.

A bunch of the buildings at the edge of ground zero were nothing more than burnt out husks, and that was being charitable. Those that had stood closer to the epicenter stood no longer. Rubble and gathered detritus clogged the open spaces, much of it pushed into teetering piles that rose up ten feet high in places. The asphalt of the roads had been melted during the conflagration, and now that they’d cooled, they were marred by wavy rivulets like those at the bottom of a creek. The sidewalks had buckled, pitched up as though they were a tiny mountain range.

We made our way around the rubble and ruin, skirting piles of trash as we made our way further into Old Town. As we reached the evacuated section just beyond the ring of destruction, it felt as though we were traveling through a third world country. Most of the windows were shattered and there were scorch marks seared black onto the brick faces of the buildings. The only thing missing was the whistle of incoming artillery and the propaganda leaflets.

None of the streetlights worked, and though I could see well enough, the gloom weighed on me. There was a palpable sense of death in the air, my skin prickling under the pressure. It was like walking into a graveyard during a full moon. You never quite saw what lurked in the shadows, but you sure as Hell knew something was there.

Beside me, Scarlett drew a quick breath and her hand went to her sword. That’s when I realized I hadn’t just imagined the feeling. The feral growl that rumbled through the darkness confirmed it.

Gun in hand, Scarlett at my side, we turned to face the sound. From a nearby alley, the harsh scrape of something sharp dragged across the asphalt was preceded by a looming bulk that strode from its depths.

Scarlett gasped and took a step back as I craned my neck to see all of the behemoth who trundled into the street. I did a double-take as my mind struggled to register what my eyes were seeing. Not remembering having had a drink recently, what I saw didn’t make sense.

It was a bear, but not like any I’d ever seen before. It was a werebear. Smokey had nothing on him. Right around then, the only thing I wanted to help prevent was me shitting my pants.

Almost ten feet tall, and easily as wide as the alley, it was a mountain of muscle under a thick coat of glistening brown fur. Its deep-set eyes simmered with reddish light as it hunched to look down at us, its stubby snout screwed up in a wicked smile. Its shoulder rippled as it raised a massive paw in our direction. Dagger-like claws gleamed in the oppressive dimness as it rumbled a gravelly challenge.

Unable to tear my eyes from the furry hulk, I almost missed the shades that slithered from the alley behind him. My senses rattling my brain like a scorned wife with a frying pan, I dared a quick glance their direction, realizing they were what I had felt.

The sorry remnants of my courage made a mad dash for my ass.

Their sharpened eyeteeth a dead giveaway, the three vampires eased alongside the bear. Used to the suave darkness of Katon, it was as though they were a completely different breed. Their sallow faces were long, with severe features that jutted from their skulls at sharp angles; a building block set with too many triangles. Yellow eyes seethed in narrow sockets as brittle smiles fractured their lips. Their lithe limbs swayed in time to music I couldn’t hear, kinda like a crack-head in need of a fix.

A gravel-throated voice yanked my eyes back to the furred monstrosity.

“Someone’s been pissing in my Cheerios, and he’s right here.” The words roared from the werebear’s mouth, guttural and fierce. The withering heat of his gaze fell on me.

Scarlett groaned and nudged my ribs, as if she’d suspected it was my fault all along. Taken aback, I could only shrug as my mind flitted through my memories to see if there was a bear in any of them.

“If this is about that one time with the rug, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were related.”

The big guy chuckled; at least I think that’s what it was. He could have been swallowing a squirrel.

“You have no clue, do you?”

“Not usually,” Scarlett answered for me over my shoulder.

I just shook my head. Life was so much easier when the bad guys told me why they wanted to kill me rather than expecting me to guess. The onus of the monologue was on the bad guy. Doesn’t anyone read the damn handbook anymore?

“You should have let the half-breeds take the little dove there.” He snorted toward Scarlett.

One eyebrow raised, I cast a quick glance her way. “See? It’s not always me.” Curious as to why the Nephilim, the undead, and a lycanthrope wanted a piece of my cousin-all sexual innuendo aside-I chose the direct route. Though I have to admit, it was mostly because I couldn’t think of something witty to say. “Who are you and what do you want?” I really need to work on my social banter.

The vampires hissed in slithery tandem, their rhythmic gyrations becoming agitated, though they stayed put. It was weird seeing them following the lead of a were-critter, as the two factions rarely mingled, let alone got along.

As usual, something was going down and it wasn’t on me.

The bear rose to his full height and widened his grin. “You’re a brave mutt; I’ll give you that. The name’s Grawwl.” He ran the meaty slab of his tongue over his razored teeth and leered down at Scarlett. “All I want is the angel. You can run along home, little man.”

My ass weighed the cost of turning Scarlett over, but the negotiations stalled somewhere between my heart and my mouth. It wouldn’t be the first butt kicking I’d taken for her. I could only hope it wouldn’t be the last. “All I want is five minutes alone with Jessica Biel’s panties.” Cursed with a vivid imagination, it took a second to get back on track. “Much as I could use the peace and quiet, that’s not gonna happen.”

“That’s okay.” He clapped his huge paws together. “I don’t mind doing this the hard way.” He lifted his chin and loosed a throaty roar, which set my ears to ringing.

Minus the verbal theatrics, the vampires leapt to the attack, clearing the intervening twenty feet in an instant. Out of instinct, more than anything resembling rational thought, I darted off and put my gun to use.

Three bullets slammed into the chest of the lead vamp, blowing jagged black holes through him. Wisps of smoke steamed from his back while he shrieked and twitched, clawing at the wounds. The other two ducked past and went for Scarlett as she circled away.

Before I could fire on them, the shadows overhead thickened and I heard a whoof of breath to my side. That’s when Grumpy Bear plowed into me. While I’d expected him to take a shot at me as soon as I was distracted, I hadn’t factored in his speed.

A bright light flashed before my eyes and when I opened them, the world spun in a streaked blur around my head. There was a vague sense of weightlessness and motion, which came to a sudden end as the ground rushed up to meet me.

The bone-jarring impact snapped me back to my senses as tremors traveled the length of my extremities, my fingers and toes tingling. I rolled to get my bearings and was suddenly aware of the searing lines arcing across my upper back. Pain flooded over me, a whitewash of sensory overload. Had it not been for the lingering jelly-brain from my crash landing, I’d have probably passed out. As it was, it was hard to focus, though things could have been worse; he could have bitten me.

I’d seen a demon contract lycanthropy once. It’s something I’ll never forget.

His natural regeneration fought against the infection for days, the two waging a virulent war at the genetic level. There’s nothing like watching a body rot from the inside, pustulant boils erupting with rancid, tar-like blood and gooey red pus. To a symphony of gargled screams, the demon’s eyes had boiled from their sockets as his face blistered, then ruptured, oozing away from his skull. His cries lasted only a few moments after that. I still hear them in my sleep sometimes.

Not wanting to be that guy, I got to my feet, my knees quavering. My eyes refused to look the same direction. Through my right, I saw Scarlett flitting between the vampires, obsidian blurs trailing in the wake of her sword. She was holding her own. Lucky her.

Out of my left, I saw Grawwl, a toothy smirk on his muzzle as he wiggled his claws, stained in my blood. A few feet in front of him, silhouetted by the bear’s dark bulk, was the furious face of the vampire I’d shot.

Fangs came at me howling as I closed my right eye and raised my gun to meet him.

Or I would have, had it still been in my hand.

Undeterred by my imaginary show of force, the vamp barreled into me, sinking his sharpened fingers into the deep gouges of my back. Bright dots welled up in front of me as I dropped straight down to avoid him nuzzling my neck. I whipped my legs up underneath him. Caught off guard, my foot up his ass, he was flung past me, his momentum turned against him. There was a pissed off hiss as he rebounded off the concrete and skittered into the mounds of debris, but he was the least of my worries.

I got to my feet just as Grawwl dropped to all fours and rumbled forward, the knot of muscles at his back coiled. With nowhere to go to escape the charge, I summoned my energies and squared my shoulders. Grumpy just laughed, frothy white spittle emphasizing his apparent disdain for my magic. What little hope I had took a dump and trickled warm down my leg alongside my confidence.

It was times like this when I wished I’d taken my uncle up on his offer to become the Anti-Christ, but no, I had to be all self-righteous and give up my inheritance and the power that came with it. At least I’d get a good epitaph for my supposed integrity.

I looked to Scarlett and saw she’d taken out one of the vamps, but was still busy with the other one. Things didn’t look good; for me.

Right then, I caught a flash of movement out the corner of my eye. Grawwl hesitated as his gaze shifted toward the motion. His smirk morphed into a sneer.

Out of the shadows, between the buildings, stepped an old man. Wild gray hair flowed over the bronzed plates of his battered armor. He wielded a gilded broadsword with intricate rune work etched down the length of the blade and woven into the hilt and pommel. His face was like a worn leather hide, deep wrinkles streaked throughout, etched by time. Two fierce blue eyes glimmered from lined and sunken sockets, crow’s feet gone pterodactyl at the corners.

He faced Grawwl, his blade set before him. “You might want to watch your back,” he said over his shoulder, his voice thready.

Remembering the vamp, I drew my backup pistol and spun to see my dance partner sprinting toward me. I decided to lead this time and unloaded what was left in the clip into his sour puss. He screeched and howled as he dropped. His hands went to his face in a frantic attempt to tear the bullets out.

Not interested in him getting up again, I reloaded and held the barrel over his throat. In a sweeping motion from right to left, I fired fast, each bullet shredding a section of his neck. His screams turned to gurgles as the bullets tore through his vocal cords. Bubbling blackness squirted from the wounds as though I’d struck oil. His face went rigid as spasms shuddered across his body.

With little more than tattered remnants of meat holding him in one piece, I pulled back my foot and soccer-kicked his head from his shoulders. It gave way with a wet ripping sound and flew up into the air, splattering my boot and the street with a warm, dark rain. I fought the urge to yell, “ Goooooooooooooooaaaaaaaallllllll,” as his head split the frame of a nearby doorway.

I turned back around just in time to see Scarlett drift toward me. The last vampire twitched on the asphalt behind her, his body diced neatly into a couple dozen dripping parts even Dali would have found disturbing.

Much to my surprise, all I saw of Grawwl was his furry ass as he hightailed it out of sight. I added a bullet to speed him along. Can’t say I was sorry to see him go.

Grateful for the rescue, I looked to the old man. “You got a name?”

He shook his head and gestured the way the werebear went. “No time. The vampires and shifters know what’s going on in the Kingdom.”

Scarlett gasped, her eyes going wide. “But-”

The old man waved a grizzled hand to cut her off. “They and the Nephilim seek a key to turn the tide against Heaven. It must not be them who find it.” He gave a curt nod and raced off after Grawwl.

After he was gone, I looked to Scarlett. I imagine I had the same dumbfounded look on my face.

“Today just keeps getting better and better.” My adrenaline fading, the gashes in my back started to throb. A sudden chill prickled my skin as the pain settled in.

“Should we follow?” Scarlett asked.

“No.” I waggled my finger. “Let grandpa deal with Grawwl. If the lycanthropes and vampires have set aside their differences to go against Heaven, we’re neck deep in some serious shit. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

Scarlett’s green eyes met mine, a glimmer of resignation welling up. “Baalth?”

“Baalth.”