Resurrection

Chapter Twenty-Three

It’d been a couple of weeks since Karra raised her father, and while there’d been a rash of storms lighting up the skies in the area, the world was still here. That’s a good thing, I guess.

Though I hadn’t seen or spoken to her, she sent me a letter apologizing for what she’d done, and hoped I would understand. I did, but it didn’t make me feel any better or worry any less. With my help, she’d set a wolf loose in the hen house and it was probably only a matter of time until the feathers started to fly. When they did, it’d be on my head.

I’m not big on guilt or regret, they only limit your options when the chips are down, but looking back, I could have done things better.

Unintentionally helping to raise an Anti-Christ aside, not everything turned out so bad. Katon had been rescued, and after a couple of days, he recovered fully. He was pissed about losing his sword, but there wasn’t much that could be done about that. The cleanup crew found one of Karra’s blades that was left behind and passed it on to Katon. It wasn’t the same, but it’d have to do.

Rahim’s injuries turned out to be relatively minor, though compounded on top of his previous wounds, he was gonna need a while to recover his strength. He grumbled a lot, but he was gonna get better.

Best of all, I’d gotten to beat Marcus’s ass. That was definitely a checkmark on the plus side. Maybe the next time we butted heads, he’d keep that in mind and be less of an asshole. I doubted it, but I could hope.

We also rid the world of Daartan, his revenants, and Lilith. The last was a mixed blessing.

Though they weren’t close, Veronica still took the death of her mother hard, the roots of their relationship tangled and deep. It’d be a long time before she was okay with it, but the loss opened her eyes a little, so maybe it was for the best. She’d even taken a step toward rebuilding our burnt bridges, returning my uncle’s blood to me. She still wouldn’t tell me why took it in the first place, but I was content to have it back. It was definitely worth a couple of planks.

Lilith’s body was collected by DRAC and stored away in one of their facilities for safekeeping. Abraham learned to keep his enemies close and their corpses even closer.

As for Baalth, not much changed. His power still gnawed away at him, but what he passed on to me must have been just enough to keep it from boiling over. He even took the news of Longinus’s return without devastating any more of the city, which was nice of him.

Michael Li sure appreciated it. He and his mentalists had enough to do, wiping the minds of the citizenry and making it so there was no concerted effort to look into what had happened at Old Town or at the airfield. Those who he missed, Baalth’s money took care of. Comfortably unaware, the city wound back down to business as usual as the rebuilding began.

I was kept busy by Abraham, going over every detail I knew about Longinus and Karra; he wanted to know everything. It was a long and emotionally draining process, forced to remember my early years spent in Hell with Karra, without the buffer of alcohol. Some of the memories were great, things I hadn’t thought about in forever, but a lot of it was just painful. I left his office every day feeling beat, my heart a sodden mess.

Chatterbox helped to lighten the mood though. I’d gone back to retrieve him, to give him a proper burial, only to find him alive and as well as a bodiless head can be. For whatever reason, he remained animated, surviving the death of his master. Once Veronica freed him from her leash, he popped right back to his old self, breaking out into a rousing rendition of “Some Heads are Gonna Roll,” by Judas Priest. Laughing all the way home, I plopped him down in front of the TV and set the remote beside him, close enough so he could work it with his tongue. As it turned out, we had the same taste in television too. I was gonna need a raise to pay for all the porn he’d ordered, though.

In my free time, what little I had, I practiced using my newfound magic. Baalth gave me just enough to cast spells-simple bolts of energy and the like-but apparently the skill to wield it comes from somewhere less apparent. It was easy to pull the trigger, but my aim and intensity left a lot to be desired. There were a few minor mishaps where I torched the walls black in the shielded basement, but nothing got too out of hand. I was slowly getting better, but it’d be a long time before I got good.

Worn out from my attempts to harness my energies, I was kicking back with a beer, watching the fights with Chatterbox when I heard a loud crash outside. The house sensors murmured a quiet alert just before the doorknob jiggled.

Too tired to risk using my magic, I snatched up my gun and went to the door. A loud, booming knock met me halfway there. I cast a quick glance up at the camera monitor placed near the door, and sighed, slipping my gun into the waistband of my jeans.

Whipping the door open in a huff, I asked, “What do you-” The rest of my sentence died on my tongue when I saw her.

Scarlett, her blond hair singed with black and pieces torn out in chunks, stood before me. Her face was stained with crusted blood, dark scabs forming over the deep gouges running down her neck, to her chest. Her blue eyes were streaked with red, deep black circles beneath them. Her clothes were shredded in places, black and yellow bruises peeking out from beneath.

She looked at me, tears welling up in her eyes. In a rush, she grabbed my shoulders, her hands shaking and cold, her grip fierce.

“I need your help,” she gasped, her voice crackling like a forest fire. “Heaven has fallen.”