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  Sounds of the past echoed in his ears. Screams of men he killed long ago bounded off cave walls. Flickering and mad dreams swooped across the wet pools. He beheld new dimensions to old memories. He saw the royals of the Night Courts whisper and plot as he turned away. He saw how old enemies and lovers met their end, long after he had left.

  And then he saw Basima. Writhing like a snake under sheets with lovers, whispering hushed things to their ears, their lives as fleeting as their pleasures. He saw her inebriate Emirs with streams of drinks and sweet flattery, her words honeyed their ears while poison closed their hearts. One by one, all who would be King of Flames dropped off, while Basima’s eyes stayed fixed on the Crown of Flames.

  And then he caught words that made his cold heart burn with the blackest hate.

  He saw his meeting with Navras, and after being pulled away, Basima lingered with her cousin. “Only one more...” said Navras, touching Basima’s chin. “We’ll be watching the whole time... in case history decides to repeat itself.”

  “Please just let him go... we’re so close! You’ve seen how he acts. We can’t control him. Let me do it. Alone.”

  Navras grinned. “Everything breaks. So will he. After Vazim is only a memory... well the line of succession is clear. Every king needs his queen. Given how well you’ve played every part before now, you’ll be a natural.”

  Basima blushed before Navras stole a kiss across her lips.

  Fucking knew it.

  The water rippled and something invisible wrapped around Frank’s neck. It drew him down, nearly dragging him underneath. So close to the pool, he saw his own red eyed reflection in the darkness, and so much more.

  He saw Hell. Halls rimed with ancient blood erupted in violence once more, the vampire swiping the heads off men in fatigues and gray, mottled demon hosts. Flames hotter than the sun upon his damned soul erupted from wailing forests, the grotesque and beautiful faces of fallen angels looking on, some in amusement, others in fear at the angel that walked at Frank’s side.

  It wasn’t Peter.

  He saw the Templars, cloaked in shadow and blood. Bill laid broken and red, a manor left in flames, ruby crosses split in two. None of it by his hand. He saw himself and Peter, alone and surrounded, the dark dotted with endless blue eyes and cold smiles.

  And at the end of everything, he saw himself, alone and in the dark...

  Free.

  Frank broke free of the hallucinations before the invisible thing pulled him any further down. He smashed the thing wrapped around his neck against a wall, sending crumbles and pieces into the water, throwing the images and sounds into disarray.

  He pushed forward, raising his feet high as he pulled free of the grasping water with each step.

  Shadows splashed up like star flecked oil and the vampire caught glimpses of the invisible one’s true shapes as darkness washed over their forms. The shape of horns, long snouts and chitinous legs thrashed above the black cosmic tide before being pulled under.

  Frank pushed on, each step out of the writhing floor more heavy than the last. Hungry whispers flew by his ear and rippled the liquids below. From his side he saw the wraiths from earlier, this time floating out of the floor, covered in oily darkness but for their burning pale green eyes.

  Should have made that deal with the spook. The creatures reached for him. Solid and wet hands wrenched at his thick and powerful neck, burning claws pulled at his numb legs. His undead flesh muted the physical pain but not the agony from the sickly eldritch light that flowed from their hollow fingers.

  Frank’s fingers fought for purchase on one’s slippery yet solid throat and threw him back into the darkness below. The vampire bellowed in rage and agony and bashed the one behind him with the back of his head. The creature’s tenuous face fell away like slop, revealing the glowing dead eyed grimace that hid below the darkness.

  The vampire clawed, pushed and slammed his way forward. Always forward. One wraith struck him from the side, almost sending him tumbling into the moaning floor. He caught himself on a solid wall instead, only to fall prey to some creature from above. Strange etheric silver descended from its mouth and fell across the vampire’s face, hardening around his throat and upper chest. He felt his windpipe strain and grow tight while his strong ribs buckled.

  His ancient nerves were hot with panic. Up was down and down was up. Just a feeling... it’s just a feeling... haven’t needed air in a long time... won’t start now. His right shoulder burned with something, his ears caught in the wailing turmoil of the deathless and eternal. Squalid odors of burnt copper and dusty flesh confused his senses, his eyes bewitched with blurred sight, as if his vision was a smashed crystal.

  A hole of light called to him in the distance, filled with the heat of djinn flame, smokeless and gold. The sight emboldened him and he stomped forward like a blood crazed demon, breaking his attackers with blind slams against the close stone walls, stepping on shadowed hands like insects. When the light began to falter and narrow, the vampire felt something with such passion it was as if he had rediscovered passion itself.

  Desperation.

  His red eyes widened and burned with purpose. Not like this... not today goddammit! The chaotic quagmire sensed his renewed hope like a moth does light and with a hollow shriek the place burst with more unnatural life. Strong winds lashed his body, blowing so strong his shadowy pursuers were sent miles back down the byzantine tunnel. He grit his teeth and surged forward, swatting away things that fell from the ceiling and leapt from the putrid ground. Things with cherubic faces, immense eyes and pinprick pupils, stuck to his limbs, their toothless mouths on his skin as they sucked on his soul.

  His step staggered and he brained the fiends against the hard stone edges of the tunnel. He was almost there. His damned soul did not yield to the parasite’s mouths no more than his implacable will to survive and conquer. He felt warmth waft from the hole of light, refuge from the mad and howling but a leap away.

  The vampire did not leap, he could not. Every bone was stiffer than gelid steel, his flesh taut like after some horrific burn and his murderous hands petrified into rheumatic claws. All he could do was fall. As he fell, so too did darkness, the screams of the mad and inhuman in his ears like dying echoes...

  Chapter 18: The Lord of Opium

  Peter sped down the streets with white knuckle fervor. He said nothing while Hanif nursed his wounds, trying to stay still as the bumpy road forced his blood soaked towel to rock back and forth. This is how Frank must have felt, he thought. Things had gotten out of hand. Still he will be called to account for his sins. His memories of eighteenth century etiquette among enemies had softened him against the brazen threat making of the modern day. He spared a glance at Hanif and his lips curled into a grimace. He was a good reminder. They’ve always been like this, whether swinging swords or wearing brocades. At least the gentry had the good sense to do it afterward, and do a proper ambush. These fools are just as dishonest and not nearly as clever.

  Hanif mumbled to himself. “How can this be happening? How can this be happening?” The family man and consummate purveyor of contraband pondered on when exactly things went wrong. Was it when Peter entered his shop? Perhaps when he decided to personally greet him? Or maybe it was when he revealed himself to be an angel.

  He knew demons existed, or at least men in nice suits pretending to be demons. Their tattoos were as disturbing as he expected and the haunting wails of agony that sprung from blazing black candles at night removed all doubt that these businessmen, with their iron trimmed contracts and ebony pens of red ‘ink’ were quite unlike any other.

  He just never considered there might be angels too. The phenomenal successes, the nice suits and new cars... for one, long brilliant while, he had convinced himself that they were all his. Peter’s voice soared over his mutterings.

  “There are always consequences, Hanif. That’s why this is happening.” He made a turn left and noted how the apartment buildings grew higher and higher, as i
f he was being walled in. “The fabric of the universe is woven with consequence. And you my friend, are a needle. A needle that has sown with such abandon it never occurred to you that the thread might run out.”

  Hanif made a sound like sobbing and Peter winced. He was not fond of the cries of the wicked. “What’s going to happen to me? To my family?” Peter pulled into a parking space, covered in the shadow of midday turning to dusk. The palm tree before the car waving lazily in the breeze.

  Peter turned off the ignition and looked to the businessman, taking pity for his pathetic state. “After I’m done, the demon’s false beneficence will no longer exist. You will be struck by misfortune after misfortune as your ill-gotten gains are subject to reality, and fade away like the illusions they are.” Hanif took a deep breath, trembling with grief as more tears rolled down his cheeks. “How you live afterward is highly dependent on whether you go to Hell or not. You have done much to put yourself on that path and little to avoid it.”

  “But I like living like this. What if I can’t change?” said Hanif.

  Peter sighed and for a moment a dreamt of parting the man’s soul from his body. “Then you shall become one of the Damned, a hollow soul doomed to wander the Nine Circles for eternity, to be used as a nameless soldier for the endless wars between demonic principalities.” Peter undid his seat belt and turned to him. “Very few mortals achieve any higher distinction.”

  Hanif looked forward, his eyes wide and his head nodding in understanding. “Shit... shit that’s bad. But you said very few mortals rose above it – what were they like?”

  Peter unlocked his door and stepped outside. “Men of far greater avarice and cunning that you are unlikely to acquire in your lifetime. Come. It’s time.” He straightened his jacket and watched Hanif get out and stretch his legs.

  As they walked up a set of nearby stairs Peter realized he had no weapon, his fingers skimming over nothing. He doesn’t know. Hopefully. “I have hope for you, Hanif. Despite your inconsolable hunger for what you cannot have, I take you for an introspective maggot.” They stepped off the stairs and walked along a scenic balcony.

  Sun dappled green leaves waved them along like servants as they passed by. Peter continued. “Unlike most maggots, who can only eat and eat, you have a family. You have a little more to live for, and it may just be enough.”

  “Enough for what?” said Hanif, muffled through his rags.

  “Redemption.” Peter grabbed and pushed him behind him as they came up on a hallway. “Now, Hanif, things are going to get a little risky. I’ll need you to stay calm and keep this...”

  “Karim.”

  “Karim, thank you. Keep him calm as well. Neither of us want a replay of what happened at the bar.” He peeked over the corner into the hallway. It was clear. “Number 137 you said?” Hanif nodded. “Come.”

  He snatched away Hanif’s bloody rag and threw it in a trashcan. Hanif moved in front of Peter and the two made their way to the apartment. The numbers on the door were done in stylized numerals and plated with fake gold, shining out against the matte white finish of the door itself.

  Hanif knocked and Peter hovered behind him. The angel’s muscles were tense and his posture looked agitated, compared to Hanif’s sunken shoulders and fidgeting feet.

  The door was opened by a young man in a tank top with circles under his eyes. Peter’s eyes narrowed when he noticed the man was not a local. Perhaps from Britain or France? He yawned loud and wide and regarded Hanif with a dull stare. “Yeah...?”

  “May we see Karim?”

  The man looked at Hanif and then Peter before folding his arms and taking another yawn. “Who wants to see?”

  Hanif shook with indignation. “Mr. Kassab you idiot! You’ve been here every time I’ve visited!”

  The man smirked and laughed the kind laugh that sounded like creaking door. “Nah, mate, you got one of those faces that could be someone I know. But I dunno.” He pointed a finger at Peter. “But I know I definitely never seen that motherfucker before.”

  Peter gave an artificial smile, the kind he would create to give people a false impression before ripping them off their feet and delivering the fear of God into their shaking souls. “For a man who doesn’t know much you seem to be awfully certain about me.”

  “He’s got a fuckin lip on him, too.” He snorted like he was going to hock a glob of phlegm. “Nah. It’s not happenin’. I don’t let people in I don’t know.”

  “Terry!” a voice called out from the back, “I know them, let ‘em in!”

  Terry looked back and shouted over his shoulder. “I’ve never seen them before!”

  The sound of something being kicked over and crashing into a wall resounded in the apartment. “I don’t give a fuck! Lettem in!”

  Terry shrugged. “Alright. Come on then.”

  Hanif sighed with relief and gave a brief shake of his hands as he stepped in. Peter followed, keeping an eye on Terry.

  The inside of the flat had a pinkish orange tinge from the waning daylight pouring through the drapes. Peter and Hanif came into the living room. Wisps of smoke coiled in the air as a group of men lay blazed across two plush leather couches.

  Their eyes were wide and vacant and reflected the bluish glow of the TV like placid lakes. For a half-second Peter thought he saw a swirl of light reflect from inside their irises. In a blink it was gone. Good. In the right place.

  Terry led them past the young and unkempt lounge lizards and waved his hand through a veil of colored beads. On the other side of the beads was a small kitchen. Two women stood near a coffee pot, speaking in quiet voices.

  Peter offered a nod and passed by, following Hanif and Terry down a hallway with multiple rooms off to the side. At the very end of the hall was a room with its door swung wide open, exposing a big leather chair and glassy desk strewn with papers, junk food bags and cigarettes.

  Karim’s office.

  Peter steeled himself, his hand grazing where his gun should have been for reassurance.

  They set down the hallway and came into Karim’s office. The place reeked of smoke, chemicals and fornication. Peter’s face flashed in disgust as sticky paper and wrappers crunched and clung to the bottom of his shoes.

  In one, slow motion the leather chair turned around, revealing a very contemplative Karim. His hands were steepled, affecting the gesture of a man at least twice his worth. Thin fingers were weighted down with ostentatious jeweled rings, diamonds and metals unfamiliar to the angel. A well-manicured goatee warmed his chin, and further up, his eyes gleamed with more light than what was in the room.

  His black polo shirt strained against muscles that seemed improbable for a man of his occupation and interests. He raised his wrist with a flourish and checked out his gleaming Rolex watch. “Well then... right on schedule.” He gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk, “Please, take seat.”

  “You’ve been... expecting us?” Hanif ventured.

  “Yes.” said Karim, looking at Peter as he spoke. With a gesture of the hand he turned Terry away. “Wait outside.”

  He folded his hands back together and leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on his desk. “I am... what you might call a businessman.”

  “I might call you something else.” A purveyor of sin and vice. A dead man. That the angel had to parlay with this dog stoked a very human fire of resentment in his heart, pretenses of legitimacy disgusting him almost as much as excuses for heresy.

  “But no less generous, yes?” Karim smiled and kept his distant look, focused on delivering his latest rationalization. “Free agent, maybe? I am free... to give others... agency in affairs they are otherwise unable to exert... or some shit like that, I don’t know semantics of it.” He dropped his feet and came back to his desk, looking at Peter. “The point is, when window of opportunity presents itself, I am first man to throw rock through it.”

  He pointed a finger at Peter, at which point the angel’s mind played over a dozen variations on how to bre
ak it. “I don’t know if you’re the window or rock, I don’t give fuck. My ‘sources’... tell me you’re an angel. A few years ago I would not have believed such shit... but now...” He looked away from Peter, remembering something.

  “Now it seems not so strange. Here’s what I want.” Peter braced himself. He loved negotiating. “I give you that one name. You protect me from payback and you have the little...” he made a wing gesture with his hands, “...angel things ensure that I have miraculous string of luck when it comes to business. It took me long time and a whole lot of pain to get where I am today.” He locked eyes with Peter and jabbed his finger repeatedly to his points. “I have eat a lot of shit. So much I am surprised I am not made of shit.” Peter nodded, holding back his burning desire to shatter his delusions. “I want life of charms from here on out.”

  Peter reclined in his chair. How he wanted to leap over the desk and smite him with the might of Heaven. He put a finger under his chin in a thoughtful manner. “Ah. The American Dream as it were...”

  Karim nodded and smiled. “Yes. Except not in America. Dishonest place.”

  The angel smirked. “That is a very reasonable proposition.” Karim nodded eagerly and folded his hands like the angel. “Were that you were dealing with a fallible mortal, pliable to compromise. But you’re not.” Karim’s smug look faded. “You’re dealing with me. There will be no favors or counter-offers. You’ll volunteer the demon’s name. You’ll volunteer the witch’s location.”

  The luxurious criminal sputtered, his eyes rich with confusion. “Wait wha-what? What witch!?”

  Ah. Regrettable. Time to go higher up the food chain.

  Peter continued without missing a beat. “– and you may elude Hell. Or I take from you the demon’s name and you go to Hell.”

  Karim’s face hardened and his hands bunched up. “What in the fuck is this? We come to the table, each with something to offer, like equals—”

  “We’re not. Long has it been Man’s folly to place himself higher than his station. Admirable as it is vain and as vain as it is foolish.” His eyes radiated with golden fervor. “Your worldly concerns are nothing before the pain of damnation. Not all are so blessed to have their choices so clear before them. Make the right one.”