17. The Carver.
17
The Carver.
“The stimulant B-678 ( validusphrine ) is a synthetic hormone akin to epinephrine (adrenaline) created in government-owned laboratories. When inhaled, it gives the patient a powerful rush, increasing speed, reflexes, and strength. Competent authorities have approved it for use by exorcists in the field. To achieve a quicker effect, the patient must inhale the stimulant using the inhaler provided by their medical examiner. Ingesting B-678 in liquid form should be avoided, as it increases the risk of cardiac arrest by sixty percent. Subjects suffering from asthma, heart disease, blood vessel disease (see the full list on the waiver given to you upon medical examination), should not use it.
The stimulant B-678 offers an undeniable edge to State Exorcists over mutated hosts, and lasts between one to three hours. The drug’s withdrawal causes major side effects, including physical exhaustion; therefore, clear the field before this occurs. Never take Stimulant B-678 more than once a day. Refer to your medical examiner for a deeper understanding of its use and side effects.
Counterfeit validusphrine is circulating on the black market. Do not use it and report any seller to the authorities.”
-Extract from the State Exorcist’s Manual , edition of 2047.
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, 2052
“Try to look less… imposing,” I say to Azeroth as we exit the taxi.
His illusion is on, but he still attracts the attention of a few passersby on the busy street.
He chuckles. “And how do you want me to do that? Should I walk on my knees, ashy one? I will, if you tell me you’re into it.”
I ignore his attempt at flirting—it’s far too effective on me after last night.
“Start by not using your power,” I say. “It would help.”
Azeroth smiles. “But I’m not. What you feel right now is entirely your doing.”
I frown and turn my back to him. All I could think about during the car ride was his proximity. One of his invisible wings touched my shoulder and leg, sending shivers skittering over my skin.
It’s Saturday night, and there’s a long line to enter the Garden of Eden, yet we’re ushered through the side door by the bouncer as soon as he notices me. He hesitates for a second when his eyes fall on Azeroth, but Warren’s nightclub is a place where demonic traders and their customers thrive, so he says nothing. The bouncer himself certainly owes his muscle mass to a demon.
The Garden has put up its Halloween decorations for October, and the vines falling from the high ceiling have donned their fall colors. Holograms of bats and owls fly above our heads. Even the bartenders’ outfits have changed. They’re all dressed as demons who have taken over the Garden of Eden , with the fake horns usually only worn by the dancers.
Azeroth looks delighted. “You humans really live in your stories,” he says in my ear as we make our way through the writhing crowd. “I always liked your ways of reveling.”
I swat him away and shout to be heard over the music. “How do demons entertain themselves in Hell?”
He catches up to me with ease. “Just a lot of fucking and killing,” he says in my ear again. “I’ll get us drinks.”
Before I can argue, he has made his way through the sea of dancing people, pushing them with his invisible wings. I didn’t even give him money, but I doubt he ever pays for anything. A whiff of his dark energy has them all under his thrall.
I have no time for drinks; I’m here to find where the Dongdaemon gang is keeping Robb. They’ve been trying to recruit exorcists to their side for a few years now and happen to be involved with Robb’s disappearance. He was raiding one of their ritual grounds on the day he went missing. They’re the first I need to talk to. And their leader’s son is a regular at the Garden . There’s a VIP lounge with his name on it at the center of the nightclub, with a prime view of the entire place.
As I walk up to the lounge, Jordan Kang’s goons halt my trajectory. But the man himself notices me.
“The White Exorcist walks among us! Let him through, let him through!”
Jordan is a Korean-American man in his early twenties with more ego than brain. After I helped him out of a tight spot three years ago, he saved my number and attempted to make me join his side relentlessly. He tried everything, from threats to money to seduction. I blocked him after a few weeks. He’s just a rich and rotten man-child who likes to collect powerful people like pieces on a chessboard for the day when he finally inherits the gang. I won’t be surprised if Robb is being held hostage at his place.
His obsession with me might come in handy tonight.
“Jon Shaw!” he says, shooing a beautiful woman in a blue dress to offer me her seat in front of him. “You’re a hard man to get hold of! What brings you to me? Have you finally decided to join the fun?”
If by fun, he means spending my nights getting my hands dirty for him while he snorts drugs in a nightclub, I’ll pass.
“I’m looking for someone,” I say. The music is less loud in the lounge. “And I think you might know where he is.”
Jordan is already pouring me a glass of champagne from an expensive bottle he pulled out of the ice at the center of the table. I accept the glass reluctantly but don’t touch it. Who knows what it might be laced with? And I never liked champagne. My mother used to get drunk on it at every occasion. The more she drank, the meaner she became.
“Of course! Everything for you, Jon,” Jordan says with a winning smile.
His familiarity makes my skin crawl.
“Robb Warden,” I say. “I need you to tell me where he is.”
I cannot miss the minor tremor in his eye when he hears the name. He’s not confused by my request, just a little surprised.
“The Carver? Jon—”
“I know you have him,” I cut him off. “What’s your price?”
It looks like I’m in the business of freeing monsters from their cages.
Jordan smiles, and his veneers glow uncannily in the nightclub’s black light. He thinks he has the upper hand over me now because he has something that I want for the first time since we met.
“I don’t have him,” he says, dropping a hand on my knee. It takes a great effort not to break his fingers. “But I know where he is. I could trade you the information if—” But then he trails off and his eyes widen as he looks at something behind me.
I look over my shoulder to find that Azeroth has walked up to the lounge. Jordan’s goons have stopped his advancement. He’s a head taller than they are, and his horns aren’t even visible. I can’t hear a word of what they’re saying, but a moment later, Azeroth is giving the two drinks he’d been carrying to the beautiful woman who Jordan kicked out of my chair. When he turns back, he grabs both men by the throats and sends them careening down the steps. They land heavily on the dance floor, knocking people off their feet. Then Azeroth gets the drinks back and walks to us. The other occupants of the lounge give him a wide berth and escape.
He offers me a glass. It smells fresh and citrusy, with no trace of alcohol. Lemonade. After last night’s excesses, I’m grateful.
I nod my thanks.
It looks like he ordered something stronger for himself.
“And who might you be?” Jordan asks, watching him with interest.
So, the Hellraisers have kept quiet about the fact that I freed the hybrid from the Deep Market a few days ago. It makes sense. In the world of demonic traders, it’s never good to appear weak.
“His guard dog,” Azeroth says with a predatory smile. “Where he goes, I go. Your men didn’t agree.”
Jordan laughs. “I see that.”
But then the demon’s golden eyes fall on the hand on my knee, and his expression shifts dangerously. Jordan has enough wits to take his offensive appendage away. I take a long sip of my lemonade, pleased with the turn of events. Azeroth’s presence at my side might benefit me. He comes to stand behind me, acting, by all means, like my guard dog.
“So, you know where to find… the Carver ,” I say, continuing our talk.
I hate the name the demonic traders gave Robb, even if it’s painfully accurate. He’s known for cutting hosts far too often to stop demons from escaping.
Jordan nods. “Yes. My uncle has him. He keeps him locked on his favorite ritual ground to deal with unruly possessions or difficult clients.”
“And why are you offering this intel to me without bargaining first?” I ask, suspicious.
“Because what I want is assured. Free the Carver, and my uncle loses an important asset,” he says.
“I see.”
I don’t care about the gangs’ politics and internal conflicts, but from time to time they help me get what I want if I play my cards right. Jordan is the heir to his father’s empire, but his uncle Kang Jeo-Cheon holds more power and sway in the demonic traders’ underworld. His men are organized and they deal with botched rituals and unwanted demons themselves. He has a better reputation than his nephew, the party bunny.
And now it looks like he has his own exorcist that he keeps on a tight leash.
“He’s keeping him on his main ritual ground,” continues Jordan. “He’s controlling him with the Angels’ Tears, giving him just enough to ensure his compliance.”
I close my eyes, saddened by my old friend’s new reality. His circumstances haven’t improved in recent years. It’s a miracle he’s still alive after a decade of inhaling the drug.
“Where?” I ask.
“The wastewater treatment facility in North Hollywood. But let me warn you, it’s heavily guarded, and they all have demons.”
“It won’t be a problem,” Azeroth says behind me.
Jordan watches us with something akin to envy. “I believe you.”
He’s already trying to figure out ways to add us to his entourage.
I stand up. “Thank you. We’ll be on our way.”
“You’re not staying for a drink?”
I raise my glass of lemonade. “We’ve got it covered.”
“You never answered my texts,” Jordan says, following me to the stairs. “Did you change your number?”
Azeroth puts himself between us, and for a heartbeat, his wings and horns are visible. Jordan recoils. For once, he has nothing to say.
“Thank you for your help,” I say to him before walking down the stairs with the hybrid right on my heels.
We make our way to the exit. We have an old bastard to rescue.
“What is that smell?” Leo asks.
He’s driving a white delivery van he borrowed from his cousin who owns a dry cleaning service. I’m in the passenger’s seat, and Azeroth is in the back, lounging on a pile of folded sheets and towels. Leo meant to annoy the demon when he told him there was no extra seat for him, but the hybrid took it in stride and made himself comfortable.
“It’s a wastewater treatment facility,” I explain to my assistant. “The building connects to the sewers.”
It’s actually a brilliant idea to locate ritual grounds where the stench of humanity will overpower the smell of sulfur. It’ll take a while before the State Exorcists track down this location.
Leo drives us away from the facility to park in a nearby parking lot.
“Stay here,” I say to him. “And if you smell trouble, leave. We’ll be fine. We can meet back at the apartment.”
“I doubt I’ll smell anything over this,” he mumbles.
“Leo. Be serious, or it’s the last time I’ll take you on a job. Promise me you’ll get out of here.”
He perks up. “Yes, boss.”
“Stay behind the wheel, eyes open.”
Azeroth is already waiting for me outside, wearing his illusion. It’s three in the morning, but the demonic traders never sleep. We’ve already seen a few cars come and go by the road near the facility. We’ll have to go in unnoticed and discover where they’re keeping Robb.
It’s surprisingly easy to enter the premises. Azeroth hits the two men guarding the back door with his dark power, and they hump each other over the railing like animals, ignoring us entirely.
“They’ll be at it for a while,” he says. “Trust me. There’s a lot of built-up tension between those two.”
I must admit, his ability is quite useful when it’s not aimed at me. He can also detect—or more accurately, taste —the energy emanating from the other demonic traders nearby, which helps us avoid them.
We follow the pipes deeper into the facility, and the stench becomes close to unbearable. Even with my sharp sense of smell, the sulfur is barely noticeable. But the heat is hard to ignore. It’s stifling.
The ritual grounds are on deeper levels. Giant pipes feed the great pools where wastewater undergoes treatment. One look at the murky and bubbly depths convinces me that this is where they get rid of the bodies of failed possessions. The bacteria in there would eat away at a corpse in no time.
We keep to the shadows along the metal pathways above the grounds. Below us, eight people are conducting a ritual. They’ve placed a giant black carpet all over the concrete floor to work as a canvas for the salt circles. A few dozen candles drip wax all over candelabras that look straight out of Dracula’s castle. Red drapes cover the pipes to hide them and pretend we’re not in a wastewater treatment facility anymore. Despite the smell, they’re committed to the aesthetic.
It looks like they’ve already opened a passage to Hell. The host—a middle-aged woman—is strapped naked to a table as an artist is tattooing her skin with the spells of containment. The traders pace the room, waiting for the contract to be concluded. I scan all of their faces, looking for my old friend. They must keep Robb close during rituals.
Azeroth trails a hand over my shoulder to get my attention and points toward the far end of the facility, beyond the pools. There’s a thick cable going around the large room, a few feet above the ground. Seconds later, the cable vibrates and the sound of rattling chains echoes from the shadows at the far end. My heart jumps in my throat as a lanky figure steps out of the dark.
Addiction and imprisonment haven’t been kind to Robb. He’s lost most of his muscle mass and appears years older than the thirty-three-year-old he’s supposed to be. Hollow cheeks are visible beneath his scraggly beard, and his eyes are sunken.
A shell of a man.
And yet, he’s more terrifying than he used to be. He stalks the ritual grounds like a predator looking for a scent. There’s an iron collar around his neck, connected to a long chain that ties him to the cable going over the room. They’ve chained him like a beast, giving him just enough leeway to guard the ritual grounds.
Instantly, I see red. How can they do this to a human being? To one of the most famous State Exorcists?
I pull out my guns and walk down the pathway with a deadly calmness.
At first, the demonic traders don’t notice me. Who would expect a threat simply to stroll in? But then Azeroth lands at my side, wings, horns, and all.
There’s a moment of confusion as the gang members wonder why there is a demon among them that isn’t the one strapped to the table. Seconds later, the scene turns into chaos.
I don’t enjoy killing the unwillingly possessed if I can help it. There’s something truly unfair about dying for the sins of another creature. But the men and women who fire at me tonight are entirely in control of their bodies and fates. They chose to be on the other side of the barrels of my guns.
Most of them have demons of their own and they’re fast, but not faster than bullets. I shoot the first one in the head before he can react. He falls back, dead. The second, a young woman, misses me by an inch. She dies moments later.
There was a time, before my seventh birthday, when I lived peacefully unaware of the horrors done by men and demons alike. But it’s been so long, and I’ve seen so much, that I’ve stopped wondering why those things came to be, and I just let my anger rule.
Azeroth’s wings flare, and their shadow falls over me for a second. They catch the bullets that were coming my way. I gasp, expecting blood. But the hybrid’s leathery membranes are tougher than they look. He turns back swiftly and offers me a wink and a smile before jumping back into the fray.
Robb pulls on his chains and comes running from the other side of the room like madness incarnate. He knocks a demonic trader off his feet, pushing him into one of the murky pools. The man gets sucked under by some force and doesn’t reappear.
Robb charges Azeroth like a bull, breaking the vials of holy water he was carrying on impact. The demon, to his credit, takes it all in stride. He gets a hold of the exorcist, even though his gray skin is blistering, and throws him to the concrete floor.
I shoot two more demonic traders. The last one escapes, but I don’t give chase. The tattoo artist hides under the table with the unconscious possessed. She’s certainly just someone who’s trying to get by and ended up working for the gang out of necessity or threats. I let her be. I have to make sure the demon and my old friend don’t kill each other.
Azeroth is using the chain to hold Robb back. My old friend has gone mad. He’s chanting words of banishment; his voice is rough and broken. Luckily, they’re inefficient on the hybrid.
I slide into his field of vision. “Robb, stop,” I say. “It’s me, Jon. We’re here to rescue you.”
We haven’t seen each other for years, but I haven’t changed. And yet, I see no recognition in his eyes. His dilated pupils resemble two black holes absorbing the surrounding light. They must have given him a heavy dose of Angels’ Tears to prepare for the ritual. He’s pulling on his collar, uncaring that it’s strangling him to death.
Robb isn’t an exorcist anymore, but an avenging ghost the demonic traders keep as a pet.
“Get your shit together, old man!” I shout, getting a hold of his head to stop him from choking.
But then he pulls out a carving knife from somewhere—the one he always carried on his person and that contributed to his stupid name—and buries it in my gut.
I frown, looking down.
I’m not surprised that he’s trying to kill me; I just didn’t expect that they left him his weapon.
He twists the blade into my flesh, and I grunt.
Azeroth growls and punches Robb in the chest with such force that the exorcist flies away from me. The chain is the only thing that stops him from falling into a wastewater pool.
I keel over. Azeroth kneels in front of me a moment later, his wings blocking everything.
“Show me,” he says calmly. Too calmly.
“I’m fine,” I say, and I pull the knife out in one swift motion. Blood spatters on his clothes.
I grit my teeth against the pain. It definitely pierced an organ. A kidney, undoubtedly.
Azeroth has forgone his usual mirth. He looks about to finish me.
“The infamous White Exorcist, getting stabbed like an amateur,” he says. But his clawed fingers are surprisingly gentle as they pull up my shirt to look at the damage.
I glare at him. “Fuck you.”
“Do I need to fly you to the closest hospital, ashy one?”
Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t it. I thought he would just let me die and count his losses. He looks… bothered . Azeroth is a puzzle with missing pieces.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, holding my bleeding gut. “It takes much more than that to kill me.”
My mutations will patch me up in a few days. I nudge him out of the way.
Robb is a hundred percent human, even with the help of the Angels’ Tears . He’s hanging limply from his twisted chain, like a broken marionette held by its last string.
“Shit,” I say, dropping my bloody hands on his too-thin frame.
He’s still breathing, but barely. His rib cage has caved in under the impact of Azeroth’s hit. The only reason his body is still going might be because of the drug in his system. His abused heart is pumping blood, even though the rest of him is damaged beyond healing.
“No, no, no…” I whisper.
I realize that a part of me, naively, hoped for some kind of reconciliation after all these years. That I would free him from his captivity, and everything would change. He would be the man who came to pick me up at the airport on my sixteenth birthday and took me under his wing.
And I feel just like that lost boy as I’m trying to free him from his damned collar before he takes his last ragged breath.
“Fuck…” I say. “Robb… You rotten bastard.”
Azeroth appears at my side and pulls on Robb’s collar, breaking the lock with brute force. I catch my old friend before he can hit the ground. His ginger hair is so dirty, it looks brown. It sticks to his sweaty brow. He used to be a handsome man, years ago, before he started using the State Exorcists’ drug of choice.
“For what it’s worth, ashy one, I’m sorry I was the one to do the killing blow,” Azeroth says.
My eyes widen, and I look up. A demon being sorry? Hell must have frozen over.
“You’re a peculiar demon,” I say.
“And you’re a peculiar exorcist.”
Robb rasps, and I look down once again. His eyes are dimming. “He would have died soon, anyway. His body has taken too much abuse…”
His body…
A horrendous idea takes root. My head swivels around the facility. The ritual circle is still intact. On the day when my mother slit my throat, Lucifer took possession of my body and saved me from a sure death. A demon might be Robb’s only chance.
Oh, he’ll hate me for this. But he already tried to kill me, so what does it matter?
I get on my feet and carry Robb to the center of the salt circle.
“Make sure she stays where she is,” I gesture toward the tattoo artist. “We’ll have a need for her.”
The young woman curled up under the table let out a little squeal. She certainly hoped we’d forgotten about her.
Azeroth’s eyebrows are high enough to touch his horns. “Are you sure about this?”
I sigh. “No, I’m not. But I’m still doing it.”
We just need to hurry before Robb expires. I kneel outside the salt circle. My gut is still bleeding, and my clothes are soaked red.
Robb hasn’t led an easy life. The damage to his soul should be enough to let a demon in. The stronger, the better, if we want to save him. I’ve never done a ritual, but I know the words.
“You need to get out,” I say to Azeroth.
The call of Hell might be too much to resist for his soul with the tattoos inked on his skin.
He nods. “I’ll be on the other side of the door.”
Once he’s out of earshot and beyond the heavy door, I take a deep breath and recite the words in Latin. Robb is lifeless. I hope I’m not too late.
The candles flare, and scorching heat licks my face as I open the passage to Hell with surprising force. My eyes widen as I get a glimpse of the other side. Dark mountains, sharp as fangs, against a blood-red sky. The taste of sulfur burns its way to my lungs.
I didn’t expect that. Humans rarely get visions of the other plane. Is it because I’m part demon?
Something— someone —uses the passage to cross over. I feel them push their way through the fabric between worlds, and a great sound echoes all around me, like a dam breaking.
Robb jerks, and I cut the connection with Hell. The darkness inside the facility replaces the red sky. The candles have burned so brightly, most of them melted into small puddles of wax under the candelabras.
Azeroth comes back, wings flaring, just as Robb surges to his feet like a possessed, broken doll.