narcotics.”
“So, what? You use your little powers or something?”
Darius shifted and turned to face Curran. His face morphed again, drawing itself out like Silly Putty pressed to a comic. His skin lengthened and darkened. Curran watched as his jaw dropped down, unhinging and yawning like a great snake. He could see the white teeth disappear, only to be replaced by yellowish triangular ones with deep serrations running down the sides. Coarse black hair sprung out of Darius’ head. His nose receded, drawn back toward his misshapen skull while his nostrils turned up giving a porcine appearance.
The rest of his body grew as well. His robes burst at the seams as his flesh expanded and filled three times the space his human body had. His arms lengthened topped with a fearsome looking set of claws.
And all the while he moved closer to Curran.
His voice filled the room, a piece of splintery wood drawn across heavy grit sandpaper. “Tell me human if you don’t still think this is all the ravings of a lunatic. Tell me you don’t believe now what others have told you is truth. Look at me — see what I am — what I can become with mere will — and tell me that I exist only in your pathetic mind.”
Curran’s throat went dry.
Holy crap.
The demon standing before him chuckled and it sounded like all the phlegm in the world was gurgling against the back of his throat. “So, maybe you do believe after all.”
“Are you still Darius?”
“Names are merely labels for humans. You would not be able to pronounce my name in your tongue. Call me what you will for it matters not.”
Curran watched him turn back to the sarcophagus. He strained against the ropes holding him tight. There had to be a way to get out of them.
But even if he was successful, then what? Curran didn’t have near the martial arts skills that Kwon had had. What then?
He knew for sure his pistol was gone. But what about his backup piece? With both his legs free, he tried to rub one against the other. Was that it? He couldn’t be sure if he still felt it there or not.
He needed to get free.
The demon lifted his arms. “The hour grows near. I must begin.”
Curran kept flexing. “You mind if I catch this act some other time?”
The Soul Eater glanced over his bulbous shoulder and eyed him, one opaque orb topped by a yellow and red pupil. Curran had never seen such cold eyes. “It’s time for you to be quiet, Curran. Sit there and say nothing. Your time will come soon enough.”
Curran frowned and flexed his wrists against the ropes again. There was definitely some wriggle room. Not a lot, but there might just be enough.
Darius checked the candles and then moved into the center of the pentagram, raising his arms toward the roof of the cellar. He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and then began to speak.
His voice deepened, but the words coming out were foreign to Curran. If he’d ever thought about it, this must be what someone talking in tongues would sound like.
While his eyes were closed, Curran continued flexing against the ropes. He figured it must be right close to midnight. He didn’t think the demon would speak for long. Not after waiting for all those years. That didn’t leave much time to get free of the ropes and help Lauren out of that damned coffin.
The demon turned his back to Curran and stood before the vat. He lowered his arms as if to encircle the vessel, his voice dipping into lower monotones. He almost chanted now.
Curran could see something happening to the vat. It almost looked like it was starting to boil.
He frowned.
The evil souls were stirring. At long last, their period of hibernation was coming to an end.
And they’d be hungry.
Curran glanced around the room. Where was his gun? If he could get out of the ropes, he’d need a weapon. At the same time, he didn’t want to alert the demon into somehow spiritually tying him up as well.
He flexed again and felt one of the ropes give.
Darius lifted the lid off of the vat.
A wave of putrid smell washed over the entire cellar. Curran retched and tasted some of his own bile. The stench was incredible. Darius placed the lid at one of the points of the pentagram.
He lifted a black-bladed knife and then slowly drew it across his own scaly palm. Curran watched the blade bite deep into the thick callused skin. A stream of fresh blood rained into the vat. It had an immediate effect. The contents began churning like an angry sea.
Curran tried his best not to inhale, because every time he did, he wanted to puke all over again. He steadied his mind and flexed again.
Another rope gave.
Darius placed the knife at another point of the pentagram and wrapped his wound in black cloth. Curran saw the fabric immediately turn brighter as the red blood soaked it through.
Darius continued his prayers over the vat.
The contents bubbled now.
Like watching a pot come to a boil, thought Curran.
Darius walked over toward the sarcophagus. Curran fidgeted, straining some more against the ropes. He looked and saw that affixed to the bottom of the sarcophagus were small wheels.
Darius wheeled it toward the vat.
Curran frowned. No! He had to get free!
He flexed again.
Another rope gave.
But more still held his wrists tight.
Darius stopped the sarcophagus and resumed his position in front of the vat. Again, he raised his arms toward the ceiling.
The chanting continued.
Any minute now, he’s going to dump that crap all over Lauren, thought Curran.
He flexed again.
Nothing budged.
Curran chewed his lower lip. The room had grown a lot hotter all of a sudden. It was beginning to happen. Darius was beginning to call Satan forth.
A line of sweat broke out along Curran’s hairline, dribbling down over his forehead and into his eyes, stinging them.
He made a decision.
He jerked himself to the right and fell to the ground, the chair with him. He tried to twist just so, that one side of the chair would impact with the stone floor and hopefully break.
It didn’t.
Curran lay there struggling, trying to escape the ropes that continued to bind him tight.
And suddenly realized the chanting had stopped.
The demon stood in front of him.
“It would be wise, I think, to not interrupt me again. The requirement is only that you be alive for my master when he comes on to this plane.” Darius grinned. “I can easily make you far more submissive.”
“Yeah, but you won’t do that.”
“No?”
“You want me to see this. You need me to see this. After all, this is almost ten years of our lives, isn’t it, Darius? You’ve tormented me for so long already. You aren’t about to let me get out of that kind of torture. You live for this kind of crap. I’ll bet the last time you had this much fun was when you killed Graham Westerly.”
Darius laughed. “Perhaps.” A single hairy finger nudged Curran in the chest. “Lay there then. Be still and I will allow you to witness the resurrection of my Lord.”
Darius turned back to the vat. The contents had stopped boiling when Darius had stopped chanting. Now and
