and for a moment each weapon shone like pure gold. When the glow faded, I was ready. I stuck the jeweled dagger in my belt and snugged the curved dagger into a sheath strapped to my ankle. I clicked the safety off the pistol and sat by the window to wait.
Lucado kept snoring, a weird combination of buzzes and snorts. The glowing green numbers on his nightstand alarm clock said 10:57. Soon, the Harpies would attack.
I dabbed some menthol cream into each nostril. I braced myself, then opened my senses to the demonic plane. Most people can’t perceive any demons besides their own. As one of the Cerddorion, I had the ability to step into the dimension where demons reign—and believe me, the demon-haunted world is not a nice place. The moment I tuned in, I was hit by a cacophony of shrieks and screaming, gibbering and cruel laughter. Colors dimmed, overlaid by a gray film of smoke and shadows. And the stench—a nauseating combination of raw sewage, rotting meat, sulfur, and sweat. The smell could knock you backward when it hit. That’s what the menthol was for.
I focused, sifting through the racket of thousands of demons tormenting hundreds of Bostonians. Through all that din, I was listening for one particular sound, the sound of frenzied Harpies approaching their prey, like a million out-of-tune violins shrieking out the music from the shower scene in
Keeping an ear tuned to the Harpies’ approach, I jumped up and turned the chair around. I knelt on the seat and braced my arms on the chair’s back. The shrieks grew louder, louder—waves of earsplitting screeching pounded my skull. My finger tightened on the trigger.
I stood, clicking on the safety and holstering the gun. In the bed, Frank moaned and turned onto his side. Some part of him sensed there were Harpies in the room, even dead ones. “No,” he murmured, then went quiet. At least he’d stopped snoring.
I fetched the second duffel bag and went over to collect the Harpy corpses. Even after ten years of exterminating these demons, I was still jolted by their vileness. Harpies have the body of a vulture—with extra-long, extra-sharp steel talons—and the head of a Gorgon, a creature that looked something like a woman, but with snakes for hair and a cruel, hooked beak. That Gorgon head was said to turn humans into stone, and that’s what it did—paralyzed them with fear and horror so that the victim had no defense against the creature as it tore into his guts.
The duffel bag was lined with aromatic herbs and pine branches to help counter the stink of dead Harpies. I opened it, then picked up the first Harpy by its feet and stuffed it into the bag. The second soon joined it. As I reached for the third, Frank moaned again. I turned to check that he was okay, and a deafening screech split the air as a slash of pain ripped across my arm. I spun around—the third Harpy no longer lay still and silent on the floor. It had taken to the air, hovering near the ceiling, its snake hair writhing in a spitting, hissing cloud around its head, its beak snapping open and shut. I barely had time to register its position before it dived.
Hurtling toward me, feet first, its steel talons targeted my eyes. I dropped and rolled, yanking the dagger from my belt. Shrieking with rage, the Harpy hit the ground hard, skidding across the floor and gouging twin tracks out of the carpet. I lunged for the thing and missed, and it made like a road-runner for Frank’s bed.
“No, you don’t!” I shouted, throwing myself at it, but grasping only a few tail feathers. They yanked out, and the demon spun around, howling in fury. It paused, torn between going after me or its victim.
“Come on, you damn demon.” I crouched, gripping the dagger, ready. The Harpy flapped its wings, lifting heavily into the air, but not getting higher than head level. Three feet away, its snakes strained toward me, trying to strike. I could see now that I’d only grazed it with the gun, under the left wing. I couldn’t use the pistol here, though; not this close to Frank’s bed. What if I missed? As the demon turned its head back and forth between me and Frank, I advanced. It moved away, trying to gain some height, and I pressed forward, herding it toward the back wall, away from the bed.
When it realized what I was doing, it struggled upward another couple of feet, then dived again. This time, I was ready. I stood my ground as the shrieking, hissing thing plummeted toward me, and at the last second I raised the dagger. It screamed as it impaled itself on the blade.
I kept my arm braced, took the impact and the weight. Then I lowered the dagger, and the Harpy slid to the floor. The beak still gaped open, but the beady eyes had lost their fire, and the snakes lay limp and unmoving. Steam curled from the place where bronze had pierced its flesh. I poked the demon with the toe of my boot. No response, just deadweight. Within a minute the Harpy had joined its sisters in the duffel bag.
In the bed, Frank had resumed snoring. I surveyed the room. On the demonic plane, it was a mess— shattered window, expensive white carpet torn and stained. I went into the bathroom to wash the gooey, smelly, green-black Harpy blood off my dagger. In the mirror, I was a mess, too—my face flicked with a dozen cuts, my arm gashed by a Harpy bite. Gazing at my reflection, I closed my senses to the world of the demons. As if by magic, the cuts closed up, faded, then disappeared. When I returned to the bedroom, normal reality showed the room in its previous condition, except for a whiff of sulfur in the air. If that wasn’t gone by morning, Frank’s carpet would need a good steam cleaning.
CARRYING MY TWO DUFFEL BAGS, I TROTTED DOWN THE stairs. By the front door, the bodyguard sat with his chair tilted back against the wall. He leaned there, mouth open, snoring like he was trying to beat the boss in a snoring competition.
The smell of sulfur still clung to me. I needed fresh air. I remembered there was a balcony on this floor, too, off the living room. I’d take a minute to step outside, get my head clear. Walking through the darkened living room, I dropped my bag by the chair where Frank had sipped brandy earlier. Then I opened the balcony door and slipped outside.
The night was chilly, with a hint of frost, but sparkling clear. Perfect. I stood with my hands on the cold railing, facing the harbor, and inhaled the crystalline air, cleansing my lungs of the foulness of demons. It was about eleven forty, and it was quiet. Blessedly quiet. I could perceive a faint echo of the screams and groans in the demonic plane, but as I stood and focused on my breathing, those subsided, then faded out entirely. Revitalized, I went back inside.
In the front hall, I stopped and regarded the big norm sleeping in his chair. Some bodyguard. Hmm, I wondered, how should I awaken Sleeping Beauty? A gentle shake of the shoulder—or a good swift kick to send the chair flying out from under him? Decisions, decisions.
Before I could make up my mind, a funny feeling prickled along my arms, goose-bumping my flesh. I looked around. Nothing. The feeling returned, stronger, like an electric current. It raced up my arms and past my shoulders to make the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. What
I stepped forward, and the feeling intensified. I stopped and listened, straining to hear past the bodyguard’s snores. Somewhere in the distance, but inside the building, I heard a bang, like a door slamming. The sound sent shivers through my bones.
Something banged again. Louder.
I ran across the hall, grabbed the bodyguard’s shirt, and shook him. The T-shirt tore like tissue. He sputtered and grabbed for his gun, but I held his arms fast. His eyes widened when he realized it was me, or maybe when he realized that I could force him to hold still. “What the—?” he began.
“You’ve gotta tell me something.” My voice sounded wild. “Do people slam doors in this building?”
“Slam—?” He looked bewildered. His eyes had lost that heavy-lidded, sleepy look, but there was drool on his chin.
“Hey, let me go. What the hell are you talking about, slamming doors?”
Another bang.
“Like that.”
A frown creased his forehead. “Nah. I never heard that before. Frankie built this place real good. It’s got
