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Thee liveth. The demon
was cold. Carl pulled himself away from a corpse to squat on bare heels, huddled
against the chill of the grave. A few rotting bones decorated the place. The pit
was an open manhole, the iron cover missing, tunnels caved in, and the ladder
gone. An oubliette, some gang’s prison hole.
He glanced up. The sky outside the hole was gray and far overhead.
Blue eyes stared blindly at the sky from the victim’s head.
Carl looked away from it and stood, grimacing at the overfull
sensation that distended his stomach.
To the shon:gili
sleeping in his mind, he said, Chow hound.
The shon:gili wiggled and yawned. The
stubby tail slapped up and down. It slid back to sleep.
“Is that how the witches, the redskin witches do it? They can
change when they want.”
Thou art not fit to speak of
them, slave.
Carl did a fast mental check, and the demon found raw nerves
whipping around him. It shrieked, and sparks flew off its teeth.
Yes, yes! They do so change
at will. So long as the sun is up, they may not. ‘Tis ill advised to try.
A tormenter slid around Carl’s foot. Shuddering and terrified,
he kicked at it. The foot went through the serpentine body. The torment moved
away, through the empty corpse and into the muddy earth.
Carl scowled. “They can’t nail me in here?”
Gloomy and muttered, the demon said, Thee live.
In wonder, Carl peered at his hands. No calluses, no scars. He
stretched and felt the small of his back. No lump from the bullet lodged too
close to his spine for even the 'bots to eat away.
“Anna!”
Art a fool, slave! Lord Owl
shall not allow thee to live.
Carl stilled. He scowled and shuddered. One fist rapped the side
of his head, and as the faint odor of burning teeth came to Carl’s mind the
demon screamed.
A mirror set of twin girls skipped and sang a little song.
Blackened ruins walled them in, but they were happy. The reek of charred flesh
was behind the girl and freckled, snub noses wrinkled in delight.
Uncle Carl and Uncle Benny were somewhere around here.
They linked pinkies, winked, and danced a small jig.
They giggled. Life was grand, just grand.
With Benny on one side and Ama on the other, Sue was helped from
bed into a pair of quilted moccasins and into the narrow hall. At the bathroom
door, she stopped, smiling at Benny.
“Got to powder my nose, man.”
Smiling, his face burning, Benny opened the door. She slid in
followed by Ama.
“And stay out," A scowling Ama said, slamming the door
shut.
An hour later Sue was back with her face washed, her hair and
teeth brushed.
Benny was still waiting. He took her arm and led her to the
kitchen.
Henri tucked the judge in, made certain the pillow was just so,
and the elephant hide straps not too tight.
He stepped back to leave when the judge whispered a sleepy,
“’Good night, Daddy.”
“Uh, yeah. Rest sweet, man.”
Locking the vault with his own code and eye print, Henri raced up
the stairs to the den. The new captain of Harrison’s guard was standing before
Mother Harrison’s portrait.
Henri forced a wide grin on his face.
“Making yourself to home, sir?”
“All I lack is a woman,” the man said, smiling. He raised a
snifter of brandy to the portrait and gagged in silence. Turning to Henri, he
flipped the right collar of his coat up to show a black dot. To Henri’s shock,
he hand signed, Micro eye.
Tapping the side of his head, he repeated it, pointing to his
right eye and temple, then one ear.
The captain winked.
“When the baron awakes, I will have the pleasure of telling that
my predecessor has been punished for forcing the serving girl. They fined him a
day’s pay.”
Temples pounding, Henri gave a curt nod.
He signed in return, Give
him to the women.
Smiling into the snifter, the captain nodded. We did. Peace, cousin. The Cleansing is coming.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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