Jack Templar and the Lord of the Demons (The Jack Templar Chronicles Book 5) (7 page)

T
he knocker slammed
into the bronze door with a resounding boom. I could have sworn the sculpture of the human head winced in pain from the impact, but I told myself that it was just my eyes playing a trick on me.

We waited, expecting the door to swing open, but nothing happened. Tomas shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly impatient.

“Maybe nobody’s home,” Eva suggested.

Tomas glared at her, then lifted the knocker again and slammed it twice as hard into the door. This time for sure I saw the human face shift its expression, like it was crying out in pain. I didn’t know what kind of magic was at work, and I didn’t really want to know. All I really wanted was to know that my friends were safe and to figure out a way to get them back aboveground.

Still there was no answer.

“Do you want me to try?” Eva asked. “I could put a little power behind it.”

I realized she was digging under Tomas’s skin on purpose, testing how to push his buttons. She must have noticed the same tell I had earlier that the other taxi getting here before us had bothered him. I’d been taught early in my training about the usefulness of making an adversary angry. Anger was just as bad as fear in a battle. Both led to mistakes, and sometimes a single mistake made all the difference.

Tomas ignored Eva’s comment, but I noticed his hands ball up into fists. He grabbed the knocker again and hammered it into the door repeatedly. I winced as the human face distorted into a new look of pain with each strike.

Finally, the sound of sliding metal came from the other side of the door, and Tomas stopped. He stood back and collected himself as the door swung open. With as much dignity as possible, he marched into the building, leaving us standing outside.

I turned around. The minotaurs watched us carefully from behind. Not only that, but our arrival had caused a stir in the town square. A couple dozen creach had congregated in front of the fountain, checking us out and whispering among themselves.

“Any idea what we’re getting ourselves into here?” I asked.

Eva stared into the dark doorway ahead of us. “If the stories about this guy are only half true, this isn’t good.”

“Options?”

Eva nodded ahead. “Only one that I see. Obviously Draxo wanted us alive. Let’s find out why.”

“What if it was just so he could kill us himself?”

Eva walked toward the door. “Then we’ll have to figure out a way to kill him first.”

I reached for my sword and my hand came up empty. I’d walked into danger before, but not without a weapon. I didn’t like it, but Eva was right about one thing – there were no other options I could see. So, taking a deep breath, I followed.

The building was one large central hall, two stories high, with a second-level interior balcony that encircled the entire perimeter. Both the center hall and the balcony were filled with Creach monsters, mingling, laughing, drinking, and eating. Music dominated by heavy drums filled the air, and the crowd pulsed with energy. It took me a second to realize they were dancing.

“Th … they’re having a party,” I said to Eva.

Eva looked amused. “I can’t say I’ve ever been to a creach party before.”

I scanned the room looking for any sign of Will, T-Rex, and the others. I knew Eva’s vision was ten times better than my own. “Anything?”

She shook her head. “No sign.”

Tomas waved us forward. “C’mon, some of Draxo’s guests have reasons to dislike hunters. Enough reasons to maybe think it worthwhile to face Draxo’s wrath for killing you. I suggest we move quickly and not give them the chance.”

His warning came a little late. Some nearby creach stared us down, some of them licking their lips as if we were the main course served at a banquet. We tried to follow Tomas, but a group of creach cut us off, closing in around us.

“Where you goin’?” grunted a vile ogre with puss-filled wounds covering its arms and shoulders.

“Yes, what’s your rush?” asked an old vampire wearing tattered, mud-covered clothes. “Stay with us for a while.”

Tomas was back at our side. He flicked the creach away with the back of his hand. “These are Draxo’s possessions,” he said. “You can’t have them. There are humans in the basement if you’re hungry.”

“Draxo ran out of humans,” the old vampire moaned. “Said there’s more coming from the up-top, but it’s been hours.”

I swallowed hard, thankful that the humans in the basement Tomas was referring to weren’t my friends. If the creach had been waiting for hours, it was a good sign.

“Well, like I said, you can’t have these,” Tomas said. “Come on, you two.”

But the ogre stepped in front of us. “They stay here is what I think,” he growled.

“No, they’re coming with me,” Tomas said.

The ogre reached for the long knife on his belt. “I don’t think you heard me.”

With a cry, Eva jumped up and landed a roundhouse kick in the ogre’s chest. It stumbled back only a step, but that was enough for Eva. A second later, she had its knife. She swept low and sliced viscously at the back of the beast’s leg. As he dropped to one knee, she climbed up his chest and swung around so that she held the knife to the ogre’s throat.

“Enough!” shouted a voice that echoed through the hall.

The music stopped immediately. Every creach froze in place. All conversation ground to a halt.

The crowd between us and the far side of the hall parted, and a Creach that could only be Draxo walked toward us.

He was an ogre, not a particularly large one, maybe twice the size of a large man. But his body bulged with ropes of muscle, all on show because he wore only tattered shorts. If his skin had been green instead of a dirty orange, he might have been able to audition for a role as the Incredible Hulk in a movie. Only the Hulk didn’t have hundreds of tattoos covering his body the way Draxo did.

As he got closer, I saw that the images were not the normal kind of decorative art. The tattoos were gruesome depictions of death. Creach and human carcasses, all broken and twisted, some of them dismembered then reassembled in terrible ways. An arm where a head ought to be, a leg sticking out of a stomach. From Draxo’s nickname, “the Butcher,” I had a bad feeling the tattoos were probably memories.

Even so, the worst part of Draxo was his face. Really his entire head. It reminded me an oddly shaped potato, bulging out in unexpected lumps and slanting to one side as if he’d been run over by a truck when he was a baby. The massive head looked even odder because he had little pinpricks for eyes, no larger than a quarter. They were completely black and didn’t seem to move. Instead, it seemed like Draxo had to turn his head from side to side in order to take everything in around him.

Adding to the rest of his strangeness, Draxo’s skin, including his face, was crisscrossed with scar tissue from what looked to be dozens or even hundreds of old wounds. Apparently the Butcher enjoyed killing things that had the ability to fight back. As he crossed the floor toward us, no creach there met his eye. Instead, they all shied away, bowing as he went. Again, just like the minotaur guards, it reminded me of Ren Lucre. But while Ren Lucre commanded all creach around the world, Draxo was master of only this underground city. I wondered about the creach’s ambition and whether he was content with his dominion. It might be a weakness, something to use against him.

“Fangtrope,” he said, stepping up to the ogre who had blocked our progress. “Can it be true that you’re harassing my personal guests?”

The other ogre shook his head, all his earlier bravado gone.

“Y … your guests?” the ogre named Fangtrope stuttered. “These are
your
guests? I had no idea that –”

“Silence, idiot,” Draxo growled. “I know that Tomas told you so.” He tapped a hole on one side of his head. “I hear everything that happens in Old Rome. Remember?”

“I’m sorry,” Fangtrope said. “We were hungry. We just thought …”

Draxo held up his hand. “We?” He turned to the old vampire who’d harassed us. “Stephano, you were part of this? Tsk, tsk. I thought you were a gentleman.”

Stephano bowed low. “I’m so sorry, your Grace,” he said. Then he fell to his knees, groveling. “I was in error. I beg your forgiveness.”

Draxo’s tiny eyes squinted, his pug nose turned up as if he were disgusted with the display. He swung around to look at Fangtrope. “You see, that is how you apologize when you offend me.”

Fangtrope looked down at the vampire on the ground and shook his head.

“Kneel,” Draxo growled.

Fangtrope hesitated but then dropped to his knees. Still, he was a proud one and kept his head up, staring Draxo in the face.

The hall was silent, the only movement in the crowded room coming from spectators shifting positions to get a better view of the action.

“You are brave, Fangtrope,” Draxo said. “And you have been useful to me.” He reached into a small pouch he carried on his waistband. When his hand came out, two of his fingers dripped with red fluid. It seemed like a pretty safe guess that it was blood. “For that reason, I give you the chance for an honorable death.” He reached out and smeared an “X” on the ogre’s forehead with the blood. With this act, the crowd cheered wildly. Fangtrope stood and the crowd roared louder.

“My thanks,” Fangtrope said to Draxo.

Draxo nodded. Then, without a second’s hesitation, lifted his giant foot and smashed it into the middle of Stephano’s back. The old vampire’s backbone snapped loudly, and the crowd fell silent. Draxo grabbed a sword from a nearby goblin, moving much faster than I thought possible for a Creach that size, and in one fluid movement lopped the old vampire’s head off his shoulders.

The room was silent, stunned. But it only lasted a few seconds. The crowd resumed its cheering and the music started back up. Someone grabbed the old vampire’s head and threw it into the air. Someone else caught it and threw it again, like a macabre version of a beach ball being tossed around a crowd at a concert or sporting event.

Draxo turned to us. “Welcome to Old Rome,” he said, grinning. “Come, we will talk.”

W
ithout waiting for a response
, Draxo turned and walked back through the crowd the way he’d come. The party had resumed, but the revelers were quick to move aside to allow him through. Tomas appeared next to us.

“I suggest you follow him,” he said. “He doesn’t like to ask for things twice.”

Eva went first, and I followed behind her with Tomas. I leaned toward him, having to speak loudly over the noise of the party.

“What just happened?” I asked. “What’s with the ‘X’ on the forehead?”

“It means he will fight in the Games,” Tomas explained. “Most likely he will die in the Games as well, but it’s better than the death Stephano received.”

As he said this, Stephano’s head landed on the floor in front of us. A birdlike creature leaned down, used its beak to grab it by the hair, and then whipped its head to throw the “ball” across the hall to the other side of the party.

“Yeah, not the most dignified way to go,” I agreed.

“At least it was fast,” Tomas said. “Stephano was one of Draxo’s favorites. It’s the only reason he was so nice.”

I watched the head fly up into the air again to roars of the crowd. Swallowing hard, I hoped Draxo wouldn’t ever feel the need to be that nice to me.

We reached the other side of the hall and walked up the stairs to a platform in the back. It was deep and had heavy curtains tied back at either side. Once we passed them, servants appeared and pulled the curtains shut, blocking out most of the noise from the party on the other side. Draxo sat on a large chair that looked very much like a throne. Facing it, couches were lined up. He motioned for us to sit on one of them.

“Sit,” he said. “Relax. Eat, drink. You are my guests.”

Tomas flopped down on one of the couches, but Eva and I remained standing.

“I want to see our friends,” I demanded, trying to sound braver than I felt.

Draxo waved over a goblin-servant who carried a wicker basket with a lid on it. He lifted it, reached in and pulled out a three-foot-long snake that writhed and twisted in his hand.

“Your friends are safe,” he said. “Whether they remain safe is up to you.” Draxo bit the head off the snake, crunching loudly with his teeth. He motioned to the basket. “Do you want one?”

I ignored the offer. “I’d like to see them,” I said.

“
I want. I’d like.
You’re in Old Rome, boy,” he said. “
Here
it is what Draxo wants. What Draxo likes.” He chewed off more of the snake body, smacking his bloody lips together loudly. “Maybe I want to see your friends burned at the stake? Maybe I’d like to see your vampire’s head tossed around my hall like my friend Stephano’s?”

“I’m not
his
vampire,” Eva said.

Draxo chuckled. “Oh, I know who you are. You’re the Hand of Death. The one-handed monster hunter. Only you have two hands now. Most curious.”

“I never thought Draxo the Butcher would play such games,” Eva said.

The ogre jumped to his feet but then froze, as did everyone who heard her. Tomas came to his feet, poised for something to happen. I remembered his warning not to call Draxo the Butcher. I got ready for an attack if it came.

But after a few long tense moments, Draxo broke into a wide grin. It was an ugly thing to see, showing his brown, jagged teeth and purple veiny tongue, but it was better than an attack.

“Do you think you can bait me so easily?” Draxo asked. “I know my species usually has the brains of a cockroach, but not me.” He tapped his head. “Strength and wisdom. A powerful combination.”

Eva looked around the room and indicated the party raging behind us. “And look at all you’ve done with your gifts. Impressive,” she said.

Draxo’s smile disappeared. “Templar, you’d best tell your vampire to stop being so rude. Or I might have her mouth sewn shut or have molten iron poured down her throat.”

Eva opened her mouth to answer, but I beat her to it.

“You brought us here,” I said. “Maybe if you tell us why, we can work something out?”

Draxo fell back into his chair. “That’s better. Sit, both of you. And I will tell you why you’re here.”

I motioned for Eva to sit on the couch nearest us, but she didn’t budge. Instead, she glared at Draxo, her teeth grinding together. I’d seen that look before, even before she’d been turned into a vampire. It was the look she got right before she attacked someone.

“He has the others,” I whispered. “Leave it.”

Draxo watched the interchange between us with interest. Part of me wondered if he hoped she would attack him. Judging by his looks, I guessed a brutal fight was his idea of a good time. Fortunately, Eva listened to reason and sat down on the couch. I took a seat beside her.

“That’s better,” Draxo said, although he sounded disappointed. “Now we can get down to business.”

“First, I want to know if my friends are all right,” I said.

Draxo looked annoyed. “They’re fine. Enjoying my finest hospitality. I promise.”

He spoke surprisingly well for an ogre. I was used to the monosyllabic grunts of the ogres I’d meet before. This creach was a different kind of monster. I sensed a keen intelligence behind his squinting black eyes.

“Can I see them?” I asked.

“Once we conduct our business, of course,” he replied.

I leaned forward. “You said you’d tell me why we were brought here.”

Draxo smiled. “I enjoy games. Do you?”

“Not really,” I said.

“That’s too bad. Still, let’s play a game. I’ll tell you why I think you’re in Rome, and then you can guess why I brought you here. How does that sound?”

I didn’t get the feeling I had any choice in the matter. “Okay, go right ahead.”

“The whole creach world is buzzing with news about you,” Draxo said. “The Last Templar. The old prophecy made real. The Chosen One out to unite the Jerusalem Stones and restore balance between creach and human.”

“I don’t know whether –” I started to object.

“Don’t worry,” Draxo cut me off. “I don’t believe in any of that nonsense. It’s just an old tale used to keep the horde at bay. To control the masses by giving them something to fear so they feel like they need protection.”

“So, you don’t think I’m the One?” I asked.

Draxo shook his head. “There is no such thing. I know you are a hunter of the Black Guard. I can even imagine you as the son of John Templar who I once locked swords with.” Draxo raised a hand and traced a nasty-looking scar that went from his right ear, down his neck, and across his chest. I felt a little burst of pride that my father’s sword had left a mark on the beast in front of me.

Draxo noticed the look and gave me a wink. “Don’t worry lad, your father’s skin bears the marks from the encounter. He was a worthwhile opponent.”

“This is all very interesting,” Eva said. “But I thought you were going to astound us with your intellect and tell us why we’re here.”

Draxo growled, his lips pulling back over his disgusting teeth. I wished Eva would stop antagonizing him so I didn’t have to see Draxo’s face twist into grotesque expressions.

“Careful,” he said. “You might just miscalculate and push me too far.” He turned to me. “As for you, I’ve heard that you are playing the part required of you by that charlatan Aquinas, dutifully chasing down the Jerusalem Stones one by one.”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” I countered, my smart aleck mouth running before my brain could think through what I was saying.

“Indeed,” Draxo replied. “And it appears you are good at your role. First Shakra in Paris and then Kaeden in the Black Forest. Two attempts and two successes.”

I kept my face as expressionless as possible. I didn’t want to give up any more information than I had to. Still, Draxo looked assured of his facts.

“This part is not in question,” he said. “I have my eyes everywhere in the creach world, and I know you acquired the first two stones. And now you hunger for the third, being foolish enough to believe you might be the Chosen One.” He leaned in toward me, his black eyes boring into me. “Which will it be? The Demons? Zombies? Maybe the Lesser Creach?” He leaned back. “No, I think not them. Save them for last. Zombies then?” He pretended to consider the option. “No, too spread out. Hard to even know who’s in charge of that lot right now. Some kind of internal battle from what I hear. A new challenger to the throne. Although who would want to rule over a bunch of zombies is beyond me.” He smacked his hands together as if an idea had just come to him. “The Lord of the Demons then. That has to be it.”

He stood and paced in front of us, pretending to be concerned. “But how to get to him? How to get to the Underworld?” He spun and looked at me with mock surprise. “Wait. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’re looking for the entrance to the Underworld, and that old blinderworm Aquinas still thinks there’s one here in Rome.” He shook his head sadly. “But that’s just not true. Hasn’t been for years. Sorry to say, you came here on a fool’s errand. And that fool’s name is Aquinas.”

I smiled, trying to mask my disappointment. “Actually, we came to Rome because we heard it has the best gelato in the world.”

“And for the sights,” Eva said. “Eternal City and all that.”

Draxo wasn’t amused. “I’m correct, I can see it in your eyes.” He shook his head, mocking us. “So sad. All this way for nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. I have something in store for you.” Then he clapped his hands and pointed at me. “And that means it’s your turn,” he said. “Your turn to guess why you’re here.”

I put my hands up. “You got me,” I said. “I have no idea. I guess you win.”

Draxo’s face darkened. Any sense of fun disappeared. He curled his hand into a fist. “No, we play the game!” he shouted, smashing the small table in front of the couch, sending chunks of wood and splinters everywhere.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll play. Just give me a second.”

Draxo nodded, kicking the bits of table away. He retook his seat and waited.

“Uhhh … you’ve obviously been following our journey,” I said, grasping for a guess that would satisfy. For some reason Draxo’s nickname, “the Butcher”, kept echoing in my head. “And you know what our quest is all about.”

Draxo reached over, snagged another snake from the basket, and bit into it, crunching noisily while he waited.

“My guess is that you want something I have,” I said. “Something you heard I’ve acquired along the way.”

“Good,” Draxo said. “Very good. See? I knew you would be good at this if you tried.”

I thought through all the things I’d picked up since this journey had started: the Templar Ring, Gregor’s sword, the Truthsayer. But I didn’t think Draxo knew anything about those. All he’d mentioned was that he knew I was in possession of the Jerusalem Stones from both the vampires and the werewolves.

“You can’t mean the Jerusalem Stones,” I said.

“Really?” Draxo replied. “And why not?”

“You said yourself you don’t believe in all that stuff,” I said.

“No,” Draxo countered. “I said I didn’t believe in the prophecy or that you are some miraculous Chosen One. Just look at you. Scrawny. Barely hair on your chin. A first year trainee at my gladiator school could probably strike you down and empty his bladder at the same time.” The servants around us broke their silence and laughed at the joke. Draxo beamed, happy to make fun of me. Then he held up a hand and they all fell silent. “But the Jerusalem Stones. I believe in them. I believe in their power. I know enough of the Templar history to be a fool not to believe.”

“I can’t give you the Jerusalem Stones,” I said. “I don’t even have them with me.”

Draxo squinted his beady eyes and looked me up and down. “So is that it? That’s your guess as to why I brought you here? The Jerusalem Stones.”

I looked over at Eva to see if I could tell from her body language whether I’d missed anything, but she stared at Draxo and ignored me. I turned to him and shrugged. “Yeah, that’s my guess.”

“WRONG!” he shouted. It was so loud that the music slowed on the other side of the curtain, and the babble of the party quieted for a few moments as if waiting to see if something more would happen. A few seconds later, the noise rose back to its previous levels as Draxo sat on his chair, a smug look on his face. He rubbed his hands together. “Ahhh … it feels good to outwit the great monster hunter himself.”

My impulse was to point out that he hadn’t outwitted me at all; he simply had information I didn’t have. Based on his mood, his nickname, and the snake blood dripping from the corners of his both, I decided not to point that out.

“If it’s not the Jerusalem Stones, then what is it?” I blurted.

“It’s me,” Eva whispered. “I’m what he wants.”

“No, that’s ridiculous,” I said. “Why would he …”

My voice trailed off as I looked back at Draxo. He smiled, and I saw that she was right.

“But why?” I asked, my mind churning though the possible reasons for this strange request.

Draxo pointed at Eva. “Can you tell us? It seems that in both ogres and humans, the females are the more intelligent.”

“The Games,” Eva said. “He wants me for the Games.”

“What Games?” I asked.

“
What Games
, he asks.” Draxo bellowed. “THE Games. The only ones that matter in all Creachdom.”

“The gladiator games,” Eva explained. “Creach against creach. Sometimes a human in the mix, usually as fodder for the creach gladiators to play with during the short intermissions between real fights.”

“How do you know about all this?” I asked. I hadn’t completed even a small portion of the hunter education at the Academy, but I thought I would have come across a story about modern day gladiator games at some point.

“Remember those memories I told you about?” Eva asked. “Memories that are not my own. Mostly from Shakra, but some from Ren Lucre and even the old vampire Vitus before that.” She looked down her nose, suddenly looking like royalty forced to speak with a commoner. “I’ve seen the Games of Draxo the Butcher before. And I’m unimpressed.”

The servants took a few steps back, looks of horror on their faces. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the use of the ogre’s nickname or the fact that Eva said she was unimpressed.