The Demonica Compendium (4 page)

Reckoning (noun)—An unpleasant or
disastrous destiny

Chicago. 1928.

They were coming.

Wraith lurched across the floor of the abandoned brew
ery, one leg dragging. He'd yanked the dagger out of his
thigh, but the damage had been done, because his leg
wouldn't work right. Hell, it wouldn't work at all.

Dusty equipment and trash littered the huge ware
house, slowing him down even more. He ducked behind a
giant vat, but if he believed he was hiding, he was fooling
himself. Even if he wasn't leaving a blood trail a blind
man could follow, the bastards on his tail were vamps.
They'd track him by scent.

Pain radiated up from his leg, competing with the burn
ing in his lungs for attention. Wincing, he put pressure on
the puncture wound, which did nothing to stanch the blood.

He was in trouble.

Two years of running had gotten him nowhere. His
mother's clan had finally caught up with him. They'd
chased him from California to Texas, and from there to
Canada. Then Alaska. Now he was in Chicago, thinking
he should have forced someone to teach him about the
Harrowgates instead of traveling on foot, following the
odd, ever-present feeling deep in his chest that told him
he had family out there.

Then again, he hadn't been overly enthused about find
ing those mysterious relatives. Not when the only family
he'd ever known had tortured and abused him, and who
were even now entering the building to finish what they'd
started the day he was born.

In the moon's silver light streaming through the broken
windows, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of
the vat's metal panels. His dark hair hung in ropes around
his shoulders and his face was caked with dirt and blood.
Only his eyes looked the way they'd always been—the
color of mud and just as murky. A vagrant had once told
Wraith his eyes were dead.

Wraith had eaten the guy for that, but the homeless
man had spoken the truth. Inside, Wraith was an empty
shell, and he had no idea why he kept fighting.

"We know you're in here, boy," Dick, Wraith's uncle,
called out. "So why don't you come out from hiding like
the rat you are and face your justice."

Justice. Funny. Wraith had been in a kill-or-be-killed
situation with his own mother, but that was of no conse
quence to people who had kept him in a cage his entire
life. Wraith's mother had been a full-fledged vampire, while Wraith was nothing more than a demon. Didn't
matter that he had to drink blood to survive—he wasn't a
true vampire, so his life had been deemed worth less than
an insect's, and her clan intended to squash him.

He glanced around wildly for a way out, but three vam
pires he didn't know blocked the exits. Looked like good
old Uncle Dickhead had found some locals who were
eager for a little bloodsport.

Wraith dug into his pocket for his knife. This was the
end of the line, and he knew it.

Maybe the afterlife would be better than this one,
because it sure as hell couldn't be worse.

"Hell's bells." Shade clutched his leg, nearly falling on his
ass in the middle of the living room of the Queens row
house he shared with Eidolon. Little bursts of pain rode
his nerves from his leg to his skull. "I'm starting to not
like this brother of ours."

Eidolon lit another oil lamp, but the ugly brown wallpa
per seemed to absorb the soft glow. They'd just moved in, and the damned lighting didn't work. Worse, the stench of
the latern smoke made Shade gag.

"You've said the same thing about Roag," Eidolon said.
"I'm beginning to think you wish you were an only child."

"Not true. I like my sister."

One corner of Eidolon's mouth quirked in a smile.
"The real mystery is why Skulk likes
you."

"Glad you find this so amusing," Shade said, as he hob
bled across the room. "Because I sure as hell don't."

Eidolon swiped a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Scotch
off an end table. "So, do you think we should head west? See if we can find him?"

Shade sank down on a chair, rubbing his thigh. They'd
sensed this unknown brother all their lives, but over the
last couple of weeks they'd felt him growing closer, slowly,
which meant he wasn't using the Harrowgates. Still, there
was a sense of panic about the movement, and Shade got
the feeling the guy was moving east for a reason.

He was coming to find his brothers.

"He's in a lot of pain. We should see what the trouble
is."

Eidolon caressed the neck of the bottle like a lover.
Growing up with privilege and wealth had given him a
taste for only the finest liquor. Not that Shade couldn't
appreciate the expensive stuff, but cheap rotgut got you
just as warm.

"Let's find Roag," Eidolon said, as he poured a drink.
"He'll want to go."

"Let's not and say we did," Shade muttered, and E
leveled an annoyed look at him. Shade rolled his eyes. "Come on. You're not the one with fire shooting up his
leg." E could sense the existence of his brothers, same as
Shade and Roag, but it seemed as if only Shade had gotten
saddled with the ability to feel this mysterious brother's
physical pain.

"It won't take long."

Shade shoved to his feet. "Fine, but if Roag is at another
opium den, you're the one going in to get him."

Roag wasn't at an opium den. Eidolon could have dealt
with that. Instead, he and Shade found Roag in an Irish
demon pub. A demon pub full of horny females. Eidolon
and Shade had made the mistake of entering, and they'd become stuck for two days, unable to leave until the last
female was sexually satisfied.

Only the fact that their youngest brother was in so much
pain that even Eidolon
could now feel it forced them out
of there. The needs of their sibling overrode the needs of
the females, and they were finally free.

Exhausted and on the verge of collapse, but free.

They dragged their sorry asses to the nearest Harrow
gate, where Eidolon studied the panels etched into the
glossy black walls. He sensed the need to head west, but
he couldn't pinpoint more than that. It was Shade who fin
gered the crude map of the United States.

"Illinois?"

"Chicago."

Roag yawned. "How the hell do you know?"

"Dunno." Shade was looking a little green around the
gills, and Eidolon knew it was more than exhaustion and a
sexual hangover. He was feeling the effects of their broth
er's pain ten times stronger than Eidolon was. A couple of times at the pub he'd even collapsed on the ground, writh
ing in agony. Roag didn't seem to be affected at all.

The Harrowgate opened up into a run-down factory district. Low, gray clouds obscured the sky, and smoke
billowing from tall stacks turned the autumn air heavy
with gloom, as if the very city felt their sibling's misery.

Eidolon definitely felt it. Now that they were close, his
skin tightened to the point of pain, and a throbbing ache
settled low in his gut.

Shade went taut, his head swiveling as he zeroed in on
their brother. A heartbeat later, he shot down the street.
"This way."

They moved quickly through a bustling section of
town, where street vendors hawked cheap food to the fac
tory workers, and when they passed a prostitute hawking her particular brand of wares, Roag stopped.

"I'll catch up," he said, his Irish accent thick with lust.

Damn him. Eidolon knew arguing wouldn't do any
good, and Shade was already out of sight. With a juicy
curse, he jogged ahead. The cavity in Eidolon's chest
where brotherly sensation centered grew warmer as they
approached a more sparsely populated area. The heat
exploded into an inferno when Shade darted through the
side door of a building whose faded sign indicated it had
been both a textile mill and a brewery.

Inside, the windows had been covered with tarps and wood, and eight vampires stood around a broken, naked
body hanging from the ceiling. Various tools lay scattered
like bones on the floor—hammers, blades, pliers. But
what froze Eidolon's blood in his veins was the blowtorch one of the male vamps was holding.

The stench of burning flesh permeated the air.

Rage nearly turned Eidolon inside out. "You sick bas
tards," he snarled, and the vampires spun around.

The vampire with the blowtorch moved toward them
with the slinky grace of a snake, and the others followed.
"Who are you?"

"We're his brothers." Shade seized an overturned chair
and smashed it again
st the wall. Wood shrapnel show
ered them all. Shade snagged one thick shard out of the
air and gestured at the bloody demon with his makeshift
stake. "And we're only going to ask you once to clear
out."

The vampire laughed. "You're risking your necks to
rescue
Wraith!
Why?"

Eidolon had never had a problem with vampires... un
til now. "Did you miss the brother thing?" He swept up a broken chair leg and tested its weight in his palm. It took
e
very ounce of restraint he had not to plunge the pointy
end into the vampire's heart right then and there.

"Do not interfere." The lone female vamp eased up
next to the big male. "This is a vampire matter—"

"He's not a vampire," Eidolon bit out, because by now,
he'd had it with these assholes.

"As much as I hate to say it," the male with the blow
torch said, "the whelp
is
a vampire. Leave us. This is your
last warning."

Frowning, Eidolon studied the body swinging from
the ceiling. His
dermoire
was visible under the layers of
caked and fresh blood, so this was definitely their brother,
and he was definitely a demon. Eidolon had no idea what
this madman was talking about, but really, it didn't mat
ter. They had come prepared for a battle, and in addition
to his chair-leg stake, Eidolon had an arsenal of weapons
stashed beneath his long wool coat.

No doubt these vamps had decades, if not centuries, of
experience on Eidolon and Shade, but they weren't com
pletely helpless. Shade could scramble anyone's insides
with a touch, and Eidolon's Justice Dealer background
had given him a unique perspective on pain and injury.

Wraith's low, drawn-o
ut moan drifted through the fac
tory like a ghost. Eidolon moved forward. These bastards
were going to die.

Four vampires were dust. Two had run, and two were
now hog-tied and propped against the factory wall. One
of them was the asshole who had threatened them, but sit
ting there, bloody and missing a few teeth, he didn't look
so threatening anymore. Shade didn't think so, anyway.

Shade kicked the male, who'd said he was Wraith's
uncle. "Why can't we kill them?"

"Because Wraith should have that honor," Eidolon said,
and Shade supposed that was a good point.