Case 4 - Ep. 3: Two Souls, Two Tales

Two Tales, Two Souls by Beki Yopek

Mix one Reaper, one Ava, and a hundred swarming demon thieves and you get The Battle Of The Somme with too many chasers.

Demons with crimson, black, and gray wings erupted from a gutted farmhouse and barn in northern France, 1916. They surged through the skies after us in a tangled mass, drawing haloxite blades and rifles no doubt loaded with haloxite rounds that would pierce the protection our brimstone horns gave us. I whipped out my Blood Magic folio from the inside of my half-shredded trenchcoat and gripped my favorite haloxite knife in the other hand. Then I shouted to The Reaper, “Stick with the plan and harvest from the outside in. I’ll deal with these clowns.”

“What about the summoners on the battlefield?” The Reaper hissed, swooping for the outside edges of the war zone.

“We don’t know if they’re shooting haloxite yet,” I yelled over the winds and my beating wings. “If they are, this’ll be even easier. Now let’s go.”

He nodded his skull once and dove for the eastern edge of the combat zone where clusters of souls wandered amid the the dying dregs of war. Twirling Seversoul in figure eights, The Reaper absorbed dozens of soldiers’ souls. With every group he harvested, the demons behind us roared and raged, flapping faster and getting within meters of us. I cupped the top of the folio with my knife hand and flipped to the ‘impairment’ section, then drew out a full page picture of a liquor bottle. I held knife and picture in one hand, pocketed the folio with the other, then sliced an opening in my left pointer finger a couple centimeters long.

“Jeez that always hurts,” I groaned as I smeared my orange blood along every inch of the picture. Then I tore it into dozens of tiny pieces against my chest so none of them blew away. Flapping ahead of The Reaper a little, I spun in mid-air, let go of the shreds, and let the Blood Magic flow.

Two thrown spears tipped with haloxite whistled through the air toward The Reaper as I magicked, and I gauged their flight paths, then flung a flying front kick out and knocked the dangerous one off course. The other spear caught Reap’s robe and tore a hole, then plunged and stuck in the mud where a bald, gray-winged being snatched it up and kept flying beneath the swarm. Apathy’d followed us, but I’d have to deal with him after we finished off these drunk demons.

Well, they weren’t actually drunk. The shreds of the picture had guided my Blood Magic to impair the senses of anyone the pieces touched, and I’d caught dozens of them in the spell. Each one that I’d hit wobbled in the air and dropped their haloxite weapons to the ground where Apathy caught them and added them to a huge duffel bag he held under one arm. I seized the chance and zipped between drunkified demons, gripping my knife tight and striking each of them in the neck. Their forms dissolved into smoke with each blow I landed, and I lost count in the roar of the winds and the thudding of my heart behind my ribs.

There were seven demons left by the time the blood on the shreds dried and the magic wore off. They swerved at the sudden onset of sobriety and I checked to make sure The Reaper and I were still in formation together circling the battlefield. He was much farther ahead than me, but he’d circled multiple times and harvested thousands of souls while I was busy protecting him. I looked below to find Apathy cramming the horns of his fallen minions into the same duffel bag, which was now bulging with how full it was.

The Reaper’s voice was an ice floe right next to me. “You were right. The summoners have turned on the demons. They must think their enemies called them up.”

Demonists. Who was I to complain though?

A handful of summoners with a British soldier at their head was firing haloxite rounds up into the seven remaining demons, who puffed into smoke. Apathy had vanished sometime during the fighting, probably after he’d gathered enough brimstone and haloxite to make tons of motes on the Vice Market. Did Apathy work for the Pneuma Coalition, or was he siphoning off any benefit he could get by appearing all chummy with them?

The Reaper and I circled to the center of the chaos, metal bullets pinging off of our horns’ protection from the few remaining soldiers still fighting. We harvested the last thousand souls without any trouble and watched as the German soldiers--

A cream-colored angel wing slapped down on the bar next to us and I looked up to see Niariel’s bubbly self smiling at me and The Reaper. Her half-Japanese, half-Italian features made her look elegant even in the yoga pants and screen printed top that matched the sign outside. Nia was the only angel I trusted, and she owned The Down South Lounge, the bar in Hell that I’d taken The Reaper to for some privacy as we wrote this, our latest case. Nia’s hair fell in a crescent moon drape down to her chin on either side, and she fluffed it up and grinned at The Reaper.

Her lips moved, but nothing came out.

“One sec,” I said uselessly. Drawing out the half-picture of noise-canceling headphones, I tore my half in two and passed the other half to Nia.

She picked it up, glanced at the picture, then bounced on the balls of her feet. “That’s Blood Magic, and this spell guarantees that only the three of us can hear each other. H-E-double-hockey-sticks, Ava. I miss my best demon friend.”

“It’s been since yesterday,” I said before I could stop myself. Then I looked sidelong at The Reaper on his barstool. He wasn’t supposed to know I’d had a couple Sin and Tonics the other day before we wrote a case. Guess the imp’s out of the bag now.

Nia reached up and tapped her halo with a finger. “You were squeezing your horns a minute ago. What’s up?”

The Reaper set Seversoul down on the bar-I saw several drunk demons back away at this-and snorted. “Avaline is still dying to find out who the two important humans were at The Battle Of The Somme.”

Whoa. Reap just gave away a lot of information about our cases like it was nothing. It was Nia though, so I raised an eyebrow at him. “Who were the two uber-important humans who fought in the same battle together?”

Sucking in a rattling breath, The Reaper hissed, “Tolkien and Hitler.”

Case 4 - Ep. 2: Two Souls, Two Tales

Two Tales, Two Souls by Beki Yopek

The Reaper wouldn’t mention two specific humans in a World War One battle unless they were important. Since I’d damn near screwed up writing these case notes for two days running, I turned on the mental jets and promised myself I wouldn’t miss a thing.

Seven days’ worth of bombings on the river Somme in northern France hadn’t driven the Germans back. We knew because we’d visited each day, dodging explosions and harvesting tens of thousands of souls at a time. Big cities on Earth in 1916 yielded plenty of life force from the humans that died there each day, but battlefields like this one were bumper crops that grew back daily. We couldn’t be wasteful and let all those souls become ghosts. You wouldn’t let your favorite food sit on the counter until it got moldy, would you?

When the bombings finally ceased, The Reaper dove from the skies and wove unseen among the charging British troops, twirling Seversoul between his hands. Each spin of the scythe caught multiple souls, drawing them and their life force into the two-toned blade. The souls of the dead blanketed the river banks and the land for kilometers around, and I grit my teeth trying to keep up with The Reaper in his element. His cackles blended with the gunshots and the shouts of men, sending chills up, down, and all through me.

Demons dotted the landscape, and I spotted each one as he or she stole the life force from the massive tide of souls among the living. I knew they’d been summoned by British and German soldiers who worked for the Pneuma Coalition. Maybe a few of the summoners could see us, maybe they were dead already. Either way, the Pneumas had everything to gain.

What better way to eliminate competitors than arm humans with haloxite ammuntion, then push them to summon demons with the excuse that the other side would be doing the same? It’d keep the summoners busy shooting demons, and it would give the demons false hope that they’d escape the Battle Of The Somme with bellies full of life force instead of bullets. The question was: which Septuplet was pulling the strings this time?

Two demon thieves noticed The Reaper and ditched the clusters of souls they’d been feeding on. Demon number one waved for his buddy to take off with him, pointing at The Reaper and pantomiming swinging a scythe. He flew right toward me without noticing that demon number two had fled like a cowardly chicken with yellow feathers. I drew my haloxite knife and flapped both wings, then waited for the lone demon to make a move.

He swerved upward seconds before The Reaper would cross his flight path, then bellowed, “Take that scythe.”

On account of flying away, his buddy didn’t respond, and that wasn’t what demon number one expected. I pumped my wings and swooped in a J arc, slashing my knife deep into his back. I’d hit the vital organs I’d aimed for, because he burst into smoke before the knife left his flesh. His horns dropped to the mud and muck that used to be the shore of the river Somme. Next second I was up in the air again, searching for more demons fool enough to try and ambush The Reaper on my watch.

We wove among crashed Royal Flying Corps aircraft and harvested hundreds and hundreds of souls, some fresh, some leftover from the previous week’s bombings. The demons on the battlefield behaved exactly the way I’d expected. One moment they’re stealing the life force from souls, and the next moment they’re either dead at The Reaper’s hand, or dead at mine. Keeping up with Reap was like trying to outfly a hurricane, but the name of the game wasn’t, “Out-Reap The Reaper.” It was, “Keep That Hurricane Spinning.”

I pumped both wings and darted out for another kill when this demon’s companion fled as quickly as the first chicken shit had. One dip underneath the attacker, one swipe, and the lone demon was nothing but smoke. Both of the demon’s horns tumbled to the ground only to be snatched up by the demon who’d run away. It was demon number two from earlier, and he was collecting the horns from fallen demons. He was a horn-hunter, collecting the brimstone from dead demons for use in anti-angel weaponry.

“Avaline,” The Reaper roared, and I whirled in mid-air to find him falling into formation beside me. “That horn-hunter is Apathy. He is one of the Septuplets. We must drive him off and stop his posse from stealing life force.”

“Did you just say, ‘posse?’ “

“It is fitting, is it not?”

I waggled my head in an "ehhh” sort of way and followed the Septuplet as he dipped. Already, Apathy was soaring away toward another handful of demons devouring stolen life force near a burned-out barn. I barely got a look at Apathy’s brimstone horns, bald pate, and greasy gray wings before he swerved behind the farmhouse next to the barn and didn’t come out. Great. this meant that Rage, Avarice, and Apathy were working for the Pneuma Coalition. That bald slacker wanted easy life force and easier brimstone, so he scavenged it instead of using his motes to get brimstone on the Vice Market.

I shouted to The Reaper as we flew. “Apathy can’t steal as many souls as we can harvest. Let’s work from the outside in and harvest all the souls we find. That way the demon thieves are more likely to stay where the souls are and we can clean them and Apathy up once we’re done.”

“Good plan, but look there.” The Reaper pointed toward that farm with Seversoul, where a swarm of demons hidden inside the barn and farmhouse gushed out like pest control’s worst nightmare. They swirled through the smoke-choked air toward us. “I hope you brought your Blood Magic folio.”

Case 4 - Ep. 1: Two Souls, Two Tales

Two Souls, Two Tales by Beki Yopek

The demon on The Reaper’s office balcony struck a pose and said, “Do I look like The Reaper’s bodyguard?”

I landed next to Contressa Vexus and blew a wisp of her hair out of my face. It was the kind of nuts that you couldn’t tame even if you tried. The hair, not her face. That windblown brown mop and that chartreuse one-shoulder top looked like they belonged on a stripper, and her wings and horns threw a dash of cosplayer into the mix.

“No,” I agreed. “More like a frizz-headed floozy.”

Contressa beamed and squeezed my shoulder. “Exactly. The Reaper’s enemies see another wigged-out demon around him and think I’m a thief like them.”

I resisted the urge to brush dirt off the shoulder she touched and re-adjusted my pinstriped blazer. “Look, it’s Thursday, and I’ve got another performance eval with The Reaper before the day's harvest.”

She nodded and her scalp creature bounced with the motion. “Like the one I interrupted yesterday? Got it. You go harvest. I’ve got pets to let out.”

Contressa spread her wings and took off before I could ask whether or not her pets had the same crazy hair. I watched her shrink into the distance over South Fountainia, where she crossed in front of the neon Imp Schnapps sign on the roof of the company’s headquarters.

The Reaper emerged from his office behind me moments later, and I heard locks clicking in sync with his stone-on-stone voice. He joined me at the railing and gripped the onyx carvings along the sides with one bone hand. In his other, he held up a pair of manila folders, complete with papers and ink pen. “Shall we go to The Down South Lounge? I will call it a business expense.”

I heard the things he didn’t ask, turned from the Fountainia skyline, and slid the writing materials into my waistband. Then I smirked at The Reaper. “You forgot your scythe.”

He went back in to grab Seversoul and locked up again, shaking his horns.

Fifteen minutes later, The Reaper and I touched down on Acedia Boulevard among skyscrapers, restaurants, and private magic dealers who went to Hell’s colleges and sold their services at exorbitant prices. Smack in the middle of the street was a three-story bar with entrance balconies lined in red, purple, and gold lights from the ground up. A grin snuck across my face as I gazed at the sign and its cursive violet letters that read, ‘Down South Lounge,’ with a shocking blue margarita glass beneath it. One gold angel wing and one scarlet demon wing burst from the glass’s sides, and the sign was so huge it might as well be a wall unto itself.

I looked over one shoulder at The Reaper and Seversoul, its haloxite side facing me as he held it haft down in front of him. Reap hadn’t mentioned how close we’d come to Contressa finding out about these case notes. Did he do that to scare me into doing better, or was he showing faith in me? Gritting my teeth, I chose to believe the latter and leapt the first-floor railing patterned with iron swirls. Then I grinned. The Lounge’s railings were a foot higher than most balcony railings. Part eye-catching decoration, part sobriety test.

Hildariel the bouncer stood with arms crossed in front of The Lounge’s glass double doors. She stood a foot taller than me, with blonde roots showing in her dyed-black hair, and her halo hovered inches above her hairline. Her long face, track suit, and blonde-feathered wings screamed, “tri-athlete” and “bodybuilder” at the same time. She looked down her nose at me and spoke in a mellow tone. “You are here earlier than you were yesterday. Brought a new friend, did you?”

“This is my boss,” I said, stone faced. “Hildariel, meet The Reaper.”

Reap floated between the railing and the balcony above and touched down, holding Seversoul with one hand in the traditional old-man-with-a-staff fashion. “Our business here involves The Soul Fountains. Is the owner in?”

The bouncer stepped back toward the doors, her feathers ruffling in fear. Reap was a good five inches taller than her, and I came here enough to know Hildariel was used to being the tallest one in the room. She pulled one door open and straightened up. “Come on in, Mister Reaper. You are welcome anytime.”

Now that the bouncer was too cowed to give away anything more to The Reaper about my personal life, I congratulated myself. I’m not manipulative, just socially savvy.

We entered The Lounge and paused in the doorway, taking in the gloriousness. Everything in the expansive room, from the dark floor tiles to the vanilla colored ceiling, was just as I remembered it from last night, and last year, and last decade. Behind us to either side in the doorway were LED signs that spelled out what was on each floor in addition to the bars. First floor was games. Second floor was the frat party floor. Third floor was the nightclub and VIP rooms. Rooftop was the concert venue.

A long bar of polished wood ran along half the length of the right wall. Twenty or so cushy barstools seated the usual nighttime crowd of alcoholic angels and drunk demons. Hundreds of bottles of every liquor in the Three Domains sat on shelves behind the bar, interspersed between flatscreen TVs. At the far end of the bar past the beer handles stood a digital jukebox complete with glowing touch screen. Beyond that were two ping-pong tables with enough space to play an aggressive game without tackling anyone nearby.

I ignored the coin-op arcade at the back and the dart boards and pool tables along the left wall. We weren’t here for games. Crossing to the bar, I drew out a stool near the wall and put my back to it so I could see every drinker and patron that came and went. The Reaper followed wordlessly, sitting next to me and scaring the living bejeezus out of the blue-horned, blue-winged demon nearest to him. The demon booked it back to the arcade area and I drew out my Blood Magic folio from an inner pocket of my blazer.

The Reaper spun on his barstool to face me, holding his scythe tight in one fist. “Didn’t you warn the regulars that I was coming?”

“Nah,” I said, twiddling the folio. “This way, no one will listen in. Nia’s the owner, and I’ll introduce her as soon as she’s not busy.”

I produced the haloxite-tipped lancet pen I used here in modern times in place of my old knife. Then I flipped to the folio’s ‘noise’ section and drew out an ad for noise-canceling headphones. I ripped it in half, lanced my pinky, and placed a drop of orange blood on each half. Passing one half to The Reaper, I said, “Hold onto this while you’re talking. I’ll hold my half while I write, and no one will hear what you say except us.”

We took our halves and I let the Blood Magic flow. All noises except those The Reaper and I made faded to near-nothingness. I laid paper and pen on the bar and added, “On the other wing, we won’t hear jack either, so keep an eye out in case anyone followed us.”

Glancing behind him, The Reaper nodded his approval and said, “Two humans that everyone knows by name were involved in this case.”

I squashed the urge to order a Sin and Tonic from the dark-skinned bartender demon. It’d be pretty embarrassing to mute oneself and then start shouting. He’d probably think I was a mime. Facing The Reaper, I raised one eyebrow. “And who would they be?”