The Marquis (The 13th Floor)

The Marquis (The 13th Floor) - By Christine Rains

CHAPTER 1


Marc still had the power to smite new demons. Just barely.

The blackened bones clattered to the ground and crumbled into a pile of dust. The stench of charred flesh was too familiar. Flames licked at old memories. One fiend down. One to go.

“Kiral, get out of here.” Marc didn’t take his eyes off the remaining demon as he addressed his friend. When he didn’t hear any movement, he barked out one more word. “Now!”

Marc heard a muttered “thank you” from Kiral before he left the alley in a stumbling run. Not the usual light-footed walk of the vampire. It was a bad night for him. Bad night for both of them.

The demon stood tense and ready. His jeans were ripped in too many places and his expensive leather jacket was retro 1970s. His eyes flashed red, but he didn’t attack. He seemed to be waiting for Marc to make the next move.

The two demons had pushed a drugged teen on Kiral, tempting the vamp to fall off the wagon. So they couldn’t be high ranking minions. The lithe teen tumbled unconscious to the ground like dirty laundry when Marc appeared.

Light from the street didn’t reach into the alley. A chilly autumn breeze blew trash down the corridor. The walls amplified the scraping and crinkling. Marc stood at the mouth of the alley where the shadows started as if he might be their lord.

“Tempting vamps, demonling? A waste of Hell’s resources if you ask me.” Marc folded his arms as he tried to assess the other’s power. He had him beat on height and muscle, but it wasn’t physical strength that mattered here.

“What do you kno—” The demon frowned, breathed in deeply, and then grinned as the tension drained away from his body. “Ah, well now. The Marquis. Never thought I’d see you again. Especially not looking like a lumberjack’s grandpappy.”

Marc bared his teeth and grit them. He exhaled with a hiss. The last thing he wanted was his former comrades to recognize him. His life now was far from what it used to be. He squinted and his psychic vision flashed, giving him the demon’s identity. He wished he had enough power to reduce the bastard to ashes too.

“Vetis. What did you do this time to be reduced to pushing drugs on vamps?”

Vetis leaned back against the brick wall, crossing one ankle over the other. He produced a cigarette from a pocket, flipped it between his fingers a few times, and lit it with a thought. He chuckled with his exhale.

“What didn’t I do? These tech-loving mortals are too easy to draw into sin. One status update on Facebook and it leads to a string of suicides. I prefer a challenge.” He took another drag on the cigarette. “As for the vamp, Master’s orders. He wants his soul. But it’s too easy. Boring as tending to the fires. You know how that is.”

Marc only grunted in response. He wasn’t here to reminiscence. Vetis had never been his friend. No demon had friends.

“I think the better question is why are you here saving a vamp.” Vetis raised his brows and blew out another long stream of smoke. He pushed off the wall and stepped forward to give a little kick to the still hot ashes of the former demon. “You might not serve any more, but you know better than to interfere.”

“The vamp is mine.” Marc didn’t expand on it. He would only bring further trouble if he said Kiral was his friend. They lived on the 13th floor of the same building in Carmine where Marc worked as a handyman, and more often lately, as a protector of his fellow tenants. He’d sat through many nights, talking or listening, seeing Kiral through ‘til dawn.

“Does the Master know you’re using him as a plaything? Obviously you’re not playing rough enough if I was sent to tempt him.” Vetis’ grin widened. “You could come out of retirement. We could play with him together. Just like old times. We could make that worthless undead bastard suffer like those centurions. Remember how we made them march even after we plucked out their eyes and chopped off their feet?”

“No.” Marc wasn’t someone who played well with others. He never enjoyed what he did like Vetis and most of the demons in their Master’s army. He’d served with the promise of absolution, which never came nor ever would. “Take your games elsewhere. The city is mine.”

“Carmine’s yours?” Vetis snorted and flicked his half-smoked cigarette toward the street. “For what? To amass your flannel shirt and beard comb collections? This city is ripe. I can feel it.”

The cigarette bounced off the sidewalk and met a crumpled newspaper in the gutter. The flames ate at the paper and held fast. A breeze picked it up and carried it through a nearby car’s open sunroof.

“Get out of my city.” Marc’s chest rumbled. He reached for power that wasn’t there and growled again.

Vetis furrowed his brows, studying him. Marc didn’t like the silence. He knew the demon loved to hear the sound of his own voice. Vetis had literally talked people to death before. Silence meant he was thinking. For a creature like Vetis, thinking was dangerous.

“No, I don’t believe I will.” Vetis’ scruffy face was illuminated as the insides of the car burst into the flames. The alarm went off and somewhere a dog started barking. Someone yelled from down the street.

There wasn’t any time left for threats. Marc had to make a move to scare Vetis off. He roared, using the tiny bit of magic he had left to amplify it and created the illusion he was growing bigger. Curling horns snaked out of his skull dripping blood, and his teeth elongated to form great serrated fangs as he charged. Illusions weren’t his strong point, but maybe it would be unexpected enough to work.

Fear flickered across Vetis’ face. He leapt out of the way, landing near the burning car. He was quicker than Marc remembered. Or perhaps his senses weren’t as sharp as they’d once been.

“Begone!” Marc’s bellow shattered the bulb in the streetlight nearest to him. Sirens crooned from several blocks over. Someone must have called 911.

Vetis laughed. Low at first, but it bloomed into something more maniacal.

“If you wanted me dead and you could do it, I’d be ash by now. But you can’t.” He snorted with his laughter. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Vetis stepped back closer to the fire. The man, who had shouted before, called out a warning. “Mighty you once were, and so many of us remember the Grand Marquis. A favorite of our Master. I do wonder what reward he’ll give me for bringing him your head.” He grinned, wide and toothy. “Yes, I do like that idea.”

Trickles of sweat ran down Marc’s face. More from the memory of the heat of Hell’s fires than the one on the street. He stepped forward, but he didn’t dare get too close. Once he could walk through the flames unscathed, but these days, picking up a hot pot could scald him.

“Your vamp, your city, and your head, they’re mine.” Vetis hopped into the core of the fire.

Marc braced himself for an attack that didn’t come. Vetis disappeared, likely using the fire to return to Hell and gloat. He didn’t doubt for a second that Vetis would do as he said. No demon made such a threat idly.

The sirens announced a fire truck was drawing nearer. More humans crowded the street, and Marc let go of his illusion. If anyone had seen him, they’d forget within a minute or two. What the human mind couldn’t comprehend, it wiped away before madness set in.

Marc walked back to his street. He could hide in his apartment, but Vetis would reduce the city to a blackened ruin searching for him. His pride wouldn’t let him hide either. What damaged bits he had left of it.

His bad night just got worse.

He needed to think. He needed a plan. Marc set his sights on the little café a few blocks down from his building. Thinking required the proper beverage.