Felon hated the cold. The chill wind that tore at him rode the crest of a Winter rain. The frigid weather system was plowing through the day like a glacier, dire and destructive. Its impact diminished or increased in relation to your location in the City. The City population created heat and certain elevations in the Levels trapped it. The metropolis had its own environment, and it all revolved around humidity and the dispersal of water dropped by incessant rains. The middle Levels were warmest, the upper Levels, ironically, the driest and the lowest, were the coldest. The damp air flowed downhill.
The assassin pulled his overcoat tight around his chest and spat a curse. Of all the sensations, cold was worst. He hated the cold because he couldn’t prepare for it. They could forecast the temperature, but they’d never be able to tell him how cold it would feel. And the Change made it entirely unpredictable. He couldn’t even count on seasons. His business depended on speed and sensation. He couldn’t afford to be constricted by thermal underwear and wool suits. Gloves were out of the question.
Felon clenched and unclenched his bare hands like he was strangling the air. The fingers were numb; but the gripping action moved the blood and kept them supple enough to work the. 9 mm automatic in the large front pocket of his overcoat. He was on his way to meet a Demon. Instead of his client’s luxurious Level Five office, he’d been given instructions to meet in the basement of a six-story parking garage on Level One-which had to be one of the coldest places in the City.
He parked his rental car two floors up, and descended the rest of the way on foot. He’d be an easy target in a car within the cramped confines of a parking garage. A pedestrian couldn’t be parked in and gunned down.
Felon took no chances. His client had exceptional taste, followed the rules of the Unholy Compact, and dealt fairly in the past. But he was a Demon, and by his nature unable to easily accept restrictions. The Unholy Compact was a book of laws that balanced off the equation of the Bible.
Fallen followed the letter of the Compact like jailhouse lawyers, convicts who studied law to force their own release. Knowledge and command of all the loopholes in Cosmic law was a driving force in their Infernal lives.
Demons were ungoverned twists of passion, and subordinate to Fallen for that very reason. They paid lip service to the Compact, but were not bound by it. They adopted affectations of sophistication to counter the perception that they were subordinate. A Demon once explained that they were powerful beings that predated human civilization. They evolved alongside humanity from dim dark beginnings and were around before the Egyptians, the Romans, or the Stone Age Britons invented their complicated religions. Ancient humans actually begged them to play God. The association corrupted them all eventually. The arrival of the One God created a psychological self-destruction felt by all.
This God and his followers called Demons evil, and cast them in the Pit. But something must have happened to the One God, because the Change came and ended their long period of bondage. The Angels had returned, and Fallen walked the earth in little disguise. But the Unholy Compact remained as an ancient agreement that all feared breaking in case that brought the One God’s return.
Felon was meeting with Baron Balg, a powerful Demon who claimed to be three thousand years old. He paid well. Balg’s personal assistant, Senji Shaiko had set up the meeting and its location.
Felon uncurled his hands and nonchalantly dropped them into his coat pockets as he walked down the ramp. His numb fingers rested on his gun.
A figure stood at the far end of the parking garage, shadowy in the dim overhead light. Balg wore a black broad-brimmed pimp’s hat with a long scarlet trench coat. Red and white wingtips protruded from beneath dark purple trousers. A calfskin glove covered the hand that twirled an obsidian walking stick. Long curved ram’s horns arced through the brim of the Demon’s hat. His eyes had an amber glow that flared a deeper red when he caught Felon’s gaze.
“My dear, Felon.” His voice was harsh and gravely. His face though human, had bestial qualities: broad nose and wide mouth full of sharp tiger’s teeth. A fringe of dark hair followed the underside of his jaw. “Sorry for the short notice!” Neither of them wasted time on a handshake.
Felon nodded. Demons liked to intimidate. Since Balg could take any shape, the assassin knew he had left his horns on for a reason.
“Felon…” The Demon’s features fell as the assassin approached. “You look exceptionally grim today.”
Felon twisted his lips, hating the small talk.
“Cold?” Balg gestured with his cane and a ring of foot-tall flames grew up around them, colored them with passionate red light.
Felon snarled. It was foolish to make an obvious show of force when their meeting place had been chosen for secrecy.
“The City is bothering you, no?” Balg’s features twisted with concern.
“Irrelevant.” The assassin fished in his coat pockets for a cigarette. He lit one.
“Relevance is relative,” Balg said. A cigar appeared in his hand, lit and smoking. He took a deep pull on it. “A revelation for you, perhaps?” He laughed low and coarsely.
Felon’s back warmed from the ring of flame.
“Oh, can’t we drop this sad back and forth? We’re friends. Let’s talk like friends!” Balg smiled fiercely.
Felon said nothing. His face was stone.
Balg’s features dropped as he studied the assassin’s face, and then broke into a toothy grin. “You are a fucking snake. I offered the sign of friendship. Please feel free to take me up on it at your leisure.” Balg straightened, both hands resting on his cane. “You have worked for me before and completed each task with your painstaking professionalism. You’re the best in the business.” The Demon stepped smoothly forward, reached out to slip a hand under Felon’s elbow and then thought better of it, drawing him on with a nod of his head. “Of course, you’re the only one in the business.” The ring of flames broke before them as they walked, the fire now tracing a path on either side. They crossed the slush-covered garage floor.
Felon drew in on his cigarette.
“And normally, the objects of my disaffection are of the human or…” He smiled and pointed upward with his cane. “ Other variety. But, I have a special job I would like you to take care of that involves a competing organization.”
Fallen. Felon thought. Whacking Fallen was dangerous. They had no allegiance with their own kind and had little to do with each other. Put Fallen out of the way: wash a partner out of the firm. Bump someone off that occupies space in the chain above you, or someone who is busily climbing below-the ends justified the means every time. Business was harsh in the Infernal world, and few would seek revenge for a dead competitor. But, all Divine creatures felt the transgression of a mortal stepping beyond his place. And like it or not, they were Fallen, and had fought the Great War against Heaven. Felon would be a fool to think that there were no quiet alliances, and no chance of revenge. It was big money.
Balg’s massive brow wrinkled. “I didn’t quite catch that. You must forgive me but you were thinking about something there, and I almost caught it.” He chortled. “ You force me to read body language!”
Felon’s stomach tightened. Balg was testing him.
The Demon chuckled. “Mirgeth, a Fallen of some power, has taken it upon himself to fall rather lustfully for a certain young human woman, with whom I have similar intentions. Unlike myself, he tries to win her affections with lust. He has for some time been sending her an Incubus to tend to her physical needs in her sleep. Such attentions are dangerous to a mortal, for there is no satiation for the Incubus. He will always please her, for he himself will never be pleased.”
“Who does Mirgeth run with?” Felon shook his head.
“A freelancer formerly with Lucifer,” Balg said and smiled with yellowed carnivore teeth. “Don’t misunderstand me, my wolf. Mirgeth isn’t the target. This is family business. I want you to hit the Incubus who has been rather successfully foiling my attempts to woo the young maiden. With him prodding her every fucking night, why send flowers?”
Woo. Felon knew what that meant. The Incubus was interfering with Balg’s attempt at manipulation or outright possession. Incubi and their female counterparts, Succubae, were Demons. They were a subclass of that Infernal type, much like Cherubs were of Angels.
He nodded. Felon knew that Incubi were dangerous creatures that could use sexuality as a weapon. Not Fallen, but killing them wasn’t easy.
“I’ll need access to her home. And there’s the chance she will see me. I don’t like that and if she’s yours, I can’t put a bullet in her.”
“Of course not, Felon. No. No. No bullet’s in her-please! Remove the Incubus. I understand there is a great deal of risk. But like anything,” Balg said with a chuckle, “you will have a price, Felon. Do not worry about access to her bedchambers; I have a copy of her house key for you. And I know her habits and patterns. I watch her,” he said huskily, a string of saliva suddenly running past his fangs. “I shall tell you exactly when you can enter her home.”
“ You whack him,” Felon growled. “Family. You’ve got the right.”
“Actually, Felon he is family.” Balg’s eyes glowed along with his cigar. “Stahn is a relative of mine. I suppose a nephew in your terms. I would be uncomfortable punishing him personally.”
“Price,” Felon started, before any more information was imparted. The assassin didn’t want to know the rest until his price was accepted.
“Of course.” Balg’s smile resembled a snarl. “Fifty thousand dollars in lost Incan gold. That is the ore value, some of the artifacts are worth twice that, should you endeavor to sell them as is .”
“Eighty grand in ingots,” Felon said. He wasn’t interested in fencing antiques. “Forty up front delivered to the Coastview Hotel by six tonight.” He lit another cigarette, turning to conceal the shiver that ran through his hands.
Eighty grand and you take the starch out of that little prick.” Smiling, Balg drew a tube of rolled parchment from his coat. “The customary contract.” He handed it to Felon.
Moving under the flickering fluorescent, Felon unrolled the parchment. He scanned it while searching an inner pocket for his magnifying glass. The assassin had bargained for information about such an item with another employer. A special film on the lens showed any magic script. He went over the contract with the treated glass. Balg’s invisible seal was there, a disemboweled ram crucified on jagged swords, but that was customary. He put the glass away.
“Pen.” The Demon reached around him. Felon took the steel quill from the heavy hand, and punctured the fleshy part of his thumb with it. Dark blood seeped up the length of the nib. He signed and handed the quill to Balg who drew some of his own blood and signed.
“Very well, Felon.” Balg put the contract away, before giving him an envelope. “The address, her habits, and the key I mentioned are inside.”
Felon shook the envelope.
“It’s a pity you can’t kill him slowly,” Balg said, bloodlust bringing more saliva from his fangs. “But I understand the limitations of your abilities.”
“I will remember your interest in my limitations.” Felon slid the envelope into his coat. “When?”
“Kill Stahn tonight.” The Demon’s lips drew back in a grotesque grin. “You may have to leave town soon. Everyone’s talking about the Cherubs. Paid for one and he whacks the other for fun.” He showed his canines. “Contact my office uptown for the rest of your fee.”
Balg faded out of sight. The magical fires flickered and were gone. The assassin shivered on his way up to the car. Felon got in, started the engine, and turned the heat up to full. He would look in the envelope when he saw the gold.