India and the Conundrum

“Let me get this straight,” Varinia said. “You bind demons, do exorcisms, and regularly get work from angels, but you don’t believe in God?”

“I just don’t think He’s worth my time,” Jul said, reaching up to let her thick, honey-colored hair out of its tight bun. At Varinia’s raised eyebrow, she added, “If He were really omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent, I’d be out of a job. I’ve no doubt He exists, but I don’t think He’s a supreme being worthy of worship.” She gathered the tie she’d discarded earlier and her hairpins and stood. “How’d we get onto this topic again?”

“I made the mistake of asking how your day was,” Varinia said with a teasing smile.

Jul pushed her as she passed, and Varinia laughed. “I’m going to change clothes. Have you started dinner yet?” Jul asked as she went into the bedroom, ignoring Varinia’s grumbling.

She returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, pants suit abandoned in favor of a pair of flannel pj pants and a tank top. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and even with the black-framed glasses hiding her hazel eyes, she looked like a cheerleader. “Can’t we just skip dinner and have sex?” Varinia asked from where she’d draped herself over a kitchen counter.

“How many times must I remind you that you have to eat now, Rin?” Jul asked, but she ruffled Varinia’s short red hair and kissed her. Varinia hummed happily and Jul went to the ‘fridge.

“But food is boring,” Varinia said. “My sisters would laugh hysterically if they realized I’d stopped seducing to become a de facto housewife.”

“Yes, dear,” Jul said dutifully and Varinia laughed. She looked mostly human after Jul had bound her demonic side at Varinia’s request, but her canines were just a little too pointy still, her hair not quite a natural red though she never dyed it, her skin a little too perfect. “Looks like take-out tonight,” Jul said, closing the ‘fridge. “Preferences?”

“Pizza,” Varinia said. “And then sex.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

***

Jul cursed fluently as she got to the door of her office. Sixth floor, and the elevator was out… again. She unlocked the door, which said only Juliana Sheridan and the office number on its frosted glass, and stepped inside, not surprised to see that the office was already occupied.

The dark-haired man was wearing a simple but elegant black suit, crisp white shirt, and plain black tie, the inherent elegance of the outfit enhanced by the almost stiff way he stood next to the desk. He looked up from contemplating his shoes when Jul came in, and his eyes were a striking silvery grey. “Ah, Gabe,” she said as she walked past him and dumped her bag in the chair behind the desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Juliana, how many times must I ask you to call me Gabriel?” he asked.

“At least as many times as I ask you to call me Jul,” she said with a smirk. She began unpacking her bag, placing a stack of books on the desk, a Bible on top.

“How is your succubus doing these days?” Gabriel asked innocently, and Jul visibly stiffened. “Fighting her binding yet?”

“Varinia,” Jul said with emphasis, “has been living in human form for almost five years without any difficulty, and by her own choice.” She slammed her thermos onto the tabletop. “Were you here for a reason?”

“Actually, I was,” Gabriel said. “Sometime today, a Detective Patrick O’Hara will be paying you a visit. He has two sets of serial murders, and he has run into some trouble. I know it is not your usual line of work,” he continued over Jul’s protests, “but the Heavenly Host believes there is some connection, and we are certain there is at least some level of demonic influence. We want you to take a look.”

“Why don’t you ask Lucy?” Jul asked, opening the thermos and taking a sip of coffee.

“Lucifer says he does not know,” Gabriel said, seemingly alarmed by the nickname.

“You’re the only one I know who actually seems to believe the Prince of Lies,” Jul said, and Gabriel blushed.

“O’Hara is a devout Irish Catholic,” Gabriel said, continuing as if Jul hadn’t spoken, though he was still red. “His priest suggested he speak to you. Just look into it, Juliana.”

“I will, I will,” Jul said. “I’m assuming the NYPD will be footing the bill?”

Gabriel nodded. “And I will bless a few gallons of water for you when you have completed the case. As thanks for a persona favor.”

“Holy water’s best from the source,” Jul agreed. “Thanks for the tip-off, Gabriel.” The angel inclined his head and disappeared, the bright light leaving an afterimage of a winged figure in Jul’s eyes. She shook her head at Gabriel’s flashy style about some things and turned on the computer. It wouldn’t hurt to do some research before O’Hara arrived.

***

O’Hara didn’t turn up until almost four that afternoon, and he wasn’t at all what Jul was expecting. She was expecting an shorter, older man for some reason, but he looked in his early 30s, like Jul herself, tall and gangly and hunch-shouldered in way that made him seem even younger. He had short, almost spiky ginger hair, blue eyes, and a hefty sprinkling of freckles over his nose and cheeks. He was in plainclothes – khakis and a sport coat but no tie - and Jul could see the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster under his left arm when he moved. “I’m here to see Juliana Sheridan,” he said, looking around the office as if by habit. “Do I make an appointment with you?”

“I’m Jul Sheridan,” she said, standing up and coming around the desk. “Detective Patrick O’Hara, I presume?”

O’Hara made a obvious double-take and Jul smirked. “I’m sorry. You’re not what I was expecting,” he said.

“Neither were you,” Jul said. “What can I do for you, Detective O’Hara?”

“Pat,” he said, reaching out a hand and Jul shook it. “How’d you know who I was?”

“A… friend told me you were coming,” Jul said vaguely, and Pat nodded. “I know you’ve got two sets of serial murders, and that you’re at a loss, but that’s it.”

“Well, you’re well-informed, then,” Pat said. He pulled a file from the briefcase he was carrying and held it up. “May I?” Jul nodded and made space on the desk. “I have to tell you, I hold no faith in demons and the like,” Pat said as he pulled photos and incident reports from the file and spread them out. “And I would never have come to talk to you at all, but there’s something… not right about all of this.”

“I totally understand,” Jul said. “Most people don’t believe in the supernatural in a real way until it shows up on their doorstep. Start at the beginning, tell me everything.”

“It’s clear it’s one killer,” Pat said. “Or, rather, two. The first one’s struck three times, killed three girls in their 20s. We’ve no idea how, though.” He handed her a stack of photos and Jul flipped through them. “There doesn’t seem to be any connection between the girls: different ages, physical features, parts of the city, but they were all killed the exact same way.”

“This show exactly how you found the women?” Jul asked, spreading three photos on the desk on top of the other piles, one full-body shot of each of the women. The most striking thing was the fact that it looked like something had come bursting out of their ribcages, shattering the sternum and spreading the ribs like wings under their spread arms. The spread of blood under and around their bodies seemed to lend credence to the theory that the cause of death was internal, rather than external. Their eyes and tongues had been removed, but from the lack of blood in those areas, it was done after they’d died. Their hearts were gone as well, but the rest of the organs were in their correct places – and unnaturally exposed to the open air.

Pat nodded. “And before you ask, we’ve already studied the blood spatters, and that’s what has us so confused. It’s impossible.”

“Not quite,” Jul said, pushing the photos aside. She was very glad she had a strong stomach. “What about the other set?”

“Those seem more straight-forward, on the surface,” Pat said, handing her another stack of photos. “Eight men of varying ages, found with their throats cut, with an unknown type of blade. They died in batches, the first three on consecutive nights, then the next three after a gap of a few weeks, and then the last two after a similar gap.” Pat ran a hand through his hair, spiking it up even more. “The first set of murders started the night after the first girl died, and they were all within a few blocks of where she was found.”

“And I’m guessing the rest correspond in the same way?” Jul asked, and Pat nodded. “Any other details, anything at all out of the ordinary?”

Pat went digging in the briefcase again, and produced an evidence bag of grayish-white powder. “We found a good deal of this at the third and sixth sites. Forensics can’t figure out what it is. I swear they’re usually better than this,” Pat added with a rueful smile and Jul grinned, taking the bag. She opened it and reached her hand inside. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m assuming you’ve got more where this came from?” Jul asked, and Pat nodded. “I think I know what it is, but I just need to check.” She rolled a pinch between her thumb and forefinger and then brought a handful to her nose. As she’d expected, it smelled distinctly of sulfur and blood and pain. Jul dropped the handful back in the bag and closed it, then handed it back to Pat and dusted over her hands. “Exactly what I thought.”

“What do you mean?” Pat asked as Jul circled the desk and started flipping through one of the notebooks. “What is it? What’s going on?” Before Jul could answer, Pat’s cell phone rang. “O’Hara.” He listened for a moment and then hung up. “We’ve found the ninth victim.”

“Take me there, now,” Jul said, shutting the notebook. She grabbed it and the Bible, shoved them both into her bag. “We’ve got to get there as soon as possible.”

“My patrol car’s outside,” Pat said as Jul hurried them out into the hall. She locked the door behind them, cursed at the still-broken elevator, and followed Pat down the stairs.

***

The first thing Jul did upon getting into the patrol car – even before she fastened her seatbelt – was dig a brightly-wrapped candy out of her bag and pop it into her mouth after peeling it out of the green and blue foil. “Ginger chew,” she explained when Pat looked quizzically at her.

“Ginger protects against demons?” Pat asked. Jul looked confused for a moment and then laughed, shaking her head.

“Ginger’s only good to lure fire demons, ground into a paste, usually to get them away from something,” Jul said. “I just get really horrible motion sickness.” Pat grinned sheepishly, obviously feeling a bit foolish, but Jul’s smile seemed to put him at ease. The next twenty minutes were spent in silence while Jul shuffled around the contents of her bag and Pat focused on the evening traffic.

An entire square block around the site was cordoned off with police tape, but Pat had no trouble getting through, and the cops they passed all greeted him by name. He stopped the car next to two others and got out. Jul took off her suit jacket and left it behind.

Jul stopped a few feet from the murder site and raised a hand to stop Pat’s forward movement. “Clear everybody out of the alley,” she said, quickly loosening her tie and shoving it into her bag. She futzed with her collar and then removed it, revealing a clerical collar underneath. “I’ll explain later,” she told the shocked detective. “Hurry!”

Pat did as he was told and when he returned Jul had draped a purple stole over her shoulders and was taking the Bible and a bottle out of her bag. “Do you have a cross on you somewhere?” she asked. “The demon is still here, you need to be protected. Are you wearing a cross?” Frustrated by Pat’s dazed lack of response, Jul dug in her bag and pulled out a wooden rosary. “For the sake of your immortal soul, put it on,” she said, handing it to him.

Pat seemed to come back to himself and slipped the rosary over his head. “How do you know?” he asked her urgently, looking around. Out of habit, he took the gun out of his shoulder holster, even though Jul glanced at him when he did it and shook her head. Tucking the Bible under her arm, she poured some clear liquid out of the bottle over her fingers. “What are you doing?”

“No ash over the body,” Jul said quickly, and Pat nodded in understanding. “The demon’s been stealing the souls of the men it’s been killing, I just need to know why. It was probably interrupted right after killing him,” she said, gesturing at the body. “It’s still around somewhere, either waiting until we leave to finish its work or waiting to escape and try again. I’m not going to let it. Giving him his Last Rites should get its attention.” She closed the dead man’s eyes, traced a cross on his forehead with her fingers, and then bowed her head.

A primal roar came up from the dumpster down the alley and a figure burst out of it, rushing toward Jul. Before Pat could act, Jul raised the Bible defiantly and the demon fell back with a hiss. “This soul is mine,” the demon said, its voice like gravel scraping over glass. It was over seven feet tall and basically male in form, with grey, stone-like skin, glowing red eyes, and goat-like legs, though they were scaled rather than furred. Horns on its head made up almost a foot of its great height and its bat-like wings were spread slightly.

“And I will fight you for it,” Jul said, voice strong and steady. Pat stared in shock, but she ignored him. “This is not your realm, demon.”

“Exorcist,” the demon said with a hiss like steam escaping a kettle. “Your world is changing, mortal. This is not your conflict, you would do well to stay away.”

“Sorry, that’s not how I work,” Jul said. The demon shifted and Pat panicked, firing his gun and hitting the demon in the shoulder. It screamed and flew toward him, wings open wide. Jul swung her arm up, and the contents of the bottle spilled out, hitting the demon square in the chest. It screamed again and dissolved into a piled of black ash. “Idiot!” Jul yelled at Pat, dropping the empty bottle and the Bible in her bag and taking the stole from her shoulders.

“What?” Pat asked, staring at the pile of ash. “It’s dead, right?”

“Yes, it’s dead,” Jul said, voice heavy with sarcasm. “But I don’t know why they were sent.”

“They?” Pat asked, looking around warily. “There’s more than one?”

“This was the third set of murders, right?” Jul asked. She put the dickey back on and tied her tie. “They were culling souls, and I wanted to know why. Too late now. I wasn’t looking forward to a trip to Hell this week.” Pat looked at her quizzically as she turned around. “Drop me off at my office, Detective, this job is far from over. Oh, and keep the rosary. I get the feeling you’re going to need it.”

***

Jul was still in a bad mood when Pat dropped her off, and she cursed her way up the six flights of stairs to her office. Slamming the office door open, she stomped inside and locked the door behind her. Stalking over to the desk, she dropped her bag in the chair and picked up the phone. “Remind me why I do this again?” she asked when the other side had picked up.

“Because most human beings can’t take care of themselves,” Varinia’s voice floated down the line. “Bad day at work, dear?”

Jul immediately relaxed at the sound of Varinia’s voice, and she began removing her tie and the part of her shirt that gave her a normal collar. “You could say that. I’m going to be a little late coming home tonight. I’ve got a little trip to make.”

“Tell Lucy I miss him,” Varinia said, and Jul smiled at the obvious sarcasm in her tone. “I’ll have dinner waiting for you.”

“Thanks,” Jul said. “I’ll see you in a bit.” She hung up the phone and took off her jacket, tossing it on the desk. Then she dug around in her bag and pulled out a white cloth and three bottles: another bottle of holy water, a red glass bottle that was roughly the same size, and a smaller blue one that seemed to be filled with some sort of powder. She opened the red bottle and poured some of its contents on her hand, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the blood, and then traced out a pentagram on the floor. She wiped her hand on the cloth and then opened the blue bottle and made a protective circle of salt around the pentagram. The last thing she needed was something following her back into this plane.

Jul stood, brushed off her hands, and then said an incantation that sounded almost but not quite like Latin. The floor inside the circle seemed to swirl and then dissolved into a bottomless black pit. This was the simple way to make a portal to Hell, and Jul had learned long ago that simple was usually best. She pulled what looked like a tool belt from one of the desk’s drawers and put the full bottle of holy water into one of the loops, the mostly-full bottle of blood into another, and the bottle of salt into a third. She touched the cover of the Bible but left it; Bibles tended to burn on contact with the air in Hell. Jul took a deep breath, stepped over the line of salt, and fell.

Despite the sickening sensation of falling, Jul landed perfectly on her feet, but in the middle of a lake of fire. It was one of Lucifer’s little jokes: no matter where a portal was opened, they ended up here; no living or angelic being could be burned by the fires of Hell, but it was a good way to freak out beginners. Jul shook her head and walked through the flames she couldn’t feel to the shore. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she’d know when she found it.

Jul had visited Hell before, but it always caught her just a bit by surprise. Sure, it was hot and sulfurous with flames everywhere like people would have expected, but the central parts of Hell – where most of the souls were tortured and most of the demons resided – were oddly wet. Steam filled the air, making it foggy, and the sweat that immediately drenched her skin couldn’t evaporate. She wiped her forehead with her hand and kept walking in the general direction of Lucifer’s stronghold.

She met the Prince of Lies himself long before she’d reached the castle, and he seemed to be waiting for her. He was dressed in an impeccable white suit, and unlike Jul, he wasn’t sweating. “Gabe told me you might be stopping by,” he said as she approached. He fell into step beside her. “How are you doing, little mortal?”

“Just fine, thank you,” Jul said with a rueful smile. “Varinia misses you terribly.”

“I’m sure she does,” Lucifer said, with a smirk that indicated he’d noticed her sarcasm. “You find anything?”

“Just more questions,” Jul said. “Lucy, do you know who’s culling souls on my plane? I want them stopped.”

“It’s the first I’ve heard about it, though I had a hunch that was what was going on when Gabe asked me about the deaths,” Lucifer said. “Feel free to look around, though. Let me know what you’ve found. I will make them suffer.” His feral smile revealed pointed canines, and Jul was reminded exactly who she was talking to. As if she could forget.

“I’ll check the outskirts first,” Jul said, and Lucifer nodded. He lifted a hand and pressed one his thumb to her forehead. It tingled for a moment.

“Just in case you run into anything you can’t handle,” he said, and Jul smiled slightly. “Good luck.” He inclined his head and disappeared. Jul kept walking.

It felt like she’d walked for hours, but she knew that the passage of time was deceptive in Hell. The air had dried out dramatically once she’d left the stone buildings and screams of the damned behind, and it was clouded now with dust rather than steam. Just as she was about to give up and turn back, she heard noises coming from behind the next ridge, rattling and clanking and other strange sounds. She went to investigate.

Jul clambered to the top of the ashy rise and looked down into the valley below. “Well, shit,” she said to the hot, empty air. “We’ve got a problem.”

To be continued