American Monsters

  Hissing, she retraced her steps, got back to Milo’s room, tore the place apart looking for his keys. She grabbed them and ran to the Charger, but her legs failed her and she fell. She heard someone groaning and realised it was her.

  She crawled onwards, on her hands and knees. She reached for the handle, but the door seemed to open by itself. She dragged herself in, took a moment to get her breathing under control. She was cold and getting colder and bleeding all over the seat.

  The key scraped at the ignition a few times before slipping in. She twisted it. The engine sprang to life and the radio crackled.

  Adrenaline shot through Amber’s system, but before she could turn the radio off a voice rose from the speakers, thin and tremulous.

  “Hello?”

  Amber breathed out. The last time the radio had been on the car had been filled with a screaming that still haunted her nightmares. She reached out to click it off.

  “Can anybody hear me?”

  Her fingers paused.

  “Help me.” The voice was female. “Please, someone help me. Is anybody there?”

  Another voice now. Male. “Is someone there? I’m scared. I think I’m dead.”

  More voices rose, as if to the surface of a lake.

  “Are we dead? Can you help us? Please help me. We can hear you breathing. Why aren’t you saying anything?”

  Amber frowned. “Me?” she asked quietly.

  “Help!” the voices cried, so fiercely it shocked her. “Help us! We’re stuck here! Let us out! Let me out! Am I dead? Where are we?”

  More voices joined the chorus, all of them shouting to be heard, adding to the cacophony that filled the car, that filled her head, those voices like drum beats on the inside of her skull, pounding an ever-growing rhythm behind her eyes until her fingers – trembling now, and weak – found the dial and twisted them all to silence.

  Breath coming in shallow rattles, Amber sat there with her head down, tears on her face.

  She put the Charger into gear, and eased out on to the road.

  SHE FOUND THE PETERBILT and followed at a safe distance. The Charger, usually so responsive, strained against her. It surged forward with the slightest tap on the gas, its engine complaining against the restraint she was forcing upon it. But Amber battled and she won, and the distance between her and the truck stayed the same for over fifteen minutes. Then the truck slowed, and took a dirt track, and Amber killed the headlights and followed.

  The Charger trundled over the uneven ground, and every bounce made Amber wince. She worked to keep the Peterbilt’s tail lights in view at all times. It wasn’t easy, but she managed. Trees loomed on either side as she made her way down the tunnel of wood and leaves.

  The Peterbilt swung off the track, into a clearing, and Amber stopped the Charger and turned off the engine. It growled with displeasure before it quietened, and she got out.

  She popped the stopper of the vial, drank the blood within. The power exploded inside her, surging through her system, pulsing through her body, healing it, making it stronger, her injuries knitting themselves closed even as she grew bigger and taller and her horns turned to antlers.

  Feeling better – feeling much, much better – Amber crept through the trees. She heard the Peterbilt’s door slam closed and she ducked her head under low branches and got closer. The truck’s engine was off, though still ticking, and its headlights were on, catching the trucker in full beam.

  He was a big man in jeans, with a brown leather jacket, the kind with a fur collar, zipped up over his gut. Beneath the battered cowboy hat his skin was pitch black, and red light shone from his eyes and mouth. He dragged Milo by the scruff of the neck, then dropped him and took a pouch from his jacket. He poured the black powder inside on to the ground, making a circle. When he was done, he went back for Milo.

  Amber stepped out. “Don’t touch him.”

  The trucker looked at her, his red mouth smiling.

  “I’m not going to tell you to walk away,” Amber said, walking closer. “I know you won’t. Anyone who loves killing as much as you do, they’re not going to listen to reason. And you do love killing, don’t you?”

  The smile widened.

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. You a representative, like me? Maybe you are. Something tells me that you don’t have any moral quandaries about it, though. You like that word? Quandaries? Yeah, Milo taught it to me. It’s a good word. It means that there is a little bit of a good person left inside me. I haven’t completely snuffed her out. I’m not entirely reprehensible. You like that word, too? You can have it. It suits you.

  “But I’m going to be honest with you, Mr Trucker. The only way you’re going to stop is if I stop you, and that’s what I’ll try to do. And, I admit, I might not succeed. You look like you’ve been doing this a long time. But I’m going to try. I’m going to do my best to beat the crap out of you and stomp on your head until it’s nothing but a puddle. I just thought you ought to know that, before we begin.”

  The trucker took a box of matches from his pocket and walked back to the circle. He struck a match and let it fall, and the powder caught fire.

  A figure appeared in the circle. Thin and robed, its face hidden by the hood it wore. It carried a spear, the blade of which was the deepest, darkest black. Amber didn’t need an introduction. She knew who it was. The Whispering Demon.

  “Demoriel,” she said.

  The Demon observed her for a moment before his thin hands rose to his hood and pulled it back. Demoriel’s face – his real face – would appear to have been sliced off long ago. The one he wore now, pinned in place by rusted nails, was stretched too tightly over the glistening muscles beneath.

  “You’re one of Astaroth’s,” he said. Although he spoke in the gentlest of whispers, she heard him as clearly as if his flayed lips were at her ear.

  “I’m more than that,” she responded. “I’m his representative. And I’m here to take Milo back. You can’t have him. I won’t let you.”

  Beneath the skin-mask he wore, his eyes flickered to Milo, then back to Amber. “I admire your loyalty to your friend,” Demoriel said, “but, when a deal is broken, there must be consequences. It is that single principle upon which our entire system is based. There can be no exceptions.”

  “Then let this be the first,” said Amber.

  “An exception such as the one you suggest could only be the result of exceptional circumstances – and your friend, though obviously important to you, fails to meet the requirements for exceptional.”

  Amber stepped closer. “I’m not going to let you take him.”

  “There is precious little you can do to prevent it.”

  “I can kill your trucker-demon here.”

  Demoriel shook his head sadly. “Little demon, why must violence be your only recourse?”

  “Because talking’s not getting me what I want. Listen to me – if I fight him, I’ll win, that’s guaranteed, and I’ll take Milo back with me. So why not just skip the fight, and your guy gets to walk away and I get Milo?”

  Demoriel smiled. “Because you are Astaroth’s representative.”

  “So?”

  “So I have a strong dislike of your Master.”

  “Join the club.”

  Demoriel laughed. “Well, this is interesting,” he said, and the trucker attacked.

  He took Amber by surprise, grabbing her and punching. Those hands were big and heavy and they moved fast. She lost her footing in the scramble. He had hold of her antlers. Those things were always getting in the way. She fell and his knee came down on her belly and he kept punching. She tried to cover up. His fists got through to her scales anyway, rattling them on her face. This was not how she had wanted this fight to start.

  Amber squirmed free and he straightened and kicked her. The scales absorbed most of it, but even so she went rolling. She got back to her feet as he closed in, and threw a punch of her own. He ducked under it, grabbed her and flung her against the side of the Peterbi
lt, sent two punches crunching into her ribs for good measure. Then he grabbed her antlers again.

  “Stop doing that!” she shouted, clipping him under the chin. He took a step back and she hit him again and his hat flew off. She tried to kick him in the balls, but he caught her foot, held it and drove her backwards against the truck once more. He let go and threw a punch, but now it was Amber who slipped by. She plunged her talons into his gut, raked them out and as the trucker stumbled she took him off his feet and kicked him in the head. He sprawled in the dirt, and for a moment Amber thought the fight was over. But he started to get up again.

  And then Glen dropped from the night sky, stomping the trucker’s face into the ground.

  Glen straightened. The Peterbilt’s headlights caught on his pale skin, throwing one side of his face into darkness.

  Demoriel dipped his head. “And who are you?”

  “I am darkness,” said Glen. “I am death. Leave this place, Demon. I have seen your kind. I have heard your twisting words. I have no fear left in my heart, and so I do not fear you. I say to you again, leave this place of light, of love, of life, and return to your squalid shadows of pain and tormented—Balls.”

  The trucker’s outstretched hand closed around Glen’s ankle as the trucker sat up. Glen hopped in place.

  “Let go, you dick.”

  The trucker got to his feet and swung Glen round, slamming him into a tree.

  Amber charged and the trucker turned to her, fists ready, but just before she reached him she reverted. The trucker swung a punch.

  “Stop!” Demoriel commanded.

  The trucker’s fist stopped inches from Amber’s face.

  His red eyes narrowed.

  “You hit me when I’m like this,” she said, “you’ll probably kill me. And your boss doesn’t want to upset my boss, do you, Demoriel?”

  She turned her back to the trucker, feeling his breath on her neck, but ignoring it, focusing on the Demon. She saw Glen, back on his feet and baring his fangs, but he stayed in the darkness.

  “You are clever,” the Whispering Demon said. “And reckless. You would start a war in Hell over this?”

  “Hell, yeah,” said Amber.

  “And yet,” Demoriel said, “deals are deals.”

  “Milo can’t even remember making his deal,” Amber said. “He doesn’t know how or why it happened. Did you do that? Did you take his memories?”

  “He did it,” said Demoriel. “He wanted to forget. It was a clumsy procedure he embarked on, could easily have left him without even the ability to form thoughts. But he had help, and he blocked those memories off like a dam stops up a river. The memories are still there, of course. I can see them, swirling and churning on the other side of his dam.”

  “I want you to release him from his contract,” said Amber.

  Demoriel laughed. “Whyever would I do that?”

  “Because I’m asking you to. We both know Milo’s never going to work for you again.”

  “Yes, we do,” said Demoriel, “which is why I take him back with me today.”

  “If you do that, I’ll kill your trucker here.”

  “Very well.”

  “And I’ll hunt down your next demon,” she continued, “and your next, and your next. I’ll kill them one by one, and, every time you make a new deal with some desperate idiot, I’ll kill them, too. It’ll be my life’s work, and it’ll be my hobby. I’ll kill your demons because I’m not allowed to kill Astaroth’s.”

  “You would kill your Master’s demons?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I’ve met them. I know who they are and where they are and what they’ve done. I’d like nothing more than to go after them. Going after yours wouldn’t be as satisfying, but, nonetheless, it might even balance a few scales.”

  Demoriel watched her and said nothing.

  “Or you can let Milo off the hook,” she said. “He’s already been gone twelve years, right? So let him go. Is he really worth the hassle? Really?”

  Demoriel didn’t speak for another few moments. Then he said, “I will require something of you.”

  “No,” said Amber. “Forget it. No more deals.”

  “This is not a deal,” Demoriel said, “it is an agreement. You say you hate Astaroth, yes? How much do you hate him?”

  “I’d say I hate him just enough.”

  “Do you hate him enough to act against him?”

  “You asking me to betray him?”

  “I am merely enquiring as to—”

  “Yes,” she said. “I hate him enough to betray him.”

  “I see.”

  “Release Milo from his contract, and trust me to hate Astaroth when the time comes.”

  “Very well,” said Demoriel. “Come closer.”

  Amber frowned. “You’re going to break the contract?”

  “I am, but deals are sealed with a handshake, little demon. This is how they must be dissolved. I can hardly shake your unconscious friend’s hand, can I? So it must be yours.”

  Amber hesitated. “If this is a trick …”

  “I don’t lie, little demon.”

  She walked over, and extended her hand.

  “Closer,” he said.

  “You can reach my hand from there.”

  “To do so, I would have to leave the circle. And I never leave the circle.”

  Amber took a deep breath. Keeping an eye on the black spear he carried, she took his other hand. It was cold, like shaking the hand of a dead person.

  “There,” said Demoriel. “It is done.”

  He released her hand without trying anything tricky.

  She took a step back. “What is? What did you do?”

  “Your friend is no longer one of mine,” said Demoriel. “He is no longer a demon.”

  “You … you took his power?”

  The Whispering Demon smiled. “It was never his to begin with. He has his life back, his soul is scrubbed clean, and he is free to squander it as he sees fit.”

  “Right. Well, uh … thanks.” She resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her pants.

  “Be careful how you go, little demon. And don’t forget what we discussed. If you get the chance to betray Astaroth—”

  “I’ll take it,” said Amber. “Don’t you worry about that.”

  AMBER TOOK MILO BACK to the motel, laid him on his bed and turned out the light. She went back to her own room. Clarissa was gone.

  She walked out, went to the parking lot, stood beside the Charger and waited.

  From overhead, the sound of fluttering clothes, and then a voice from behind her. Amber turned. Glen stood there.

  He cleared his throat, and gave a little wave. “Hello.”

  She frowned. “Glen?”

  “Yes,” he said, excitement bubbling. “It’s me! I’m me again!”

  “How?”

  He came forward. Still deathly pale, but his eyes sparkled. “It was you, right? I don’t know exactly how, or what you did, but you did something, didn’t you? I have this, this feeling that you did something and now I … I’m me again. What did you do?”

  “I brought you back,” she said. “Your soul.”

  “Where was it?”

  “In Hell.”

  His face screwed up. “Why was it in Hell?”

  “Anyone who gets turned into a vampire goes to Hell. You don’t remember it? You don’t remember anything about a palace, or the Blood-dimmed King, or meeting the Shining Demon?”

  “I met the Shining Demon?” Glen asked. “Wow. I don’t remember, like, any of that. I do remember being in that motel room, back when I was alive, and a dude coming in and, basically, biting me. It was confusingly intimate. I remember being on the bed and thinking, y’know … why am I liking this so much? Am I gay? But it wasn’t a gay thing, as it turned out. He was just killing me. Then it all went dark. And, when I woke up, I wasn’t me. I couldn’t think the same way, I couldn’t … I was sad. I suppose that’s the only way I can describe it. I was sad and I
couldn’t get happy. My brain wouldn’t let me.”

  Amber hesitated, then squeezed his arm.

  “It didn’t help that I was killing people,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I feel kinda bad about that.”

  “You probably should.”

  “I can’t let it affect me too much, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was a creature of the night, Amber. I can’t be held responsible for what I did or didn’t do when I was a creature of the night.”

  “So what didn’t you do?”

  “I … well, I didn’t not kill people.”

  “Yeah,” she said slowly. “I don’t know, Glen, I think you should probably still feel bad about that.”

  “It wasn’t me, though. That was Vampire Me. He doesn’t count.”

  “But aren’t you still a vampire?”

  “I am, yeah.”

  “And are you going to kill more people?”

  He frowned. “Yeah …”

  “Don’t you see a problem with that?”

  “Oh, I do!” he said. “Yes, absolutely! I can’t be going around killing people, willy-nilly. And no more innocent people, either. They are right off the menu and that is that.”

  “No one’s saying otherwise.”

  “But I reckon all I need to do is be more selective in my … snacking, as it were. How about this – how about I only go after bad guys?”

  “Okay.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure. Where will you find them?”

  “Ah, they’re everywhere,” said Glen. “I’ll be able to find them, no problem. They hang out in dive bars and places like that. And, like, with all the enemies you make, I’m sure I’ll be kept well fed.”

  “So you’re planning on sticking around?”

  “Well, yeah,” said Glen. “If you’ll have me. I could be such a resource, Amber. I have all the strengths of a vampire and none of their weaknesses.”

  “None of them?”

  “None,” he said, nodding. Then he shook his head. “Well, okay, all, but I can use my vampire powers for the benefit of mankind. I can punish the guilty. Avenge the innocent. Do other stuff.”

  “Yeah,” said Amber. “Maybe.”