Flirting with Sin Ch. 01

The morning sun cast a near-blinding sheen on the newly waxed marble floor. The Bishop was kind enough to offer me some parting words of condolence.

"This will be your last chance, Hunter. Prove that you have the will and the strength to protect. Prove that the Church defends and shelters the weak, and banishes the wicked. Use the lessons you have learned and the holy instruments you have been provided to bring peace and safety to the people. Now go."

"I understand, Father. I shall."

For a man of the cloth, he didn't have much faith--not in me, at least. His beady eyes betrayed his doubt; he should be surprised if the next time he heard of me was anywhere other than the obituaries.

It was just as well. My redemption would come in one of two ways: the banishment of the demon or the end of my life. In either case, the lives taken by the demon must be repaid.

The summoner's sacrifice--a woman most likely, as demons tend to take a form similar to those sacrificed--and the man who had been flayed in that alley. It wouldn't have surprised me if he was in fact the summoner and the demon had repaid his deed by making a meal of him. But that would be a very straightforward and simple explanation, and nothing is ever simple when it comes to demons.

III: Possessions of the Wicked

"Have you ever seen this woman?" I asked, holding up a photo.

"No, never seen her. Yer wife get away from ya or somethin', mister Hunter? Didn't know youse lot was allowed ta have them kinda relations."

The rotund man chortled at me, waving his hand in apology. I sighed; I'd asked just about every person in three bars and no one knew her, not to mention it seemed as though rumor was beginning to spread that I was an obsessed ex-boyfriend.

It was a photo of a little girl, couldn't be any older than nineteen, in a flattering office getup that I'm sure she wore to get the attention of the exec she was fetching coffee for. She had long, flowing brown hair with neatly trimmed bangs, bright green eyes and a tiny button nose in the middle of her face. A missing person's report had been filed for her a week prior and she looked strikingly similar to miss puss in boots who had nearly clawed my face off. I was certain this was my girl.

I planted my boot in a neon stripper's reflection in a puddle, breathing in the fumes lit up by the streetlights. The sky was the color of wet ash. This neck of town was far beyond the Church's line of sight and held some of the more desperate places I could search for her. I had hoped it wouldn't come to that, but I was running out of time.

Alison Gales was her name, apparently. An intern in some faceless corporate company, doing free labor so maybe one day she could get paid to do nothing like everyone else in these glass buildings. Probably turned the wrong person down, probably valued her dignity over a promotion, probably threatened to report someone to the authorities. Not an uncommon story. Hell's denizens love a chaste offering.

The victim was one Timothy Willits, some drone who worked at the same building. Nothing about him seemed terribly out of the ordinary, save that he was apparently an avid churchgoer at a small chapel that was fairly out of the way. Being a Godfearing citizen is all but required to live within the city limits, but something didn't sit right with me about it. The Father of the chapel was a 'Richard Gales.' Merely a coincidence?

I turned the corner, saw one of those seedy strip joints with the fogged up tubes. Lot of thumping against the glass today, hands pressed up against the inside just barely obscured by the pink gas. I guess some people are into that--I still can't imagine paying to bang a public Love Doll.

Coming to a stop near the fourway, I turned my attention to a darkened apartment building that had fallen into disrepair. The bricks were shedding their paint and the door looked ready to come off the hinges. Not a single room was lit.

Forcefully I knocked three times against different spots of the door and finally kicked the bottom. Not two seconds later, the door opened about half an inch and a glowing orange eye stared at me from the void of dark beyond.

"A Hunter? The fuck do you want?"

"I'm looking for someone."

I flashed the girl's picture at the crack in the door.

"What, your wife run off? I dunno what you think you're gonna find here, holy man, 'cept your own damnation. Why don't you trot along home and pray?"

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. I slipped them into the crack in the door and they were violently snatched away. After a moment, the door shut and a soft red glow outlined the hinges. It then opened again to reveal a man in a pinstripe suit and a combed moustache ushering me inside, where flashing rave lights and pounding music awaited me.

Greed. What use did demons truly have for money? Yet they and those touched by them are never able to resist a bribe of petty paper currency.

A pentagram was carved onto the other side of the door, its runes burning against the wood. As I stepped inside I felt the lashes on my back sting hot. This building was hidden inside the border of Inferno, though judging by the Possessed doorman it was the shores of Hell at worst.

It was a large dancehall with a bar in the far corner. Red and rose-pink strobe lights flashed in turn from the ceiling, far above. Men and women dancing and grinding, drinking and chatting, flirting and grabbing one another in every direction. It might have seemed innocuous or even normal were the bar not serving blood and the dancers' eyes not an ominous crimson.

These people were Possessed--they who had allowed a demon to inhabit their body in exchange for power or pleasure. Usually dumbass kids who approached it like getting high. A decent exorcist could make short work of this sort of pact, especially with lesser demons. But you always hear the horror stories of some idiot getting in over his head, letting a baron of Hell in that makes him kill his family.

Normally it would be my job to stamp out wretched hives of scum and villainy like this. Its existence in this city was an abomination and the number of people inside flirting with Hell was nothing short of gut-wrenching. For the moment though I'd have to let it slide.

Suspicious eyes followed me as I made my way to the bar. Teenagers with cloudy vision terrified of my presence. I could hardly blame them; my holy blade was pulsing at my side, almost begging to be unsheathed, and I imagine more than a few of them had noticed the lump on my right where my magnum was holstered under my robe.

I sat at a barstool and tapped my knuckles against the counter. The ghoul bartender--his eyes glassy and vacant like someone who'd sold his soul--addressed me in a dreary monotone.

"What can I get you, sir?"

"Brandy. No ice. And no blood, either."

His empty stare dwelled on me as he fumbled with the bottle and spilled a shot of the stuff into a glass. I held it up to the light--thin enough to see through. If the bottle had been spiked with corrupted blood, it was so little that at worst it'd make me doubt my faith or want to jerk off.

I swung it back, felt the smooth texture slide down my throat until the rotten fruit crept back up from my gullet. Ah yes, that was the swill I needed. The body is a temple, and every now and again I liked to polish the floors with poison.

"Seems a little suspect that a Demon Hunter would come all the way out here for cheap booze. Don't you lot get to drink His holy piss for free?"

A raven-haired woman with orange skin and little black horns coming out of her crown sat at the stool next to me. The career woman getup she was wearing was tight on her and the skirt was short, so she crossed her nylon-laden legs.

"I just really like the taste of ash and brimstone in my drink," I shrugged.

She smirked and ordered a drink of her own. The bartender gave her some sparkling red stuff in a cocktail glass with an eyeball floating in it. She took a drink and two tongues snaked out of her mouth to lap it up.

"This girl. You seen her?"

I flashed her the photo, she leaned forward to look at it--which I'm sure was a deliberate move to give me a shot down her open collar and see she wasn't wearing a bra. She had an oddly sweet scent that I don't think was a perfume.

"Cute young thing. Your wife?"

"If only."

The words came from my mouth without my consent. I cleared my throat and tapped my glass against the wood. The bartender poured me another shot.

"Missing since a week or so ago. Went by Alison Gales, worked in the city. And I have reason to believe she was a blood sacrifice."

The woman sipped her cocktail, looking disinterested. Then she set it down and gave me a piercing look.

"And what's your name, mister Hunter?"

"Trevor. I won't bother asking yours."

There's power in names, and she wasn't about to relinquish hers to a Hunter of the Church. The black stripes on her skin crawled forward, rearranging themselves into a new pattern. Even a low-level demon like her knew when to be cautious. She smirked, the ends of her lips bending into an unnatural swirl.

"You're no fun. Why don't you just call me Alice? Easy to remember, 'cus it's so close to your little Polaroid girlfriend."

"I'd like to get out of Wonderland sooner rather than later, 'Alice.' Have you seen the girl or haven't you?"

She tapped a long red nail against her glass and shut her eyes behind those curled lashes, no doubt considering what the funniest way to mislead me would be.

"Say I have seen your girl. Say I know all about innocent little Alison, and even where you might go lookin' for her. What are you gonna do for me, huh? We're not all as charitable as the Church, you know."

The booze may have been more corrupt than I'd thought, because the next thing I said was quite possibly the most foolish thing one could say to a demon.

"What is it you want?"

The orange-skinned creature flashed me a toothy smile, her pearly whites dagger sharp behind her lips. She looked at me with fiery red eyes, set amid the void of black in her sockets, an unsettling hunger burning behind them.

"Trevor, right? There's something about you holy types that's oh so delectable. I can smell it--that hot stuff pumping in your veins. Can I have a taste? Just one little taste, mister Hunter."

A half-inebriated thought bubbled to the forefront of my mind as Alice stared me down like a t-bone steak. I can use this. Were I more clear headed I might have been unsettled, but instead my head burned hot and a dimwitted smile crept across my face.

"You're a girl who likes to have fun, right? I'll show you a good time, Alice, just you and me."

The demon's eyes lit up with a fiery red glow. She put on a wicked grin and giggled, her two tongues running over her lips.

"Mister Hunter, do ya know what you're getting yourself into? I'm not some dainty little choir girl. You really think you can handle me?"

She was nearly salivating at the suggestion. Her cheeks became flushed and pink. She leaned closer to me and uncrossed her legs. I could feel her breath, hot and wet. I'd made a serious mistake.

"Don't worry--it's my job to punish little hellions like you," I whispered. The drink had fully taken hold of me.

Alice's orange face had turned red.

"Okay," she began, taking a breath and collecting herself. "Alison, she..."

"Hey, Meg! This asshole buggin' you?"

A Possessed man in a leather jacket with a tattooed scalp shouted across the dancehall at us. Another fake name--she was probably playing half the dudes in this shithole.

"Oh, that's right, Mikey. You shoulda seen him, pawing all over me. I don't even know this creep! I told him he couldn't buy me a drink, but he just wouldn't give up!"

Alice flashed me a mischievous smile and winked.

"Oh, you bitch. You gotta be fucking kidding me," I sighed.

"And now he turns to petty insults, Mikey. Can you believe this guy? Some holy paragon."

The cueball glared death into me, his eyes betraying whatever spirit lurked beneath his skin. He grabbed me by the collar and pulled me up from the barstool, raising a fist with the word "MOSH" tattooed on his fingers.

"You hunters think you can do whatever the fuck you want, don'tcha?! Think this robe makes you some kinda untouchable saint! Well God ain't here, fucker!"

"You're right, He's not."

I pulled the magnum from its holster, pressed the silver barrel against his shoulder and pulled back the trigger. I was already being deafened by the blaring music and now my ears were ringing. The force of the bullet sent him spiraling to the floor. A chunk of his flesh landed in Alice's drink. He lay there clutching at the bloody mound where his shoulder used to be and whimpering curses pitifully.

"Wow, Trevor. That was cold-blooded," Alice remarked, sounding surprised and a little excited.

"He'll be fine, his possessor's not about to let its comfortable home bleed out. He can just walk it off," I grunted.

The Possessed on the dance floor barely stirred. Some of them shot me annoyed glances like I was being rude and interrupting their good time. As soon as I put the gun away they lost interest in me and returned to their dancing as if nothing had happened.

I grabbed Alice's hand and pulled her up from the bar.

"Mind if I take you somewhere we won't be interrupted?"

"Ooh, so forceful. Lead the way, your holiness."

I led the lesser demoness outside and pulled her around the corner. I didn't care if someone saw me negotiating with a demon--I'd already been lashed today, what's another few licks--but I didn't want to have to shoot any other meatheads seeing her on the street.

"Right here, mister Hunter? You're real to the point, aren'tcha?"

Alice pulled me by the collar and ran her slender fingers up my thigh. Her touch was like being caressed by a hot brand, and I brushed her off before she could burn me.

"Tell me about Alison. How do you know her?"

She pouted, her glossy black lips curling into a disappointed frown.

"Well, 'know' might be too strong a word..." she began, running a finger over my shoulder. "I know of her. I know she changed only a few nights ago. It ain't like we're friends, but I've heard things."

"She couldn't be Possessed, I saw her myself. She was all demon," I said, shaking my head.

"Possessed? No, no, you're thinking too small, Trevor. Alison is the demon. The fur, teeth and whiskers are all hers, babe."

A demonic metamorphosis? Lord, grant me strength.

Possessed were easy enough to deal with and summoned demons were just a matter of sending them back where they came from, but if Alison had become a full-blown Hell on Earth demon I may have bitten off more than I could chew.

"See, her mother was a nun--or that's what the imps are saying, anyway. And she got a bun stuffed in her oven by one of the priests. Some seedy old pervert who wasn't satisfied with just altar boys, I guess. I don't have to tell you what someone like her would think of abortion, so she kept the little rapeseed and she was banished from the church for two-timing Yahweh. 'Least, that's the official story."

"Hmm." It sounded like bullshit, frankly. A priest would lose his balls for touching one of the nuns. "But then, why..."

"Why'd you catch Alison snacking on some guy in an alley? Beats me. Girl's gotta eat," Alice shrugged, smirking. "But word gets around, and I'll bet she's been searching her whole life for the bastard who raped her mother. Now that she's a little more primal, maybe she's caught his scent. I'd say question the guy she ate, but his soul's in Hell's toilet by now."

I crossed my arms and considered her story. Vengeance didn't explain the girl's sudden change into a feral demonic cat. There was something else Alice wasn't telling me. Demons weren't known for their compatriotism, so I doubt she was covering for Alison. There was a certain glint in the smoldering embers of her eyes, a slight tug at the edge of her lips. It hadn't been at all difficult to convince her to help me. She had come to me, not the other way around. Was she simply drawn to the blessing?

"I thought you said you knew where to look for her."

"Oh, I might... But I thought you said you'd show me a good time," she said slyly.

I pressed my hand against the wall and leaned in close, breathing down her neck. I saw her shudder beneath me.

"Tell me."

"The--the apartments on the 57th block. Old pre-church buildings," she stammered, steam escaping her lips. "There's an old paladin that lives there, and she thinks he might--"

"Thank you."

I adjusted my robe and made for the street. If I was going to make it to 57th before nightfall, I'd have to hurry. Alice stomped her heel into the pavement and shouted after me.

"Hey! We're not done here, you goddamned tease!" She ran after me and grabbed my arm. "What are you gonna do to Alison, anyway? Kill her?"

"Of course. I'm a Hunter, after all."

"Listen to me! This priest Alison's after, he's not--"

I pulled out the magnum and aimed between her eyes. She froze at the sight of the silver barrel and the loaded chamber, but soon anger spread across her features.

"I should kill you, too," I coldly stated, "but I don't have time right now. I have to find Alison. Don't you worry, demonspawn, we'll see each other again."

"You bastard. You bet your ass we will," Alice growled through the bed of daggers in her mouth.

IV: The Devil's Wiles

'Pre-church,' what people referred to as the rundown ramshackle place this town used to be before the Church stepped in, gave people purpose and rebuilt everything. Modern buildings and roads paved over the crumbling complexes and the cracked streets. Infrastructure and lights to bring people and hope to a place lost in the dark. The only thing that gave this place running water and electricity was God's will.

Like everyone else who lived here, I owed all I had to the Church. I was nothing when they found me, and nothing is what I would be without them. That's not to say I enjoyed blasting silver bullets at Possessed fugitives in the night and brandishing blades at creatures that could take my head off, but it was a fair trade.

The moon bore a hole in the gray-dark above, casting its pale light onto the empty streets. Maybe it was the drink, but the world was wet and hazy; I could hardly see where I was going and was only vaguely certain I was in the right place.

Mud soaked the hem of my robes as I came up on the complex. Little wooden houses lined up next to each other in a tiny lot. Rain slid down the roofs and made soup of the gravel and dirt commons. The place was still and silent--had Alice set me on a wild goose chase?

Why would a paladin live here? Even a third rate Hunter like me could afford to live in the developed side of the city, but if I couldn't they'd let me live in the Church. I guessed that if he knew Alison's father, he might be old enough to be retired--but retirees typically don't get put out to pasture like this unless they leave the Church on their own.

The sound of shattering glass echoed from behind one of the apartments, lighting my nerves on fire. My hand flew to the handle of my gun and my other drew the dagger from its sheath. It pulsed in my grip, shining with holy radiance. There was a demon nearby, no mistaking it.

I charged through the gravel, holding the gun ready. A man's shout rang out into the night--was I too late? Rounding the buildings with my back against the walls, I trained the magnum around corners and held the dagger to the level of my eyes.

My heart was thundering in my chest. Death or salvation awaited me in this lot, and a frightening foreboding grew in me with each house I circled. Anticipation, anxious curiosity. Like I couldn't wait to see her again before I blew her head off.