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“Little late for a taco cart, isn’t it?” Moloch remarks from the back seat.
Fenriz and I both look at the corner he’s indicating. There’s a line of workers waiting for food. A completely normal setup, apart from the hour. It could be explained by the twenty-four hour nature of many of the manufacturing businesses around, if it weren’t for the glassy, dumb, domesticated look in all of their eyes. They don’t talk, don’t shuffle, don’t even play on their phones. They just stand, equally spaced, staring straight ahead.
“Must be good tacos.” I pull into an empty parking lot and look at Fenriz. “We should go see if they live up to the hype.”
We make an intimidating picture, walking across the street to the taco stand, but the men in line don’t even seem to notice us. Still, the moment we’ve crossed, the humans step out of line and wander away in seemingly random directions.
Enthralled, clearly. Probably as a means to make the taco truck seem more inconspicuous in this out of the way place at this time of day.
I ignore the human puppets and stride to the taco cart’s window. The interior is dark, although the heat and scents of food clearly indicate that someone is working inside. I rap sharply on the aluminum sill and call, “Hey! What’s a man got to do to get a bite around here?”
A voice with an accent from Hell —literally—responds from the depths of the cart, the sound seeming to come from much farther away than physics would make possible.
“A man? Only to stand in line. A demon?” A sandpapery laugh scratches across my eardrums. “Farm the bite himself, of course. Why do you stand in the chattel ring, powerful one? Has the Prince of Darkness taken an interest in health inspecting?”
Fury lashes through me, and I reach through the window, dropping my human disguise. My claws close around a misshapen face, piercing through droopy ears. The demon’s piercing shriek cuts through the air as I yank him across the cart and halfway through the window, growling in his face as his badly conjured human disguise falls away.
“Wrong answer,” I snarl. “Now tell me what the fuck you’re doing here. Are you working with the Eleventh Street Psychos? Where’s their hideout?”
His red eyes widen as I wrap one hand around his neck, and he chokes out an answer, all trace of amusement gone from his voice. “Hidden! Hidden by wards. It’s nearby. I’m supposed to act as lookout.”
“Where?” I press, hauling him a little closer so he’s hanging half in and half out of his truck. “Give me the exact location.”
Once we know that, we’ll be able to identify and break down the wards, allowing us to see the gang’s hiding place.
“Th-there!”
He points, and my gaze tracks the movement, catching the ripple of magic off to my left.
Good enough.
I flex my fingers, severing the demon’s spindly neck with my claws and crushing his putrid little skull. It might have been better to wait until after dark to do this, but fuck it. If any un-enthralled humans walk in on this fight, they’ll get what they deserve.
My human disguise falls back into place, and I gesture to my men, who’ve been listening to my interrogation of the taco cart owner.
“On it,” Fenriz says before I even have to ask.
He adds his efforts to Moloch’s, both of them ripping away at the wards. An outline flickers between the buildings, a dark squat rectangle. New wards light up in the empty air as they burn away, leaving patches of black brick in their place. The place must be covered in the damned things.
Behind me, three dark sedans slip onto the street and park, making me realize that Fenriz also anticipated my needs by calling for backup.
Good. It’s time to get the answers I need.
I step between Fenriz and Moloch and seek out the more powerful wards. Now that I know they’re here, I can feel them out. The foggiest places, the least remarkable points, the emptiness.... they call me, and I answer with fire.
The weaker wards are revealed as the strongest fail, leaving them vulnerable to the workings of Fenriz and Moloch. I gesture in the air, calling my men to me. In unison, the six men in the sedans open their doors and fall into line behind me. A flickering, glitching building is now visible before us—complete with a flickering, glitching, door.
“That’s good enough,” I say. Moloch and Fenriz snap to attention, falling in on either side of me.
I don’t bother with any more orders, since they know what to do. I lead the way across the street, rip the locked door open with little trouble, and step into the mockery of a temple belonging to the Eleventh Street Psychos. Black idols of conflicting disciplines stare each other down across the room, surrounded by a clutter of nonsense. Pieces of spells, bits of prayers, nothing coherent. I curl my lip in disgust and keep walking through the wide opening into a makeshift lounge.
Fenriz, Moloch, and two of the others follow me inside. The other four will be patrolling the perimeter, waiting for an indication that we need them inside. I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.
Six demons are draped across the furniture under a sleepy cloud of smoke. Eight young human women are draped across them, naked. I can sense more demons in the rooms beyond, but there is no indication that anyone noticed us interfering with the wards or their watchdog. One demon sits up lazily, peering at me through heavy lids. “Yo, you bring the—fuckin’ shit!”
He snaps awake as he realizes who I am, leaping to his feet with no regard for his nude companion. She doesn’t react as her head bounces off the floor.
“All out offuckin’ shit,” I tell him as I ripple into my natural form. “Shit bags, though, are in endless supply.”
