Dead Harvest

  I snatched the gun up from the ground and extended Kate a hand. She took it, and we trotted side by side down the tunnel, leaving the husks of the two demons in our wake. But then we paused, spotting the third, the former bike messenger, propped against the tunnel wall ahead, its head thrown back in obvious pain, its brow damp with sweat. It sat, eyes closed, with one knee tight to its chest, and its other leg extended, the latter terminating in a bloody, glistening stump. A few feet away lay a mangled foot, connected only to the leg by a trail of blood. The gunshot, so far as I had seen, hadn't taken off the foot. As I watched the stump pulse and split like some nightmare egg, loosing fresh claws that kneaded the chill, damp air gingerly as if testing it, I realized the demon had removed the ruined appendage itself.

  The creature pushed backward with its good leg, and its back slid haltingly up the wall. It stood there a moment, its weight supported by its undamaged foot, the new one scratching tentatively at the concrete floor below, and then it took one lurching step forward, its eyes opening at last.

  "I cannot let you pass," said the demon. Once more, the dark enveloped us, radiating outward from the demon, but that darkness was fragile, somehow, barely there – like tissue paper. The creature took another lurching step, wincing as it did. It stood in the center of the tunnel now, the smoke from its fallen comrade now streaming overhead. A sudden breeze ruffled its tattered clothes.

  "You're in no shape for this," I said, not unkindly. "Just let us go."

  "I fear we've come too far for that."

  "I don't believe that's true. You got a name?"

  "I am but a foot soldier. We have no use for names."

  From far behind us shone the rheumy glare of a subway car's lights. Kate shot me a worried look. I ignored her.

  "You were an angel once – before the Fall. You had a name then, didn't you?"

  Another shuffling step, another wince. Behind us, the train pressed ever closer.

  "Yes."

  "Then tell me, angel, what is your name?" I asked.

  The creature swallowed hard. Its eyes closed in pain and concentration, and when it opened them again, I saw that the black flames they contained had dwindled to a flicker. "Veloch," it said.

  "Veloch, I need you to listen to me. This girl is an innocent; her soul is unmarred. She's been set up – by who, I don't know. Whoever it is, they clearly want a war. If you take her, a war's exactly what they'll get. You and I both know what we've seen so far is nothing compared to what would happen if the Adversary were to lay claim to a pure soul."

  The demon took another limping step forward. "Even if what you say is true, I have my orders. What is it you want from me?" Its voice was hoarse and weak, his words nearly lost to the rumble of the coming train.

  "I want you to trust me," I said. "I want you to trust me because I need your help."

  The creature snorted. "You want me to trust you? Why would I, when your kind, unlike mine, is not bound by your word?" It took another step forward. It stood only paces away now, wrapped in a shroud of guttering darkness that did little to repel the lights of the approaching train. Kate stood panicked and sweating beside me, looking continually from the demon to the train and back again. She clearly realized, as I did, there was no way we could beat the train to the station, no matter how fast we ran, and the thought seemed to imbue her with a kind of twitchy desperation that radiated off of her just as surely as the demon radiated darkness. Still, I remained calm. Maybe I'd resigned myself to the fact that we might not get out of this tunnel alive. Maybe I just didn't care. Or maybe I'd just found a little faith.

  "I'm not asking you to trust my kind," I said, tucking the gun into my jeans and stepping toward Veloch, arms raised. "I'm asking you to trust me." I grabbed it by the wrist and pressed its hand tight to my breastbone. Behind me, Kate quailed, and a thin cry escaped her lips, while further back, the train inexorably approached.

  The creature flexed its hand, and thick claws pierced my chest, but still I didn't flinch. Its borrowed eyes searched my face for any sign of duplicity, its own features twisted with suspicion. And then, suddenly, Veloch released me, the suspicion draining from its face.

  "You speak the truth, so far as you believe. I shall help you in your quest."

  "Thank you," I said.

  "If I find that I have trusted you in error, I assure you, you will pay – and the girl as well."

  "Of course."

  "Tell me, Collector, what made you so sure that I would choose this path? After all, my fate is sealed – redemption, for me, is forever out of reach."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. But it's not too late to try. Besides, if you sealed your fate, you did so by choosing to rebel – by choosing freedom over the bonds of servitude. It was a choice that, by all rights, wasn't yours to make, but you made it nonetheless. I guess I had to hope you'd make another."