Part 29 - Wolfe: Danse Macabre

The first screams froze the blood in my veins.

It was surreal, like something I could see at The Slipper Room or The Box. Nymphs whirled in the darkness, snaking around a golden cage. They spun and twirled, a macabre dance, blooms of flame swirling around them like fireflies dancing in the air. It reminded me of the stage at Smiley’s, an elaborate production. I’d seen Red do something similar, bringing in the other dancers, a wild stage show that had mooks emptying their bank accounts at her feet. We’d fucked in the alley that night, steps from where she…where I…

But this was different, artistic and fluid, like a sinister ballet. Like our fucking. And I thought of the way the leather strap left welts and bruises on her flesh. She cried as I moved around her helpless body, flicking my wrist, the leather snaking in, her sobbing muffled by the cotton filling her mouth. They twisted and turned, circling the cage like faeries, whimsical and ethereal, as if this was simply a play for the me in the cheap seats. I could almost feel the music, the tempo, feel their muscles tense, their weight shift, the anticipation of the pain, of the pleading, of the pleasures they’d rip from her naked body. And then, they swooped in, dark angels jabbing between the golden bars with bright, flaming spears, ripping screams from the caged animal.

All I could do was watch. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. But the narrow window trembled with her screams, betraying my eyes, snapping me out of the dream, and I drew my gun.

Three shots into the window, and I was through, swinging my Glock around. Assaulting a federal agent, kidnapping, and a dozen other charges flooded into my head. It didn’t matter what she’d said, what she’d said she was doing here, undercover or not, the case of a lifetime or not. I couldn’t stand by any longer.

A scream on my left. Goldi! I turned, my 9mm up and around, seeking a target, but she wasn’t in danger. She was warning, pointing, shrieking as a semi hit me, slamming me against the wall. My pistol spun away into the aether as something the size of a house roared in my ear. I blinked, the brick grinding against my cheeks, my brain shaking in my head, my vision blurring. The world went sideways, and I felt the room whiz by, a flurry of motion, a flash of gold, and then the heat of the fire as I crashed down near the hearth, taking a high-backed chair with me. The floor trembled as the monster crossed the room, his footsteps like rolling thunder. Behind me, the fire crackled and popped.

I rolled away as a great boot came down on the chair. Wood splintered, and the monster’s growl followed as I scrambled across the concrete floor, pulling myself up and throwing myself over a long leather sofa. A massive paw crashed down, clamoring for me, but I wasn’t fast enough as thick digits wrapped around the tail end of my coat. I thrashed around, trying to pull away, to escape as he pulled me back. I’d seen the chair splinter, heard the sofa’s spine break when he struck it. I knew there was no surviving his grip.

He yanked me back, his rancid breath filling my lungs, but I wriggled out of the coat, shrugging out of my holster, too. Useless. My gun was somewhere. No need to look there. Just needed to get away, get my bearings, find a way before that monster roaring behind me blew my own house down, and the tale was at an end.

Screams echoed in the dark, and my vision filled with the sinister ballet again. Gretel thrashed in the cage as the angels poked and prodded, torturing, charing, searing, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. Who were they, and where did they come from? She hadn’t mentioned them, hadn’t said a word about the two dark angels, their silvery hair flowing as they spun and whirled, the fireflies darting in between the tight mesh of gold that held the screaming federal agent.

Just the man and his giant. They brought the destitute in, gave them food and shelter, brought them warmth and safety and comfort, until some found their way into cages bound for far-away lands. Or dead.

Gretel screamed again, and I knew then what her fate would be.

I scrambled to my feet and rushed the nearest valkyrie, murder in my heart. Gun or not, these cunts were dying, and I was getting out of here with Gretel, Goldi and my own ass intact.

The angel whirled, her eyes as black as coal, her hair a corona, her face the night. And I felt my soul quake.

She met me head-on with the burning poker. I dodged, heard another shriek, felt the searing burn across my cheek as I dove to the side. Tumbling, I came up with the poker in my face again, stabbing down, leaving me scrambling back, rolling to the side. My cheek was on fire, lungs burning, and somewhere behind her shadowed face, I heard the roar of the giant. Heat flashed in close, and I caught it on my arm, a glancing blow, my shirt ripping away. My flesh bubbled. She danced in, and I danced away, wild now, anything to escape another burn, struggling to find my rhythm in our own deadly tango. Again on the defensive, I ducked, and dove away from the burning spear, feeling the floor under me vibrate, the heavy footfalls of the giant closing.

She swung her spear, driving me back, maneuvering me with a skill I hadn’t expected, couldn’t counter. What were these fucking things! Where did they come from? And what were they to this man who lived in such luxury and commanded such a deadly army? Like angels they were — lithe, nimble bodies, completely naked and yet not vulnerable but seemingly invincible.

I ducked, hearing the crackle of the burning end catch hairs on the back of my head. I rolled, trying to open some space, get some kind of advantage, but when I came up, she was gone, her hair a halo of moonbeams as the giant stepped into her place and swallowed up the light. It roared, a great bellow that would have shaken the building to its foundation had it not been such a solid, old construct. The barrage of rage sent me reeling backward against the bricks again.

The breeze whipped through the broken window, the crunch of glass underfoot. I was right back where I started, but now, with no weapon, my cheek and arm burned, and the largest creature ever seen on two legs standing over me. But there was one thing I realized as I crouched, ready to spring away from the lumbering juggernaut. My Glock was under my right heel.

The giant glared and gathered itself, less man now than a rumbling mountain of ruin. I shot a glance back, wondering if Goldi and her new benefactor were there, but the hallway was empty, both of them gone. Then the mountain erupted with a great spout of rage, and I leaped forward, ducking between the tree trunk legs and coming up face-to-face with an angel of death. She froze, her face like a mask, empty and dead. Then, she raised her spear with a scream before I put a round through her forehead.

She clattered to the floor, her sister with her, like a mirror shattering into a thousand pieces, leaving only the memory of what it saw. That’s when I saw Gretel, her slender, naked body slumped in the cage, one eye opened in terror as the mountain lumbered up behind me. Her fingers shook as she pointed, something like a gurgle spewing from her broken jaw. The mountain roared, and I spun, emptying the Glock. But it came on, six rounds in its massive chest, seven, eight, great claws reaching out. I crouched, my hand finding the poker, and I jabbed it up at the great beast as it reached for me, finding its eye with a sizzle and a pop and a sound like a volcanic eruption.

The colossal frame crumpled to the floor, fingers gripping the spear, and one leg twitched. I took a deep breath, inhaling smoke and the smell of burnt flesh. Light played over the creature’s body, reflecting off the blood that pooled around the mammoth head. It was dead. The valkyries were dead. And Gretel…I turned, found her eyes on me, her fingers gripping the bars. Blood oozed from blackened flesh and deep gashes. Her left eye was nearly closed, swollen and purple. She gulped down breaths with a pronounced wheeze, her entire body shuddering from the effort.

Her lips moved, nothing but rasping syllables and unintelligible nonsense flowing from lips. I leaned in, trying to reach her, to find the catch, the lock, the way to get her out and to help, but she grunted and spit blood and let loose a sickening wail, pulling me back to find her, her face, her tears.

“Gretel?”

“Kill. Him.” She swallowed, wretched. A stream of black blood oozed out of her mouth. “Before he kills you.” She spat the last words out, as if she’d been gathering herself for that one message.

“I will. He’s dead.” I reached out and touched the cage, watched her eyes close, and then I turned and walked away as the room burned.