In the Dark of Night – Part 21

A long, long time ago I made myself a promise.

I promised that I would update The Quill on a regular basis. I told myself that no matter where my career would take me, I would make this site a priority. 

Through thick and thin, through feast and famine, people would be able to come here and find new worlds to explore whenever they wished.

That…. hasn’t happened.

There’s a lot of reasons why I have fallen short. I’ve explained them as we’ve all endured this last year and change. To all of you as well as to myself. It’s been hard to make sense of it all.

Still, deep inside, I find that guilt remains. 

How can I call myself an author if I don’t produce works? Sure, it’s one thing to tell people that you’re writing (which I am!) but it’s another entirely to show them what you’ve done. 

There’s a strength in submitting your work to scrutiny. I am, in a very real sense, sharing a part of myself when I write.

This site is part of what’s kept me at the keys. When I’m here, making stories, I feel like an author. 

I write with distinct purpose and engaged will and at the end of that dedicated effort comes the reward of hitting the submit button. 

That feeling matters; I’ve let it lay fallow long enough. 

I cannot fix the mistakes of the past. However, I can put my efforts towards the future I desire.

It is with great pleasure that I present to you the new schedule for ye olde Quill:

Every 12th and 26th there will be a story post.

In the Dark of Night is probably going to remain a monthly posting. It has been at this stage for some time now and I think that gives me sufficient time to work through where I want to go next. I will use the 26th as a chance to write some of the new stories that have been building up inside of my imagination during the lean season.

I love, L-O-V-E, writing about Anzi and Claire. It’s just… I’ve been at it for a while now. With my novella stalled for the foreseeable future (editing is spendy and I’m broke), I want to try a few of those ideas out. 

Maybe those idle fantasies amount to nothing. Or, I might just have another winner on my hands.

Regardless of how well they work out, you can expect them with regularity moving forward.

As for this post? Well, this post is for further tales of angels and demons in the heartland.

In the Dark of Night – Part 21

I turned to Atomo. 

I was expecting more flexing. Maybe a smug smirk or two. Perhaps an extremely insincere caw. 

What I did not expect was for Atomo to streak away from Anzi towards the back of the police station like a bolt of silver lightning.

My mystified gaze met Anzi’s startled one. Of all the directions for them to bolt, into the police station struck me as completely backwards.

With my back turned, I wasn’t able to see the inky blackness creeping across the floor until I was bathed in it. All along my spine I felt the cold, rotten touch of things long dead. I turned, desperate to see what creature cast such a horrendous shadow.

The terror of the last few days had quickened my reaction time. Offsetting that was the fact that I was tired and hurt like crazy. In my desire to face this new obstacle, I had forgotten I was still handcuffed. My momentum swung me about in a vicious arc which threw me to the ground. My ribs and chin exploded in brand new pain. Eyes watering, I lifted my bruised chin and looked to the source of my torment. 

A hooded figure stood at the entrance to the police station. They were cloaked in shadow completely at odds with the gleaming afternoon sunshine above. One hand held a worn leather tome. The other was making demon horns as it pointed towards me.

“Excuse me sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait outside. I’m in the middle of something…”

Chief Waitley was cut off mid-sentence as the world came to a stop. For the third time in as many days, lurid red light filled the room. Panic washed over me; I was chained and unarmed upon the floor.

I was about to die. 

I had to close my eyes and breathe deeply to keep from vomiting. Fear was winding my stomach into knots. I was fine facing death. I had done so multiple times the last few days. In those moments, however, I had been on my feet and fighting.

Being served up on a linoleum platter as dinner for a demon wasn’t how I wanted to go.

The sound of steel sliding out of its sheath served as a pointed reminder that I wasn’t alone anymore. Once more, the sword I hadn’t noticed on Anzi’s hip had surprised me with its presence. It was not glowing as it had when I held it. That didn’t stop it from being a meter of very sharp metal. Anzi’s swing was stiff, as though the sword was heavier than she was accustomed to.

She still managed to arc her blade cleanly through my cuffs without touching a single thread upon my back. 

I let loose a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding along with the sob buried beneath it. One madcap scramble later, I was on my feet and pumping power to my hands for all I was worth. The edges of my vision went white as I raised my fists to face whatever was to come. 

It took me a moment to notice how dimly the power was shining from them. 

My wrists, and the damaged cuffs upon them, were scarlet with blood. They were also aglow with magic. The wellspring of power within was leaving me through the nearest exit. With each treacherous heartbeat, more of my last hope spilled into the air and dissipated. 

Without a tool prepared to channel my magic and contain it, I was no less helpless than I had been before.

I looked to Anzi as the ground trembled and cracked. I saw my own fear reflected there. We both knew what I would have to do in order to have a chance at surviving the next few minutes. I would need to use her sword as the channel I so desperately needed. 

Using it this morning had almost killed me.

If our bout with the nightmare causing fissures in the floor lasted more than a few moments. Well, there probably wouldn’t be anything left for them to kill.

I reached out a hand towards Anzi. I was pleased at how little it shook.

The ground heaved one last time. The creature which emerged made hope fly from me as Atomo had from Anzi.

It was as wide and tall as Chief Waitley. While Chief Waitley conveyed the quiet strength of mountains, this being was the merciless brutality of a storm-tossed ocean. 

Instead of skin, there was grey sinew stretched far too thin across inhuman bones. Four arms ended in hands with three talons instead of fingers. Atop the barrel chest and stumpy neck was the skull of a goat. The horns were long and curled as the thrice-crowned disciples had been. Nestled at their base was a plain gold crown lacking all filigree. 

I gasped, blood draining from my face faster than magic was draining from my wrists. 

This was no disciple. Whomever wished me dead was about to get their wish. I wasn’t facing down some petty demon whose only toll was a sacrificial animal. This wasn’t a lesser fiend who could be stuffed into an empty shell of corpse dust bits of old bones. 

They had summoned Azazel himself.

The skeletal leer widened as it saw my fear. A leathery tongue ran over absent lips in anticipation of the carnage to come. The poisonous green flames which served as eyes kindled to new brightness. Sinew crackled as the talons opened and closed. Dusty words echoed down a skull full of teeth and terror.

“You have made a mockery of my will, child. You shall pay for your insolence with your life.”

There was no roar of challenge. No mindless battle-cry. Only three meters of elder demon going from full stop to full sprint with arms and claws splayed wide.

I wasn’t about to die; we were about to die.

Anzi wouldn’t survive till the first dinner of her pilgrimage.

To be continued…

Goatfully,

The Unsheathed Quill