Title: Web

Story Summary: Dante is commissioned by a wealthy Texas rancher to rid the area of a violent demon. Sounds straightforward, but little is what it seems when Dante uncovers what lies beneath the surface of this seemingly simple case…

Chapter 01

Enzo had told him to pack lightly, but he didn't say it would be this hot.

As Dante jumped out of the helicopter and onto the tarmac of his newest client's private landing strip, he felt sweat burst from all of his pores like water from Old Faithful. White hair soon turned dark as it clung wetly to his neck and cheeks, and even though the walk to the huge colonial-style mansion was not even one hundred yards, he felt exhausted by the time he made it onto the screened in back porch. Several tables had been set up in the porch's shade, and with a grunt he threw himself into one and stripped off his customary leather gloves. Fans that did little to relieve the heat circled lazily overhead, and bees buzzed in the well-tended flowerbeds that circled the landing pad.

The two glass doors behind Dante that led into the house itself burst open, but Dante did not turn around to welcome whoever had walked through. "It's hot," he said in lieu of greeting. "You didn't mention that it would be so damn hot."

A man in well worn (yet obviously designer label) jeans and a button-up plaid shirt rounded Dante's chair. His eyes—hardened chips of cloudy jade—assessed Dante with cold scrutiny that did not match the climate.

"It's a West Texas August. What did you expect, snow?" Then his lips curled into a smile and he held out a hand. "The name's Oakland. You're Dante."

Dante took the hand and shook it. "I hear you have a little problem. What can I do for you?"

Oakland didn't say anything as he took a seat across the table and pulled a black walkie-talkie out of the waistband of his jeans. "Bring me the photographs," he said into the receiver, "and a pitcher of lemonade." Then he set the walkie-talkie on the table and leaned back in his chair.

Dante took a moment to study the man. Oakland had a lean face that had been handsome at one point, but years of harsh sun and heat had browned his skin and beaten out any of the beauty he once possessed. Now he looked worn, tough, and ordinary—like any of the middle-aged ranchers scattered across Texas. His eyes, however, held a look so keen and cold that Dante had no doubts about who he was dealing with. Oakland was dangerous, driven, and—if the house and helicopter were any indication—wealthy. And wealthy people were often the most desperate ones.

"I'm a practical man," Oakland said. "Calling someone of your profession was… difficult."

"I get that a lot," Dante said, lips quirking.

"I'll bet you do," said Oakland. He leaned toward Dante across the table. "But I've got a problem. A big one. And I need your help no matter what I think about your business."

The doors behind Dante opened again. A young blonde woman in a yellow sundress and white high heels stepped onto the porch. In her hands was a silver tray bearing a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses, and tucked under her arm was a manila envelope.

"Dante, meet my wife, Katherine," Oakland said, rising to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Dante tipped an imaginary hat at her, and she blushed as she set down the tray and handed the envelopes to her husband. Oakland patted her arm when he saw her staring at Dante and said "Run along, now."

She left, shooting glances at Dante over her shoulder.

"Now to business," Oakland said. He poured the lemonade, and Dante wasted no time in chugging his share and pouring himself some more. Meanwhile, Oakland opened the manila folder and began spreading photographs on the table. "I want to get your opinion on what we're dealing with. Look here."

Dante set down his glass and picked up a photo. He squinted, trying to make out what he was looking at. "This one's grainy," he said.

"I'm afraid they all are. We can't get too close. It gets… violent."

Dante shot his employer a look before picking up another photograph. It was clearer than the first, though not by much, and what Dante saw made his eyes widen. "How were these taken?"

"By helicopter."

"And how big do you think it is?"

"Maybe thirty feet tall and forty wide. The tentacles make things hard to see."

Dante felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. Sweat that had nothing to do with the heat dotted his cheeks and ran into his five o'clock shadow. "That's huge," he said in a low voice, "but what kind of problems is it causing? Something this big probably doesn't move around much."

Oakland nodded. "It moves very slowly, but it's killing my cattle… and worse."

"Define 'worse.'"

Oakland regarded Dante with calm eyes. "Are you willing to take it out for me?"

"You still haven't defined 'worse' for me."

Oakland stood up. Dante noticed that he had not touched his lemonade, but despite this he was unmarked by perspiration. "Come with me," the man said. "I'll show you 'worse.'"

Oakland led Dante into the house, Dante shooting his second glass of unfinished lemonade a wistful look as he left his seat. However, the inside of the house was cool and dim—the ceilings were more than twenty feet high, and the height created refreshing drafts since the warm air rose to the top of the rooms instead of lurking along the floor. As they walked through a large room filled with museum-style cases and displays, Oakland's wealth became even more apparent. Dante paused to admire a glass case full of old guns and rusted metal circles attached to brightly colored ribbons.

Oakland, seeing his guest's inspection, remarked: "I collect Civil War paraphernalia. Those are genuine antique guns and medals."

Dante chuckled. "They're cool, but I'm not too interested. What exactly did you want to show me?"

With a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, Oakland walked to the case Dante had been inspecting. He pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the case. Dante watched in fascination as Oakland reached in, rotated an ancient revolver ninety degrees counterclockwise, and said "Step back." A machine beneath the floor made the wood under Dante's boots rumble, and a section of wall to the right of the case slid upward and out of sight. Behind it lay a dark staircase made of metal that disappeared into the ground.

"I keep it down here," Oakland said, stepping into the secret doorway. "Follow me, if you would."

Dante trailed after him, noting that the hallway was lined with metal and that the stairs were heavily reinforced with steel rivets. "Pretty heavy-duty," he remarked. "I didn't know cattle ranchers needed bunkers like these."

Oakland laughed. "I'm not a cattle rancher—not entirely, anyway."

Dante waited for him to continue, but Oakland didn't say anything else on the subject and Dante let it drop. He didn't really want to know.

The stairs only descended about thirty feet, and at their termination a large door with multiple locks had been installed. Standing at maybe ten feet tall, the steel-bound monster could have withstood a blast from a tank.

Dante felt a touch nervous at that realization—what was Oakland hiding that needed such a cage?

"You'll need this," Oakland said, startling Dante. He had raided a closet set in the wall next to the door that Dante had not noticed, and was holding out a thick, fur-lined coat. "I found that cold keeps it mostly inactive. It's ten-below-zero past this door."

Dante did as he said and took the coat. "Pretty fancy setup you got here."

Oakland shrugged. "I'm wealthy," he said, "and I like to play." He fished a set of keys out of his pocket and went about unlocking the door. The massive slab swung open very slowly, letting out a blast of frigid air.

"You weren't kidding about the cold," Dante murmured, zipping up his coat. His leather outfit—while a curse outdoors—was perfect for the vault.

Oakland smiled, then gestured into the room beyond.

Dante entered it. It was very dark, and just as his eyes were getting used to the gloom Oakland snapped on the overhead lights. Dante blinked owlishly in the glare, then felt his heart begin to pound when the contents of the room swam into focus.

In front of his was a large glass panel that you could find in any typical zoo. But behind it, instead of a terrarium filled with greenery and foliage, there was nothing but bare white tile and a collection of hoses bound to the ceiling and walls. They constantly spouted gouts of snow and ice onto the creature lying in the middle of the tank's floor, a creature bound by chains as thick around as a man's thigh.

"What the hell is that thing?" Dante asked.

"It was a cow, once," Oakland replied. "One of my prized steer. The thing in the photos infected it. I've lost two herds of cattle like this."

"Where are the other infected?"

"Killed 'em," said Oakland simply. "They don't like fire much."

Dante could see why. The cow—or, the thing that had been a cow—was riddled with thorns. It was as if a plant had rooted in the cow's midsection and grown outward: thorns poked through the skin, eyes, and mouth. But more than that, it was as if the cow's skeleton had been warped—not that Dante knew too much about cows, but damn, the thing was grotesque! The head was too large for the body; the legs too thin. Roots that had been twisted into sharp thorns protruded from the skin above the cow's hoof, and more talon-like protuberances had ripped open the creature's stomach in a writhing mass of feelers and thorny vines. It twitched pitifully on the ground, rasping distressed noises deep in its throat.

"Ugly motherfucker," Dante muttered. He turned to Oakland. "I've got questions. Have you tried any black magic recently?"

"I don't believe in that stuff," Oakland said, shrugging.

"Well, does any of your family believe in it?"

Oakland shook his head. "I doubt that."

Dante crossed his arms over his chest. Damn it was cold in there! "Are any of your neighbors experiencing weird shit?"

"Not that I know of."

Dante frowned. So that huge thing was isolated to the Oakland place? Demons—even the huge sedentary ones like in the photograph—tended to cover as much ground as they could, spreading their kin and kind over a vast territory. Even smaller demons had a system—smaller demons travelled in packs, packs controlled a territory… but large demons like this would not confine themselves to one place. It was almost as if…

"Do you have enemies that would like to see you dead?" Dante asked. "Your demon isn't behaving normally. I think it was summoned."

Oakland laughed a loud, hearty laugh. "I've got more enemies than I can name," he said, smiling, "but I don't know of any that would do something like this. They're more… mundane." His smile melted into a contemplative look. "So it's a demon, huh."

Dante nodded. "Definitely. I've seen demons like this before—the thing in the picture injected your cows with seeds that bind them to the bigger thing's will. Take out the big one, all the little ones will die. Should be pretty simple, provided you got the package my broker sent you."

Dante was referring to the crate Enzo had sent to Oakland the day before Dante had gotten on the man's helicopter. It contained Dante's favorite broadsword, Rebellion, as well as several lesser Devil's Arms and guns. Ebony and Ivory he had kept on his person, under the tails of his red leather jacket.

Oakland said: "I got it this morning."

"Good. I'll need it before I go after this thing. Where is it, exactly?"

Oakland gestured back toward the door they came through. "Your stuff is on the second floor. I got a room ready for you."

Dante started to head up the stairs. "Thanks. If you'll show me on a map just about where this thing is, I'll go after your little problem—" he let the word hang in the air for a moment for effect "—in the morning." His breath frosted in the sub-zero air. "That soon enough for you?"

Oakland smiled at him, but the expression was manufactured, and Dante realized that this one man was colder than the tank they stood in.

" 'course it is," Oakland said. His faded green eyes seemed to glow. "Why wouldn't it be?"

So I'm bad at beginnings, but I think I got all the initial info down. Dante has a job in Texas, flies down there, and meets his employer. If you have trouble understanding what's going on, please let me know. Keep in mind, though, that more will be revealed every chapter, so you might want to wait until the next installment to ask really plot-heavy questions.

Also keep in mind that this story is meant to be read almost like a mystery novel, with bit by bit being uncovered until the truth behind everything is reveled. The title of the story reflects the web of lies, half-truths, and misdirections Dante will encounter on his journey.