Where There's Smoke
Because I can see the smoke and the old folks told me
There's fire where there's smoke, I believe
I know, I know, baby, where there's smoke there's fire
– Johnnie Taylor
The King of Hell stumbled out of the illusionary "set," skin still raw and burning. He beat away the attentive hands of his lackeys, bellowing at them to find out how his warding had been broken and vowing death, dismemberment, and bad hair days on any blunderers who may have compromised his set-up. He strode to the display monitors, and ordered a playback of the previous ten minutes. From the footage, his best guess was that the interloper was some kind of angel, though how such a being had gotten past his security measures was unclear.
Crowley growled to himself as he stroked his beard. Someone had plucked Tran right out from under him, again! It was infuriating. If Naomi's behind this... he thought viciously, quickly running through his top ten favorite torture methods and picturing using each on the rigid angel. He smiled grimly, imagining twisting the very tip of an angel blade into her eye – that would break through that unruffled exterior of hers.
"That presence had to come from somewhere," he snarled. "Check with the perimeter. I want to know why we didn't get advanced warning."
"I just called the west gate, sir," a minion piped up, "There's no-one there."
"What do you mean 'There's no-one there'?" Crowley snapped, "Where the hell did they go?"
There was soft, sibilant thrum, and an ancient part of Crowley's mind that had been untouched for centuries recognized it, sending of jolt of warning through him. It was the only thing that kept him from having a arrow jammed between his shoulder blades. The missile in question instead pierced his AV minion's upper arm, causing the lower demon to shriek in pain. Crowley's head snapped around to the balcony of the run-down theater, where a figure was barely visible against the unlit background.
"What happened to you, Rakshasa? You lose a fight with a tanning bed?"the figure asked.
Crowley cocked his head, mining his memory to find where he knew the voice from. Before the penny dropped, the figure reached up and pushed back a hood from its head. Crowley gestured to a lackey to bring up the house lights, revealing a short, dark-skinned young women with close-cropped black hair. She was wearing charcoal gray running tights, a close-fitting black hoodie, and the one foot she had braced on the balcony railing sported a well-used running shoe. There was a gleaming black bow in her hands, and a quiver of arrows hung at her side.
Crowley grinned slowly, "Devishi Chaudhuri, darling! It's been a while, hasn't it? You've no idea how I fretted after you... left my custody."
"Where's Kevin Tran?" Devi said shortly, her eyes narrowed and her mouth a thin line. She had already fit another arrow on the string.
Crowley raised a brow. So, she doesn't know, he thought. That ruled her out as having anything to do with Tran's escape. Still, her appearance could provide just what he needed – someone to vent his spleen on. He spread his arms innocently, "Not here at the mo, I'm afraid. But you're welcome to wait for him." Crowley purred, "I'm sure we can make you comfortable in the meantime." He gestured behind his back, and several of his men starting moving toward the balcony.
Devi whirled to her right and crouched, drawing the bow taut and snapping off the nocked arrow under the jaw of a demon sneaking down the rows behind her. The point exited through the top of his skull, and the man dropped, eyes wide with shock. Devi turned sharply back towards the stage, fitting another arrow to the string and drawing it back, aiming at Crowley.
"Don't waste my time, Crowley. I know you have him!" she snarled.
"And how would you know that, pet?" the demon queried.
"I saw it," the seer shot back firmly.
So, she's still having visions, and of Kevin Tran of all people, Crowley thought, What splendid timing. He spared a discreet glance at the bottom of the balcony stairs at either side of the room, where two more of his agents were creeping upward, before shifting his attention back to the girl. "So, you saw poor Kevin in a spot of bother and thought, what, that you'd come riding to the rescue?" He smirked, his tone teasing, "That's adorable. Really, darling, bursting into a demons' nest like you're Errol Flynn?" He shook his head reprovingly, "Reckless."
At that moment, the two demons in the wings rushed from the staircase and charged the seer. She coolly turned and planted her shot in the eye of one to her right, before ducking under the grasping arm of the other as she drew another arrow and stabbed backwards into his gut. She shifted her shoulder against the demon's chest, shoved, and sent him over the railing to land with a sickening crunch on the floor below.
Devi looked down at the crumpled form with grim satisfaction, before glancing back to the King of Hell. "Perhaps you should come fetch me yourself," she suggested cheekily.
Crowley sneered and flicked his hand at the seer dismissively. Nothing happened. He frowned, and gestured again. The seer remained in her place on the balcony, eyes gleaming and a tiny hint of smile on her lips. Crowley set his jaw in frustration.
Devi gave a little laugh, playfully casting a glance over her shoulder. "Did you miss?"
Crowley narrowed his eyes. Something was clearly out of the ordinary. He looked the seer over again, searching for any hints in her appearance that he may have missed initially.
Devi unconsciously tightened her grip on the bow under Crowley's scrutiny. As she did so, light from the stage glinted off the hand plate on her gauntlet, flashing along the outline of the Tryambaka, the symbol of the triple eye.
Recognition dawned on Crowley's face, and he bared his teeth in a feral grin. "You little whore," he snarled, "you made a deal with a Deva. Which one? Shiva?"
"Durga," Devi corrected.
"Well, that figures," Crowley rolled his eyes. "You here for revenge, then?"
"I'm here for Kevin," she replied. "Get out of my way, and this doesn't have to get any messier."
Crowley stared at her a second, gobsmacked, before he bent nearly double laughing. "Oh, that's priceless," he straightened, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "Hate to break it to you, duck, but whatever superpowers you've acquired, it won't be enough."
By now, the demon she'd knocked off the balcony had stood up, one hand holding his stomach, but otherwise battle-ready. More of Crowley's demons emerged from backstage, clustering below the balcony and glaring up at the seer.
"Hmm, those little sticks you're shooting don't seem to make a lasting impression," Crowley observed. "Let me guess, devil's trap carved into the shaft?"
The seer said nothing, continuing to watch him with cold eyes.
"Demon powers or not, we've got you well outnumbered here, pet," he continued, grinning. "You really shouldn't have come on your own."
There was suddenly a snarling, coughing, growling roar from the back galleries, and it was Devi's turn to smirk. "I didn't," she said simply, and three full-grown Bengal tigers surged down the aisles in sleek streaks of orange and black. One was on the wounded demon from the balcony in a heartbeat, snarling as sought for his throat with its teeth.
Crowley's demons had instinctively flinched back when the cats sprang out. "What are you running from?" he bellowed at them, "They can't hurt you!" Not strictly true – the big cats could do a great deal of damage the demons' meat-suits, but that was hardly a real problem. The demons inside wouldn't even be weakened, and they would only have to replace the bodies that had were mauled beyond functionality.
As Crowley was urging his men forward, he saw the seer had started firing again. In spite of the chaos, he noted a pattern. Each time she shot someone, a tiger would attack that demon almost immediately after. Looking more closely, Crowley saw that the wounds inflicted by the big cats looked strange. Instead of great, open gashes oozing blood, the slashes from their claws almost looked like they had been cauterized. The edges of the cuts even glowed with a faint ember-red. He frowned, What in the name of sin...?
Crowley looked up just in time to see Devi aiming a shaft at his head. He vanished, and the arrow took the demon behind him.
Devi gritted her teeth at having missed her shot. She hefted herself over the balcony rail, hung from it a moment, then dropped onto the ground floor, rolling forward to dispel the momentum. She sent two more shafts flying as she ran lightly towards the "ship." Passing through the veil of Crowley's illusion magic, she nearly lost her footing as she hit the gangplank. The set even included the faint rocking motion of the boat against the dock.
She rushed inside, looking around breathlessly. "Kevin?" she called, quickly searching through the various cabins. Kevin wasn't there.
She frowned, looking around the main chamber. There was a half-eaten meal on one table, a series of opened books on another. She looked at one tome, seeing a broad crimson smear on the pages. Sheaves of Kevin's notes were pinned on the walls, but there were a number of papers scattered on the floor as well. Devi pursed her lips – something had to have happened to upset the room, to scald Crowley, to remove Kevin, but she didn't have the first idea of what that might be.
Her ruminations were abruptly cut short when she heard a pained roar, raising to a thunderous yowl, from outside the ship. She turned and ran out of Crowley's set, pulling herself up short when she saw what was happening in the theater. Crowley's demons were mostly strewn on the floor; a few intrepid imps had run up to the balcony or even climbed up the stage curtains to escape the carnage below.
Crowley had returned. He was standing in the center aisle, towards the back, hands in his coat pockets and smug look on his face. Surrounding him were several enormous, shadowy forms. It took Devi a moment to see them properly in the dim light, but she was able to make out the shapes of great black dogs the size of ponies. Four slitted red eyes gleamed over a broad, short muzzle similar to a hyena's, overflowing with teeth. The back was ridged and sloped, more like a bull's than a dog, with thick, heavy shoulders and short, powerful hindquarters. As one loped forward, Devi saw it had no fur, just heavily-scarred, ash-gray skin. What in the nine hells is that? She thought, and with a stirring of foreign memory, a name surfaced: Hellhound.
