Mission 05: The Hunt
She took him to her husbands favorite route, through nearby Chinatown. After hours.
Here, the people were kind, they were friendly to the dog, and so he brought the puppy along to make it happy. There were many people, and they liked to socialize, maybe a little too much. It was also tinged by a red-light designation, so a few dope deals here and there and some prostitutes posing as 'escorts' weaseled their way onto the streets. Dante scoped out the block with Lizzy in tow, observing the rustic nature to these old bricks. Chinatown was something of a cesspool, but at least the amount of gang violence was low. The jovial citizens that roamed the sidewalks seemed to like it plenty enough. Only one kind of crime happened here, typically behind the scenes. Good enough for him, he thought.
Down in the dumpsters and side alleys, they hunted for the woman, intent on either finding her right then, or discovering at least where she hid herself.
What was this woman? Who was this woman? Where did she come from? Why was she compelled to kill? And more importantly, was she demon or . . . something else?
They checked practically everywhere, almost always coming up short.
The filthy alleyways, the dilapidated walls, all of them rung empty to the calls of 'who's there?'
That is, until they heard a scream. The unborn wave of fear crept up her back. It was blood-curdling.
The cursed howl echoed through their minds like an old beast's shrill clamor. Dante knew what it was, the helpless yowls of a child.
(*.*.*)
Investigation was fruitless, as the child was found only seconds after his collapse, the woman had done this to him earlier. Much earlier.
He was a street rat, a boy born of trash. Dante liked him for it. Had the hunter not anticipated further sickness, he would've died right here. Thankfully, he'd brought with him a type of cure-all, though it wasn't from this realm. Ambrosia. Albeit mythical at best to humans, it was a very real substance that Dante used from time to time to heal nasty wounds, the kind he couldn't exactly walk away from. It wasn't easy to get, the elements of its composition were by no means native to Earth; although the tales of these other worlds were grand, he best save them for another time. A demonic fruit that only grew from a black tree, he had placed a seed in his backyard as a minor experiment.
Some extra preparation was all it took, and there it was: a full-fledged brew.
Grabbing the back of the boy's head, he held him up and prepared him.
Opening the vial, he poured a glowing liquid into the boy's mouth from a vial, and immediately, his illness reversed itself, if only for a small reprieve.
"Speak to me, kid. What happened?" the hunter said, holding the boy's head.
"A woman. . . she— she licked me."
Ah yes, helpful information.
"Can you tell us where she went? Did you see where she wandered?" the woman pried the boy, and he did his best to answer.
"She, she just—. . . she left. I don't know where she went," the boy strained as the exhaustion overtook him.
"No! Tell me where she went — tell me!" she began screaming frantically, grasping the boy from Dante and shaking him violently.
Dante put his hands on Lizzy's shoulders and pried her off the child. He held her firm and yelled through her hysterics; brought her back down to earth.
"Get ahold of yourself, that isn't helping anyone," he barked. "The boy's no use anyway, he'll be back to normal in a second."
"Normal? But, I thought you cured him?" she was confused, but as she turned back to the boy—
He laid writhing, the disfiguring tumors all returned with a vengeance.
"I can't cure this— whatever it is— the ambrosia's not strong enough. If I mixed it with something, sure, maybe, but I only just started using it. I haven't got all the kinks worked out yet."
His logic was infuriating. She shouldn't blame him, that's what he gleamed from the boy's tainted aura.
Abiding by his words, the woman was forced to accept it as he urged them to continue.
"We gotta keep movin', we don't want people gettin' the wrong idea here," and he grabbed her hand and led her away, away from this dark place.
(*.*.*)
The lights of Chinatown-proper were blistering, but the hunter kept up his search.
The neon reds and yawning yellows occasionally merged to a spectral orange that danced across the silver hues of his hair. He'd been searching for a few days, having sent the devoted wife away, though not without an argument. He'd been at it burning the midnight oil relentlessly, so much so that his beard had begun to grow in. It was silver as well, though it lacked the unruliness of a typical man's facial growth. Unholy blood has its perks. The long-tongued-woman had evaded him repeatedly, slithering in and out of alleys, taking victim after victim as the police barely narrowed its investigation. He was getting close, he could sense it.
The woman was squalid evil. She felt worse than any piddly goat-monster.
She had to be powerful, the form of her a perk of the more powerful fodder than other demons, unless she was something else. Something new. What that alternative might be, he couldn't say. Perhaps a creature wandered in from some other reality, or she was an angel witch, wandering the streets for hallowed souls to replenish her own. There had to be some type of reason, somehow, somewhere. Time began to melt away from the living city's tall walls, and he remained trapped by a cause he once understood.
So much pain she was causing, the city becoming a great burden on his mind. No matter his pace, she kept escaping.
The devil hunter had to find her, he hadn't eaten in three days on the hunt. An extra large pizza was calling his name. Pepperoni sounded real good right about now.
Keep on task, this wasn't the time to get distracted. Her vibe was black and greasy, it left a trail wherever she went. Always slithering, slithering, scrambling and scurrying, like a rat in the walls. Sometimes, he though he'd see her, a figure in the distance, or a homeless person around the corner. But no, it was never her. The city started joining in soon, and he'd had a few civilian confrontations. Quickly and easily dispersed, avoided; best not lingering about. Yet, this was something he never really had to search for, this always had a way of finding him. Perhaps she was an undead, or a singular entity mutated from a hexed disease. The list of theories was growing longer.
It had happened before, vengeful Wiccans would cast spells on former lovers, raising bodies as though they were flames. Maybe, then, it was a warlock's doing . . .
All this thinking had kept him from searching effectively, but he knew the creature was a real being, something that could be tracked. Damn dirty bitch. This search was lasting forever, the sun hadn't risen, and the night was hot and black as ink. By the power of a thousand devils, an army of rotted kings, he'd find this troublesome cursed harpy, this mangled corpse of an oversized mouth.
Then, he received a phone call.
"Who is it?" he demanded.
Reading the collar I.D. wasn't something he could do given how cracked to shit it was.
Miracle he could still use it at all.
"I've got a plan to catch 'the licking woman,' meet me at Chinatown— central plaza."
He looked back at his phone. The voice surprised him.
He recognized it as the same as that girl, that mysterious woman that had threatened him and shot him through the head.
He could still remember those scars cut through her skin.
With a sigh, he replied, "Right, you. I'll be there in an hour."
"Oh, I think you and I both know you can be here sooner."
She was right, but did he really want to indulge her?
"Why d'ya wanna get mixed up in one of my jobs? I thought you were busy tryin' to find Daddy."
"She's killed more people than you know. Everyone's starting to panic. I just want justice for women," it was then that Dante put two and two together.
"You're a mercenary too, aren't you?"
He only heard silence.
Click.
The phone went dead.
Perfect. Didn't think he'd have to deal with a thorn like that more than once so soon. So, now he made his way to the center of the city, leaping from the roofs like an olden white wolf. His senses pulsed with the Earth. In time, the plaza grew near, and there she was, wearing a green jacket over a white blouse, straddling more guns than a southern conservative. Gliding down on his dark grace alone, the hunter's boots plodded the damp ground. It had rained shortly before. Still smelled like it.
They saw one another and stiffened.
They approached cautiously.
"So . . . how do you wanna do this?" she asked, those moody eyes glaring at him.
"I'm all ears," he told her, shrugging.
She scoffed lightly.
"Plan A: Distraction. I pose as an enticing victim, you swoop in and we jump her," simple and direct.
"Oh you just gonna jump her like that with me? Lil' ol' human you?"
A smirk flickered on her lips, "Lil' ol' humans can do a lot of damage."
Sure, he knew that. "Yeah, well, if we come at her divided, we won't have any sting. Gotta be on the same page, gotta have the details straight."
"It isn't hard," she glowered.
Silence remained between them.
He heard footsteps from the side; turned his head.
The wife. Revenge rung powerful in those eyes.
"I paid good money for you," she said, "Paid good money for the both of you. The plan isn't much, but it will work. You want proof how far I'll take it? I'll be the one who lures her out. I want to make that bitch pay for taking him away from me."
Her fists were tightened, and there was a brewing fire beyond her heart. She had a large jacket on. Looked baggy and ill-fitting, like a man's. Inside her pocket was a flask she presented before them. In the neon light, it seemed to be made of glass and silver steel lined the cap. The label was scratched off, but she was adamant of its importance. Dante glared at the bottle and the woman. It just figured she'd show up, and he had a few guesses why.
"This is potassium cyanide. It's a cream-based derivative. If I put it on my skin, I'll have a few minutes, I can-. . . let her lick me."
The thought sickened her stomach, to let this harlot degrade her, whatever she was. What truly mattered was the resolve.
She had the will to do what was necessary, the gut to stomach the worst thing imaginable, and the anger to push through.
Whether or not it would work was an altogether separate problem.
"Absolutely not," the hunter replied.
"Why's that, Redgrave?" the scarred woman said.
He grumbled in her direction, "this thing kills people like flies, I'm not letting her step one foot near that thing's tongue."
"It's our only option," the widow replied.
"No, it isn't!" he protested.
"Yeah? What else is there," she said.
The hunter couldn't think of what else he could say. Anything else would take too long. It'd be impractical.
. . .
Dante ran a hand through his fine hair and relented, "there's . . . nothing else."
The scarred lady shrugged and sighed, "we're clear on what needs to happen then. She uses the cream, lures it in, we strike and kill."
Beneath his snowy locks, the hunter reluctantly accepted it, "sounds like my kind of plan."
"Good," Lizzy said. "Then we're set."
She got a sullen nod and a frigid, unchanging stare.
"The hunt's on," the female mercenary said to him.
Dante clapped his hands; made the best of things, "Alright then, looks like we got a threesome."
Both gave him scornful looks.
His grin slowly lessened, "Aheh, sorry. It's— um, it's been a while since I had company. Let's go."
To Be Continued