TEN
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Sam skidded to a stop by the bookcase. He heaved it open to run into the hidden room.
Malakatch was staring at the awesome outline of a black hole, fuzzy with wispy black smoke around its edges, that was hovering outside the devil's trap on the floor.
"You have come for me!" Malakatch cried in relief. "Have you slain the humans?"
The dark smoke swished to and fro inside the blackness. "You will tell me what you have done with the females you stole."
Dean came round the corner and stopped dead - until John smacked into his back and they staggered closer to the devil's trap. No-one appeared to notice.
"What?" Malakatch asked, confused. "You want the two women? Oh! As gifts! Yes - they're still alive. I was keeping them for food, or in case I needed another meatsuit. But please, take them!"
"Gifts?" Malphas asked quietly, as if trying the idea on for size and finding it several sizes too small.
"Yes! Yes!" Malakatch grinned. "Please take them. I only kept them for souvenirs. They are yours. Trinkets for a prince."
The black hole twirled. It shifted back, away from the circle. "The females… are not your property. They are no-one's property to give and take."
"A feminist demon. Now I've seen everything," Dean said.
John poked his head out from behind him. He walked out and round, looking down at Malakatch. "Where are they then?"
Malakatch spat at him.
John watched the offending water land well short of his feet. "Rude," he accused. He looked up at the black hole of Malphas. "Get the address."
The form shifted and vibrated in anger. "Malakatch. Give me their location."
"I don't understand," Malakatch said. "Why are you listening to this maggot? Kill him!"
"Are you gonna let him order you around like that?" Dean asked the angry black figure.
A single black swirl curled out from the form. It swam through the air to stop right in front of Malakatch's right eye. "Give me their location."
The demon gibbered. "But my lord—"
The black smoke rushed into his eye. He screamed and writhed in agony. Sam and Dean raised their eyebrows, nodding in approval as if rehearsed. They caught each other making identical faces and cleared their throats, backing up to the wall and watching.
Malakatch screamed bloody murder.
John pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one up as if he had all the time in the world.
Malakatch raged in pain, in absolute soul-rending agony.
Dean sniffed and checked his watch. Sam scratched at his head, pushing hair round his ear. John took a drag on the cigarette and then lifted the lighter to his ear, shaking it and trying to gauge how full it was.
Malakatch was unable to scream any longer. He collapsed, limp, to the chair. The black smoke snaked back out of his skull, only to circle above his head in dire warning. "Ok," he panted. "Ok. They're in the… This meatsuit has an apartment. They're right - right across the hall. The dude who lives there… he's abroad."
Sam nudged Dean's elbow. Dean nodded and left the room without looking back. John looked to be too busy enjoying his cigarette to notice what the demon was sweating out of his mouth.
"And… they're ok," Malakatch breathed. "I hadn't - hadn't started on them yet. They're ok."
"Fortunate. Every vessel should be looked after, Malakatch, not treated as property. It seems I have much to retrain in you," Malphas hissed. The form swirled and regrouped, retreating to one gaseous form. "Constantine… You have your information. Now I require my payment."
John smiled. "He'll be all yours, squire. —After I'm satisfied we've got the girls back safe and sound."
Malphas' form began to break up. It swirled toward the chair, and the demon looking perfectly horrified in its chains.
"You wanted the book too, right?" John asked.
The black smoke halted in front of the seated demon's right eye socket. "Yes. Give it to me."
Sam pulled it from inside his jacket. He looked at the cover, then at the form. "What's it for? Why do you need it?" he asked cautiously.
John coughed suddenly. "Erm - don't really matter, Sam. Just get ready to hand it over."
"You will give it to me," Malphas hissed.
"Uh… no," Sam said. "I don't think so. Not until Dean's back - and you tell me what this is."
"I do not have an agreement with you," Malphas growled.
"But you do with me," John said firmly. "And he's with me. If you touch him, you upset our deal, mate." He looked at Sam, eyes like daggers. Then he turned back to the swirling vortex of evil smoke.
Sam cleared his throat. "Why do you want it? It can't harm demons."
"No," Malphas said slowly. "But… it is meant for the destruction of Avalon."
"What's Avalon got to do with you?" Sam asked.
"Answer him," John ordered.
The form swirled and rotated in anger. "This is not part of our agreement."
"And yet you owe me," John said sharply. "If I were you, I'd 'fess up right now."
"I need it to wipe out Avalon," Malphas said reluctantly. "With the consciousness gone, the English-speaking world will be powerless against any demon."
There was an awful silence in the room.
"What?" Sam dared.
"Avalon is the ancestral home of the Anglo-Saxon," Malphas hissed. "With their collective spirit destroyed, all descendants will be opened up to demonic possession. My kind will have enough vessels to outnumber free humans. We will stalk across your lands and take back what is rightfully ours."
John stared.
Sam stared.
Malakatch laughed. "Ha!" he cried. "You see? You see the beautiful horror of my lord's plan!"
John put his hand up as if it could bring everything and everyone to a stop. "Woah horsey. You want to wipe out mankind by taking possession of anyone who's a descendant of Avalon? Good luck with that."
"Explain," Malphas demanded.
"Well, don't know if anyone from your camp has been topside, but…" John paused, then looked at Sam for help.
"Yeah," he blurted. "Because, um… Out of the entire population of this world? Barely fifteen percent are even descended from white Anglo-Saxon people. I mean, you'll be pretty hooped with most of America, and like, well, Canada, Australia, New Zealand… They're natives, not settlers. And Africa? Let's not go there - not to mention they have enough voodou to keep you out for centuries. And then there's Asia, not to mention—"
"But France," John said. "Bloody frogs. You can have them. Not that anyone would notice."
"Woah woah woah," Malakatch cried in outrage. "This vessel's mother is half French! There's nothing wrong with French people!"
John pointed at him with his lighter hand. "You - shut it. You don't get a vote; you're not even human."
"If what you say is true, there will be a glorious battle between light and dark," Malphas announced.
"Now you're just being racist," John tutted.
"He meant good and evil," Sam said with a half-suppressed smile.
"You see, that's what I mean," John continued. "Why is good 'light' and evil 'dark'? That's some pretty Freudian word-play right there."
"I do not understand anything that you say," Malphas interrupted. "No matter; I will take my minion now, as per our agreement."
"I don't think so," John said. "Dean hasn't confirmed the hostages are ok yet. Nothing happens till we hear from him. Bearing in mind that demons lie, I think we'll wait till we get the nod."
"Are you accusing my minion of lying to me?" Malphas hissed.
"I'm not accusing, pal, I'm saying it outright," John scoffed. "He lies for a living. Why would I believe a word out of his mouth?"
"Some could say the same of you," Malphas seethed.
John smiled. "Takes one to know one, then. We wait."
"We wait," Sam nodded.
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ooOoo
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Dean pulled up at the kerb. He didn't even lock the Impala before he ran full pelt down the concrete path to the block of apartments. He skidded to a halt at the speaker box, barring his way into the private residences. Muttering something under his breath, he pulled his phone from his jeans pocket. He thumbed at the speed-dial and slapped the phone to his ear.
"Yeah - Sam. Get him to give you the door code to the apartments," he blurted. He heard a rustle of material over the mouthpiece at Sam's end, then a shout. He raised his eyebrows as a tortured scream filtered down the line. "Sam?"
"Yeah," was Sam's response. "He says it's nine three eleven."
"Got it." Dean went up to the door and keyed it in. "How is our guest?"
"He's uncomfortable. Malphas is not happy with his treatment of the humans he was planning to keep healthy enough to possess."
"What?"
"Just get the women - they're called Monica and Saanvi."
"He said opposite his meatsuit's apartment, right?" Dean asked, pulling open the door and heading inside.
"Yeah. You got it?"
Dean bent to read the names on the mail boxes. "Torrence. Fifth floor. I'll keep you posted." He snapped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket as he turned to find the fire exit. He pushed it open and began to race up the stairs.
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ooOoo
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"So… when you have this book," Sam said as he let the phone fall from his ear, "you'll start waging war on Avalon?"
"That is none of your concern," the figure hissed.
John swayed to look at Sam. He cleared his throat, then went to his coat in the corner of the room. He searched through the pockets and found a packet of Silk Cut. He lit up a fresh cigarette, watching the whirling mass of black hole hover a few innocuous tentacles of smoke over Malakatch's head. John dropped the packet back on top of the raincoat, the Zippo falling to his side. He pondered something for a long moment. "How is Hell these days?"
"A disgrace," Malphas spat. "The Winchesters have ruined everything."
Sam grinned, folding his arms. "You're welcome."
They heard a low growling sound and Sam's grin faltered as he realised the figure did not share in his amusement.
"My lord will tear you apart," Malakatch hurled. "You have interfered too many times!"
"Hush," Malphas growled. The black smoke smoothed over Malakatch's head, making him shiver and stretch back to be out of contact.
John walked around behind Sam slowly. The Winchester felt something at his side, but when he looked, there was nothing there. John continued walking, apparently aimlessly, round the back of Malakatch's chair. "Funny how you're the one sticking up for your 'lord', when he's just dying to shred you into ribbons," John commented.
"If you had not summoned me, if I had found you with Malaktach by myself, it would be you shredded into ribbons," Malphas rumbled.
"Yeah? Will I did, so you can't," John said with a shit-eating grin.
"You are thinking of double-crossing me," Malphas said suddenly. "It will not work."
"Me? Perish the thought," John said innocently. He puffed on his cigarette for a moment. "I'm as good as my word, mate. I said I'd give you this waste of space and the book, and that's what I intend to do."
Sam looked at him, his eyes narrowed. He frowned and his hands went into his jeans pockets, something about John's smile making him very uncomfortable. His left hand encountered something metal and he paused to slide his long fingers around it. Square, metal and very hard, his fingers picked up some kind of engraving on the side - and then a seal round one end. Why did John just put his lighter in my pocket? he wondered. What do I need a lighter f—. Oh.
John's eyes flicked at Sam, then went back to Malphas. "Bit boring this, innit? Waiting for Dean's call, I mean." He took a drag on his cigarette. "Here, torture your monkey for a bit, give us some entertainment."
"Screw you, Constantine!" Malakatch raged. John gave an evil chuckle as the demon yanked on his chains.
"Be still," Malphas said. Malakatch froze in fear. The tendrils of smoke retreated slightly from the seated demon's head. "You are not entertainment. For anyone."
"Suit yourself," John said, somewhat disappointed.
Sam's fingers pressed into the Zippo. He stepped back casually to lean against the wall. His fingers began to pick at the plug on the underside of the lighter.
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ooOoo
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Dean huffed his way to the landing of the fifth floor. Panting for his life, he jogged down the corridor until he found the apartment door supposedly belonging to William Torrence. He turned about face and looked at the other door.
He pulled his gun and let it dangle at his side. He stepped back, lifted a boot, and slammed it into the door.
It splintered and gave. He poked his head around the gap. The inside was mostly black. He raised the gun, slid around the doorjamb, and made for the sliver of light coming from the left.
As he advanced on it he detected a slight noise, a movement. He froze and scanned what area he could see. Nothing moved.
He took another few steps and found the light coming from an alcove off to his left. He slipped around its ninety-degree bend and found a hallway, lit up by moonlight coming in from an open door.
A slow, silent walk took him to the one closed door at the end. He made his way down, checking over his shoulder, then ahead, both hands on the gun, his arms out straight.
He reached the door and pressed his ear to the wood. Something moved inside. He grasped the handle and turned as he plastered himself back against the wall.
A force of anger with sharp claws came howling out with a crash. Dean jumped half out of his skin. His arms aimed the gun at the spitting whirlwind of orange and black.
Until he realised it was a cat. He made his gun drop. He took a deep breath to calm his pseudo heart attack, wagging a finger at the animal. "You nearly ended up in an early grave, Jonesy," he managed. The cat hissed at him before turning tail and skittering off. He heard a noise inside the room. He poked his head around carefully, his gun following. "I swear, if this is another cat—."
He crept around the jamb and into the room. He found two women tied up on the rug. Hastily pocketing his gun, he knelt down at the first one, currently trying to scream from behind the duct tape over her mouth.
"Hey - hey! Relax! I'm here to get you out," Dean said. He went for the ropes on her wrists. "I'm just going to get you free first, ok? Don't scream."
She nodded her red hair at him, tears breaking down her face. As he worked at the knots he looked around her to the other woman, her black hair spilling every which way.
"Everyone ok?" he asked. "Apart from being in here for like a few days."
She nodded furiously. He got her hands free and she scrabbled at her duct tape herself, getting it off as Dean moved to the second woman. "I'm guessing you're Saanvi," he said. She nodded, her eyes glazed, her attention wandering. He had her ropes undone, the first woman fighting ropes from her ankles as she tried not to sob in relief.
"Who are you?" the redhead asked hoarsely.
"I'm here to help. We found your boss. He did this, right?" Dean asked.
"That psycho killed Helen and Moesha! Are you the police? Did you get him?" she raged. "I want him to suffer!"
Dean smiled. "Oh sweetheart, I can guarantee he is really suffering right now. And he's going to go on suffering for a very long time."
She flumped back to the bed behind her.
The dark-haired women untangled herself from ropes with unsteady hands. She tried to stand but it was too much. She sank back to sit on the rug.
The redhead scrubbed at her face. "Saanvi's not well. Have you brought an ambulance?"
"Monica, right?" Dean asked. She nodded. "Phone the police. Get an ambulance. I have to go."
"What?" she demanded, following him back to the door. "But what about Saanvi? Mr Torrence? What the hell was this all about? You can't leave us like this."
"Monica," he said seriously, turning to look at her. She backed up one in trepidation. "You got this. You're one of those people that gets angry and makes things happen."
"How can you tell?" she asked quietly, but she was looking across the room to the phone on the table.
Dean looked over at the black-haired woman and saw her lean back, her eyes shut, perfectly willing to let the entire world pass her by. "Because Saanvi's losing the will to stay awake. All you want is to torture William Torrence. Right?" he said clearly.
"Damn right," Monica growled.
Dean smiled. "See? Now call the police."
"Who are you?"
"I'm not here." He went for the door.
Monica watched, open-mouthed. Then she drew in a deep breath and launched herself at him.
They went down in a heap. She hammered him down into the wooden floor. Her grip went into his throat and she slammed her right fist into his face.
His knee shot up and pounded into her back. She coughed out in shock. He put his hands up and heaved. She was thrown to the side. He scrambled to his feet, searching for his gun. "What the hell, lady?" he demanded, nursing his throat.
She was already on her feet. She blinked and her eyes went black. "How apt," she grinned.
Dean sagged in abrupt realisation. "Son of a bitch," he sighed.
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As always, thanks for reading, people!