The Getaway God (Sandman Slim 6)

The Qliphoth emerges from his flesh like a mist. A long beaklike mouth. Concentric circles of cutting fangs and grinding molars. It’s an Eater, but without a body. Just spiritual essence.

I plant my feet on the ground and pull, dragging the demon from Chop Shop’s body.

Bad idea. It makes sense that a Qliphoth with no body wouldn’t have any power. It makes sense, but it turns out it’s not true.

The Eater twists and snaps at my face. I try to hold on, but it wriggles out of my hand and goes straight for the wall, attacking it with its massive choppers. In just a few seconds, it’s almost through the concrete. I grab it with my Kissi hand and pull it back. Toss it across the room. It hits one of the lab tables by the door and bites right through it. Ripping through high-­impact plastic and steel like it was cotton candy. It scrambles to its feet, pulling equipment off tables and the wall, cutting deep grooves into the floor, where it tears at them with its teeth. I throw a chair at the thing and its beak snaps it in two.

The Eater charges me. I pull the na’at and snap it open. It goes right through the Eater’s mist body without slowing it.

Fuck me.

I’m reaching for my gun when the Eater hits me, driving me into the wall like a bull in a jet pack. The beak dives for my face.

And my Kissi hand closes on it. Holds it in place. Jerks up and snaps the beak like a Popsicle stick. It slides into the Eater’s body to where its heart should be and closes on it. There’s nothing in my hand but mist, but the Eater thrashes like I’m pulling its guts out. One more jerk, and the mist explodes, knocking me into the damaged wall. I scramble to my feet, my head spinning. I turn around in a quick circle, making sure the Eater isn’t behind me. It isn’t. It’s gone. And the 8 Ball has changed. It’s just a metallic ball in my left hand. I take it back to the magnetic chamber and put it inside. It hovers, spinning quietly.

I lean against the wall and slide down into a sitting position. Half the furniture in the room is broken. I hope the Vigil has homeowner’s insurance.

“Do you think it’s dead?”

The Shonin comes out from around his potion table. But he doesn’t let go of his talismans.

“No doubt,” he says.

“Admit it. That was fun, wasn’t it?”

The Shonin looks around his wrecked lab.

“How did you remove it? And how did you kill it?”

“I have no idea. The damned thing acts a little different each time I use it. Every time anyone uses it.”

“This is good. You made it work, fatso.”

“I’ve made it work before, but I still don’t know how. That’s no help.”

The Shonin walks around the room righting broken chairs, which fall back over. He tiptoes around scattered piles of herbs, dried lizards, caustic chemicals, and pickled animal hearts.

“The Qomrama likes your ugly hand.”

“The Kissi were seriously fucked-­up angels. Maybe they taste good or something. More goddamn theories aren’t going to help.”

The Shonin picks up a box of dried tarantulas.

“Wisdom comes from knowledge. Knowledge begins with theories.”

“I don’t want wisdom. I want a bazooka.”

“We have other demon-­possessed bodies. We can try more experiments.”

I get up. My back aches where the demon drove me into the wall.

“How many experiments do we do? A hundred? A thousand? That means we have to catch more chop-­shop assholes. Do we have that much time?”

The Shonin goes back to his table. Sets down the box and starts straightening things.

“Probably not. Do you have any ideas?”

I could use a drink about now. Getting monster-­hugged by the 8 Ball and fighting a demon, it’s more than I counted on. But I don’t suppose the Shonin keeps Aqua Regia around here.