Chapter 21

 

Fortified with food and sex, we showered and I dressed.

“I should have washed these or something,” Jack said as he stared at his clothes. Still folded neatly? Yes. Ready to wear? Not so much, really. They’d been through a lot the night before. “I’d put them on, but, uh….”

“They reek, yeah. Fortunately for you, we undead have our ways.” I called Maurice. “You up and about?”

“Yes, and don’t you sound all relaxed and satisfied. The human came around? Pun completely intended.”

“Funny you ask. I need a set of men’s clothes, pronto.”

“What, you ripped them to shreds or something? I mean, I know werewolves can get into it but –”

“We were too tired to do laundry,” I interjected quickly. “And we need to get out there on the Beat. I know you either know where Jack’s apartment is or where you can get him another set of clothes without issue. Do the mist thing, or whatever, and help me out.”

“My sister’s your best friend. Why doesn’t she get these kinds of calls?”

“Because you’re far more adept at this kind of thing and you know it.”

He sighed. “Too true, too true. Be there shortly. Please have Mister Yummy greet me at the door. I’ll take that as payment.” He hung up, snickering.

“You sure it’s okay to ask someone to get clothes for me?” Jack looked uncomfortable.

“Yeah. Breaking and entering is old hat for vamps. They do it when they’re learning how to turn into mist. You’ll have clothes in no time.”

I considered what we were likely heading into, and pulled out some serious weaponry. If the Prince was out of Hell, we were in real trouble. If it was just one of his stronger minions, well, we were still in real trouble. I figured it was better to be prepared, and besides, we had that nice, unmarked yet oh so obvious police car. Plenty of room in the trunk for what I wanted along.

Jack gaped. “What the hell is that thing?”

“Multi-round crossbow.”

“And that?”

“Holy water shooter. Works like a Super Soaker. In principle.”

There was a knock at the door. I went to open it while Jack trotted to the bathroom to get a towel. He still managed to shout a question while doing so. “Holy water, isn’t that supposed to be deadly to undeads?”

I opened the door to find Maurice standing there with a set of men’s clothes. He grimaced. “You are not upholding your end of the bargain.”

“I never said yes.”

“Huh.” Maurice shoved in and handed the clothes to Jack, who was clutching the towel around him. “Really, sweet cheeks, I’m sure I’ve seen something equally as magnificent as what you’re hiding.”

I took the clothes. “Don’t count on it.”

Maurice grinned while Jack blushed for the first time I’d ever seen. “Oh, and as for holy water, if your soul isn’t given to the Prince, holy water can’t hurt you. But unholy water can,” Maurice added as he picked up one of the shooters. “You really think we need these, Vicki?”

“Yeah, I do. I think you and Amanda need to go armed for warlock.”

“Warlock?” Jack asked.

“Well, in your case, armed for bear.”

“Okay. But…I thought you said warlocks were good.”

“Some warlocks, and witches, yeah. Like demons.”

“No,” Maurice corrected. “Demons are like humans – they get a choice.”

“Warlocks and witches get a choice,” I argued.

Maurice rolled his eyes at Jack. “This nuance was never her strong suit. Did she tell you about Changelings?” Jack nodded. “Wonderful. Human children, see into all the planes, taken for their own good. Because of the nature of their existence, they become witches or warlocks under most circumstances. Of course there are some who want to be just like their adoptive families, so they might choose to turn vampire or werewolf or something, but most of them remain on the spell-casting side of the house.”

“I thought you said they were undead,” Jack said to me. “How does that work?”

“Call them differently undead. Rituals and things that turn them into what we are more than what you are.” I sighed. “I’m going to get more weapons while Maurice finishes his lecture. I had no idea you were bucking for a University job,” I tossed over my shoulder.

“You wish,” Maurice replied. “So, that’s how you get a good witch or warlock.”

“Wait,” Jack said. “A lich is a spell-caster, from all I’ve ever heard, which wasn’t a lot. How does that work?”

“Similarly.” Maurice sighed. “It’s nuances, really. A lich is a being who in their pre-undead life was able to become a witch or warlock, but never made the transition for whatever reason. So, they cast spells when they were living, but unknowingly. The bent of their souls determines where they end up. Their interests determine what they do.”

“Monty, for example, is far more interested in running Dirt Corps than casting spells.” Hey, Maurice wasn’t the only one who knew stuff. “It’s one of the reasons we consider witches and warlocks more powerful – a lich has the skills, but rarely the inclination.”

Jack nodded. “I guess I can see that. But some liches cast?”

“Sure. Most of them, at least for fun, just to keep their hands in. But, overall, nothing like witches and warlocks, who are casting magic every day, at minimum.”

“What about the bad ones?” Jack asked.

Maurice shrugged. “The bad ones, well, they’re always humans who have given themselves to the Prince for occult power. Liches as well as witches and warlocks. Some of them are very strong and always scary.”

“Devil worshippers?” I heard Jack ask as I went back to my weapons room and rummaged around. So everything wasn’t perfectly hung or organized or cataloged, or whatever. Werewolves didn’t need a card catalog to find what we wanted, that’s what our noses were for.

“Yes,” Maurice said with a sigh. “But again, Satan’s Yahweh’s servant. He appears to everyone who calls on him, and then explains how things are.”

“Really?” Jack was back to sounding fascinated.

“Yeah.” I came back laden with weapons. “Some, like Martin, catch on.”

“Martin Luther didn’t call on the Devil!”

Maurice and I exchanged a look. “No,” I said slowly. “He didn’t. He did, however, try to banish Satan, and so, essentially, called on him. It was complicated, but I’m sure Martin will be glad to explain once we’ve handled this latest takeover bid by the Supreme Evil One. And all that.”

“I’m just curious,” Jack muttered.

“Anyway,” Maurice went on hurriedly. “The ones who chat with Satan and still want to commit their souls to evil send said souls right to the Prince.”

“Okay.” Jack sounded doubtful. “I don’t get it with demons.”

“Demons, like humans, come from a different plane of existence. If they’re good demons, they support a god and that’s who their soul belongs to, in addition to themselves. If they’re bad demons, their souls go to the Prince.” Maurice looked at me. “Beautiful but dumb?”

“Tired and overwhelmed.” I shook my head. “You’re just so old you’ve forgotten what it was like.”

“Darling,” Maurice said as he swished to the door. “I was so happy to discover I didn’t have to continue to fight in the war and hide from the British, I had no transitional problems whatsoever.”

“Which war?” Jack asked as Maurice opened the door and headed out.

“Revolutionary. Ghastly times, just ghastly. I’ll say this – nothing trumps indoor plumbing and central heat and air, nothing.” With that, the door closed and he was gone.