A Deafening Silence In Heaven - Thomas E. Sniegoski Page 0,32
. taste the life as it drifted away.
“Find Remy Chandler and tell him I’d like to see him. Tell him we need to speak about Heaven, before something terrible happens.”
• • •
Francis opened the old folding chair and sat down to study the demonic assassin propped against boxes labeled CLOTHES in black magic marker.
Madeline’s clothes, Francis thought, and that just made him feel all the worse. His friend had lost his wife, and now he himself lay dying in a bed upstairs because of this infernal piece of shit on the floor in front of him.
Francis didn’t know all that much about the Bone Masters, only what he had picked up by reading the cooked brains of the one who’d tried to kill his friend, but he was about to learn more.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered, leaning forward with a squeak of the metal chair. “I know you’re playing possum.”
The demon remained still, not a sign of life evident, but Francis knew better. He reached into the pocket of his suit coat and removed the pistol he had used to shoot the assassin. It was one of the most deadly weapons in existence, and his bond with it was something special.
“I know you’re still alive because I told the bullet I put in the back of your head not to kill you. I can feel that bullet lodged in your noggin, and it tells me that you’re conscious and pretending not to be.” Francis stroked the gun like a cat. “I wonder, if I asked that bullet to move, would you wake up then?”
The demon’s eyes flew open and his mouth formed the beginning of a shriek of pain. But Francis was faster, sliding off the chair and clamping his hand firmly over the assassin’s mouth.
“I don’t want to hear it, and neither does anyone else in this house,” he said calmly, though his words dripped with menace. “And if you even think about biting me, I’ll have the bullet start doing cartwheels.”
The Bone Master’s eyes registered that he understood, and Francis slowly took his hand away. “Good,” he nodded. “I like when folks listen to reason. Gives me hope that our little conversation here is going to be productive.”
The demon watched him with unblinking, reptilian eyes as Francis sat back on the folding chair and put the gun back into the pocket of his jacket. The former Guardian angel could sense the gun’s reluctance; it wanted to be used, wanted to kill this foul creature. The Pitiless pistol was something of great power, and it needed a strong hand to control it. It said quite a bit that Lucifer Morningstar had bestowed the pistol upon Francis.
He silently reassured the gun that it would only be a matter of time before it was needed again, and that seemed to satisfy the weapon, allowing Francis to focus fully on the assassin before him.
“Why don’t you start by telling me a little bit about yourself.”
He waited for the demon to respond but got only a blank stare, as if he’d said nothing at all.
“Okay,” Francis said. “I’ll give you one more chance before we take this in a different direction entirely. Who put the contract out on Remy Chandler, and what do I have to do to get it rescinded?”
The demon continued to stare blankly, and Francis was beginning to wonder if the bullet inside its skull had done more damage than he’d intended, but then there was the slightest hint of a twitch at the corner of the pale-skinned creature’s mouth, and a smile began to form.
“You can do nothing,” the Bone Master stated flatly. “The contract will be fulfilled. As long as there is a Bone Master in existence, the Seraphim will meet his end.”
Francis already suspected as much. “Not what I wanted to hear,” he said calmly. “Are you sure there’s nothing? No little piece of fine print that might be able to save me and your organization a little trouble?”
“He will die, and so will anyone who tries to keep us from our task.” The Bone Master continued to smile. “There is no escaping—”
Francis had heard enough. He dropped from the chair again and, in one smooth movement, had removed the special knife—the scalpel—from inside his coat and plunged the thin blade squarely into the assassin’s forehead. He wasn’t going to get anything more from the demon, so he might as well root around himself.
The former Guardian angel gasped as the flood of information from the undamaged brain