Silas Robb: Hell Hath No Fury

Chapter 1-2

"Sir, we are part of building security. May I ask why you are here? And there is no smoking in the building."

Silas pulled the cigar from his mouth and let out a slow stream of smoke. He approached the desk slowly, letting them clearly see his hands. Can't have them sounding the alarm too soon.

"Gentlemen, I have an appointment with Dunkleclerk, I mean Xavier Haldan."

"An appointment this late at night? I don't believe you are on his calendar," the seated guard said as the other moved around the desk. Time to move.

"I guess my people didn't talk to his people."

With lighting speed Silas' hand shot out and grabbed the top of one guard’s head. He bounced the man's face off the desk. The force of the blow sent him flying out of his chair as his nose exploded in a shower of blood and mucus. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

The other guard was stunned. No surprise; Silas moved faster than any mortal. Before the towering guard could regain his composure, Silas' fist, enhanced by his demonic fury, slammed into the man’s stomach. The man doubled over as though he had been hit by a sledge hammer, and Silas was pretty sure he had felt something burst in the man's gut.

In the early eighties, Silas had briefly possessed a chiropractor. Not one of his more memorable possessions; however, he did pick up a thing or two about the frailty of human anatomy. For example, a well-placed blow between the first and second cervical vertebrae can induce temporary paralysis or, if you are not careful, death. Fortunately that was a risk Silas was willing to take. Silas brought his clenched fists down on the back of the man’s neck. The guard sunk to the ground with a large thud.

"Everything okay in there Silas?" Mort asked through the earpiece.

"Yeah, you'd even be proud of me. I haven't killed anybody yet." He looked down at the unmoving guard. "I think."

"I am tapped into the security network, and I have access to the cameras."

"Good, I’m heading up now," Silas said.

He pushed the elevator call button and the doors opened immediately. Inside was a normal button panel for all the floors. Floors above seventy were set off in their own panel with a keypad.

"Mort, need a little help. There's a keypad."

"Got it, just push the floor button."

Silas pressed floor seventy three and stood back. He noticed that the Muzak version of Yesterday was playing over the speakers. "And they call the place I’m from hell..." he mumbled.

"Just so you know, I cycled earlier footage through the main computer in the security room. So far the main security is unaware of your intrusion."

They were quiet for a moment, nothing but Muzak Yesterday in the silence. Silas wished he had brought another bottle of bourbon with him. As it was, he had to be content with puffing on the fine Cuban.

"So do you miss her?" Mort asked.

"Not now Mort," Silas growled.

"It’s been a few months, I was just wondering if you were over her."

"I was never under her, at least not in the way you mean. She was just a partner."

"Right, just a partner. Like me, only with tits."

Now that was a scary image, thought Silas.

"Naw Mort, you aren't a partner. You're just tech support."

The elevator dinged as it reached the seventy third floor. Showtime.

"Okay, I have limited influence with the electronic security at this point. Good luck, Silas."

The doors opened and Silas was greeted by a well-appointed lobby complete with leather chairs, glass coffee tables, and beautiful artwork. There were also about a dozen large and, Silas guessed, heavily armed men standing or sitting in chairs. Some were reading magazines, others were talking quietly. A few checked smart phones. They all looked up when the elevator opened.

Thugs, personal guards, Silas guessed. Must be a meeting of big wigs.

"Howdy fellas, this where the big meeting is?" Silas said and pointed to the large set of double doors across the room. He was halfway across the lobby when they started to react, putting away phones and dropping magazines.

"Here hold this," Silas said and tossed his lit cigar at one particularly large thug.

He gave a push with his demonic fury as the cigar left his hand, and it flared up into a small flame. The thug yelled as the burning wad of tobacco hit his face and he fell back, knocking over two slightly smaller men.

The ones still standing were reaching for their guns now, but Silas was quick. He lifted the nearest leather recliner and threw it at three more of the men gathered together. The mortal flesh of the body he possessed would never have been capable of such a feat without serious damage to its musculature and tendons, but demonic energy coursed through him, enhancing his mortal shell.

He grabbed the nearest thug, knocking the gun from his hands, and spun him around, just as the others leveled their various side arms at him. Gun shots rang out.

Bullets smashed into the head and body of the man Silas used to shield himself. A head shot would have killed him instantly. The body shots, however, never made it through. Just as Silas had suspected from the man’s bulky shirt and coat, he was wearing body armor. Silas had once possessed a bodyguard for a high ranking corporate CEO who had been trained to spot indicators like that.

The body and body armor effectively protected him as he backed toward the double doors. A bullet whizzed close to his ear, and he felt a hot stab as one found his arm. He almost dropped the body from the pain, but it had missed bone and artery, so he held on.

When he reached the door, he kicked it open. The double doors slammed open, and Silas threw the bullet-ridden body at the gunmen, before he quickly shut and locked the door. They could easily kick the door down despite the lock. He grabbed one end of the twenty foot, solid-wood conference room table and with mighty heave turned it on its side and slammed it up against the door. He admired his handiwork. It would hold them for a moment, and that was all Silas needed. He hoped they wouldn't shoot blindly through the door with their bosses just on the other side.

He turned back to the room. Five men stood around the space where the table had once been, glasses of champagne halfway to their lips.

"Okay, now which one of you is Dunkleclerk?"

Color drained from the face of the one in the middle, and he made a break for the side door. Silas leaped and closed the distance instantly, tackling him to the ground. The other men scattered away from him as Dunkleclerk screamed.

"Where are the fairies?" Silas yelled. From the corner of his eye Silas saw Dunkleclerk's business associates pull guns from holsters. "I have no concern with you. If you put those guns away and leave there I’ll have no need to kill you."

Silas let his demonic nature show through in his face and the timbre of his voice. The men turned and ran, stumbling over themselves as they attempted to move the table and get to the door. Silas turned back to Dunkleclerk and slapped him, partially to get him to stop blubbering and partially because it felt good.

"I asked where are the fairies?" Silas was acutely aware of how silly he looked standing over a guy yelling about fairies while a pack of hardened thugs banged on either side of the door.

He couldn't hear what Dunkleclerk was trying to say through the blood and tears, but he glanced towards the side door he had tried to escape through.

"Thank you," Silas said.

He picked up the crying Dunkleclerk and threw him through the window. His screams dwindled as he fell. The men had paused in their attempt to move the table to watch the sight, but scrambled all the harder when Silas returned their stare.

He had to move fast now. Throwing Dunkleclerk out the window had started a timer on when the police would be here.

"What the hell is going on? A body just hit the ground right in front of the limo," Mort said in his ear.

"Did anybody see it?"

"Not yet. The streets are deserted at the moment."

"Drive over it and park," Silas said. That might buy him some more time.

"It's in the middle of the street."

"Better a limo taking up the whole lane, than a body in the shape of a pancake," Silas said.

"Jesus Christ Silas. Steve, park over it. I know it's gross, just do it."

Silas ignored their arguing as he opened the door. Beyond was a hallway where several evenly-spaced doors lined one wall. He kicked the first one in and saw that it was some kind of office, same with the second, both empty. He kick in the third door.

It was a room full of beautiful naked women, all of them Asian.

Silas was surprised, and he almost stumbled. He had been expecting a room full of more people he had to kill. They worked around a long table covered with tubing, glass vials and beakers. Propane tanks were stacked under the table. It was like a pornographic meth lab, only instead of household materials they were working with professional grade equipment.

"I thought this s**t only happened in the movies," Silas whispered.

Against the far wall of the room was a large glass box, inside was a wire bird cage surrounded by a drawing and mystic symbols. Trapped in the cage were the fairies, perhaps four or five. They laid on the ground as though exhausted.

"Hello ladies," Silas said with a smile and stepped into the room.

There were no screams, no signs of panic; the girls just stopped what they were doing and turned to him. It creeped Silas out and set off warning bells. He thought there might be something fishy going on when they started walking towards him like something out of the Dawn of the Dead.

From the side door a figure emerged. For a moment Silas thought it might be the cleaning lady. She was old—wizened would be the right word—and stooped, but even upright she would not have been much more than four and a half feet tall. She wore a black handmade dress that covered her from neck to toe, and a long, wild mane of gray hair shot out in all directions from her head. No, she definitely wasn't the cleaning lady; she was someone much more dangerous.

"Baba Yaga," Silas said switching to Russian. In 1905 he had possessed the monk Rasputin and picked up the language.

“Oh s**t, that’s not good,” Mort said in Silas’ earpiece.

"What brings you from the Motherland?" Silas asked, ignoring Mort.

"I come to take what is mine, Silas," she said, rage in her eyes. "The world."

"Trust me, it really ain't all that great," Silas said.

She threw back her head and let out a long withering screech. The women, now gathered in front of Silas, began to change. Their faces elongated, forming jagged, fleshy beaks. Arms stretched and fingers lengthened; nails turned to talons. Their legs grew thick at the hip and a second joint appeared causing their legs to look like a chicken's. As a final touch, wings sprouted from their backs and unfurled.

Harpies. Ugly, vile creatures—part woman, part avian. An odor reached his nose and he winced. They also smelled to high heaven. With a number of shrieks, cackles, and odd chicken noises they rushed at him.

Silas charged, jumping onto the large table that dominated the room. He had no clue what types of chemicals were in the various large beakers and flasks, but he didn't have many options; the harpies would tear apart his mortal flesh. He began kicking the glass beakers and vials, sending liquid and glass flying into the harpies. They sprang back, halting their lunges as they attempted to cover their exposed flesh with their claws.