The Darkling ignored Morgan, focusing his attention on Lazarus. “The demon’s body was cut up into five pieces — six if you count the heart that was removed first. I have the devil’s left hand in my possession. The rest of them are scattered across the globe.”
“Do you know where they are?” Lazarus asked.
“I have an idea. I found a chart in Lunt’s apartment last night, listing the names and locations of the men who had each body part. It’s a few years out of date, though, so it may not be 100 % accurate.” The Darkling looked around the club, his distaste for most of humanity bubbling close to the surface once more. “Ironic, isn’t it? One of the iconic figures of evil is destroyed but do we celebrate by ushering in an age of peace? No. We spend the next few centuries killing each other so we can claim its mortal remains.”
“How philosophical,” Morgan said with obvious disgust. He noticed a smile on Abby’s lips and relaxed, pleased to see that she shared his feelings.
The Darkling fixed Morgan with a stare that caused the older man to shrink away. Dismissing Morgan with a roll of his eyes, he turned back to Lazarus and said, “I assume you want me to share the chart with you?”
“I want you to give us the chart.”
“That’s not going to happen. I want the corpse.”
“What are you planning to do with it?”
“You’re beginning to waste my time.”
Lazarus pushed his chair back and stood up. His chiseled figure looked menacing in the dim lighting and would have intimidated almost anyone. But not The Darkling. “You’re not leaving this club without turning the chart over to us. I meant what I said earlier: I don’t want to have an altercation here. But if need be, that’s what I’ll do.”
The Darkling studied him for a moment, his mind running through all the possibilities. He had total faith in his skills but the crowd would impede his ability to utilize the techniques he’d learned in Tibet. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “Are you really going to turn it over to the military? You want to entrust a dark power such as this… to the kind of men who would occupy the seats of government?”
Lazarus gave a quick shake of his head. “No. I don’t plan to do that. And I expect that they know it. I fully expect them to swoop in at the last moment and try to claim it. I believe that occult powers are dangerous enough in the hands of those who know how to use them — they’re even more so in the hands of people who don’t.”
“Then trust me that I know how to use it.”
The Darkling moved quickly, realizing that there was nothing more to be said. As distasteful as this setting would be, he had to make his stand here — if he could somehow escape Gray’s clutches, then he could hide himself in one of his other identities and continue his mission. But if he were to be caught… No, he mused, there was no chance of failure.
The Darkling reached under the table and grabbed hold of Morgan’s hand. He applied just enough pressure to stimulate the man’s clenching reflex and the sound of the gun being discharged cut through the club’s background noise like a warm knife sliding through butter. Predictably, a woman screamed, sending off a frenzy of people heading toward the exits.
The Darkling stood up, knocking the table over onto Abby, who vanished beneath it with a cry of alarm. He then rose from his seat and delivered a roundhouse punch to Morgan’s chin that sent the old man toppling over.
Leaping into the maddened fray, The Darkling looked around for Lazarus but there was no sign of Assistance Unlimited’s leader.
“Oh!”
The Darkling muttered a curse under his breath as he slammed hard into a woman’s body. It was Betty, her eyes wide with alarm. “My apologies,” he said, trying to move past her.
She clutched at his arm with surprising tenacity. “Harold! Take me with you! Somebody fired a gun!”
“I know. I heard it.” He looked around, his body being buffeted by the men and women surging past. Clearing his throat, he locked eyes with her and lowered his voice. “Betty Lane,” he said, “you are unafraid. You will leave this place and go home. You will remember having an exciting evening but you will not remember seeing me before you left. Do you understand?”
Betty stared at him, her mouth hanging open. It looked like The Darkling’s eyes were orbs of pure black, filling her entire range of vision. “I… yes. I understand.”
“Good.” The Darkling pulled away and moved towards the rear exit. He ducked through the kitchen, which was empty and shoved open the back door. He came into an alleyway, not far from where Earl had parked the car. He had taken several steps toward the street when Lazarus Gray moved into view, blocking his exit.
“Stay where you are, Mr. Grant.”
The Darkling broke into a run, sprinting towards Lazarus. He seemed to merge with the darkness of the alley, his arms spreading like a raven’s wings. He threw himself into the air, soaring towards Lazarus with maniacal laughter bubbling up from between his lips.
Lazarus seemed unaffected by the dizzying cacophony, reaching up to grab hold of The Darkling’s midsection. He ducked under the shadowy figure and used the man’s momentum to send him tumbling to the ground.
The Darkling landed in a roll, up and on his feet in a flash. He backhanded Lazarus, catching him on the side of his skull, and followed with a powerful uppercut that split the other man’s lip.
Lazarus shrugged off the blow, slugging The Darkling in the face, causing the false nose that was part of the Harold Grant disguise to crumple and fall to the ground.
The Darkling barely dodged another punch before retaliating with a karate chop to Gray’s throat. As the hero gasped for air, The Darkling ran for freedom, escaping the alleyway’s confining quarters.
Lazarus lunged after him but it was too late. Just as in the night before, The Darkling had vanished into the night air, leaving an uncharacteristically angry Lazarus to slam his fist into the side of the Odyssey Club’s exterior.
The Darkling slipped into the back seat of his car, wiping away the blood that trickled from his nose. He saw Earl watching with shock in the rearview mirror, surprised at seeing his employer sporting an injury.
“We need to leave here,” The Darkling said.
Earl revved the engine and quickly merged into traffic. A police car flew past in the opposite direction, headed towards the club. “Back to the Grant estate, boss?” the driver asked, his Southern accent drawing out the words.
“No. Lazarus Gray will be heading there.” Leaning forward, The Darkling pulled a small case from beneath his seat. He set it beside him and opened it, revealing a variety of disguises. He began to change his appearance while barking out instructions. “Go to the airfield. We have a number of places to go and not much time to do so.”
Earl nodded, speeding along through the dark streets of the city.
The search for the devil’s corpse was now split along multiple lines, though few knew how twisted it had all become: The Darkling had memorized the chart, his mind retaining every detail in perfect relief; Lazarus Gray and his companions would soon descend upon the Grant home, where they would find the hard copy of Lunt’s chart; the Nazi forces would be continuing their hunt, though they lacked the resources to find the items quickly; and in Canada, another group of Assistance Unlimited members were working with Geist to find more clues of their own.
Had The Darkling known about the group in Canada, he might have acted differently than he did. Instead, he looked towards the front of the car, his skin a darker shade than before, with a moustache and heavy brows, and uttered, “First: we go to Montreal, to pay a visit to Mr. Felix Moore.”