The body was just hitting the floor when another knock came at the door. Mimicking Magritte’s voice perfectly, The Darkling shouted, “I’ll get it myself!”
“As you wish, sir,” came the reply from another room.
Confident that his acting abilities were up to the task, The Darkling pushed the matter by adding, “Go ahead and retire to your rooms, all of you! Do not disturb my guests and I!”
The Darkling crept to the door as another series of knocks ensued. The hired help were obviously used to Magritte’s desires for privacy, which played well for The Darkling’s purposes.
Peering through the peephole, The Darkling had to stifle a sigh of annoyance. Lazarus Gray and Samantha Grace were standing there, oblivious to the fact that their enemy was on the other side of the door.
Gray was becoming a major nuisance but The Darkling still hoped to avoid killing him. Gray and his ilk had their place in the world and The Darkling admired him for his dedication… but in this case, his quest was a misplaced one: The Darkling alone could handle the power of the reassembled devil.
Still using Magritte’s voice, The Darkling spoke through the door. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back in the morning. I’m not accepting visitors at this hour!”
Lazarus noticed the peephole and addressed it with his words. “Mr. Magritte, we need to speak to you on a matter of extreme urgency. My name is Lazarus Gray and this is Samantha Grace. We’ve come from the United States.”
“Very well. Give me a moment to pull on a robe.” The Darkling backed away from the door, his deft hands already yanking away the false face features that gave him the appearance of Harold Grant. He dropped the items in his pocket and hurriedly looked around the apartment. He had only moments to find the skull — but where would Magritte have hidden it? It wasn’t the sort of thing that could be set on a mantle somewhere… but The Darkling surmised that Magritte wouldn’t have left it where he couldn’t access it with ease.
The Darkling moved quickly, examining the study for any false walls or hidden panels. Finding nothing, he moved from room to room, finally coming to Magritte’s bedroom. As soon as he stepped into the sleeping area, he felt that the air had a different ambience. It almost seemed to crackle as he moved through it, his sensitive psychic nature picking up on the presence of great power.
He followed that sensation until he came to a large chest of drawers. On top of the chest was a black box and as he reached for it, The Darkling knew what lay within. He unlatched the lid and flipped it back, revealing the skull of the demon. Bits of mummified flesh clung here and there but it was the sharp canines and small horns on the forehead that truly made it look awful.
A foul odor wafted from the skull and a ghostly voice asked, “Ask. Ask me what you wish to know. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you the most terrible of things — I’ll tell you Truth.”
The Darkling stared at the foul thing and made a noise of disgust. “I’ve already seen past the darkness. My vision is pure.” He slammed shut the box’s lid and lifted it up, holding it under one arm.
Even before he turned, he knew that he was no longer alone. Lazarus Gray and Samantha Grace stood in the doorway, both looking at him with expressions of interest. They didn’t recognize him, of course, having only seen him in his guises of The Darkling and Harold Grant. The face he now wore was very nearly his true one, though his scars were hidden by makeup and an expensive hairpiece covered his burned scalp.
“Put the box down,” Lazarus said.
“You picked the lock on the door,” The Darkling said. “That’s breaking and entering.”
Lazarus was obviously in no mood for games. He drew a pistol and pointed it squarely at The Darkling’s head. “Who are you working for?” he asked.
A slow smile spread across The Darkling’s face and he realized that he was enjoying this. Despite the frustrations that Lazarus presented, it was good to finally find someone who was something of an equal, a sparring partner who could genuinely test his abilities. “Justice,” he whispered.
The Darkling hurled the box at Samantha’s head and the pretty young blonde let out a cry of surprise as she ducked out of the way. Lazarus began firing as The Darkling lowered his shoulder and barreled into him. The first bullet grazed The Darkling’s back but the second missed him completely, striking the wall behind chest of drawers.
Lazarus wrapped his arms around The Darkling, not wanting to let the vigilante escape again. The two men crashed hard into the wall but The Darkling was able to deliver several quick rabbit punches into Gray’s midsection, freeing himself.
While the two men were squaring off, Samantha had snatched up the box. After checking to make sure that the skull was still inside, she bolted from the room, nearly colliding with the frightened butler who had come to investigate the sound of gunfire.
“Get out!” she yelled, shoving at the man. “Go call the police!”
Back in the bedroom, The Darkling and Lazarus were trading blows. Just as in their first meeting, the two men were evenly matched, their limbs a blur as they blocked each other’s movements.
Lazarus managed to evade The Darkling’s defenses long enough to punch him in the cheek but the response — a powerful kick to the midsection, left Lazarus stumbling off-balance.
As The Darkling threw a punch aimed at his head, Lazarus ducked under the blow and grabbed hold of the other man’s arm. He slammed his elbow down upon it, cracking the bone but not completely breaking it.
The Darkling hissed in pain, yanking his arm free. It hung limply at his side but Lazarus knew that even with one arm, the man was still extremely dangerous.
“Where is Jakob?” Lazarus asked, delivering a punch that tagged The Darkling on the chin.
“He’s being improved,” The Darkling answered. “I’m taking him to the next level of his consciousness.”
Lazarus stepped back and took aim with his gun. “At this range, there’s no way I can miss. Don’t make me kill you.”
“Would you do that, Lazarus?” he asked. “You must have figured out who I am by now — that I’m not just some Nazi agent. I’m The Darkling. But have I really done enough to warrant death? Are you prepared to be judge, jury and executioner?”
“I still haven’t figured out what your game is, Darkling,” Lazarus said, avoiding the question. “Are you some sort of misguided vigilante? Or are you just another lunatic criminal, rationalizing your actions?”
“Can’t I be both? Or neither? Labels only begin to define who we are.”
Lazarus lowered the barrel of his gun, intending to wound, rather than kill. A quick shot in each leg would end the battle, he reasoned.
As he pulled the trigger, something unusual occurred. Lazarus was suddenly unable to tell exactly where The Darkling stood — Was he right in front of him? To the left? Or in the far corner? Lazarus felt as if a dense fog had clouded his mind.
The bullets ripped through the room but none found their target. The Darkling was past him and out of the room before Lazarus realized that he had been tricked.
Giving chase, Lazarus burst into the study, only to find that The Darkling had vanished. Samantha stood steadfast in the corner, the box clutched in her hand.
“Did you see him?” Lazarus asked.
“I thought so but it looked like a shadow moving across the room. I couldn’t even tell it was human.”
“Damn,” Lazarus cursed, displaying uncharacteristic anger. “But we got the skull so this wasn’t a total loss.”
Samantha opened the box and grinned. The evil relic was inside, its stench not enough to override her joy at their victory. “So if the others fulfilled their jobs, then we might have saved the day. The Darkling can’t put the body back together again and neither can the Nazis!”