Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [27]
“Whoa!” Lucky said behind me. “Weird.”
I assumed he meant the method of lighting the stairwell: there was a burning torch stuck in a sconce on the wall. Like the front door lock, it functioned via mystical means.
I smelled something foul floating up from the laboratory, a putrid, acrid odor mixed with smoke, incense, and . . . wet dog fur?
“Max?” I called.
The only response was a menacing sound—like a hungry demon’s stomach growling.
“Max! Are you all right?” I called, my voice sharp with anxiety.
Lucky elbowed me aside to peer down the steep, dark stairway that was filling up with foul-smelling smoke. “You ain’t saying he’s down there?”
I faintly heard some coughing from below.
“Max?” I shouted.
The growling sound turned into a roar.
Then I heard a man scream in terror. “Argh!”
“Max!” I started down the steep, narrow stairs, holding tightly to the railing so I wouldn’t stumble.
“Esther, no.” Lucky made a grab for my arm, but I slipped away, too scared for Max to pay attention. “I’ll go. You stay—goddamn it!” I heard the thud of his footsteps behind me as he started descending after me.
The roaring sound from the laboratory got louder, bouncing off the narrow walls of the stairwell.
I choked on the smoke, covered my nose and mouth with my hand, and shouted over my shoulder, “Watch your step! These stairs are uneven!”
“No shit!” Lucky shouted back.
I knew the bad language—so common among wiseguys, but so rare for Lucky to use in a woman’s presence—was a sign of how perturbed he was.
Understandable. As the roaring reached a pitch that seemed to make the stairs shake, fear ran through me hot and fast. I reached the landing and burst into the laboratory.
At first glance, I thought Max was being attacked by a demonic hellhound. I stared in shock, peering through the smoke-filled room.
Max, a small and slightly plump man, was rolling around on the floor, grunting and crying out in protest. His long white hair was disheveled and tangling with his beard as he tried to ward off his attacker.
An immense, tan canine beast was jumping up and down on top of him as it barked noisily. Its teeth were bared, its pink tongue lolling and its big ears flopping around. The huge creature’s paws batted playfully at Max as its tail wagged . . .
Its tail was wagging?
I said, “What the hell—”
“Esther, get down!” Lucky shouted. “I’m gonna blow it away!”
I turned around to find myself facing the barrel of a gun. I gasped and staggered backward.
I stepped on Max, who howled in pain. Startled, I lost my footing. I tried to regain it, but I instead did an involuntary barrel vault over the dog. I landed on my head and lay there in a helpless daze as an immense pink tongue started washing my face.
The beast’s breath smelled exactly the way you’d expect a hell-spawned canine-demon’s breath to smell.
“Esther?” Max said.
The disgusting facial was interrupted by a paw, which was the size and density of a baseball bat, poking me for signs of life. The creature’s nails needed cutting.
“Get down!” Lucky shouted—presumably at Max, since I was flat on my back with a massive paw giving me a dermabrasion treatment.
There was an explosion of noise so loud I thought my skull would shatter.
Lucky had fired. The shot missed the dog and instead hit a jar full of dried animal organs. The jar exploded, sending a spray of organs and organ dust all over me. This revived me enough to sit bolt upright and scream. Then I gagged on the acrid smoke and dust I inhaled.
Another shot convinced the now terrified dog to try to hide, and I nearly smothered when it chose my lap as the handiest refuge.