Maloc hated getting shot. It wasn’t painful as much as just disorienting. He wiped buckshot from his eyes and spit some from his mouth. The shrapnel in his cheeks and forehead would simply dissolve, like a mortal’s body breaks down splinters. He stood up and casually dusted himself off, not concerned in the least that Isaac had made away with his property.

Imagining how panicked Isaac would be when he discovered that the tires of his vehicle were flat brought a smile to the demon’s face. The magician was in way over his head. Even now he was sure Isaac was fleeing on foot through the desert. Not that it mattered. Maloc could trail him by scent. Demons had a spectacular sense of smell for all the foul things in the world: blood, rot, excrement, fear.

That thought made him pause. The smell of fear. He hadn’t gotten a whiff of it from the magician. In fact, Isaac had seemed oddly composed all night, even during the murder spree. The room was thick with the residual scent of fear, only now fading.

None of it was from Isaac.

Uneasiness crept into his dark spirit and what felt like a shiver rode down his spine. For an instant, he almost thought of the feeling as an instinct, which was not only implausible but also insulting.

With a snarl he hurled a bottle, his anger rightfully taking the place of his anxiety. This was why he wanted to go home. He’d been on this mortal plane too long. It was getting into this head. He’d just compared himself to a mortal. To a plaything. To a flesh puppet. Concern was for lesser beings. Here he was immortal. Almost a deity. Certainly a god to the dead men around him. Certainly death to the magician who had just fled him.

He debated letting Isaac get a little further away. Let him run until he dropped, the demon decided. There was no escape. He stooped over to get his hat. The demon’s prized Stetson was riddled with holes—the result of being shot point-blank with a 12-gauge. In a fit of rage, he tore it to bits.

“Alright, Isaac. You’re going to be my last bloody masterpiece.” He threw open the door to the parking lot and stepped out into the cool Arizona night. The fresh air annoyingly wiped the offal from his nose.

He froze in surprise.

The magician hadn’t run. He was sitting on the hood of the station wagon, drumming his feet on a flattened tire. That feeling that wasn’t an instinct crept back into Maloc’s head. What was this? He scanned the desert and listened to the wind. Something was there but he couldn’t pinpoint it. He sniffed the air. Rotting meat came to his nose—delicious but unexpected.

“It’s amazing how many stars you can see here,” Isaac said, gazing skyward.

“I thought you’d be running.”

Isaac looked surprised. “Through the desert? In the dark? With all the prickly plants everywhere?”

Maloc bristled. “What are you up to Isaac? There’s something here. What is it?”

“Just us. Not afraid, are you? A little voice in your head saying things that you don’t understand?”

That blow hit home. Maloc flared, the anger pushing the uneasiness out of his head. He could wade through tougher magic than a lightweight like Isaac could bring. He’d killed more powerful magicians with his bare hands, laughing as they tried to voice out spells from under his choking hands. Enough of this.

Maloc started across the parking lot, taking ponderous steps that raised clouds of dust. He tossed the knife into the air, so high it disappeared momentarily into the night and caught it by the handle when it fell. Isaac golf clapped. Maloc tossed it again, higher this time. During its descent, Isaac lifted his hand and pointed at it. The blade froze in mid-air, about ten feet above Maloc’s head. He looked at the magically suspended knife, then at Isaac, then at the knife again. With a flick of his hand, Isaac sent it spinning away. The sound of it clattering across rocks echoed through the desert.

“Oh, you little prick.” Maloc stared along the knife’s path. “That is fucking it! That blade would have made your death so much easier. Cuts are less painful than broken bones.” He was breathing hard, the rage consuming him, his aura radiating from his body in waves of foul heat.

“You’ve talked a lot of shit. I think you just have a big mouth.”

Maloc lost it. He opened his mouth and screamed; a loathsome sound that seemed to cross the shriek of an injured cat and the roar of a tornado. A hatred that Maloc had not felt since he was painfully pulled to this plane three hundred years ago enveloped him and he stomped across the dirt lot.

Isaac whistled. This action struck Maloc as odd, but he was beyond thinking about anything other than bloodletting. That is until he saw what looked to be a pony emerge from behind a screen of desert scrub. It trotted across the road and stood next to Isaac.

Maloc stopped, his surprise once again quelling the rage. It was a dog. The biggest dog he’d ever seen. He wasn’t sure what kind it was. He had never learned much about animals as he couldn’t get near them. They’d always sense his infernal origins and scramble away.

“This is my bodyguard.”

Despite his anger, Maloc started laughing. “A dog? This was your big plan? Lure me out here so your dog can eat me? How pathetic. As soon as your bodyguard gets a whiff of me, he’ll bolt with his tail between his legs.”

“But him’s a good boy.”

Maloc shook his head in disbelief. The guy had balls but was clearly not too bright. The demon walked forward now, hand extended to the animal, the way one would approach a strange dog. Nothing happened. Maloc’s smile shortened just a bit. It must not have his scent. He knelt, clapped his hands together, and called out “Here doggy”. The dog just stood there. Finally, he waved his hands in the air and shouted “boo!”

The dog didn’t move. No flinch or flicker. It didn’t even blink.

Then the wind shifted and Maloc ceased smiling altogether.

The dog was what he had sensed when he left the bar. The smell of death emanated strongly from it. Rot. Decay. Scents Maloc knew well and cherished. But there was something wrong. The odor was off, as if laced with something. Magic, he realized. His eyes opened wide. The dog had no life of its own.

Isaac recognized this. “Yep. This is General and, as I bet you just realized, he gave up the ghost a while ago. And you know those instincts you’ve been blathering on about all night? The ghost took those with it.”

Maloc took a step back. “You couldn’t have done this. You don’t have the skill.”

Isaac pointed behind him. “Meet the twins. One and Two.”

Maloc looked over his shoulder. From each side of the roadhouse a stocky, black and brown dog had emerged. They stood at each corner, silent guardians—as dead, he realized, as the mastiff.

Isaac snapped his fingers and the dogs charged. No barking. No snarling. The only sounds were the pads of their feet on the ground.

Maloc assumed a fighting stance but was unsure of which way to face. General reached him first, jumping with jaws agape. The demon caught the dog in mid-leap, one hand around its throat, the other under its belly. Using its own momentum, Maloc hurled General past him, where it landed headfirst with a loud crack. Maloc spun in time to barely avoid the snapping jaws of Twin Two. He grabbed the dog by its head, pushed it into the dirt, and raised a fist to crush its skull.

Their state of life didn’t matter, the demon realized. It didn’t matter that they weren’t afraid of him, didn’t matter that their natural teeth could rend him. He was still faster. Still stronger. Still a better killer.

Then Twin One sank its jaws into his cocked-back arm.

Living without pain makes one forgot just how awful it is. It had been a hundred years since he had screamed from it. But he did so now.

Releasing Twin Two, he began to beat on One’s head with his left hand, raining blows onto it that should have knocked it senseless. Instead, the dog shook its head to and fro, teeth serrating demonic flesh.

Strange steam rose from the wounds. Wisps of smoke wafted out from between One’s jaws as the bites began to burn. A searing pain spread to his hand and shoulder, like acid had been poured into his veins.

Isaac had done something to these beasts other than raise them from the dead.

Twin Two rolled to its feet and bit deeply into the distracted demon’s left leg, directly below the knee. Again, the wound smoldered like hot ash. He grabbed now at Twin One’s head, tearing off one ear, then the other. Finally, Maloc wedged his fingers into its mouth, pried up its upper jaw, and shoved the beast aside. His right hand now free, he brought his fist down hard onto Two’s head but found that he couldn’t swing the arm at full force. The steaming bites had sapped his strength.

General slammed into him from behind, knocking him to the dirt. The dog’s massive mouth came for his neck. The demon managed to twist and General tore into his left shoulder instead. Again, Maloc howled in agony. Twin One dove back into the fray, tearing into Maloc’s right thigh. General released his shoulder, going for the neck once again. Maloc thrust his right arm into its mouth, sacrificing the limb to save himself.

Panicked, infuriated, and hurting, Maloc thrashed back and forth, desperation augmenting his already inhuman strength. With his free left hand, he punched at General’s flank, landing sledgehammer blows that shattered ribs and destroyed organs, but achieved nothing. He pulled his leg free of Twin Two and then kicked the dog in the head, his boot heel shattering the Rottweilers skull, but leaving its jaws intact, which then went to work on his ankle.

Isaac whistled. The dogs halted their attack and backed up, keeping Maloc at the center of their triangle. The magician was still sitting on the hood, drumming his heels like a bored child in a waiting room. When Maloc made eye contact the magician smiled and waved. “Can I get you a beer?”

Using his undamaged left arm Maloc pushed himself to his feet, standing wobbly on shredded legs. His right arm hung uselessly. “What...did you do to me?” he croaked.

“I coated their teeth with a paste made from communion wafers, holy water, and snake venom. All-natural poison mixed with all-holy poison. Pretty good idea eh?”

“That’s deceitful.”

“And you’re tougher than I thought.” Isaac whistled.

All three dogs crashed into him and the demon went down in a flurry of fur and snapping jaws. He fought back as best he could, but the battle was over. The dogs knew no pain or fatigue. They were beyond everything but their vicious orders. As strong as Maloc had been he could not slow their grisly attack and he grew weaker and weaker until he was little more than a giant chew toy.

***

Finally, mercifully, Isaac called off the attack. The dogs stopped shredding Maloc but held him pinned, undead jaws clamped like locked manacles. Isaac hopped off the car, strolled over, and knelt next to him.

“This isn’t possible,” Maloc croaked. He could barely speak with General’s jaws around his neck. Thick black ichor oozed like sap from his countless wounds.

“I guess you’re just not a good judge of talent.”

“You planned this from the start.” Maloc sounded emotionally injured by Isaac’s counter-betrayal, but that was typical of demons. They always expected everyone else to play by the rules.

“Oh, stop with the sob story. You’re just mad that I outsmarted you.” From his Everbag Isaac removed a glass jar. When he pulled out a pocketknife Maloc’s eyes widened. “Relax.” Using the flat of the blade Isaac began to scrape Maloc’s blood into the jar. “Demon ichor has a lot of uses. Used in potions. Made into poisons. Spread on toast.”

“I will see you dead for this.”

“Yes, yes, of course you will.”

“Why did you wait for me? If you’re such a powerful magician, then why didn’t you just escape?”

“I had a job to do.”

The demon’s discolored eyes went wide. “Someone hired you to do this? Who? I demand to know!” Anger made him start to struggle but it was brief as it caused the canine teeth to shift painfully in his flesh.

“Exactly who they are I really can’t say. Just a voice on the phone to me.”

Somehow the defeated demon managed to look even further dejected as he said one word. “Arrangement.”

“Yeah. I work for Arrangement. But it’s just a title. I have no idea who they really are, other than a paycheck.” Isaac rooted through Maloc’s pockets and took his truck keys. “When you started looking for a magician to help you get home, I guess you drew their attention. I know most of the rules about this crap are unwritten, but crossing back to Hell in a mortal body is a no-no. On top of that, they certainly didn’t want the tarot cards going with you.” He leaned an elbow on General’s massive head, which elicited a hiss of pain from the demon as the jaws shifted.

“You’re going to pay for this magician. I won’t forget this betrayal.”

“You’re right about that. You won’t forget this at all. These wounds won’t heal. Sure, the snake venom will run its course but since your demonic insides are particularly averse to anything holy, well, you get the idea.”

“You’ve crippled me,” Maloc said softly, with a realization akin to someone being told they have a terminal disease.

“Yup.” Isaac held his hand out and Maloc’s Bowie knife lifted from the gravel, floated to him. He tucked it into the Everbag, and then as a final dig, he opened the bag wide so that Maloc could see it was still empty.

Maloc snarled. “You’re a dead man Isaac. You’re not the only magician out there. I’ll find someone to heal me.”

“Oh, there’s a spell to cure you but the key ingredient will be the teeth that did the biting. I’m going to hide them in a very secret place. You better pray that nothing happens to me because you’ll never find them.”

Isaac whistled again and pointed at Maloc’s pickup truck. The dogs released him and trotted to the vehicle as fast as their multiple broken bones allowed them. Maloc struggled to move but found even the slightest shift was pure agony.

“See you around Maloc.”

“Isaac,” Maloc called out. “You’ll regret this.”

***

Isaac drove as far as exhaustion allowed, before pulling off on a gravel side-road. Now that the job was done the fatigue felt so much worse with no nervous energy to offset it. He hopped into the bed of the truck amongst his pack.

Despite their horrific wounds and rotting stench, he sat with them until dawn, listened to the desert sounds, and watched the stars fade and the eastern horizon turn red. When the sun provided sufficient light, he set to his final task.

He ordered the dogs out of the truck so that when the spell was broken, he wasn’t forced to haul their massive weights out. No need to take any further dignity from them. He pulled down his collar, fingered the leather pouch secured around his neck with string, and plastered to his chest with duct tape.

As he peeled the pouch away from the beating of his heart, the dogs fell to earth, their bodies finally joining their spirits at rest. Immediately Isaac felt a wave of refreshment as the shared life force rushed back. Despite the drain lifted from his soul, he was still dead on his feet, but the sun was warm on his face, and that helped.

He opened the pouch and sifted through the contents. Teeth, one from each dog, meticulously scrimshawed with runes and then colored with his blood. Nail trimmings, tufts of fur, and whiskers—all hung over his heart to echo with the beating.

Pliers in hand, he set to the grisly task of removing the rest of the canine’s teeth. More than once he winced when a tooth cracked free. More than once he whispered an apology and patted a head gently. Useless gestures that he nonetheless performed.

What he hadn’t planned on was a respectful burial. He felt guilty doing nothing, so he piled some sand and rock atop the bodies, a half-assed measure that would do little to protect from desert scavengers and didn’t make him feel any better.

He started the truck, which farted out a cloud of black smoke, then twisted the radio dial from one end to the other, getting nothing but static and an occasional Southern-fried brimstone preacher. He sighed, snapped his fingers at the radio, and drove east humming along to “House of the Rising Sun”.