Damoren (38 page)

Chapter
Twenty-One

Matt stared at a blinking cursor, his mind blank. The top of the page read ‘Chapter 1: The Creation of Demons.’ Below that, empty whiteness.

A warm breeze drifted through the open window, rustling his notes, now suddenly useless, pinned beneath a half-geode serving as his paperweight.
Outside, across the green hills, towering white wind turbines stood like a field of mechanical flowers. There were thirty-six in operation, five more by the end of the month. A small brass plaque adorned each of their towers, every one engraved with the name of a fallen Valducan knight. For most, it was their first monument.

Matt clicked the keyboard, typing out the first sentence.

“To understand demons and angels, one must accept that worlds exist outside our own universe.”

Frowning, he deleted it.
Matt licked his lips, watching the cursor, his fingers poised above the keys.

A bird began singing furiously from the bush outside his window.
Another replied.

Matt glanced at his notes.
They contained everything he remembered, or what Allan had hastily transcribed as Urakael’s memories dissolved, leaving nothing but vague residue, like the high water mark after a flood, a tell-tale sign of how much was no longer there. Matt had outlined everything he needed to say. Except where to begin.

He looked back at the screen.
The dueling birds outside had somehow become louder.

Sighing, Matt opened his email.
Sergio still hadn’t responded to his last message.

Disappointed, Matt opened the last file the gunsmith had sent.
A teal image of a trigger mechanism, its tip smoothly hooked, filled the screen, seemingly floating before a slate-gray background. He scrolled down to the next picture, a 3D image of revolver cylinder. Sergio said the new design would easily handle the pressure from modern powder. A more powerful round would be nice, but not dealing with a wall of smoke after each shot was what really made Matt tingle.
Just five more weeks.

The door behind him opened.

“Aren’t you supposed to be writing?” Luiza asked.

“
I am,” Matt said. “Just taking a break.”

“
Uh huh.” She bent and kissed him on the cheek. “New pictures from Sergio?”

Matt breathed in her sweet perfume, vanilla and mango.
He kissed her back. “No. Same ones from Thursday.” He scrolled down past images of tiny parts at various angles until reaching the bottom. A full-color picture of a large, gold-etched revolver. A thick blade extended below the barrel, seeming to melt out from the bottom. A pair of bronze wolf heads capped the angled grip.
Five weeks.

“
Looks good,” Luiza said. “Still say you should have gone with a swing-out loader.”

“
Not as structurally sound,” Matt said.

“
And? With all the high-grade steel and titanium you’re using, it won’t matter. Reloading will be faster.”

“
Too modern,” Matt said. “I can’t pass her off as an antique if the cylinder swings out.” Master Turgen had already found a curator to
authenticate
the new revolver as an original Scholberg from 1874.

“
Baby,” Luiza said, her voice calm like a mother’s. “Most countries won’t care if it’s antique or not. A gun is a gun. Akumanokira has to slip past customs, Dämoren can, too. Why not an uzi?”

Matt gave her a look.

Luiza smiled, obviously pleased with her needling. Feinluna’s gold-framed shard glinted on her chest.

“
No.”

“
Aw, come on. You know you want it.” She mimed firing a machinegun, her finger bouncing with imaginary recoil.

“
No.”

She pouted her lip.
“You’re no fun.”

Matt raised his hands in mock surrender.
“I think it’s a great idea.” He tapped his chest, above the silver slug beneath. “Urakael, however, wants to be a revolver. I’m just following orders.”

Luiza gave an exaggerated sigh.
“His loss.”

A green pop-up appeared in the corner of the screen with a loud
bloop
.

Matt glanced at it.
“Allan’s calling.”

“
I swear he has a crush on you.”

Matt snorted.
“He just likes talking to another Librarian and Sonu isn’t much of a conversationalist.” He clicked the screen.

“
Crush.”

A window opened, showing Allan
’s smiling face. “Hi, Matt. How are you doing?”

“
Good, Allan. You?”

“
Fine. How’s the missus?”

Luiza hunched down, level to the camera atop the monitor.
“Hi, Allan.”

“
Ah.” Allan smiled. “Speak of the devil. How are you doing, Luiza? Chile treating you well?”

“
It’s all right.” She shrugged. “Getting a little antsy. Need some field time.”

“
I understand,” Allan said. “Master Turgen is sending me up to Scotland. We think Glasgow might have itself a vampire.”

Luiza grinned.
“Sounds fun.”

Allan gave a sullen shrug.
“It’s Glasgow.”

“
So what’s up, Allan?” Matt asked.

“
Nothing much. Mal and Schmidt should be arriving there in a couple hours, so I figured I’d catch you first, see how the report was coming.”

“
It’s coming.” A slight pang of guilt prodded Matt’s gut.

“
Great! Look forward to seeing it.”

Matt smiled, praying Allan wouldn
’t ask how far into it he was. The question might hang in the air too long. “I’ll send it to you the minute it’s done. Don’t worry about it.”

“
Good to hear. Have you done the section on their relation to humans, yet?”

“
Not yet.”

“
What about Tiamat?”

Swallowing, Matt rubbed his chin.
“Working on that right now.”

Luiza cleared her throat.
“I don’t mean to spoil your little reunion here, but Matt and I have to head to the airport in about an hour, and I have a few things I need him to finish up first.”

“
Oh,” Allan said, his voice a few octaves higher. “All right, then.”

“
Sorry, Allan.” Matt wondered what chores Luiza had in mind. He’d already done everything they needed.

Allan nodded.
“Well, I’ll talk with you later. Give Schmidt and Mal my regards.”

“
We will.”

“
Good luck in Scotland,” Luiza said. “Be safe.”

“
Thanks.” Allan gave a small salute. “Talk to you soon.”

Matt clicked the window closed and turned toward her.
“So what do you need me to do?”

“
Nothing. I just couldn’t stand watching you twist uncomfortably like that.”

He chuckled.
“Thanks.”

She kissed him.
“We’re leaving for the airport in an hour. I suggest you use that time to have something ready before Malcolm and Master Schmidt land. You know they’ll want to read it.”

Matt nodded.

“Hey.” She kissed him again. “I love you.”

He met her chocolate eyes.
“I love you, too.”

_______________

To: ; ;

CC:

From:

Subject:
My Resignation

_______________

Gentlemen,

It has been one of my greatest honors to have served as a Valducan knight for the last 22 years. However, due to recent events it has become clear to me that I can no longer continue in the Order. I have listened to each of your concerns, your threats, your bribes, but I do not feel that I am the one being listened to.

Dämoren has chosen Matt to live. At first I did not understand why, but now I do. I’ve put off taking an apprentice because doing so was an admission that one day I would have to surrender Dämoren to another. So Dämoren has done it for me.

Matt is a brave and brilliant child and Dämoren saw that. He’s bonded to her. I don’t know how, but I see it. This child is Dämoren’s, and in that, he is mine. If we are sworn to protect these holy instruments and honor their wishes, then I am sworn to do this. I will defend him with my life. All I ask in return is that you honor my choice.

If my decision means that Dämoren will not be reunited with her lost shell that Alex located, then so be it. I know that it will be safe with the Order and one day they will be reunited. But I find it very petty that the family I have belonged to for 22 years would hold a piece of Dämoren as leverage against me.

I am sorry it has come to this, but this is not my decision. I do not hold any grudge against you and hope nothing but the best for you all, but if any attempt is made against this child, I swear on Dämoren that I will kill whoever tries to harm him. He is my son.

Respectfully,

Clay Mercer

Keep reading for an excerpt from
Hounacier
, book two in Seth Skorkowsky's urban fantasy series,
Valducan
.

A drum sounded, followed by another, loud and ominous. Ulises backed away from the three captives, Hounacier still raised.

Drums beat again steadily like a slow pulse. The loa painted the circle closed, completing the ring. Ulises stopped beside Malcolm and the loa escorts pulled their prisoners to the packed ground, on their backs, their heads toward the central post.

Ulises unleashed a loud whoop and the drums erupted into a rapid beat. A stream of musical chanting poured from the old man, the strange words completely foreign to Malcolm. The loa danced in and around the circle, unhindered by the painted lines.

Holding his machete out, sideways across his open palms, Ulises aimed the length of the blade at the bald man, then the woman, and then the cuffed prisoner. His song grew louder, faster as he repeated the chant, gesturing to each person for several seconds before moving to the next.

Leaves and clothing whipped as if caught in a gust, though the heavy, sticky air didn't move. The dancers
’ fury grew. They jumped and twirled, circling the ring like frenzied sharks. The old bokor's voice almost a scream as he aimed the side-turned weapon at the bald man. A tremor shuddered through his body and then ceased as Ulises focused on the woman. She began to tremble, as well. Ulises continued the sequence, his voice roaring. Each time, whichever prisoner he focused at would shake as if the machete blade were arcing an invisible bolt of lightning.

The spasms became more intense. Legs and arms moved with impossible speed, a blur of skin and cloth. Malcolm jumped as the scarfed woman screamed, her shrill voice cracking into something deep and inhuman. The unseen bolt moved to the cuffed man beside her. His bound hands pulsed like a jackhammer. In the blur they seemed to swell. A metallic pop and one of the steel shackles blew open.

Wide-eyed, Malcolm stared in horror as the bald man's head seemed to stretch, his mouth jutting forward. One of the woman's legs elongated for a moment. Her sandal popped free and bounced across the circle. The chanting song raged around him. Malcolm's hair blew in the unfelt wind.

With a loud rip, the man's shirt split open. A membrane of dark skin stretched beneath his arms to the base of his ribs. He screamed
. The tone deepened as iron-like fangs sprouted from his mouth. Ulises howled, stamping his feet as he kept the machete blade aimed at the writhing form.

Horrified, Malcolm stepped back. Shouts erupted around him as several people in the crowd tried to flee. Policemen drew their weapons, their eyes wide with terror. Ulises continued his chant as loa danced around.

A pair of short horns burst through the top of the bald man's head. He rolled onto his knees. His legs lengthened, feet curling like hooks.

Malcolm took another step, about to run when arms seized him from behind.

"Watch, Milky!" Rum-soaked breath. "Watch her dance."

The woman in the white scarf and the prisoner in broken handcuffs both scrambled away as the beast stood. Brown, bat-like wings extended outward, nearly twenty feet across. Blade-like claws curled from the fingers atop each wing. It opened ruby eyes and shrieked a piercing scream.

Gunshots erupted as one of the officers fired his pistol, uncaring about the crowd around him. Bloody holes popped open along the creature's skin, then closed. The monster spun and hissed.

Ulises charged.

He swung the machete but the beast sprung back with a flap. Leather wings ruffled as it swiped its claws. The old man ducked and spun to the side, Hounacier out before him.

"Watch her." The teen's grip loosened a slid away. "Learn the steps."

The beast lunged, snapping its jaws. Ulises lurched back, barely escaping the iron teeth, but one of the taloned wings raked his upper arm, splitting open a pair of long cuts down his bicep. The monster moved in. Ulises raised his wounded left arm, displaying his palm. The lidded tattoo opened wide and the creature recoiled. Keeping the hand up, Ulises thrust Hounacier forward, but the beast hopped back, landing atop the painted pole.

Remembering the heavy sawed-off at his hip, Malcolm drew it and aimed the gun in both hands. He pulled the trigger. It didn't move. He squeezed it harder until his finger hurt.

Ulises ran forward and jumped, slicing the machete down unto one of the beast's hooked feet. It screamed and fell backward, wings flailing. It hit the ground with a hard thump, nearly hitting the loa Erzulie. Snarling, it hobbled upright. It snapped its jaws as Ulises dove toward it. He ducked below the attack and hacked the blade into the crook of the monster's neck. Blood exploded from the wound. It thrashed, knocking the flat of a wing hard into Ulises, but he drove the blade up under its ribs.

Brilliant purple and white fire burst from the wound at the creature's neck. It spread like lit gasoline across its body. Malcolm feared it might burn the old man, but Ulises didn't appear concerned about the flames. He wrenched the blade from the corpse and stood, straddling it. No smoke came from the fire. In fact it didn't even seem to burn.

Panting, Ulises turned and met Malcolm's horrified stare. Burning blood dripped from Hounacier's blade. Stepping over the hideous corpse, the tattooed priest approached. Blood from the wound at his arm ran down to his hand. He reached out and touched the end of Malcolm's still-extended gun, gently pushing it down and leaving a pair of red fingerprints.

Ulises glanced down at the weapon. "The safety is still on."

Releasing a breath, Malcolm let go of the trigger. His lips shook, struggling to form words. "What...what the fuck!"

Ulises didn't react to the sudden outburst. "Do you believe, Malcolm Romero?"

The loa all circled the flaming monster, cradling it. The young woman from the crowd pushed her way forward. Sobbing, she fell to her knees beside it.

Malcolm sucked a breath, trying to calm himself. His heart still pounded in his ears. "What
is
that?"

"A demon." Ulises glanced back. The loa had laid the crumpled monster on its back. Several were crying. "An asanbosam. Its soul is now burning away." He stared back at Malcolm. "Do you now believe?"

Malcolm nodded.

A smile curled at the side of the old man's lips. "Then I will teach you. I will make you a hunter."

"What?"

"I am old, Malcolm. I feel it. Someone must carry Hounacier. You are her groom and I will teach you."

A thousand questions whirled though Malcolm's head. He stared at the monster that everything he'd ever known told him shouldn't exist. The white-shirted officers unlocked the broken cuff from their prisoner's wrist. He embraced one of them, tears of joy running down his face. The fire along the demon's body had begun to fade and with it, its grotesque features seemed to melt back into the body of the dead bald man.

"Do you accept this offer, Malcolm?" Ulises asked.

The teenage Papa Ghede looked up from the beastly corpse. His one eye met Malcolm's and the boy smiled. In that moment, Malcolm realized the loa was real.

"Do you accept?" the old man repeated.

Malcolm felt himself nod. He lowered his gaze to the machete, seeing a beauty to it he hadn't seen before. There was an intelligence to it. "I do."