The Daemon Device

by Jeri Westerson

  Leopold leaned over, shoulder to shoulder, and looked where Mingli directed. These photographs were different. They were more like the murders he had seen. The women here had no mutilated faces or limbs. Simply the rectangular openings in the torso, the hollowness where the ribs were cut or broken open.

  And there were those few skinned corpses, but only of their heads and hands.

  “But this is…this is…” He raised his head and scanned the room again. All of these files were then the true files of what happened in London, and all of England. If that were the case, what chance had the metropolitan police at solving any of their crimes?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But there is more here than merely criminal files and records. Far more. But we don’t have time to go into that now. Look here.”

  “But the photographs of the Ripper cases are far different from these. Those showed women hacked up, quite inexpertly.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Those photographs were placed there by Abberline on purpose. They would be far more believable than the precise cuts of the actual cases. Much must be kept from the public. A far worse panic would have ensued.”

  “Are you saying there is a vast conspiracy to—”

  “Leopold, don’t be so naïve. Of course the government covered it up. And a great deal more than that, I daresay.”

  He glanced again at the many shelves. “But—”

  “Leo! Concentrate!” She pointed impatiently to the page in the files.

  He read. Yes, it was the Ripper, but not the same Ripper that the papers sensationally reported. Abberline postulated that these crimes must have supernatural origins but had little proof and no way of stopping them. They had simply stopped occurring December of 1888, nearly three years ago.

  Thacker shook his head angrily. “We should have been told! We could have done more.”

  “I doubt that, Inspector Thacker,” said Mingli. “How could you have—ill equipped as you were—tackled demons who came into our world. Look at yourself, sir.”

  Thacker looked down, slightly spreading his Ulster to gaze at his horrendous wounds. “We still could have been told. Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “Maybe so,” she said reluctantly. And then, “Oh ho! This should be of special interest.” She lifted a newspaper clipping about the Ripper. But that was not what interested her. She waited, biting her lip prettily until Leopold noticed the advertisement. “Luftschiffbau Waldhar,” it read, “otherwise known as the Waldhar Airship Company, presents a Dirigible Fair.” That was in August of 1888 through December of that same year. They hadn’t returned since. Until this year…when the murders started up again.

  “Damn me,” said Leopold.

  “Exactly.”

  They shuffled through the papers together, each reading bits and pieces as Thacker moved from one to the other, unable to touch the papers himself. But they all came to the same conclusion.

  “So Waldhar is behind it,” said Leopold unnecessarily. “And the organs. We saw the cube with the heart. It opened the gate.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “But why had his operations been suspended for three years?”

  “Perhaps he had not perfected his Daemon Device.”

  He couldn’t stand it, the thought of it. “Please tell me, Miss Zhao. Did you work for Waldhar at any time?”

  She stiffened. “No, I did not. I would not. I will never be under the thumb of any man ever again.”

  Her vehemence convinced him this time. Or he wanted to be convinced. “I…good.”

  He felt her approach. “Do you trust me now, Leo? That I am not trying to kill you? There have been so many instances where I could have. Here, for instance. For we are quite alone…except for your friend who is hiding behind the shelves.”

  “Eh?” called Thacker. He stuck his head through the files several shelves away. “Did, er, someone call?”

  Leopold ran his hand over his brow. “I must return to my work. You see now how important it is that I finish it.”

  Her shadow drew back from him. “Yes,” she said. “You must.”

  “I shall return to my lodgings for the plans and the Lock. And then go on to my warehouse to see if all is clear.”

  “That’s dangerous.”

  “No, I’m certain Ogiel has left by now.”

  “But you sealed the entrance.”

  He chuckled. “Surely you don’t think he arrived by the front door.”

  She smiled warily. “No, you’re right. Will you ward it properly this time?”

  “I better had. I must do my work there…if there is anything still intact there to work with. I hope my…” He didn’t want to mention Raj, but he was in it now. “My automaton…he is also my friend and I must repair him if I can.”

  When he looked over his shoulder that delightful mouth was curved into an “O” of surprise. It seemed he could still amaze her. The notion unaccountably pleased him.

  Thacker cleared his throat. He had floated just behind her again, straightening his transparent Ulster and bowler.

  “I will continue my studies here, then,” said Mingli. “Perhaps it will offer a clue.”

  “Good. To work then.”

  He turned and headed for the staircase when she said, “Oh! But I promised you supper.”

  “Another time, Miss Zhao.” He doffed his hat and bowed, even as his cheeks warmed.

  Thacker looked from one to the other. “Inspector,” said Mingli. “Perhaps you can assist me here. You can fly through the shelves and look in the files, no? I think you can be most helpful.”

  Thacker gave Leopold an apologetic and sheepish expression and glided toward the shelves Mingli indicated.

  * * *

  HE STOPPED OFF at the Regent Street flat to pick up the Lock, the plans, a tin of salt, and a bottle of scotch, hurrying to the lockup. The bricks were still melted over the doorway.

  He felt the tingle of plenty of residual magic and so after looking one way up the street and then the other and finding no one, he laid his hands upon the brick, and softly incanted, “Paqach!”

  His hands glowed and the bricks warmed beneath his fingers. He pressed his hands harder until the heat became unbearable and he had to step back, still keeping his hands and arms outstretched. The bricks re-melted, but instead of flowing downward as Sir Isaac proclaimed they must, they flowed upward toward their original places, reformed into white hot bricks, and quickly cooled, till there was nothing left of the glow except for the smell of warm clay. The door—untouched by the heat—was as he had left it.

  He was fairly certain that Ogiel had departed, but he nevertheless approached cautiously and unlocked the still warm padlock. He withdrew his wand from the inner pocket of his coat, cast the door open, and jumped back.

  When nothing leapt out at him and he could not smell the odor of sulfur or cesspools, he gingerly peered inside, expecting the worst.

  The walls were blackened, the crates smashed to kindling, and some of his magic paraphernalia was destroyed beyond repair, but Raj still lurked in the corner, and there remained, remarkably, a worktable still intact along with several other objects that had escaped Ogiel’s wrath.

  The first thing he set about doing was warding the place. He poured a trail of salt about the mew’s perimeter, mumbling the protective incantation the whole time. And then he stood in its center, shooting sparks in the cardinal directions with his wand, demanding protection from the spirits of the ether. He knew it was complete and secure when the walls glowed once in a myriad of sigils and then fell away to normal again.

  Tucking away his wand, he looked at Raj in the corner. He approached him and examined the automaton again. “Old friend, I wish I knew what was wrong.” He opened the boiled shirt and peered in between the brass ribcage again. There was that glass cylinder full of its gas, not too dissimilar to what he was attempting with the Lock. If he had a better understanding of the language of the incantations, he might be able to get Raj func
tioning again.

  And if that were the only thing on his mind, he might be able to concentrate on a solution. But the fortune teller’s words also played havoc with him. Semantics. His father was not in the Land of the Living, but perhaps it didn’t necessarily mean that he was dead. Yet he saw the beasts fall upon him. He felt Papa’s life force leave him.

  With a sigh he realized there was no getting around it. He had to talk to Eurynomos. He had to know if the daemon had been lying to him all these years.

  He stood and took off his coat, laying it carefully over one of the remaining chairs. He rolled up his left sleeve and held out his arm. His switchblade was stolen by the imp, but he still had a penknife and he drew it from his pocket and opened it. He hoped it was sharp.

  It was. The slash made him blink with the bright pain and it only took the splash of two drops of blood hitting the stone floor for Eurynomos to rise before him, as if he were only waiting behind a door like some attentive butler. The image amused for but only a moment. Eurynomos wore a worried expression after he healed Leopold.

  “Leopold, old man. It’s good to see you.” And then he looked around the charred room. “Good grief, what happened here?”

  “Ogiel and his little imp minion.”

  “Daniel, Ezekiel, and Job!” he swore. “The bastard. When I get my hands on him…”

  “Never mind that, Eurynomos. I have taken care of him, at least for a time.”

  Eurynomos sighed and ran his clawed hand over his square chin. “Look, old man. I’m sorry for what I said before. I didn’t mean that you would attempt to take over the world—”

  “I’m sorry, too, for overplaying, but…”

  “Then if that’s out of the way,” he said, smiling his sharpened teeth and rubbing his hands together, “I found out a thing or two about—”

  “Wait, Eurynomos. I must talk with you about another matter.”

  He seemed taken aback. “Oh? Go on, then.”

  Leopold glanced at the table with the completed Lock. He noted the moment the daemon spotted it. “You’re still going through with it, then?” he said in a low growl.

  “What choice do I have?” He swiped the air with his hand and a canvas flew from across the room and covered it neatly. “Never mind about that now. That’s not why I summoned you.”

  Eurynomos trailed a talon along the table. He had shrunk down to the size of a tall man. “Then why?”

  It was harder than he thought. Eurynomos had been his only friend once he left the Romani. A powerful friend, protecting him, teaching him the ancient ways, nurturing him. Had it all been a lie? Was all his childhood a lie?

  He simply came out with it. “Is my father truly dead?”

  Eurynomos stopped. The arm that he moved along the table fell back to his side. But he did not look at Leopold. “He is no longer in the Land of the Living.”

  “Don’t…lie to me. Your obfuscations mean nothing. He is ‘no longer in the Land of the Living’ is not the same as ‘he is dead’. And you know it!”

  Eurynomos raised his head. “He is dead then. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “No! Yes…I mean…”

  “Leopold.” The daemon crossed his brawny arms over his chest. “You saw it. You were there. You felt his life force…” He sighed. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to keep obsessing on the matter.”

  “Eurynomos, I have reason to believe my father isn’t dead.”

  “What reason? Who told you such a thing?”

  “One of my Romani. The one who was killed. The fortune teller. She told me…she said…”

  “And you believe her…over me?”

  “But…the things she said…”

  The daemon lowered his head. “What is it you think you know, Leo?” he said quietly.

  “That Papa didn’t die. That he’s trapped there.”

  “I tell you it isn’t true!”

  “Then look at me now, Eurynomos. Look me in the eye and tell me true, that my father is dead and beyond my help.”

  Leopold waited. He was certain the beast would face him, would raise his chin and speak the words he so needed to hear. He waited longer than he had waited for anything else in his life. Yet Eurynomos’ eyes darted everywhere but at him. A sensation of falling gripped his gut, twisting and tilting it in sickening directions.

  He shook his head, refusing to believe it. “My God! You have been lying to me.”

  The daemon twitched his shoulder ever so slightly and Leopold was now certain.

  “Why? Why all these years? Eurynomos, I trusted you above all others. Why would you lie to me about something…something so…important to me?”

  Slowly the daemon raised his head. “Because I had to, Leopold. I…am not at liberty to explain it all.”

  “Then who is?”

  “No one you are at liberty to talk to. But Leopold. You must listen to me.” The daemon stepped toward him, reached for him, but Leopold turned away. Eurynomos hesitated. “Leopold, old man, just because your father isn’t dead, doesn’t mean he is alive in the sense you understand it.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “It means there are other forces at play. It means that he is…inaccessible.”

  “To you?”

  “Yes. And to you.”

  “I cannot accept that.”

  “You must. The forces that allowed you to live, albeit with that mark you now bear, make all the rules. They can snuff you out this instant if it pleases them, or they can make you live forever. A very uncomfortable forever.”

  “No,” said Leopold, looking down at his arm and at the flesh that had taken hundreds of cuts but showed none of them. “There are rules. And we all abide by them. Even the Old Ones. But rules are meant to be broken. I may soon tire of all these petty games in order to play my own.”

  “You won’t win.”

  “Won’t I?” He turned to the beast then. Eurynomos was the very image of contrition but could it be believed? “The simple fact is… I don’t trust you anymore. That’s the hellish part of all of this. You, who were the most trusted of all. How could I still trust you after all the lies? Ha! A sacrifice. You told me yourself when I wept my eyes out for my father that a sacrifice had always to be paid. You made me believe that my father was gone forever. For my sake! But you lied. And why not? After all, you’re a beast, a thing. A monster! Why would I ever trust you again?”

  Eurynomos blinked furiously. “Leo, I know you are hurt…”

  “Don’t talk to me! You’re a liar. Mingli was right.”

  “Leopold, there’s something you should know about Mingli—”

  “Just get out! And don’t come back.”

  The daemon gasped. “You don’t mean that, Leopold.”

  “I do. I never want to see you again. All my troubles began with daemons and I’ll likely die by the hand of one. Maybe soon. I don’t need to see you anymore.”

  “But your magic—”

  “I can summon any number of low daemons. It was you who taught me that.”

  “Yes,” he said sorrowfully. “So I did.”

  “Just go.”

  “Leopold…”

  “Go, damn you!”

  Looking smaller still, Eurynomos frowned and lowered his head. If his expression could be believed, it was one of deep stabbing pain. “As you wish…old friend.”

  Leopold didn’t look. He heard the whoosh of air as if a door had closed and then… silence.

  He pounded a fist on the table. If his father could be found…but dammit. He’d likely need the help of Eurynomos to do it, but the creature couldn’t be entirely trusted could he. Or…could he? He did save Leopold, this he knew. He was there. He remembered. What were his motivations, then? Simply to feed on Leopold’s blood? A side benefit, perhaps, but not enough to sate a daemon for his help. Though what he knew of the creatures, he had learned from Eurynomos, so the beast could have told him anything.

  If Leopold was at all successful in his work, the work o
f a magician, that is, he had to have a certain sense of people. It began when he lived the life of a Romani. You chose your marks. You wouldn’t pick the pocket of a man who was wary of that very thing. You chose someone else, someone distracted or someone who could be distracted by your artifice. Leopold learned to “read” people. And he had “read” Eurynomos, because he had to know, had to rely on him. That terrible year when he and his father were both trapped…

  His telephone chimed.

  He startled, feeling slightly lost and confounded when he approached his telephone instrument. He picked up the hand set and put it to his ear. “Hullo, hullo?”

  “A call, sir,” said the operator. “From Scotland Yard.”

  “Put it through, please.”

  The next voice said, “Leopold? It’s Mingli.”

  “Miss Zhao…”

  “I’ve found something. Return to Scotland Yard at your earliest convenience.”

  “But—”

  The line clicked off.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  LEOPOLD RUSHED THROUGH the corridor and came to Thacker’s—Mingli’s office—and knocked smartly on the closed door.

  “Enter,” he heard her call.

  He pushed open the door and found her leaning over her desk, examining a photograph with a large magnifying glass. Thacker stood behind her with his hands behind his back, though, strangely, Leopold could vaguely see them through the man’s transparent body.

  “Oh, Mr. Kazsmer! You’ve come promptly. Come see. And close the door after you.”

  He did as instructed and came around her desk, nodding toward Thacker. He recognized the papers and photographs from the Ripper’s “secret” file. Taking off his hat, he set it aside. “What have you found that I needed to come so urgently?”

  She pressed the magnifying glass on him. “Your friend the sharp-eyed inspector here found it.” Thacker rocked on his heels with satisfaction. “Take a look. A close look.”

  He held the solid glass, leaned in, and suddenly felt the warmth of her cheek next to his. He swallowed hard, concentrated on his task, and refused to inhale the lilac scent.