She nods, “So, he is like one of the ‘force sensitives’ from Star Wars?”
Skot slightly raises his eyebrows, looking at her.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, humorlessly, “Please continue.”
“That may not be an entirely improper similarity,” he gives her, “Ernst is able to see, hear, sense things that most people cannot. The Infernal requires a certain amount of … power to be able to fully manifest and interact with our world. Those who are sensitive enough are able to detect the lesser presences and influences, but they cannot manipulate it.’
“The Malkuths were using him as a sensor, as an advance warning system, so to speak.”
She blinks, forehead furrowing.
“They somehow found him, and they made sure we did not, and they use these people, moving them to areas they suspect may be spots of demonic activity. Then they observe the person, secretly, and if they find a pocket of the Infernal, then they swoop in to take it out.”
“The person doesn’t know they are being used this way?”
“No.”
She takes a moment to think on this, then, “Why did Denman threaten Ernst at the end?”
He takes another moment to collect his thoughts before answering, “This sort of exposure can be detrimental to one’s mental and physical health. Too much of it tends to render someone into a state that may be seen as no longer useful, so Denman intended to kill him.”
Her brow wrinkles again, her lips turning down, anger mixed with some shock. When she looks back, she sees his eyes on her.
“And you don’t do this?”
“No,” he says, “and if we find people being used this way, like Ernst, we do what we can to get them away from the Malkuths and help them, even if it just means keeping them protected and in psychiatric care.”
She nods slowly, ponderously, then comments, almost as an aside, “That’s just terrible,” then she looks again at him, “Not you helping, but what they do. How they use people, or just kill them. It’s so callous.”
“I agree.”
“Well, he didn’t seem like he wanted to fight you to keep you from taking Ernst,” she points out.
“No,” he affirms, “Denman is very good in combat, well, more conventional-seeming combat, as you saw how well he used his dagger,” and she nods, “But he is not as adept at … other forms of combat as I am, and I had you there,” he ends, smiling at her.
She returns the smile briefly, then, “What ‘other’ forms of combat?”
He holds her eyes for a moment, figuring this question was coming, then he speaks, very serious, “Magick.”
She just nods, as though this were not as huge a revelation as he figured it might be. He just looks at her, and she eventually tilts her head as she notices the study.
“What?”
“I don’t think you appreciate how well you did down there,” he comments.
“What do you mean?”
He reaches over for his glass, taking a few generous swallows before setting it back and looking at her.
“This city is rife with demonic influence, or it was. It’s dissipating now, but there was quite a lot, especially closer to the site of the gateway. Did you feel it? Like a confusion or disorientation?”
She ponders, then nods, “I did. That was from the gateway?”
“Well, it was from their world, but it was passing through the gateway, yes.’
“And not just that,” he says, giving her another close look, “But the Demons, they are not always able to manifest themselves in a such a physical way, but the energies, even themselves, they can influence people to varying degrees, depending on the potency and the person. You saw those people that were filled with a murderous rage, some of those even being possessed.”
She nods.
“Once imbued with that, they can be somewhat resistant to normal methods of combat. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt the host, but the animating power will sometimes keep going until the body is rendered unable to continue.”
She nods, remembering that quite well.
“And if they are able to come forth in a more tangible form, as you saw, they can be highly resistant, if not outright immune, to more conventional methods of combat.”
“Like my bullets.”
“Yes,” he replies, though she had not been asking a question.
“Not like yours.”
“Well, no, mine have been customized to be more effective.”
She nods, taking this in with the same sort of casualness as much of the conversation in general.
“But you were able to quite thoroughly dispatch them with your sword,” he says.
She nods.
“And that should not have been so easy,” he concludes his prior statement.
“Easy?” she asks, some confusion showing, ready to object to just how simple it may have been.
“Yes, easy,” he continues, “Denman and I were using charged weapons and our own … uhm, supernatural abilities,” he adds, giving her a look, almost as something of an apology for his choice of words.
She just nods, “Yes, I noticed that. The colors.”
“Yes,” he also nods, but then he pauses, eyes fixed on her, “You … were not.”
“I …,” she starts, then stops, looking away, one hand gone up, fingertips almost touching her bottom lip as she thinks, then she looks back, “Should I not have been able to hurt them?”
“It’s not really an exact science, but I would have thought that you would not have been able to have such a powerful effect on them without more effort.”
“Oh,” she says, blinking briefly, “Hmmmm,” looking away again, drifting in her thoughts until she looks back, “Well, what does that mean?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but you seem to harbor great potential within you.”
She smiles a touch at that.
“Though I suppose with your other … pursuits, I should not be surprised, hmmm?” he raises his eyebrows.
“Oh, uhm …,” she starts, looking a tad sheepish, one of her trademark blushes threatening her, “Yes … that.”
“Yes,” he nods, a subtle curl to his lips, “That.”
“I guess I owe you an explanation now, huh?”
“Lilja?” he says, and she looks fully at him, and he scoots closer, taking her hands in his own, which she does not prevent, merely tucking her coffee mug closer so it will not spill, before allowing her hands into his. “I did not tell you what I did to indebt you to me. It is my trust in you, and my desire is that you’d keep it secret. I have faith in you, and I am prepared to commit even further to you. I am curious about your own hidden life, so to speak, but I want you to tell me only if you want to tell me, okay?”
She nods, letting a warmer smile touch her lips.
“I trust you,” she says to him, then gathers her thoughts, looking more serious, “Well, uhm,” she tries again, then pulls in a deep breath, looking him in the eyes, “Sometimes, I disguise myself and go out and beat up criminals.”
They look at each other for a moment, the air somewhat weighty yet still silent.
“It sounds kind of silly when I say it out loud like that,” she murmurs.
“Yes, well, I am a demon hunter who wields magick,” he says, giving her a playful smirk, but then he looks serious again, “And there is nothing silly about what you do. It is highly risky, yes, but not silly in the least.”
“You don’t …,” she speaks after more of a lengthening silence between them, “You aren’t upset with me for it? I don’t want it to bother you.”
He looks at her, then he takes in a breath, letting forth a mostly quiet exhale, “It’s very risky, as I said, so that part worries me, but I am not upset. It would also be very hypocritical of me. The things you face are not quite as dangerous as those I do.”
Just then, the cat springs up onto the couch, causing them to separate. Lilja quickly snatches up her coffee mug, holding it up and away.
“Dali,”
she scolds, but the large feline meows, standing up straight, looking at both quite proudly, demanding attention.
Skot chuckles, reaching over to pet him.
“Hmph,” she comments, “You don’t have a Dali living with you,” she smirks.
He scritches behind the ears, smiling warmly, “I bet Dali would love the Felcraft manor,” he says, then he slips his eyes to her, just looking.
It takes her a moment, but she finally blinks, eyes snapping to his.
“Are you … asking me to ..?”
“Would you think about it, at least?” he pitches, voice calm, the inviting smile still on his lips.
A moment coalesces between them, quiet save for the gentle, contented purring of the cat. They just look into each other’s eyes. He sees some growing tension there on her, some hints, even, of fright. And then, like a knot releasing, she resolves to her general appearance of openness, a light curl to her lovely lips.
“Okay. I’ll think about it.”
Author Bio
Born in Houston, Texas into the temporary care of a bevy of nuns before being delivered to his adopted parents, Scott discovered creative writing at a very young age when asked to write a newspaper from another planet. This exercise awakened a seeming endless drive, and now, many short stories, poems, plays, and novels (both finished and unfinished) later, his first book, Dance of the Butterfly, is being published.
The seeds for this tale began with dreams, as many often do, before being fine-tuned with a whimsical notion and the very serious input of a dear friend. Before long, the story took on life of its own and has now become the first book in a planned series.
Having lived his whole life in the same state, Scott attended the University of Texas at Austin, achieving a degree in philosophy before returning to the Houston area to be closer to family and friends. During this time, he wrote more and even branched out into directing and performance art, though creative writing remains his love.
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