by Ethan Proud
Beatrice caught him by the arm when they were outside. “I know a great place,” she purred.
Vahrun winked. “That would be swell.”
A few minutes later, James Kerfield locked the door behind him and rode his nag to the Ruckstead home.
***
Beatrice took Vahrun to the Hanging Moose and purchased him a room above the saloon which was fortuitous as he had no currency on his person. He had left Glautous tied to a hitching post and hoped that the demon wouldn’t reveal his true form in his anger. However, the lesser demon had always proven himself subordinate.
Unknowingly, Beatrice bought the dwimmerlaik a whiskey neat and one for herself.
“I can’t believe I have never seen you before, exquisite specimen as you are,” Beatrice said and batted her eyelashes.
Vahrun tried to hide his repulsion. He took a gulp of his drink. Humans were such finicky creatures. Ruled by hormones and illogical desires. Demons were driven by their devious nature and adrenaline. They had little need for love, just conquering. Whether it be wills or realms.
“I am new to town,” Vahrun admitted. It was the truth and he found speaking with such honesty repugnant.
“What brings you to Northgate?” Beatrice asked, stirring her drink with a finger.
“I was just passing through, but this town has a certain allure to it…” The demon trailed off.
“What kind of work do you do? Any skills or trades? I am sure I can find you employment here,” Beatrice said, leaning closer.
“Actually, I used to work in government, and I hear you have need for a mayor,” Vahrun said raising one eyebrow.
Beatrice’s eyes lit up. “Indeed, we just lost ours.”
She bit her lip and Vahrun knew what he needed to do. Northgate would be his in a matter of time. All he needed was for this woman to set up a meeting with the other town officials and he could cast a number of spells over them. Beatrice was about as subtle as an axe and he figured there was one way to wrap her around his finger.
“Bartender,” Vahrun said, slapping his hand on the counter for attention. “If you could, please find an accommodation for my horse in the stable.”
Vahrun had no doubt that Glautous would not appreciate being tethered all night. The demon looked purposefully at Beatrice. She tossed another coin to the barman.
Chapter Forty-three
Feeling hollow, Artemisia found her way into Northgate. She hardly remembered the journey at all. If it weren’t for Newt, she may have never made it off Mimbry. She didn’t even feel the frigid air as it turned her cheeks the tell-tale red of windburn. Her eyes were as red as her face, though it was a result of tears and not the elements. She had already puked twice. Gertrude would have nothing of her husband to bury and Benjamin would never remember his father. Artemisia leaned from the saddle and heaved the contents of her stomach onto the ground one more time. Newt stopped and twisted his neck to watch the witch wipe the bile from her mouth and nose with the back of her hand. Artemisa dully made a clicking noise with her mouth and Newt continued down the mountain trail.
The gentle swaying gait of Newt lulled Artemisia into a peaceful state as they followed the path the demons had taken a half hour earlier. There was no urgency to her journey, she did not want to face the wife of the dead sheriff.
***
“What do you mean he’s dead?” Gertrude asked a dumbfounded Kerfield.
“A man came in the jail and told Beatrice, Bruna, and myself, just after Bruna accused him of murdering Mayor Kerrick. Then the stranger said he killed Swain Ramek as well,” Kerfield blabbered out.
Gertrude nodded. “He did kill them,” Gertrude said.
Kerfield’s mouth fell open just as the door swung open. Artemisia stood, her cloak mud-spattered and her eyes bloodshot red. She looked like hell.
“Come in,” Gertrude said, ushering the witch inside the house. She pulled out a chair, but Artemisia did not sit down.
“I am so sorry Gertrude,” she began, and the woman felt her blood run cold. Kerfield had been telling the truth. “Ruckstead was killed by a demon summoned to defeat the werewolves.”
“What do you mean, summoned? By who?” Kerfield shouted, but Gertrude held up a hand for silence.
“Put on some tea, James,” she commanded, and the deputy obeyed.
“But the wolves are dead?” Gertrude asked, her voice quaking.
“Yes…” Artemisia answered hollowly.
“And the demon?” Gertrude asked, though she knew the answer. Artemisia shook her head. “Where is it?”
“Somewhere in town,” Artemisia said slowly.
Kerfield, who had listened from the corner while waiting on the kettle to whistle piped up. “How do you plan on killing it?”
For this Artemisia had no answer.
“How do you usually kill a demon?” Gertrude pressed.
“By binding another demon,” Artemisia said, albeit reluctantly.
“There has to be another way…” a flabbergasted Kerfield said.
Artemisia nodded. “There are other ways, but Vahrun is clever. I will need to do research.”
“You didn’t research this before!” James exclaimed as he set down a cup of tea in front of each of the women.
“Enough, James,” Gertrude said as a tear rolled down her cheek. Her body shook subtly but it was only a matter of time before she fell into unabashed sobs.
“I should be going,” Artemisia said awkwardly. She rose and darted out the door, leaving her tea untouched.
Gertrude slumped in her chair, a heavy pain beginning to spread in her chest. It was as if her heart had been replaced with a stone. She felt her throat harden as she fought back the tears. Anxiously she drummed her fingers on the table, her nails clacking a staccato of grief.
“His legacy is going to be the murders of Kerrick and Swain,” she said forlornly. Her shoulders shook as tears ran freely down her face. She gasped out a sob and Kerfield placed a hand on her back, unsure of what to say.
Chapter Forty-four
Pillars of marble, streaked with ruby and topaz veins, held up a ceiling so high that its peak could not be seen with the naked eye. The air smelled crisp like apples and had a heady scent De’lune could not pinpoint. She laughed a flittering sound when she realized that she was in the court of her goddess. She heard a rustling behind her and turned to see the most striking woman she had ever beheld. Her garb was incredibly dark, to the point it shimmered as the light hit it and refracted a multitude of colors. Her skin was a tawny brown and her lips and eyes dark purple. Whenever she moved spores rained from her robe. Her cheeks were covered in slime molds that reached down her neck and disappeared beneath her collarbones. Her very presence reeked of power. Her fingernails were long and as stark and white as bleached bones. Her dark hair nearly reached the ground behind her despite being braided, and bright, orange chanterelles were woven into each knot. Entire vermin skeletons hung from her ear lobes, and De’lune was certain the tiny cadavers turned and danced of their own accord. Behind her two decaying stoats trotted along.
De’lune knew this was not the Goddess Mond, but still bowed out of respect. As the woman approached, De’lune picked up the scent of rich soil. The trail behind the woman bloomed with fungal growths despite the floor being solid marble.
“A pleasure to finally meet one of Mond’s children,” the goddess said in a high singsong voice that held a malevolent edge.
“And I am more than honored to be in the presence of a goddess, though I am loath to admit that I do not recognize you,” De’lune confessed. From what she knew of the gods and goddesses, saying such a thing could be cause for her to be devoured or taken as a servant for eons and eons to come. But in the Temple of Mond, she felt bold enough for honesty.
“I am Detrita, Goddess of Death and Decay, and ultimately, the Giver of Life,” the goddess said grandly, as the stoats behind her cackled.
“I do not understand how the Goddess of Death brings life, and I me
an no disrespect,” De’lune added, fearing she might have said too much.
Detrita only laughed. “Everything comes in cycles, my dear. Your souls move to a higher plane, but your bodies remain on the first plane in order to feed the coming generations,” Detrita explained generously, though it raised more questions than it answered.
De’lune opened her mouth to ask more of the Goddess of Decay, but the deity held up a hand to stop her.
“Do you hear that?” She cocked her head and De’lune mimicked the gesture.
Sure enough, she heard a melodic tune from a lyre though no instruments were in sight. “Mond returns, she will be most pleased that you heeded her call.”
De’lune felt her knees grow weak and her stomach began a flurry of butterflies. She felt as giddy as a child. After everything she had lost, she was finally worthy to meet her goddess. The air shimmered into a conglomerate that shone brighter in intensity with each passing second. Almost imperceptibly, the iridescent air morphed into a beautiful woman with lustrous white hair, icicle eyes, and alabaster skin. Even her lips were nearly lacking in pigment, they had the same blue sheen as the veins under her forearms. A single sapphire was set between her eyebrows, adding color to her otherwise pure silhouette. Mond wore a simple, nigh translucent gown that was still opaque despite its lightness, embossed with diamonds at its collar. She wore no shoes but had a number of bangles around her ankles and wrists. Unlike Detrita, Mond wore her hair loose and it flowed wildly over her shoulders and added inches to her height.
Her eyes lit up when they settled on De’lune, who fell prostrate on the ground. The Goddess Mond chuckled, a deep gravelly laugh that wasn’t entirely unfeminine. It was a sound that belonged to a sow bear.
“Stand up,” Mond started. “All mothers are pleased to see one of their daughters.”
The goddess reached down and pulled De’lune to her feet and wrapped her in a warm embrace. Tears ran down the human girl’s face.
“I am not worthy of being called one of your daughters,” De’lune sniffled.
“That is hardly true,” Mond chided her.
“What have I done to be called a Daughter of Mond?” De’lune asked and wiped the moisture from her cheeks. She felt a wave of many different emotions at once and was overwhelmed.
“Believe,” Mond said and chuckled once more.
“Then I have one question, and I mean no disrespect,” De’lune said cautiously.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Mond assured her.
“Why did you not bless me as you did my father and brother?” De’lune asked in all sincerity.
Mond doubled over in a fit of laughter. De’lune shifted from one foot to the other in discomfort. Mond finally straightened, wiped a hair from her face and realized that De’lune had not been joking.
“My dear, those mongrels were your slaves. Werewolves do my bidding and carry out the will of my daughters. I would never burden one of my children with such a hideous existence. The wolves were your reward for your loyalty and servitude. Had the witch not interfered, it wouldn’t have been long before you discovered that you could control them during a full moon. You controlled the vulkodlak, your brother, with ease. I blessed you by cursing them,” Mond explained.
“They were my family,” De’lune protested.
“Did they ever believe in you? No. Your father doted on your brother and largely ignored you. You waited on them like a servant girl. They needed to feel your power,” Mond said sternly and De’lune knew that she was walking on thin ice.
“I am always appreciative of the goddess’ blessings. I wish I had only had the sight to see it for what it was,” De’lune said, expertly sidestepping Mond’s wrath.
The goddess’ expression lightened, and she smiled broadly. De’lune felt the crushing weight lift from her chest, replaced with relief. She needed to remember that she was dealing with goddesses and they were not to be trifled with. After living with werewolves, she had thought she had seen it all. Now she was learning just how wrong she was. Her brother and father were no doubt dangerous creatures, but now she was in the presence of two deities and either Mond or Detrita could have done away with the lycanthropes with a simple wave of their hand.
“You have much to learn, but when we send you back to the first plane… you will understand your power much better,” Mond said.
“What will I do with my abilities?” De’lune asked.
“Why, take vengeance of course,” Mond scoffed.
“On Sheriff Ruckstead?” De’lune inquired.
“Oh no, the demon Vahrun devoured him,” Mond said and smiled toothily.
“The Godkiller,” Detrita hissed.
“He doesn’t deserve that name, the only god he managed to keep dead was Ignio. You retrieved Messis from his maw and the others he’s taken have escaped the demi-world of his stomach,” Mond said before turning back to De’lune. “You will take vengeance on the heretic, Artemisia. The architect of your family’s demise.”
Chapter Forty-five
The morning sun rose and Vahrun extricated himself from the tangle of sheets and down pillows. Looking down at his naked human body he felt disgusted. He quickly pulled on his breeches. He glanced at the still sleeping form of Beatrice and felt hot anger well within him. He couldn’t believe the things he allowed her to do. If the fourth plane ever found out that he had lain with a human without exacting a price, he would be the laughing stock of demonkind. He reminded himself, Northgate was the prize. He would have control over the entire town. The human, Beatrice, would deliver it to him. He pulled on his undershirt and began searching for his stockings and jacket when Beatrice woke up.
“Where are you going so early?” she asked groggily.
“Uh, breakfast,” Vahrun said and ran a hand through his hair. He attempted to veil his disgust at the disheveled creature before him.
“That sounds quite nice. The saloon downstairs serves bacon and eggs,” Beatrice said and sat up, the sheets falling around her.
“Yes, bacon and eggs,” Vahrun said and smiled. The thought of cooked food disgusted him. He needed to devour flesh and souls, not butchered animals and cracked eggs. The sheriff and vulkodlak had been filling morsels in their own rights, but Vahrun spent his time in the fourth realm hunting and feasting all day and night.
“If you give me a moment to freshen up, I can meet you downstairs,” Beatrice suggested.
Vahrun nodded, anything to be free of this awful woman, if just for a moment.
“Of course.” He dipped out of the doorframe.
The Hanging Moose only served bacon and eggs in the morning. The bacon was so blackened and crisp it broke apart like ash in his mouth and the eggs were saturated with pepper and smelled so sulfurous, even Vahrun gagged at the first bite. Beatrice came down and wolfed down her plate as if she had not seen food in three days.
“Gannet Helman makes the best bacon in all of Northgate,” the woman assured Vahrun. He found that hard to believe. Uncooked bacon would have been better than the abomination he had been forced to gulp down.
Vahrun turned to the barkeep. “A glass of whiskey.”
Beatrice raised an eyebrow.
“Starting early?”
Vahrun ignored her, not all human interactions deserved a demonic reaction. She should feel graced and thankful that he was spending any time with her. He had been on this plane for too long. He needed to get home, but he needed revenge first.
His glass of whiskey was set in front of him and, he took a long draught and immediately spat it out.
“Glautous!” he exclaimed, realizing that if left unchecked his demon familiar would begin terrorizing the town of his own accord.
“What did you say?” Beatrice asked.
The bartender glared at Vahrun as he wiped up the mess.
“My horse,” Vahrun said and saw the queer look in Beatrice’s eye. “He gets antsy when he’s alone. He, um, cribs. Terrible habit, really.”
“Oh, in that case you sh
ould go get him. We can go to the town offices and you can meet some of the other officials. I am sure they will love you and be keen to have you as our mayor. At least in the interim,” Beatrice supplied.
Vahrun suppressed the urge to snort. Love was a human emotion only and as such their emotional folly was their own.
“Yes, I would most like to meet them,” Vahrun said as he finished his drink. He dismounted the barstool and began his search for Glautous.
***
Vahrun found Glautous in the stables, munching on hay with a murderous look in his eye. Beatrice had left for work and had given Vahrun instructions to the town offices.
When the lesser demon saw Vahrun approach he pawed at the ground angrily and his eyes rolled until the whites showed. He spat out the hay he was chewing on.
“How long were you going to leave me here?” he demanded.
“Just long enough,” Vahrun said absentmindedly as he opened the stable door.
Glautous took a deep breath and nickered as he pulled his lips back. “You stink, just like one of them. I trust you are enjoying your time here?”
“Not in the least bit,” Vahrun said as he swung his leg over Glautous’ back.
“I thought we were going to destroy this town, not go native,” Glautous said derisively.
With inhuman strength, Vahrun squeezed the creature’s neck. The demon-horse whinnied in alarm.
“There is more to destruction than reign and fire,” Vahrun said.
Glautous remained silent, if his master ever discovered that he had torn his sister to shreds at the witch’s bidding… his fate would be far worse than anything Vahrun had in mind for Northgate.
***
Vahrun found the town offices easily enough, but when he entered the scene was much different than Beatrice had anticipated. Jackson Stromville was vehemently protesting her hasty decision.
“He’s not even a local, nor has he been vetted,” the attorney argued. “This is an elected position. William will lawfully step up to be the interim mayor until an election can be held.”