by Ethan Proud
Chapter Fifty-one
Mission set a kettle of water to boil on the stove. He had enough water for a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. Next to the kettle an egg, a woman down the hall had given him, sizzled. Mission survived on traded favors and the wares his cousin had given him. Most residents in Northgate would have believed him a pauper, but the amount of coins he had ferreted in a hole in the wall behind his bed was astounding. He was saving up to buy a horse and even supplies to leave Northgate and head south. It was still dark outside, but Mission often rose before the sun and went to bed long after it had set. In fact, he rarely slept, the civilized population never understood that the urchins, prostitutes, and unsavories made the most of their time when the town slumbered.
In a few more hours the sun would rise, and Mission would leave his apartment with sunken and bloodshot eyes. Carefully he scraped the egg with a fork to flip it over. A furious knocking broke his concentration and he cursed as the yolk ran across the skillet. He crossed the tiny floorplan of his dwelling and swung the door open, ready to give his visitor a piece of his mind. His jaw dropped when he saw a dirty and shivering De’lune.
***
The morning light filtered in through the drapes drawn across the window of Kerrick’s townhouse. Its new residents Vahrun and Beatrice lay strewn across the bed underneath the many layers of blankets and furs piled atop them. What the servants thought of these two, neither knew. They supposed that the help did what they were hired to do and serving was just that. With both Kerricks in the ground, nobody would be paying them unless the house was occupied. There was nobody to settle the affairs either and it would be a while before the Town Attorney turned his eye that direction. Looters from Raven’s Barrow could clear the house of all valuables during that time.
Indeed, the help was already pocketing small pieces of jewelry. Bruna had a splendid set of pearl earrings and a matching necklace. As soon as she had hocked it, she would begin looking for an apartment of her own. She could barely pursue a husband while she was making a home for a different family, though she had little qualms that the new mayor and Beatrice would become any more than what they were.
Rising from the bed, Vahrun pushed the furs to the ground and stretched. He found his breeches and socks and pulled them on before he found his tunic and tucked it in. Beatrice groggily reached for the blankets and shivered a little when she found there were none within reach.
“What are you doing up so early?” Beatrice asked.
Vahrun snorted. In the fourth plane he never slept, nor did he pretend to. With Beatrice hanging on his every move, he had to lie in bed for hours on end and lie still to fool her. If he stirred too much she would ask, what are you thinking about?
Vahrun decided to grace her with an answer. “I have town business to attend to.”
“Kerrick never rose this early and certainly never attended to business,” Beatrice said.
“And perhaps that is why Northgate is in the sorry state of affairs it is,” Vahrun said and smiled to himself. He knew it would strike a cord as Beatrice did all the mayor’s work.
Beatrice said bolt upright at this. “Was that supposed to be hurtful?”
Vahrun considered pushing it a little further, but decided he had no time for petty arguments. He waved his hand and exerted his spell a little further and the human was once again coerced completely.
“Do you need any help with your work today?” Beatrice asked.
“No, go back to bed.” Vahrun frowned.
Beatrice most certainly could not attend the matters at hand with him. Her being present in the witch’s cottage would be a chance for Artemisia to break the spell. And Vahrun needed his servants. In fact, once he kidnapped Volker, he would be returning to the fourth plane so his sister could keep an eye on their errant brother.
Then he would return to find the youngest Corax and ensure that Artemisia paid for her meddling.
Chapter Fifty-two
Gertrude dismounted and knocked on the door of the jail twice. She heard Kerfield shuffle from within and the portico opened quickly.
“Good morning, you know that you don’t have to knock,” James said pleasantly. His eyes and skin were drawn, however. “Nobody has to knock, this is a public space.”
“Politeness deems it appropriate,” Gertrude said amiably. Her brain was reeling from the dastardly nature of her plan. “I am not here for a nice visit. I need your help.”
“With?” Deputy, now interim Sheriff, James asked.
“Artemisia. I think she knows more about my husband’s death than she has let on,” Gertrude said firmly.
“With all due respect, I would rather not,” Kerfield said and blushed. “The witch gave Ruckstead enough problems and I would rather not start my career off on a bad foot with her.”
“Thank you for your candor, I will be off then,” Gertrude said and made for the door.
Kerfield blew out a long sigh and held up his hand. “Give me a minute to saddle my horse.”
Once on the road, Kerfield turned to Gertrude and asked, “So how have you been getting on?”
It was a classic Kerfield question, full of awkwardness. Gertrude regarded him out of the corner of her eye for a moment as their horses’ hooves clopped on the cobblestone street.
“Not good, James, not good.”
***
The rest of the ride was endured in silence. Kerfield thought it had been because of his blunt question, but it was due to Gertrude’s troubled conscience. She knocked on the witch’s door but heard no answer. The seconds ticked by and when she had just about lost her nerve and given up hope, Artemisia came out of the woods, a wicker basket full of dirty roots in her hand.
“I am sorry if I kept you waiting. This is the last harvest I will be able to make before the ground freezes solid. November is just around the corner,” she said casually.
Gertrude admired her guile. Kerfield just tipped his hat in greeting. Artemisia made a motion for Gertrude to step aside as she grabbed the doorknob. Artemisia twisted the handle and let the door swing inward, though she stepped out of the way. Volker the cat stepped forward and eyed Kerfield up and down for a moment.
“This one,” Artemisia said, her voice full of regret.
James Kerfield turned to the witch and stared at the finger pointed at him. “What is going on?”
He never did get an answer as the demon’s essence had already begun pouring from the cat’s eyes, mouth, and nose and entered into the young sheriff. Kerfield’s body seized and convulsed while he frothed at the mouth. No noise left his body, but his face flushed purple and he mimed a gagging motion before it abruptly stopped.
He straightened, popped his neck, and smiled a toothy grin. It bore none of the awkward shyness that marked Kerfield. Now, he was a picture of confidence. The biggest difference was that his eyes were now green. The cat that the demon had been inhabiting began to quiver furiously, yowling at the top of its lungs. Artemisia dropped the roots, a little more dirt wouldn’t harm them, and plucked the cat off the ground. Instantly it became a flurry of claws and teeth. Artemisia held him firmly at arm’s length and carried him over to the root cellar. She grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and opened the door with her free hand and cast the scrabbling animal inside. She clanged the door shut and looked at the deep rake marks across her hands and wrists.
“Will James be like that?” Gertrude asked in shock.
“No, I won’t be in his body for that long,” Volker answered. Already he could feel James squirming within him, trying to find a way out or a way to push the demon out. The cat was much easier to possess, it hardly struggled and the two had many conversations together. With any luck he would be able to return to his cat form once Vahrun was dead.
Animals were simple and easy to coexist with, but humans were a different matter. The cat was shocked at the loss of its constant companion upon depossession, humans were disturbed that the inner sanctum of their mind had been invaded. They would st
ruggle and burn themselves out and hide meekly in one corner as if afraid to touch another being with their psyche. Once released, they suffered from paranoia and the disorders that sprang from it.
“That in mind, you two need to journey into town and track down Vahrun. I will join you shortly,” Artemisia said. She began sorting through her salves for one made of arnica to apply to the scratches.
“You won’t be coming with us?” Gertrude asked.
“We don’t have a plan yet, but I am working on one. I will join you shortly.”
Gertrude and Volker-Kerfield left the cabin and rode into town. If they had lingered for five more minutes, they would have spotted Vahrun heading north on the Main Road.
Chapter Fifty-three
Artemisia looked up, startled, when she heard her door swing open. She regained her composure just as the human version of Vahrun walked in.
“Come to pay your respects?” Artemisia asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Only to collect a wayward brother,” Vahrun snarled and backhanded the witch. Artemisia collapsed to the ground, her cheek smarting painfully. She spat out blood and rose to her feet. With a shaky hand, she moved the hair out of her face.
“He will not be returning with you. It would behoove you to leave this plane,” Artemisia said as calmly as she could. The obsidian and jade necklace around her neck would protect her from any demonic enchantments or curses, but nonetheless, Vahrun could kill her with his bare hands.
“Willingly or not, he will come. He has been away from the fourth plane for too long. His powers have weakened, he is no threat to me,” Vahrun said as he stormed about the cottage, tearing books from shelves and flinging glass against the wall. His concept of what size a hiding place a cat could fit in was askew.
Artemisia eyed the candle on the table and the dried sage hanging in the windowsill. If she was quick, she could banish him from her home. She lunged for the candle, but Vahrun was quicker. He caught her by the wrist and twisted it back towards her until it popped. Artemisia let out a stifled cry as he continued to bend it and force her to the floor. He let go of her and she collapsed the rest of the way to the ground. He kicked her in the ribs with his full force, and this time she did not rise. He made a hacking noise in the back of his throat and spat in her face. He went back to razing her home and in his fury he kicked the bookcase, which slid to reveal the cellar. A pitiful mewling came back to him and he grinned sadistically.
“Don’t worry brother, I am here,” he said as he rushed down the steps into the dark. He emerged holding a whining gray cat by the scruff of its neck. He gingerly set the beast on the table and stared into its frightened eyes. “What has she done to you, Volker?”
The tenderness he treated the cat with stood in stark contrast to the beating Artemisia had just received. Vahrun gently ran his hand from the creature’s head to the base of his spine and it began purring, though the fear never left its expression.
“Volker, we can go home now,” Vahrun pleaded with the cat. Still, it did not recognize him. “Home, not this blasted plane. Remember how powerful we were? You, Verina, and I can hunt the gods again. Don’t tell me that you don’t miss that?”
In answer, the cat purred a little deeper and this seemed to please Vahrun. Artemisia, however, was about to spoil his happiness.
“Verina is dead,” she hissed from the floor. She cradled her hand and made no move to get up from her prone position.
Vahrun snapped his gaze onto her and shrieked in anger, “What do you mean dead?”
“As a doornail,” Artemisia said stoically. “Your friend, Glautous, tore her apart in front of my very eyes.”
Vahrun visibly shook with rage. “This cannot be!”
“Go ask him yourself.” Artemisia jerked her chin towards the door.
Turning back to the cat, Vahrun seethed. “Brother, I tried to coax you…”
He placed his palm on the cat’s face and made a gesture as if to pull something from it, but nothing came. Confused, he tried again and again. Realization dawned on him and he turned to the witch.
“You have hidden him elsewhere, this is just a cat,” Vahrun snarled and Artemisia nodded smugly. Vahrun picked up the feline by its throat and shook it viciously until its spine snapped in many different places. He continued to shake the limp body long after it had died. He grabbed its stomach with his hand and tore past its flesh into its intestines. He pulled it apart like an accordion and tossed it onto Artemisa.
“I will deal with Glautous first, then I will find Mission and take him home with me. Once I have seen that he has suffered I will return for my brother,” Vahrun threatened and stormed from the cabin.
The witch limped to her feet as she heard Vahrun transmogrify into his demon-self outside her door. His heavy footsteps disappeared down the trail towards town. Artemisia grabbed her damaged hand with her left and pulled until the bones popped back into place. She gasped in pain and her vision swam, but she had no time to set a splint or find her bone-set salve. She had to warn Mission.
She hobbled over to the stable, her ribs protesting with each step. She had no time to saddle Newt, nor did she think she would be able to lift the heavy tack. She stood on one of the fence rails and whistled. The white stallion came trotting over. She swung her leg over his back and clucked her tongue in a command for speed and he began galloping as smoothly as possible, to not jar her recently garnered injuries.
Chapter Fifty-four
Vahrun crossed through Northgate without any regards for who saw him in his demonic state. His hulking form barreled towards the stables at the Mayor’s Mansion. He found the stable boy attending Glautous, picked the servant up by the back of his shirt and bit the boy’s head clean off. The blood showered the demon horse, who nickered excitably in response.
“You stupid sonofabitch,” Vahrun growled, his voice reverberating off the wood framed building.
The whites of the horse’s eyes rolled when Glautous realized that Vahrun’s anger was towards him. He backed up into the corner of the stall. He reared, his hooves lashing out towards the three eyed demon cat. Glautous was trapped in the form of a horse from a spell woven by Vahrun, and thus he couldn’t escape. There were few demons in the fourth plane pantheon who could have challenged Vahrun or his siblings, and Glautous was not one of them.
Vahrun easily caught one of the hooves in his hand and squeezed until the bone cracked. Glautous squealed in pain and Vahrun grabbed the other foreleg with both of his upper arms and splintered the bone. He let Glautous fall to the ground, prostrate as if bowing. The horse stumbled but couldn’t get back to his feet. Pressing all four of his hands against the sides of Glautous’ head, Vahrun held him tight and lifted him off the ground. He pressed his face against Glautous’ and stared, looking him dead in the eyes.
“You thought you could kill my sister without any punishment?” Vahrun laughed, teetering on the edge of sanity. Glautous nickered in answer, but that was all he could do bound to his current body. Vahrun continued, “I know it was due to the witch’s trickery, but you would have done well to have told me.”
Vahrun pressed his hands against the horse’s head and Glautous screamed in agony as his skull imploded on his brain. Vahrun was coated in the gore, but he wasn’t done. He ripped what was left of the head free from the body and shoved one arm down the esophagus. He groped around within the body cavity until he found the heart and wrenched it free of its cage. As he devoured it, he resumed his human form, completely clean of any offal.
During this entire display, Vahrun had been completely unaware of a spectator. Beatrice now stood shaking in the doorway to the stables, a rewritten warrant clutched in her shaking hand. She continued to watch in abject horror as her newest lover ate the heart of a horse. Turning on her heel silently, she headed to the town offices.
***
The apartment was never meant to support more than one person, and now Mission and De’lune both sat on his bed. She was on his pillow, one leg curled ben
eath her while the other draped to the ground. Mission rested against the footboard. She had bathed and once again looked beautiful, though she still shivered.
“Where have you been?” Mission asked offhandedly. At first, he had been too tentative to ask, and she had not said. Only that she needed help. But his curiosity had grown, and he couldn’t repress it any longer.
“I got lost in the woods after Ruckstead murdered my father and burned my home,” De’lune said while her teeth chattered. She took another swig of coffee. “I was scared and didn’t know what to do.”
Mission reached out and awkwardly took her hand. He almost let it go when he remembered that she was a Ramek and likely played a role in the werewolf fiasco. Artemisia would not forgive him sheltering the enemy. But this was none of the witch’s business.
“You can stay here as long as you need,” Mission assured her.
De’lune smiled and nodded shyly. Timidly, she set down the coffee, reached up and moved a wisp of hair from in front of her eye. Mission felt his stomach clench. The cataract was gone.
“What happened? Your eye is healed…” he said warily.
“I was lost in the woods for days, Mission. The only reason I survived is because The Goddess smiled upon me. She gave me more blessings than just my life,” De’lune said sweetly. “It is because of Mond that I am alive.”
Mission held his tongue, the gods and goddesses rarely bestowed gifts without requesting payment. The mortals played their games and they did not pity them. The thought was fleeting for Mission, he was completely enamored by this girl. He squeezed the hand he was still holding and felt his heart flutter when she held on just as tightly.