The Devourer

by C H Chelser

  And yet...

  Ignoring these lesser darklings, he continued towards the pillar and deeper into what seemed to have become a wasteland. He expected to sense at least the presence of guides and whatever else liked to bask in such intense light, but his calls faded without response. The only soul markers he found here belonged to the living, including hers.

  No, not true. He sensed shreds of another. He focused to establish a clearer image of them. To his annoyance he failed. The best he could detect was a mirror image of himself. Perhaps the light the pillar emitted refracted his senses? Well possible, since he now detected the wreaths of gold coiled around her energy. Hallmarks of a guide. His back bristled.

  Suddenly an agonised wail tore through the ether and the unblemished white of the woman’s energy turned blood red. The golden wreaths vanished and the next moment, the pillar collapsed.

  Alarmed, he followed the trail of the woman’s soul marker. Panic ran thick around her, but none of it obscured her from him. In fact, he saw better without her bright light appealing to his darker urges, yet it seemed as if he was looking at her deep red aura through a veil. The veil was black, like him, but different.

  And hungry.

  Disgust fuelled his determination as he lashed out at what stood between him and the woman. His cane caught in the veil before bouncing off it, giving him a glimpse of the creature it concealed. A monstrous face rounded on him before fading out of sight again. The contact was brief, but enough to recognise the strange signature as one he had encountered before.

  That recognition was mutual, and the other snapped at him. Its focus fragmented more and more with every time it missed. Frustrated, it called out to find him. He couldn’t stop his own marker responding, but simultaneously a part of the other’s marker responded and both replies mingled until neither of them could tell which was which.

  Confusion clung to him like the lingering drops of darkness, and he loathed it. He knew what the other was, he knew what he was. Then why couldn’t he see it? He did sense a sudden shift in the other’s attention, back to the woman. Unable to aim, he swung anyway. His cane did not connect with the veil, but the other swerved nevertheless. With a final hiss it dissolved into the eternal grey fog.

  Anger boiling deep within, he set out to pursue the creature, but an undeniable force grabbed his attention and held him firm.

  “I know it is you!” Her voice would have been tangible if such a thing could be. “Go! Leave us alone and never come back!”

  Stricken, he gazed at the woman. Her aura now blazed with the colour of fire and her hatred for him whipped about her. The afterglow of a weak barrier around her was a pointless but poignant testament to her repulsion. He was accustomed to evoking such emotions in others and had long since become impervious to them. Or so he had believed. Never before had withstanding such an onslaught been painful.

  He left the same instant.

  Chapter IX

  Without warning, the heaviness that had weighed down the cellar lifted, the atmosphere settled and only the natural shadows of the cellar remained. Mercedes glanced at the fallen books. Their pages lay still. Her dress was dry again, too.

  “Where is it now?” Anne whispered.

  Mercedes waited a long moment. She gave the room a tentative prod. Nothing responded.

  “It is gone.” With a sigh she lowered herself back into her seat. “It is gone.”

  Anne exhaled loudly and went over to pick up the books. “What was it?” she asked as she stacked them back on their shelf.

  “A nasty piece of work, as you pointed out,” Mercedes said. Her shoes grated on the floorboards when she moved her feet. “What did you throw? Hallowed sand?”

  “Nothing so fancy. Just river sand I use for scrying. I had nothing better at hand to make a shield.”

  Mercedes raised a brow. “You have told me about salt and circles, but sand?”

  “All means to the same end: channelling willpower.”

  “I thought a protective circle needed to be full and unbroken to work. This,” she gestured at the scattered grains, “is barely even a line.”

  “Yes, well, it did the trick, didn’t it?”

  Mercedes stared at the floor and kept quiet. The sand had not deterred the presence. Of course not. Sand, like salt and circles, meant nothing to ghosts. Anne was right. The willpower behind the object made the difference. Even so, she doubted that Anne’s will had been the decisive factor in this showdown. Or her own, for that matter.

  “It got distracted. Something drew its attention away from us.”

  At the table, Anne began to collect the scattered cards. “Well, it’s gone now. That is all I care about.”

  “It will be back,” said Mercedes, her voice trailing off. “As I feared. Lord knows why, but it seeks to haunt me.”

  The cards ended up in a crumpled heap. “What?”

  “This was the same ghost as in the alley, Anne. Four times it has come after me, counting this incident. I would be mad to believe it will stop now.” She picked her fallen hat up from the floor and brushed off a few grains of sand. “I should go.”

  Anne gave her an incredulous look. “Now? I won’t have it. You’re still shaking like a leaf.”

  “I must.” Mostly for Anne’s safety, although she could never tell her headstrong friend that. “Eric, you see. I have not told him where I am, or even that I left. He will be furious with me as it is.”

  Anne folded her arms and scoffed in disbelief.

  “Also, I want to go back while there is still some light,” Mercedes added. “Apparently it is not the foolproof protection against intangible miscreants I hoped it would be, but at least travelling by daylight will reduce the risk of some human wretch trying to make off with my belongings. I brought scissors for protection, but I should not like to use them.”

  The older woman shook her head. “All right, all right. If you insist, I shan’t keep you. You’re a grown woman and all that, but...” She strode around the table and rummaged in a basket on one of the shelves. “...I can be insistent, too. Here, take this.”

  She grabbed Mercedes’ hand and pressed something into her upturned palm. A smooth, unobtrusive pebble with a small symbol painted on one side.

  “Frankish rune of protection. To keep you safe.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, Anne, but it is—” ‘not going to work’, she wanted to say, but her friend hushed her with an admonishing finger.

  “It’s yours, my dear. You will find it more useful than sand. I do, anyway.”

  Anne’s faith in the little stone was unshakeable, but Mercedes couldn’t share it. Still, out of politeness she put the pebble into the small pocket hidden in the lining of her manteau. Anne nodded in approval.

  “Now then. Scissors at the ready?”

  Mercedes smiled and held up her heavy reticule, which had an unusual and distinctly pointed shape sticking out at one end.

  “Good. Now get yourself home safely.” Anne drew Mercedes into a brief hug and pecked her cheek. “Take care, won’t you?”

  “I will. Thank you very much for your help.”

  “Anytime, my dear. Anytime.” She opened the basement door. “If there’s anything that bothers you, anything at all, you know where to find me.”

  “Always. Thank you.”

  Anne waited for her to climb up the steps to the street. “And eef zat husband of yoors geeves yoo trouble wheen yoo get home, bee sure to use those sceessors wheere thay counte!” she cackled in her Madame Esmeralda accent, and abruptly shut the door.

  Stunned by that unexpected send-off, Mercedes gawked at the ‘fermé’-sign that swung on its nail. She let out a stray giggle, which soon became a chuckle of nervous laughter. Through the gloom of today, the little rays of light her friend had sown grew in size and strength until they lifted some of the weight from her heart.

  Anne was precious that way. She grew hope like a crop in the field and shared her harvest with whoever needed it. Hope gave strengt
h and her generous servings saved lives. Years ago Mercedes had been one of them. Now again today.

  The laughter died in her throat. Some gifts were too great to ever repay, but she would try.

  ***

  Retreating from the light and the colours returned him to the empty expanse, but the sting of the woman’s hatred remained. In an old reflex, he touched the side of his face, expecting his fingertips to find scratches and stained with blood. Blood he no longer had. Blurred by anger he clenched his fist and cursed himself. Any suspicion of injury was ridiculous.

  The whole situation was.

  He made to pull down the brim of his hat as he set off, only to be reminded that it wasn’t there. His frustration set his teeth on edge in the most literal sense, but he kept himself together by furious self-restraint.

  Damn it all! Damn that other and its outrageous antics. This absurd game of mixing signatures and dispersed markers had befuddled him like a simpering fool. He! That creature would answer for its impudence. He would have it. On his own soul, he would!

  Grey fog faded into an obscure half-darkness that resembled a night not yet fallen. Contrary to his usual thoughtful manners he sped through the shapeless world around him. An entity so hard to distinguish made for a difficult prey to track. He recalled having noticed it before but lost it moments later. He had been quick to blame his failure on the guide following him at the time, but now he doubted the truth of that assumption. This miscreant was a slippery one.

  And dangerous.

  Determination drove him deeper, hunting the trail left in the other’s wake. The energy’s essence flared a deep-seated hatred, striking a chord at his very base. This same hatred he usually reserved for himself. Yet this other—

  ‘Putain!’

  Facing the woman, the creature’s splayed thoughts had shown glimpses of intent so rare that recognition of it dawned on him only now. The parasites had known, though. They shunned him as a rule, but they had steered well clear of the other. If he had paid more attention to their strange behaviour, he would have known what to expect before barging in.

  Unspeakable! This could not be allowed to go without repercussions.

  He cut recklessly through several layers of existence to catch up with the retreating energy of the other, but he failed to get a proper focus. The pursuit more resembled tracking a dozen or more trails at once. Whenever he caught it, the wavering signature faded from sight only to pop up elsewhere, with no way to predict its next shift. The direction the creature was going did not improve matters. Darkness thickened continuously, and still the other dived deeper.

  So be it. Much as he loathed it, he was no stranger to those depths, either.

  ***

  The sky was the colour of lead. The sun hadn’t set, but heavy clouds made the day seem hours older than it was. Drops of late summer rain splattered on the pavement. The streetlights would not be lit for a while yet, but Mercedes imagined that when they came on, their light would reflect off the rain and the slick, wet cobblestones. Thousands of little lights dancing across the city. But they couldn’t chase the darkness away. Not anymore.

  Once upon a time, the smallest flicker of light had inspired a childish faith in safety. As she had grown older that faith had faded, but tonight at last it had vanished completely, revealing her false sense of security for what it was. She clenched her fingers around the painted pebble Anne had given her, but it made no difference to the simmering fear inside.

  Her fiacre halted across from the familiar façade on which gold-leaf letters spelled ‘Fabron Couture pour Hommes & Dames’. By now all shops in the street were closed and their windows dark. Only the windowpanes of Eric’s shop glistened with a dull light from within.

  “Your destination, madame,” the driver urged, “or do you wish to go elsewhere?”

  Wish to, yes, but... “No. There is nowhere else.”

  Disheartened by a day of anxious tension and the anticipation of more, Mercedes descended the single step from the carriage. She paid the driver and crossed the street, her mind blank. Through the shop window, she saw Eric standing by the counter, bowed over the register. She slowed. He didn’t seem to have noticed her, but if she avoided him, he would hear her climb the central staircase and come after her. Pretending all was right would gain her a few minutes’ reprieve, at the cost of making herself look guilty. A high cost indeed. Better to own up to her actions and be done with it.

  Her hand felt like granite when she knocked on the shop door. She stepped back, a little to the side so Eric could see her through the windowpanes. Within moments, footsteps drummed inside and the light grew stronger. Then the shop door was yanked open, its little bell jingling wildly in alarm.

  “Where have you been?”

  Mercedes met Eric’s wide eyes with tired resignation, and with a hint of pity. His cravat was undone, his ginger hair stood on end, and his face appeared pale despite the yellow glow of the lamp he held.

  “I said, where have you been?”

  “On an errand that could not wait, mon cher. A health matter of sorts. Nothing too serious, but I would have it stay that way.”

  She attempted to stride inside, but in passing, bony fingers latched onto her arm like a vice which pulled her across the threshold. Her swinging crinoline knocked over the empty umbrella stand while the door slammed shut behind her, the little bell ringing in off-key despair once more. As she stumbled, off balance, Eric shoved her against the nearest wall.

  “You were with another! Admit it!”

  Despite having foreseen his anger it didn’t diminish the pain it caused her. Or that of the wooden panelling carving a ridge into her shoulder blades.

  “Please, let go. You are hurting me!”

  “Not as much as it hurts me that you cuckold me and think I don’t know it!”

  “I never did.” Her jaw clenched when he gripped her harder. “Eric, there is no other, I swear!”

  “And I am to believe that?”

  “You should. It is the truth.” She twisted in a weak effort to loosen his hold, predictably without success. If she tried harder, she might escape his grip, but not without hurting him. That wasn’t worth the struggle. His eyes were too full of agony already.

  “Yes, I should have told you,” she said, weaving an explanation as she went. “However, I was afraid I would be late to that shop if I waited, so I asked Nicole to tell you in case I did not get back before closing time.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do not take me for a fool, madame. Amélie runs your errands for you.”

  “This was personal.”

  “‘Personal’? Personal, and you needed a cab to get there?” His fingers dug deeper into her arm, his face contorting into a vicious grimace. “What do you take me for, woman?”

  She cried out in surprise when a hard slap stung her left cheek so hard her head whipped to the side.

  “Was it that police inspector? Did you go to him to ‘finish your statement’, or did you want to report that so-called assault instead? I’m sure he added some extra marks you while he was at it!”

  He grabbed the high collar of her blouse and ripped it open, baring her bruised neck all the way down. Instinctively, Mercedes’ hands shot up to cover herself.

  “Your jealousy is distasteful,” she cried. “Believe what you will, but I do have better things to do than cheat on you!”

  “Do you now? Why else would you sneak off to unnamed friends living in some unspecified quartier? No address, no names. I must have looked such an idiot. How you and your lovers must have laughed!”

  “Stop it! I lie with no man but you. You are seeing things that are just not—Aah!”

  Blinding pain spread across her cheekbone and along the rim of her eye socket. Tears pricked in her eyes, but she held them back. He was irate and unreasonable, more so than she had anticipated. Fighting back would only make it worse. She pressed herself against the wall, determined to stay upright despite the humiliation. As long as she was within his arms’
reach, he would not use his feet.

  “I will teach you fidelity, you treacherous Jezebel!” He grabbed her arm again and dragged her away from the wall, then down the corridor to the workshop. “From now on, this building is your world. The flat, the shops, but nothing else!”

  Mercedes dug her heels into the carpet. “No. No, not that,” she pleaded, fighting him in earnest now.

  He squeezed harder to break her resistance. “You will learn to be a loyal wife yet. If you need an errand, send your maid, but you will not set foot outside unless to attend mass. And even then only with me as your chaperone.”

  “Eric, please! Why do this when you have nothing to fear?”

  She barely saw him round on her before he struck her again. She staggered, but he took her arm once more and hauled her upright.

  “I. Have been. A good husband to you,” he hissed, searching her face, his own livid. “Always.”

  In her head, the voice of her mother recited the Bible: ‘For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.’ Mercedes stopped resisting and bowed her head in submission. Eric’s hot breath panted into her hairline.

  “You are utterly worthless as a woman. Yet did I not stand by you despite your shortcomings as a spouse? I could have abandoned you, but I did not.”

  “It is not my fault that I cannot give you children,” she retorted, but he wouldn’t hear it. He never did.

  “I took care of you when you went mad. And when you at last regained your senses, I gave you a purpose when any other man would have cast you aside.”

  She bowed deeper, sickeningly aware that he was right.

  “After all this time, even God Himself would have lost his patience with your trespasses against our holy matrimony. Yet I stand by the oath I swore when we married.” He tilted her chin up with a finger. “Was I not kind to forgive you your many faults?”

  She knew the answer that was expected of her, but the bile in her mouth was stronger. “Violence is not forgiveness, mon cher.”