by R W Thorn
He wiped the drizzle from his face on his sleeve, and clambered awkwardly off the bike. “Come on,” he said, feeling tormented by both of the women. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”
He and Lennox headed not toward the temple, but to the row houses on the opposite side of the road.
The row houses were older than the temple and made of a similar stone. Three stories tall, they might once have been grand but were now faded and worn and largely covered in lichens and ivy. Yet there was something defiant about them, something stately, and Jack thought it would be sad if they were no longer there.
Perhaps one day the whole block would be replaced with high-rise apartments. But until that happened, one of the row houses was the true home of the Brotherhood of Perdition. It was their Lair, their headquarters, and to Jack, that felt right. The defiance, the age, even the misdirection. For him, it all worked.
Jack and Lennox made their way to the top of the short flight of concrete steps and Jack thumbed the button on the intercom.
A few moments later, the intercom crackled to life and a metallic voice replied. “Yes?” It was impossible to tell if the voice was male or female, young or old.
“Jack and Lex to see Deedee Vale,” Jack said. The intercom seemed perfectly normal, an attempt at security both commonplace and completely inadequate in the world of horrors in which the Brotherhood lived. Jack also knew that he and Lennox were being scanned in a variety of ways, and the door was much more formidable than it appeared. If they weren’t who they said, their chances of gaining entry were slim.
He wondered, not for the first time, if the scanners could pick up any hint of Amelia’s ghost. If they could, nobody had said anything. As far as Jack knew, her existence was known only to him.
The intercom offered a prolonged buzz in reply, and Jack heard a heavy, reassuring clunk of metal moving within the door. He pushed it open, and he and Lennox stepped into a room that in no way reflected a normal row house entryway.
It was like they had stepped into a government building, or the foyer of a corporate headquarters. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all dark granite that had been polished and fitted together seamlessly. Despite the appearance of windows on the outside of the house, there were none from within. When the door swung shut and locked behind them, it was like they were sealed in a stone box lit by the recessed halogen lights on the ceiling.
Where from the outside, the row house looked comfortable and inviting, inside it was cold and hard and intentionally intimidating.
An intricate design had been built into the middle of the floor. A cross bound within a circle, the edges were inscribed with many of the same occult symbols of protection that Jack and Lennox both wore as tattoos, done in blues and yellows and reds. It was the Brotherhood’s emblem, and its colorful presence served to soften the harshness of the room only a little.
At the far end of the room, a rotund, elderly man sat behind a small desk, reading a newspaper. A small, black cat slept in the exact center of the desk, and on the floor nearby, a food-and-water dish sat next to a litter tray.
“Morning. Deedee is expecting you,” the man said, lowering his paper. His name was Samuel, and he had a friendly, cheerful demeanor. If he had a white beard, he would have been an excellent choice to play Santa at Christmas. But Jack wasn’t fooled. Samuel wore the uniform of a security guard for a reason. Underneath the jovial manner, Samuel was as tough as granite. There were weapons in the walls that were powerful enough to turn the whole room into cinders, Jack and Lennox included. Samuel could activate the weapons with the punch of a button, and Jack knew that he would do so in a heartbeat, if needed.
Jack was uncertain if even he could survive such an event, although Amelia would doubtless continue.
Nor did Samuel work alone. The cat had its part to play also. Like all cats, she could sense those with demon blood in their veins and would respond with hisses of fear and fury. Perhaps she could sense Amelia’s spirit. If so, she gave little sign.
She was called Nergal and had become familiar with Jack and Lennox and a few others like them who were part of the Brotherhood. She no longer feared them and didn’t bother to rouse herself from her peaceful slumber at their presence. But Samuel would instantly be alerted should anyone else with such tainted blood be standing before them.
“Morning, Sam,” Lennox said brightly. “How’re things?”
“Can’t complain. Or I could, I guess, but who has time to listen to that sort of thing?” Samuel didn’t seem bothered by Jack’s lack of greeting. He gave them a smile that seemed warm and open and probably was. Not that it would stop him slaughtering them both in a heartbeat if he feared they were hostile. “Stand in the circle, if you would.”
Jack and Lennox were happy to comply. Nergal, awakened by the conversation, yawned and stretched. She stared at Jack with cold, yellow eyes, but made no other movement.
“Elbows in,” said Samuel. He pressed a button on his desk next to Nergal, and there was a slight lurch and a hum of machinery.
The part of the granite floor outlined by the Brotherhood emblem started to sink.
The Singed Grimoire
The Brotherhood’s Lair was a man-made catacomb that extended over several levels. In times past, Jack had seen it all. It was the lifeblood of the Brotherhood and included everything from computer rooms for monitoring social media for signs of demonic incursions through to workshops for manufacturing weapons.
There were even nursing wards to house those poor souls too damaged by their own demonic blood or possession to function in normal society. And to patch up Jack and those others like him, should there be a need to do so.
Each level hid behind steel doors that formed yet another layer of security, and the platform Jack and Lennox were descending upon bypassed them all.
It took only a few seconds for the platform to reach the bottom level. When it did, it slowed and then stopped with a metallic thunk and the sounds of steel bars locking into place.
Lennox turned to Jack with an uncertain grin. “Ever notice how much this feels like the bottom of a well?” she asked with anxiety in her voice. “We could drown down here if it filled up with water. And the walls – they feel like they’re closing on to you. It’s kind of unsettling.”
Jack grunted an acknowledgment. He didn’t have the same visceral reaction as Lennox, but could understand her anxiety. It did feel like being stuck in a well. In addition to being at the bottom of a circular shaft, the air was cool, and there was even moisture on the walls, legacy of the depth they had reached. Only the lights set into the walls broke the illusion. And the dry, flat hardness of the platform upon which they were standing.
If the doors in front of them didn’t open and the platform failed to rise, it could prove difficult to get out.
Fortunately, there was no such malfunction this day. Jack barely had time to complete the thought before the doors slid open and Lennox breathed an audible sigh of relief.
They stepped into a room that was the complete opposite of the corporate foyer above. Warm and inviting, it felt like a comfortable armchair, full of wood paneling, antique furnishings, and rich carpets. It could have been an early Victorian drawing room or perhaps a period display in a museum, and even though Amelia rarely visited him anywhere in the Lair, Jack felt happier and more relaxed just being there.
The elegant chairs, the display cabinets with stained glass on the front, the marble-topped table, and even the ornate chandelier on the ceiling were as familiar to him as his own name. He had grown up surrounded by furnishings like this, and for a moment, he luxuriated in the atmosphere of it all. All it needed was a roaring fire, and he could happily sit in one of the chairs and pretend that this modern world of technology and demons was no more than a nightmare.
But this room wasn’t just a display. Nor was it merely a comfortable place for those in the Brotherhood to relax. It was also a vault, a repository for artifacts of the occult and antique weapons designed fo
r use against creatures of Hell.
Within the display cabinets rested items of lore and power. Ornate crossbows complete with silver-tipped bolts. Elegant crosses that had been blessed by holy men and women throughout time. Knives akin to those Jack carried, etched with occult symbols designed to ward off danger. And books filled with arcane knowledge that was dangerous for any with the taint of demon blood in their veins to read.
The most perilous one of these sat in a place of pride in the middle of the room. A massive tome bound in black leather with tooled silver corners, it had symbols etched into the front to match those of the Brotherhood’s emblem without the cross. The top half of the book looked burned as if it had once been dropped into a fire.
Known as the Daemonicon, the Singed Grimoire, it was the most powerful book of demon lore known, and its malignancy was such that Jack could literally feel it. He could sense the evil bound within its pages like a tingling on his skin and an itch that worked its way up his spine. Like a whisper in the back of his mind that was trying to get him to listen.
Jack had never asked Amelia directly, but he thought the book’s malignant aura might have been why the ghost of his wife seldom visited him while he was there.
The book big enough that it barely fit on the table and so thick and heavy that a small man might struggle under its weight. It was rumored that its pages were made from the skin cut from the backs of virgin altar boys while they still screamed in horror and pain, and the ink from their blood.
Even for Jack, whose demonic side had long been under control, it felt like a delicious temptation. Like a dessert too full of sugar and cream to be healthy. In the darkest parts of his heart, Jackson Kade knew he would like to open that book and read from the pages, just to see what would happen.
What that temptation might be like for Lennox, who still had to take a suppressant to keep her blood under control, he could only guess. Jack saw her staring as well, and her expression was one of wanton desire the likes of which might embarrass a whore.
He looked away before Lennox noticed the direction of his gaze.
For good reason, the Singed Grimoire was kept locked beneath a glass dome that was strong enough to stand up to hammers. The message was clear. Jack and Lennox could look, but they couldn’t touch.
The allure of the book was such that neither Jack nor Lennox was aware when they were no longer alone in the room.
Deedee
“What is the point of having a pager if you never use it?”
The voice was abrupt and forceful enough to wrench Jack’s gaze from the Daemonicon. He saw Lennox flinch and looked briefly ashamed, and together they turned to face the speaker.
Deedee Vale was a woman approaching her seventies. Even so, she was tall and elegantly put-together, and in Jack’s earliest memories of her, long before Amelia, she had been stunning. She wore a brown robe that could belong to a medieval monk except for the embroidered Brotherhood emblem at her shoulder. She had a leather belt cinched about her narrow waist from which an ornate metal cross and rosary beads hung, as well as a number of pouches.
Deedee supported herself with the aid of a cane. While it wasn’t visible beneath her robe, Jack knew that her left leg was artificial. Deedee had lost the original in a vampire attack thirty years earlier.
The older woman hadn’t followed Jack and Lennox down the shaft from the foyer. Instead, she’d arrived in the drawing room via the stairs at the back. Now she surveyed them like a strict grandmother might survey naughty children, her attention focused on Jack. Yet despite her severity, her eyes shone with the light of undeniable affection.
Jack grinned. “I was occupied –” he began, stepping toward her. But she sniffed the air and raised a hand to stop him.
“Stay where you are, young man,” she said despite Jack being several times her own age. “You smell like a wet dog that’s been digging in garbage, and that’s an odor that lingers.”
Just as Amelia might have done if she’d been lingering in Jack’s mind, Lennox snorted a laugh at this comment. But all that did was draw Deedee’s attention her way.
“And you, young lady. What do you think you were you doing while our antiquated friend here was ignoring his pager? I would have expected someone your age to pay attention to an emergency call!”
Despite her words, there could be no doubting the kindness behind them. Lennox offered the old woman a broad, playful grin and said, “We were taking care of a wight. Nasty brute. Thought you might like us to stop it murdering the plebs at Coven Street station.”
Deedee’s lip twitched into a half-smile. “Don’t call them plebs, dear one. They are civilians or normals. It isn’t their fault they don’t understand our world. We are hiding it from them.” Then the old woman looked back to Jack. She became more serious. “If you had checked your messages, you would know that as well as the wight, we have a full Hell-beast on the loose.”
Jack was surprised. “A Hell-beast? Here? In New Sanctum?”
“I wouldn’t care so much if it was on the moon, now would I?” Deedee responded.
Jack glanced at the Singed Grimoire under its dome. “I thought they couldn’t be summoned without the Daemonicon itself,” he said.
Deedee’s expression became a grimace of annoyance. “I used to think so too. Turns out we were both wrong. They can. But it isn’t like a wight. The lore for summoning them can’t be found on some random website, and it takes more than a thimble-full of demon blood to raise them. Whoever called this thing from Hell went to considerable effort to do so, and they have power.”
Jack digested this stoically. It had been a long time since he’d had to deal with a Hell-beast. He knew his usual knives and handgun were inadequate to the task. Hell-beasts were tough. Strength and speed greater than any wight, and considerably smarter as well.
“I’ll need supplies,” he said. “Weapons, ammunition. And holy water, lots of it. This isn’t going to be fun.”
“No, it is not,” Deedee agreed.
In all this time, Lennox had been looking between Deedee and Jack with a confused expression. “I know about wights and ghouls and have seen ple – normals who’ve been possessed by demons,” she said. “I’ve known those with demon blood in their veins to read minds or walk away from collapsed buildings with barely a scratch. My own allows me to cast energies about and shape it like clay. But I’m still learning. You know that. So. What in all of Hell is a Hell-beast?” she asked.
Jack was happy to see that she was not afraid of the question, or of the possible answer. She was curious. She just wanted to know what they were facing.
“Hell-beasts are creatures from Hell that are more like beasts than human beings,” he said, his voice flat and hard. Even talking about such creatures made his blood boil. “Think of a bear twice the size that it should be, with flesh that looks flayed. Or a giant, skinless slug that moans like a banshee and can move at a fast walk. Ravening monsters, full of fury and madness that want only to kill and feed on the dead. That’s the type of thing we face.”
He didn’t mention that the last one he’d faced had taken Amelia from him.
Deedee offered an affirmative noise. “The one that’s been summoned is a Cerberus. A Hell-hound with more than one head. It has already killed, and the more time we waste talking about it, the more chance it has to kill again.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Lennox asked. “Where is this thing? How do we kill it?”
In answer, Deedee gave her an assessing, judgmental look and then flicked a glance at Jack. “Is she up to it?” Deedee asked.
Jack didn’t even have to consider. He nodded.
“Good. Good.” The elegant old woman peered at him even harder. “Are you?” She knew how Amelia had met her end.
Jack just glared at her.
It was enough. Deedee looked around. “Nathanial!” she shouted loudly. “Get in here! Bring your toys!”
Nathanial’s Toys
Nathanial might have been wait
ing for Deedee’s call. He appeared in the drawing room within moments, bearing with him a number of cases stacked on a trolley.
Nathanial was slim with narrow shoulders. He wore the same type of brown robe as Deedee, but the top part was hidden beneath a thick woolen sweater. Nathanial had pale skin and white hair with a distinctive lock of black above his left eye. His eyes were light blue, so he wasn’t a true albino, and Jack hadn’t met him before. Nevertheless, Jack could sense that Nathanial had the blood of a demon running through his veins, just as he and Lennox both did.
“Nathanial works in monitoring and supply,” Deedee said. “He was the first to identify the incursion. Nathanial, this is Jackson Kade and Lennox Valdis. They are one of our best demon hunting teams.” She didn’t give any information about what abilities Nathanial’s demon blood might confer, although Jack was sure she knew. The Daemon Ocularum would have given Jack this information, but it would have been rude to use it. And even he had his limits.
“Hi, Nate!” Lennox said brightly. “Call me Lex.”
Jack said nothing but offered a silent nod in greeting. Nathanial’s head bobbed an acknowledgment even though he didn’t make eye contact. He seemed nervous, but not of them in particular. It seemed habitual.
Nathanial parked the trolley in front of Jack and quickly arranged the cases in a semicircle in front of him and Lennox. His movements were brisk and precise, and he paused only twice. The first time was when he first looked at Lennox. Really looked at her. When he did, he flinched as if startled by her appearance. He stared for some moments before he blushed massively and wrenched his gaze away.
Lennox grinned openly at him, not in the least put out, and Jack had to acknowledge that it wasn’t just him who found her attractive.