by Richard Hein
“That you would have more traction than we do in this undertaking,” Dieter finished. “Especially with four grand to motivate you.” The Entity popped some bruschetta into its mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
Four thousand. That would help keep the OFC afloat, at least until I could figure out where Christina had squirreled away all our funds. I’d come expecting a quarter of that, but you don’t tip your hand in negotiations by getting all giddy.
“Five,” I said, striving for casual. “You want more than just slapping a picture on the back of a milk carton, so you came to a pro. That costs, and someone told me business has been good of late. I’m sure you can afford it.”
The Twins shared a silent look. Not for the first time I wondered if they had a mental radio. They always seemed to read each other’s minds. No words passed between them, but each nodded at the same time.
“We can do five,” Stefan said. “We’d take it as a favor between friends—”
“Business acquaintances,” Dieter corrected.
“If you’d do it for four,” Stefan continued, “but it appears I can’t appeal to the humanity in you.”
“How much groceries can I buy with a favor from you two?” I asked. “A man’s gotta eat. You got yourself a deal, pending details.”
I absently reached for the pitcher of water at the same time as Dieter. Warm fingers brushed mine, and I yanked them back as if seared. Dieter frowned. I knew it took longer than a momentary touch for the demon to peep into my mind. It was irrational, but I couldn’t shake the paranoia I’d be found out. There was a decent chance the Twins would be okay with it, given they, too, were possessed. But they knew Kate.
I gave a chagrined smile and muttered something about static electricity. Dieter watched me with cold eyes, but said nothing.
“Possession or corporeal?” I asked. It made a difference. A corporeal Entity was one that had been summoned to our universe via magic and was little more than a bag of willpower wrapped up in a fake human exterior. Sometimes not even human if they had an ounce of imagination. There was no reason they couldn’t appear as a toaster oven or poodle if they so chose, but I’d never met any that didn’t look either like a human or a ravening monster out of my nightmares. The other option was a possession, the result of using magic, and that meant there was a flesh and blood person to worry about damaging.
Strictly speaking I preferred the former even though they were more powerful. There wasn’t any reason to hold back. No collateral damage.
“Corporeal,” Dieter said. “Human in appearance. He prefers to blend in and have, as he has often calls it, ‘the native experience.’”
“Oh, yeah,” I drawled. “Nothing beats paying taxes and getting up to piss in the middle of the night as far as life experiences go. All the little demons must line up to get on that ride.”
Stefan smiled, though it was brittle. “Existing here is the most unique of experiences, Samuel. You always look on the darker side of things, but even the hardest of experiences are to be envied.”
I shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat. Let’s get to it, though.”
“A bit over six feet tall,” Dieter said. “Short, dishwater blond hair—”
“His hair looks like a style I might call ‘underpaid, disgruntled professor with tenure’, but worse,” Stefan offered. Dieter glared at the other demon. “It looks like he rolled out of bed, Dieter. You want Samuel to help? He needs accurate descriptions.”
Dieter sighed. “Thin, round glasses and blue eyes. A nose that looks like it was broken a few too many times as a child.”
“A child this thing never was,” I pointed out. “You’re not worried I popped this associate of yours?” I fixed Stefan with a stare. “Been a lot of boogeymen in town of late. Is this a roundabout way of asking if I sent your buddy packing?”
“You have not,” Dieter said, pushing his plate to the center of the table and dabbing his lips with the napkin from his lap. “Simon was — is — the quiet sort.”
“Mostly,” Stefan added.
“My Spidey-sense is tingling.” My eyes narrowed. “Are we talking ‘collects stamps’ sort of quiet or ‘he was a nice neighbor, and we never expected he collected severed heads’?”
Stefan sawed a hand from side to side in the air. Dieter pressed it to the table with a sigh.
“Simon feeds on the homeless in the city,” Dieter said.
“Sips,” Stefan added hastily. “Minute amounts, Samuel. Not enough to cause lingering damage or death. His particular kind require infusions of soul energy to sustain themselves in this reality. He skims off the top, so to speak, rather than kill. In exchange, he provides supplies.”
“Food, blankets, tents, and the like,” Dieter said, ticking items off on upraised digits.
I jabbed a finger at the demon. “You let a thing,” I snarled, “feed on people and you didn’t exorcise it? You allowed this?”
“They get a little tired for a day or two,” Stefan said defensively. “Flu-like symptoms, perhaps. It’s harmless, and he cares for them. More, I dare say, than most in this city.”
“There’s a principle here,” I said, voice flat, pushing the remains of my lunch away. My stomach had soured. “That you don’t see it is disgusting.”
“Oh, come now, Samuel,” Dieter said, leaning forward and pressing palms against the table. Dieter didn’t rise, but it felt like the creature was looming, staring down at me. The normally jovial face fixed into a cold, alien stare. “Humans do much worse to each other. You yourself are not above using others for gain. Most of our working relationship has been one of you dictating needs and we two scrambling to meet them. You lie to your closest friends for personal enrichment. Judge not, lest ye be judged.”
“And if I take the job, track this clown down and exorcise him?” My voice was quiet as I regarded Dieter and Stefan with an iron glare.
“We would be miffed,” Stefan said lightly. “Make no mistake. Dieter and I loathe his method, but he has been doing this for thirty years, Samuel, and not once has there been a death. Simon is careful and considerate.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, “I’m sure the space vampire just bleeds ‘care’ when you prick it.”
We lapsed into silence. This time no one looked away. We all regarded one another with the gravity of the moment. It didn’t pass the smell test. Taking money to help someone that preyed on the homeless? I only had the word of the Twins that Simon wasn’t causing any serious damage. Maybe Simon was a creature that had chained its demon enough to keep it at bay. I didn’t find that likely though.
Not everything can be so easily categorized, Samuel, Lauren said. Nothing is ever so cut and dried. You should laud the fact that a creature that requires souls has found a way to stave off its baser instincts.
I’m not getting lectured by a fucking demon on the delicate intricacies of being a fucking demon, I snapped back. I’m supposed to give this thing a medal for not eating people?
If you weren’t so myopic, Lauren said, yes. There’s shades of—
I swear on all that is holy if you say there are shades of gray in everyone I will gouge out my brain and kill us both. I will die in this ugly, drab restaurant if you finish that sentence.
“Samuel?”
I blinked. The Twins were staring at me with concern. I straightened, drew a slow breath, counted down from ten, and nodded.
“I’ll find Simon,” I muttered, “if the demon hasn’t already been destroyed or sent home. If I get the impression it is more dangerous than you’re letting on, I’m popping that greasy soap bubble. If I feel it’s a reformed demon in an extra-dimensional twelve-step program, I’ll let it go on the condition it stops turning the homeless into a breakfast buffet.”
“Samuel, you should—” Dieter began. I cut a hand through the air, slicing through the words.
“I’m sorry if I gave the impression I was negotiating.”
Stefan and Dieter regarded each other for a second. Dieter sighed. “That s
eems workable. I do not know how else Simon can keep himself sated without killing, but—”
“Don’t care,” I said cheerfully. “Any other useful information to point me the right way?”
Stefan dropped elbows onto the table, laced fingers and lowered its chin. Dieter gave the etiquette-shattering elbows a disdainful look.
“As we said, the supernatural community has been reticent to deal with us on this,” Stefan said. “I dare-say something has spooked them, but I can’t imagine what.”
“Maybe they got wind you’re amateur demon-busters, which kinda makes you cannibals.” I flagged down the server and asked for a to-go box.
“We put down those that are feral,” Dieter said with a sad head shake. “No one would look down upon that. Not all from beyond this reality are gifted with such keen intellect as we two are.”
“Okay,” I said, sitting back in my chair. I let my gaze drift up to the bland wooden ceiling, tracing the grain in a board as I let my thoughts sift and sort. “Simon the Sipper has gone missing. You ask around, but your local demon clique is giving you the cold shoulder. That implies either they know something about you two they don’t like…” I waved a hand toward them without glancing down. “Such as your incessant need to look like the models on the cover of ‘Billionaire Assholes Monthly’…”
Unlikely, Lauren said. While I’d subscribe to that magazine, Entities wouldn’t zip lips on their own kind unless there was a good reason.
I rocked forward and frowned. “Or they know something about Simon and are too afraid to talk. Possibly worried you might suffer a similar fate and don’t want to rope you in, but that would imply that demons get all caring and emotional.”
Stefan gave an exaggerated sigh, and Dieter reached across the table to give his hand a squeeze.
“Where would I find these closed-mouth nay-sayers?” I asked. “I’d like a shot at getting them to talk.”
“The Odyssey,” Stefan said. “Although God Himself has no idea what people see in that place. It’s so… so tacky. Simon, however, adores it.”
I waved a hand at the eye-watering Earth tones around us. “After I’ve become used to such opulence, I’m not sure how I’ll survive. How about a home? Or a place of business that isn’t ‘Interstate 5 underpass, second homeless tent on the left?’ An abandoned car?”
Dieter gave a small shake of its head. “He was…” The demon frowned, shook itself, and glanced away. “He is an associate of ours, nothing more. I’m not sure if he even had a place to call his own, though I daresay he did, given his desire to ‘go native’, as they say. I don’t know where.”
“Well,” I said, rising, “text me anything else that comes to mind. I’ve got an engagement this evening, and the usual monster-stomping comes first, but I’ll start on this right away.”
“Thank you for prioritizing this,” Stefan said.
I inclined my head. “I am a professional.”
“You need the money, don’t you?”
“I need the money.”
“Will you respond if we text you this time?” Stefan asked, a hint of acid in the words.
“You’re paying. For the first time ever that makes you my favorite demons in existence. I promise to write, Mom.”
Grabbing my leftovers, I strode for the door. Five thousand dollars. That would give me some breathing room. Fuel and food for Sanctuary.
All I had to do was find a demon that preyed on the weak and not throw it out of the universe.
Chapter 5
“God, this gives me palpable pain in my wallet,” I muttered, stopping my car before the wide iron gates that barred passage to Norman Lockyer’s home.
No. More like mansion. It looked like someone had transmuted a few blocks of forest into a sprawling house. I was sure if I sprinted from one side to the other it would take me half an hour.
Not for the first time, I considered turning around. Sure, it was my responsibility to check it out, but doing what I should hadn’t ever been a strong suit. I’d called Daniel and Kate, who were on a trip down south. Kate had been full of enthusiasm to prove herself. Soon she’d be ready for a solo mission. Rip off the training wheels. Daniel had given me clinical recount of their mission with as much enthusiasm as one would have reading stereo assembly instructions. I’d let each of them know I was out doing managerial stuff, only part of which involved the crazy mansion I was staring at with a hint of jealousy-driven drool on my chin.
My window squealed as I rolled it down. A woman in cargo pants and a tight-fitting t-shirt beneath a field jacket stepped from a little booth, and I had to admit that unlike Kate, she pulled off the intimidating look. A 1911 pistol hung in a holster nestled under one shoulder, and a cattle-prod-like device hung from the other. Fancy house and fancy guards. I wondered what Norman’s neighbors thought. Not that they’d be able to see much — tastefully manicured trees lined the grounds, tall and thick enough to give privacy but not enough to say a reclusive nut lived there.
“May I help you?” the guard asked, keeping a pace from my door. I fished out the invitation and passed it to her. Her eyes flicked over it and passed it back.
“Please pull around the fountain, Mr. Walker,” she said. “Someone will escort you to Mr. Lockyer.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said. She returned to her phone-booth-sized box without another word, and the great iron gates whispered open.
The homes I’d passed on the way in ranged from luxurious to glorious, and my rickety vehicle felt like I was driving a vomit-colored middle finger through the neighborhood of the rich.
The drive split around a three-tiered monstrosity of a fountain with a handful of jets dancing from level to level. A Tesla Roadster lay parked on the other side of it, with a small fleet of not-quite-as-expensive cars parked in rows behind it. Atop a short flight of stone steps lay the entrance proper, complete with a man about my age in a burgundy suit waiting with hands clasped. As I rolled to a stop, he jogged down and tugged at my door. It took two tries to get it open, as it has a tendency to catch about half-way, and slam back shut if you’re not expecting it.
“Mr. Walker,” he said, closing the door after I’d slid out. I wondered if the lady at the gate had called in or if people just assumed a guy in a clunker like this could only be me. “I hope you had a pleasant drive.”
“Only because my helicopter is in the shop,” I said. He stared at me impassively. I shrugged. “Uh, sure. Wonderful.”
“Most excellent. If you’ll follow me?”
My guide led me up the stairs and into the mansion. A pleasant warmth rolled over me along with the scent of cedar. The entry hall was an alcove larger than my last apartment. A few paintings lined the walls, depicting what I assumed were generations of the Lockyer family. Everything was so white — the walls, tablecloths draped over little tables, even the vases that held small arrangements of flowers.
“So, what’s the deal here?” I asked in a casual tone. “What can you tell me about Lockyer?”
“All will be clear, Mr. Walker. I’d advise patience.”
“That’s me,” I said, staring at the painting and trying to guess who Norman was. “Samuel ‘Craploads of Patience’ Walker.”
I tried to look bored. There’s a chance that my faded Journey t-shirt was at odds with the attitude I was trying to adopt, however.
At the end of the entry hall a wide stairway swept up to the second story. The stairs were dark wood, covered with white carpet. Music whispered from a distance, full of fancy stringed instruments. My guide took me past the stairs and through a doorway framed by bookshelves. The room beyond was vast, a library with lounging couches strewn about the room. Two dozen men and women sat on them, the low murmur of their conversation mingling with the music that was growing louder. Most were dressed like the gate guard had been — paramilitary. Every eye followed me as I passed.
“I’m getting kind of an Eyes Wide Shut vibe here,” I muttered to my guide. “I am not staying for the orgy.”
That pulled a few glances at least.
“Probably,” I added. I gave a half-smile and a wave and picked up my pace.
Another hallway, full of recessed lighting and more paintings. I glanced into any open door we passed, but I saw nothing of interest. No torture chambers or tables piled with guns and cocaine. More books, an office with a small writing desk, something that looked like a linen closet larger than my current office… nothing to give me a clue what I was doing here or who I was meeting with.
While we walked, I relaxed my focus and let my senses wander, casting them out like a net. I felt no magic, residual or otherwise, the telltale eddies of power wafting through the air. At this point I’d have almost welcomed that. The more mundane the situation got the stranger it became.
What was going on here?
I don’t like this, Lauren said. It’s too Ozzie and Harriet. Normal.
Ozzie and Harriet didn’t have a mansion, I thought back. This is more… The Beverly Hillbillies.
Finally my guide pulled to a stop in what I could only describe as an auditorium. I glanced around, trying to figure out if we’d stepped through to another dimension on the way. Job hazard, you know. The room seemed too large to fit in the mansion despite how expansive the place had looked from the outside. Three enormous wooden pillars lay near the center of the circular room, arrayed around a lectern lit in a glow from above. Long benches ran around the circumference of the room, broken only where the walls revealed three additional doors beyond the one we’d entered from. Alcoves recessed into the walls held sticks of incense, filling the air with a sweet haze. The music was louder here, coming from the walls themselves. Concealed speakers?
I’d hoped for something spookier. No candles at least. That would have made me think this was a ritual of some sort, or maybe a weird Dungeons and Dragons game. I’ve never seen ritual magic done with anything but candles. There’s no reason for it — as long as you believe you can use anything. Or nothing. A Hello Kitty night light can serve as a focus as long as you believe it will help summon Cthulhu.