Daemons Are Forever

by Simon R. Green

  “You’re welcome,” said Molly.

  Two ordinary-looking men, one my age, in his early thirties. Tall, pleasant enough, wire-rimmed glasses. The other was pale, dark-haired, disturbingly handsome. He looked young enough, until you looked into his very dark eyes, and then he seemed a hell of a lot older. Just two men, standing together. No army. No obvious threat. Except they couldn’t have got this far unless they were quite extraordinary people.

  Howard leant forward sharply. “That’s it! We’re locked on! Stand by, people, we’re going to hit them with everything we’ve got!”

  “No you’re not,” said the Armourer. “We need to talk to them. And besides, it wouldn’t do any good.”

  “What?” Howard looked at the Armourer, baffled.

  “I know who they are,” said the Armourer. “Or at least, I recognise who one of them is, and what the other one is. The one with the glasses is family.”

  “Ah,” said Howard bitterly. “I might have known. Only family could get past family defences.” He peered dubiously at the image. “Can’t say I recognise him.”

  “You wouldn’t,” said the Armourer. “He hardly ever comes home. That’s Harry Drood. James’s only legitimate son.”

  “And, unfortunately, I recognise the other guy,” I said. “I met him once before, briefly, in the prison cells under Manifest Destiny’s old headquarters. They’d imprisoned him inside a pentacle, and cut out his tongue, just in case. And he was still the most dangerous thing there. He’s a half-breed demon, offspring of a succubus. I left him there to die when I brought Truman’s operation crashing down around his head . . . I should have killed the unnatural thing when I had the chance.”

  “You never had the chance,” said Molly. “Half-breeds like that are very hard to kill. They may look like us, but they all have one foot in the Pit. But what’s he doing here, side by side with a Drood?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s not going to be anything good. Harry Drood . . . I’ve heard stories about him.”

  “Most of them are true,” said the Armourer. “Harry’s always been one of our best field agents, if a little too independent. Not unlike you, Eddie, in many ways.”

  “But why appear out of nowhere like this?” I said. “In the company of a demon?”

  “You killed his father,” said the Armourer.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life, isn’t it?”

  “At least now we know how they got in,” said Howard, sounding a little more cheerful. “No mystery anymore. Our defence systems were never designed to recognise something as rare or unnatural as a half-breed hellspawn.”

  “All right, Howard,” I said. “Put the Ops Room on standby, but keep all weapons on line. Just in case Harry’s invited some more friends to drop in later. But don’t start anything without express instructions from me. Molly, Uncle Jack, let’s go welcome Harry home.”

  “Is it okay if I take my arm out of the computer first?” said Molly.

  Molly offered to teleport us right to the lake, but I thought it better we take our time and walk. I didn’t want Harry to think he could panic us into acting precipitously. No, let him wait. The three of us left the Hall and strolled unhurriedly across the wide expanse of open lawns towards the lake. It was a nice summer’s day, warm sunshine and a pleasant breeze. Bright blue sky, with hardly any clouds. And it would have been a pleasant enough walk if I hadn’t had such a bad feeling about the coming encounter.

  A Drood and a hellspawn, together? Not that long ago I would have said such a thing was impossible. But I’d learned a lot about what the family was capable of since then. Little of it good.

  Molly linked her arm through mine as we walked along. She was always happier when she was out in the grounds. She was, after all, a witch of the wild woods, and the old gray stone of the Hall imposed on her free and easy nature. She chattered happily as we walked, and I did my best to go along, but both of us could tell my heart wasn’t in it. My mind was ahead of us, at the lake.

  “Harry Drood,” I said finally to the Armourer. “There was a scandal about him, wasn’t there?”

  “Oh yes,” said the Armourer. “Though it was never discussed outside the Matriarch’s Council. You see, James only married once, and then expressly against the Matriarch’s wishes. Only he could have got away with something like that. He married the infamous adventurer and freelance spy, Melanie Blaze. A very successful operative, in her own sneaky, Machiavellian, and underhanded way. She and James made a great team, important players back in the sixties. Whenever you heard of a secret base being blown up, or an untouchable villain being assassinated, you knew it had to be James and Melanie. Everyone admired them, even their enemies, and every Drood wanted to be them.

  “James only brought Melanie home a few times. The Matriarch was very cold.

  “And then Melanie disappeared into the subtle realms, on some secret mission or other, and never resurfaced. That was . . . fifteen years ago now. James went in after her several times, with and without family approval, but he never found her. He was never the same, after that.”

  “James was like a second father to me,” I said. “He brought me up after my parents were killed. But I don’t think I ever even met Harry.”

  “Harry . . . was always very much his mother’s son,” said the Armourer. “She raised him outside the Hall. Away from the Matriarch. James visited him as much as he could, but . . . I don’t know, Eddie. James and I were close, but there were some things he just wouldn’t talk about. There was something going on . . . with Melanie, or Harry, but . . . Anyway, after Melanie disappeared, James insisted we find work for Harry as a field agent, and the Matriarch kept him busy with missions in foreign climes. And just like you, Eddie, Harry lived for his work and never came home.”

  “I was never allowed out of the country,” I said wistfully.

  “But Harry was James’s son,” said the Armourer. “And James was always Mother’s favourite. Still, Harry proved to be an excellent field agent; very resourceful, always got the job done.”

  “But what kind of a man is he?” said Molly.

  “I have no idea,” said the Armourer. “Harry was always . . . distant.”

  “Is he James’s only son?” said Molly.

  “Hell no,” said the Armourer, chuckling. “Harry was James’s only legitimate son, but he has any number of stepbrothers and stepsisters, scattered across every country in the world, from all the women James had . . . relationships with, down the years.”

  “He never could keep it in his trousers,” I said. “Got him into trouble more often than I care to think about.”

  “James was just very romantic,” the Armourer said firmly. “Always falling in love with a pretty face, and usually living to regret it. The family has never officially recognised any of these . . . offspring, but to keep James happy we usually made arrangements to keep them gainfully employed, doing useful work for the family. On occasions when we needed more than usual distance, or deniability.”

  “I thought your family didn’t approve of half-breeds?” said Molly.

  “We don’t,” I said. “They’re never invited home, and we never send them Christmas cards. The Droods are a very old-fashioned family in some ways, but that’s what happens when you’ve been around for centuries.”

  “But it’s still okay to make use of them, for dangerous jobs?” said Molly.

  “The family can be very pragmatic, when it wants,” said the Armourer. “That’s how we’ve survived for centuries.”

  We finally got to the lake. The dark blue-green waters stretched away before us, serene and undisturbed, the far shore so distant we couldn’t even see it from where we were. There’s an undine in it somewhere, but she keeps herself to herself. The first thing I noticed was that all the swans were gone, presumably fled to the other end of the lake. And when I saw the two men standing on the lakeshore before us, I understood why.

  Harry Drood smiled briefly a
t the Armourer, gazed coolly at me, and nodded briskly to Molly. He looked tall and well built in his sharply cut gray suit, and behind his wire-rimmed glasses his face had that unremarkable look that made the Droods such natural secret agents. No one looks twice at us in the street, and we like it that way. Harry was holding a dead swan by its broken neck, as though it was just something he’d happened to pick up. For an intruder and a swan killer, he looked remarkably casual and at ease.

  The half-breed demon beside him had all the calm and poise of a predator crouched and ready to launch an attack. He looked human enough, until you took in the details. He was a good six feet six tall, slender but powerfully built, with an unnaturally pale face, night black hair and eyes, and a mouth so thin he hardly had any lips at all. He wore an Armani suit and wore it well, along with an Old School tie I couldn’t believe he’d come by honestly. Both his hands were thrust deep in his pockets and he grinned at us all impartially. There was no humour in the smile, just a predator showing its teeth.

  Up close, he reeked of the Pit, a sour and sickening stench of sulphur and blood. The grass beneath his feet was blackened and smouldering.

  “Hello Uncle Jack,” said Harry in a light, pleasant voice. “I’ve come home. No need to prepare a fattened calf for the prodigal son, I think I’ll have swan. I was always very fond of swan.”

  “You might have asked first,” said the Armourer.

  “But then you might have said no,” said Harry reasonably. “And I really think I’m entitled to something special for my homecoming feast, after so long away.”

  “Aren’t you going to introduce your unnerving companion?” I said.

  Harry smiled briefly at me. “Oh yes. How very rude of me. This is my good friend and companion, Roger Morningstar.”

  “I know who you are, you son of a bitch,” said Molly, and her voice was very cold. “I told you what I’d do to you if I ever saw you again.”

  She threw up her arms in the stance of summoning. Dark clouds boiled in the sky overhead. Lightning bolts stabbed down, blasting the ground all around Roger, but they couldn’t touch him. He just stood there, smiling easily at Molly, while the rest of us dove for cover. Molly howled with fury and unleashed all the elements at once against the hellspawn.

  Harry and the Armourer crouched down and scurried hurriedly out of range, while I armoured up. Hail hammered down, thick shards of ice with razor-sharp edges. I stood between Harry and the Armourer and the worst of it, protecting them as best I could. Roger wasn’t harmed at all. Gale winds blew, lightning struck, hail slammed down, and Roger Morningstar stood his ground, untouched and unmoved, smiling his maddening smile.

  Molly quickly exhausted herself, and was soon reduced to throwing sputtering fireballs at Roger, none of which came close to hitting him. The dark clouds drifted away, and the elements settled themselves. I moved quickly over to Molly before she could move on to more dangerous methods, armoured down, and murmured calming, soothing words into her ear from a safe distance until she stopped glaring at Roger and turned sharply away, hugging herself tightly. I knew better than to bother her while she was in such a mood.

  Harry and the Armourer came back to join us. “Would anyone care to explain to me what that was all about?” said the Armourer, just a bit testily.

  “We used to date,” said Roger, in a surprisingly pleasant voice.

  “It was a long time ago!” said Molly, still deliberately not looking at him.

  “You never thought to mention this before?” I said.

  She glared at me. “Do I quiz you about your old girlfriends?”

  “Yes.”

  She sniffed. “It’s different for a girl.”

  “But he’s a hellspawn!” I said. “A half-breed demon!”

  She shrugged. “It’s always the bad boy who makes a girl’s heart beat that little bit faster.”

  Some conversations you just know aren’t going to go anywhere good, so I turned my attention back to Roger. “The last time I saw you, Truman had you trapped inside one of his holding pens. With your tongue cut out.”

  “And you left me there to die,” Roger said easily. “How very Drood of you. But I escaped amid the general chaos. No one tried to stop me. No one dared. And I grew back my tongue. We hellspawn are very hard to kill.”

  “Then how was Truman able to capture and mutilate you in the first place?” I said, perhaps a little pointedly.

  Roger showed his teeth again in the smile that wasn’t a smile. “Oh please, like I’d be foolish enough to tell you.”

  “All right,” I said. “Why are you here?”

  “Revenge,” said Roger, and for just a moment bright crimson flames flared in his dark eyes. “Truman must pay for what he did to me . . . but even I can’t hope to take down an organisation the size of Manifest Destiny on my own. Which means I need allies, and your family seems the best bet. You want them destroyed almost as much as I do, and the enemy of my enemy can be my ally, if not my friend.”

  “You expect us to trust you?” said the Armourer.

  “Of course not. But as long as we have a cause in common, it’s in my best interests to be useful to you.”

  “And he’s with me,” said Harry, very firmly. He was standing beside Roger again, as though he belonged there. “Roger and I go way back: old friends, old allies.”

  “Dear Jesus,” said the Armourer. He sounded honestly shocked. “What have you been doing, Harry, what depths have you sunk to, that you could even consider befriending a thing of the Pit?”

  “When your family turns its back on you, you have to find your friends where you can,” said Harry. “Right, Eddie? Now, no welcome home for me, Uncle Jack? After all these long years away, serving the family faithfully and well in foreign climes, with never even a thank you in return?”

  “You could have come home any time,” said the Armourer. “The Matriarch might not have been too happy about it, but your father and I would have stood by you. We told you; we both told you, often enough. But you always had some excuse or another.”

  “I’m here now, Uncle Jack. Because of my father.”

  “You heard,” I said.

  “Of course I heard. The whole world knows you murdered my father, dear Cousin Eddie. So here I am, representing all the Gray Fox’s old friends, allies, lovers, and enemies, all of us very upset that the legendary James Drood is dead. We want to know why. We demand answers.”

  “It was a duel,” I said simply. “Armour to armour. He fought well, and died honourably.”

  I didn’t even glance at Molly. Her part in James’s death was no one’s business but our own.

  Harry looked at me, his head cocked slightly on one side. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  “That’s all there is,” I said. “I was at war with my family, and he just got in the way.”

  “Then . . . you didn’t just murder my father, and take away everyone’s torcs . . . so you could take over the family and run it unopposed?”

  “No,” I said calmly. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “It really wasn’t,” said the Armourer. “He’s telling the truth, Harry. Don’t you think I would have avenged my brother by now, if I thought he needed avenging?”

  “Well, well,” said Harry. “How very intriguing. I can see I shall have to investigate further. Either way, I have come home at last, with my good friend Roger, to serve the family in its hour of need. Tell me how grateful you all are.”

  “We can always use another experienced field agent,” I said. “But the hellspawn . . .”

  “Please, call me Roger.”

  “Don’t trust him, Eddie,” said Molly, back at my side again. “You can’t trust anything he says. Hell always lies, except when a truth can hurt you more.”

  “I’ll say it again, for the benefit of the hard of thinking at the back,” said Harry. “Roger is with me. I vouch for him, and guarantee his behaviour while he’s here at the Hall. And he does have a right to be here. He’s family, ju
st like me.”

  “What?” said the Armourer. “Have you lost your mind, Harry? How can a thing of the Pit be family?”

  “Because we share the same father,” said Harry.

  Roger smiled widely. “Mother was a succubus, my father the illustrious James Drood. How about a big family hug?”

  The Armourer shook his head slowly, dully, as though he’d been slapped hard. He looked suddenly older, and frailer. I have to say, it took my breath away. I looked at Molly, but she just shrugged, to show it was news to her too.

  “That’s right,” Harry said brightly. “Roger is my stepbrother. And your nephew, Uncle Jack.”

  “The old Gray Fox really did put it about,” said Molly. “But even so, a succubus? That’s just . . . tacky.”

  “Lust demons are aristocrats in Hell,” said Roger. “Gathered souls are currency in the Pit.”

  “Shut up,” said the Armourer. “Just shut up.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” said Roger.

  “It’s funny how Roger and I first met,” said Harry. “That was down to the family. Father and I were working together on a mission, as we often did when we ended up in the same part of the world at the same time. We were in Paris, tracking down that legendary thief and assassin, the Fantom, and father took me to a certain little out-of-the-way nightclub on the West Bank, where information of all sorts could be found, with a little effort. Grimy little place, called the Plus Ca Change . . . And that’s where I met Roger. We got to chatting, while father beat the necessary information out of a bunch of biker loups garou, and the two of us got on famously. Father and I never did catch up with the Fantom, but Roger and I kept in touch.”