Damoren

by Seth Skorkowsky

  14 May - I have arrived in London and secured a room at Claridge’s. I’d almost forgotten the damnable fog here.

  15 May - This morning I met with Watson to discuss my plan for Dämoren. I complimented him on his work, which he said was a Dumonthier style. I showed him the pieces of Dämoren, expressing my desire to use the entire sword in the gun’s construction. Watson seemed hesitant at first, but after expressing my desire and capability of payment, he has agreed to draft a design based on my specifications.

  19 May - I visited Mr. Watson this morning, eager to see his ideas. His designs, while aesthetic, lacked the functionality I had desired. Watson apologized for my disappointment, and told me to return to see more designs.

  22 May - Watson continues to disappoint me. He suggested using only a few select pieces of Dämoren, expressing that her steel would be unsuitable for a functioning pistol. I told him that substituting the steel is impossible.

  26 May - My confidence in Watson’s abilities wanes. He showed me three sketches today. None were acceptable. Why would Dämoren lead me to him?

  28 May - Watson presented me with a more pleasing design, a five-shot revolving gun, using Dämoren’s handle as the grip. It incorporated the LeFaucheaux cartridge system. I told him I would prefer the newer Boxer cartridge, similar to those found on the Enfield rifle. He became very distressed at this, stating the Boxer cartridge would be too difficult to adapt to the design. It has become clear to me that Watson does not share my vision.

  Tomorrow I leave for France to find this Dumonthier, who designed the original gun that inspired Watson.

  Chapter Eight

  “I just had a moment to grab Feinluna before it was on me,” Luiza said.

  Matt opened the dining room door and let her step through. “What happened?”

  “Once it saw the sword, it knew better than to just keep charging. So it threw a chair at me. The wood caught fire at its touch. I ducked, and it went straight through this sliding glass door behind me. Boosh! Right out into the street.”

  They made their way to the bar along the back wall.

  Luiza poured a glass of juice and dropped a few thin slices of meat onto a little plate. “Now this ifrit is mad, and the carpet, wherever it steps, is melting and smoking. It grabs this little coffee table, holds it up, and then charges. It hits me, and we both go right out the broken door. It’s crushing me between the balcony rail and this table, which is now on fire. I’m just trying to keep it off me and, for some reason, I’m more worried about broken glass getting into my bare feet.”

  “Or other things,” Matt added with a grin. He poured himself a glass of water.

  Luiza gave a sly smile. “That too. Now don’t get ahead of me.”

  “Sorry.” They found an empty table and sat. “Go on.”

  “I managed to get my shoulder against it,” she said, twisting in her chair, miming the movements. “I swung low and cut it right across the front of the ankle. It stumbles back, drops the table, and I swing.” Luiza gave a wide gesture as if holding the sword in her hand. “Cut its head clean off. This geyser of white demon fire shoots out of its neck. It stands there for just a moment, then falls. Suddenly, this roaring cheer erupts from everywhere, and I realize there’s a crowd of at least five thousand people watching me from the street, other balconies, everywhere.”

  “And you’re still naked?”

  “Close enough,” she laughed. “It’s not like I was planning for it to crash through my hotel door while I was changing. But this crowd thinks it’s just some act for Carnival. They have no idea that it’s real.”

  “So what did you do?” Matt asked, chuckling.

  Luiza snorted. “I bowed to my audience. Then I ran back inside, got my clothes, stomped out a carpet fire, and got the hell out of there.”

  “Wow,” Matt said, nodding. “That’s a good one. I’d loved to have seen that.”

  Her brow rose playfully. “I’m sure you would have.”

  Matt felt himself flush.

  “Mornin’,” Tom said, limping toward the table.

  “Good morning,” Matt replied, smiling, grateful for the distraction.

  Tom didn’t smile back. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” Luiza said. “Black.”

  “With milk, please,” Matt said.

  “Eggs?”

  They both said yes.

  “Right.” The big man turned and limped back toward the kitchen.

  Matt hid his frown with a drink of water. In the three days since returning from Spain, Tom’s friendly demeanor had gone cold. At first, Matt thought it was a general mood after seeing Eslarin broken and Yev dead. But more and more he suspected Tom’s anger was directed at him. He’d bet anything Malcolm was behind it. His shit had already led to Matt living like a prisoner, never alone outside his room. He must have said something to Tom. Either him or Schmidt. He eyed Schmidt and Jean, his white-haired protégé, eating at a nearby table with Turgen.

  “So,” Luiza said. “Your turn.”

  “Mine?”

  She ate a slice of ham and nodded. “What’s your funniest story?”

  “I don’t know. Not sure if I can top yours.”

  “Try.”

  Matt chewed his lip and thought. Finally, “I’ll tell you the story of the two Bobs.”

  “Two Bobs?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “Back when I was eighteen Clay and I were down in East Texas on some rumors of missing people around one of the lakes. There’s always a lot of drowning and accidents on lakes every summer, but that year the number was abnormally high. After a couple days, we heard some kids had made a fuss about seeing a monster one night and so went to check it out.

  “It was this dingy little cove with a couple old houses. Clay was more worried about stumbling on a meth-lab than finding a demon. But near the back of the cove, the blood compass went off, pointing to this real shitty trailer near the water.” Matt glanced up. “Thanks, Tom.”

  Tom set two coffees on the table.

  Matt sipped it, and sucked a breath, trying to cool his scalded mouth. He set it aside to cool a bit longer before tying that again. “So we snuck closer. We sprinkled ma... warding powder along the windows and across the door to keep it inside. Since we didn’t know what it was, Clay told me to stay outside. I had a pistol with silver rounds, but he didn’t want to take the chance if they didn’t work. So I stood watch.

  “Clay creeps up and kicks open the door. I hear a shot, and then an ungodly scream, more like a screech. Then the side of this rusty trailer just explodes as this big bird-headed thing just comes plowing straight out the side right toward me.”

  “Bird-headed?” Luiza asked.

  “Yeah. Had a head like a vulture and these talons.” He lifted his hands, fingers splayed and curved, almost like he was about to catch a basketball. “Nasty claws. So I’m running backwards and shooting. It’s coming at me, bullets going everywhere. Clay steps through the hole in the trailer, and it’s a wonder I didn’t hit him. He screams, ‘Drop!’ and I dive to the side, and he nails it with Dämoren.

  “So.” He sipped his coffee again. “It falls and the fireworks start up. It’s burning this emerald green, and then we hear this man’s voice scream, ‘God damn. What the hell is that?’” Matt said in his best twang. “This bright beam of light hits me and we see these two good ol’ boys sitting in this flat-bottom boat, maybe thirty feet out.”

  She chuckled. “And you hadn’t seen them before?”

  “Nope. They’d been sitting on the far side of the cove by some trees. No lights on their boat, so they’d just blended in. One of them has this mega-spotlight and the other is holding a little twenty-two rifle. I’m sure we’re fucked. Clay and I are armed, but shooting people is a whole lot different than demons.

  “Suddenly, Clay busts out this gold badge. ‘FBI. Lower your weapons,’” Matt said, giving his best impression of Clay’s gruff voice.

  “FBI?” Luiza asked.

  “Cla
y used to carry this badge he’d found somewhere. Said, ‘Female Body Inspector’ on the bottom. He said no one ever looked too close because people always shy away when they see a badge, at least people who aren’t cops. Anyway, the guy with the light says, ‘Damn it, Bob. Lower your gun.’

  “The guy with the gun goes, ‘Well God damn, Bob, I heard him.’ He lowers his gun a little, points it at the demon that’s now burning on the bank, and is, ‘What the hell is that thing?’”

  ‘Gentlemen,’ Clay says, all serious. ‘That is an extra-terrestrial.’

  Luiza burst into laughter.

  Matt kept going. ‘Hell, you’re shitting me,’ his voice in the higher twang of Bob One.

  Bob Two’s drawl was deeper. ‘Look at it.’

  ‘Son of a bitch.’

  “Clay tells them that he and I are part of some secret government mission to find aliens,” Matt said, becoming aware that the other tables had gone quiet.

  “And they believed it?” she laughed.

  He nodded. “Well, the six-foot bird-headed thing was pretty convincing. That, and the dozen or so empty beer cans in the bottom of the boat probably helped. But the best part was that Clay convinced them to help dispose of the body even after it turned human. He said, ‘Now the local authorities can’t recover the body. Autopsy will show the truth.’ And he got them to sink it into the lake for us. They were more worried about poisoning the fish with radiation than they were about sinking a body.”

  Still laughing, Luiza wiped a tear from her eye. “Why aliens? Why not tell them the truth?”

  Matt shrugged. “I asked Clay the same thing, later on, and he couldn’t even tell me. Said it was the first thing that came to mind. He used to watch this old show about FBI agents who tracked aliens, and he just went with it. He told them that they had done a great service to their country and to mankind. Got their information in case he ever needed them again, and that was it. One of them went, ‘Damn it Bob, I told you I wanted to go to Lake Fork. This one’s got damn chicken aliens.’”

  She laughed again. Matt liked that.

  Tom set two plates down on the table. “That’s a fine story, there.”

  “Thanks.” Matt smiled at him.

  Tom smiled back. A small victory.

  “I’d say that wins,” Luiza said.

  Matt ate a corner of omelet. “I don’t know. I wasn’t naked in front of five thousand people.”

  After they had finished breakfast, Luiza said, “I’ll be going into town. You want me to take you back to your room?”

  “Allan should be in the library by now.”

  “Still up for tomorrow?”

  He nodded. “We never finished our shoot-off.”

  They stood. Before following her out, Matt approached Turgen at his table.

  The old man looked up from a newspaper. “You’re a good storyteller, Matt.”

  “Thank you.” He fished a fold of paper from his pocket. “I’m almost out of reloading supplies for Dämoren. Some of it you have here, but not all of it.”

  Turgen took the note and read it. “Black powder. Thin felt fabric. Pure silver.”

  “Dämoren can’t shoot smokeless. I asked Luiza, but she’s not a citizen here and can’t buy it. I also need to cast spare bullets. Ten ounces at least.”

  “I understand.” The old man nodded and handed the list to Schmidt. “We’ll have it for you this evening.”

  Matt shifted a bit uneasily as Schmidt glanced at the list, then slid it into a shirt pocket. “It’s very important they’re exactly what’s on the list. Dämoren’s picky.”

  Turgen smiled assumingly. “Max is familiar with Dämoren’s needs.”

  Matt gave a little sigh. “Thank you.”

  #

  As expected, they found Allan in the library engrossed in his computer. Mikhail, the orphaned student sat at a table, his dark hair over his face as he scribbled notes beside a worn book. The lingering smell of Anya’s cigarettes still hung in the air, though she wasn’t at her desk.

  “I might see you this evening,” Luiza said. “If not, I’ll get you in the morning for our run.”

  Matt smiled. “Look forward to it.”

  Once the door closed, Allan looked up from his clicking keyboard. “Got a girlfriend, I see.”

  “What? No. She’s just been keeping me company while I’m under house arrest.”

  Allan’s brow cocked. “Uh huh.”

  Matt felt his ears redden. “It’s nothing like that.”

  The Englishman nodded. “All right then, ‘cause Luiza and I have been shaggin’ now and then, and I didn’t want that to cause any tension between you and I.”

  A sudden pang hit Matt in the gut as if Allan had just kicked him. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t form the words. “Oh,” he finally said. “No. No problems.”

  Allan laughed. “I knew you liked her. Don’t worry, mate. I’m just fucking with you.”

  Matt snorted a laugh and shook his head. “Fine. You caught me.”

  “Not like it was hard.” Allan brushed his fingers through his hair. “So did you have a chance to read my notes on the tongue terror?”

  “Yeah.” Matt, grateful for the subject change, pulled up a rolling chair and sat. “Pretty straight forward. Nothing I could really add.”

  Allan’s eyes narrowed. “But?”

  Matt shrugged. “Eh... Not too big on the name.”

  “Terriblis lingua? It means tongue terror. We’ve assigned Latin names to demons since the Eighteenth Century.”

  “No. That’s fine.” He rubbed his chin. “Tongue terror.”

  Allan gave a puzzled look. “But you said it was fine.”

  “The scientific name is fine. But actually calling it tongue terror... I mean, you have the chance to call it anything. It should be punchy.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, a vampire isn’t called blood- sucking corpse, and a Lamia isn’t a snake-tailed flesh-eater. They have their own name that we use.”

  “So, what do you suggest?” Allan asked.

  Matt smiled. “A strutter.”

  Allan blinked. “Why?”

  “It’s a song by Kiss.”

  He blinked again, then shook his head. “You’re joking?”

  “No. I wanted to name a demon after them. I mean it’s got that big Gene Simmons tongue. They call him The Demon. So it fits.”

  “Why not call it a Simmons?”

  Matt gave a little shrug. “Didn’t like the ring as much. Not as punchy as, strutter.”

  Allan looked at Matt like he was something that just crawled out from under a rock, then laughed. “You’re daft, you know that? I thought you were serious.”

  “I am. I’d like to name it strutter. I mean I’m the one who killed it, right? So I should name it.”

  The amused smile vanished from Allan’s face. “No. You’re not naming a demon breed after a band. No.”

  “That’s why I said you could keep Terriblis lingua, but change th—”

  “No,” Allan said flatly.

  “You’re no fun.”

  “So is this all you did last night,” Allan asked, swiveling his seat around toward the monitor, “come up with demon names?”

  “Pretty much. I think your computers are still buggy. I was trying to see what you guys had found about that big thing we saw on the video, but I can’t access the database.”

  Allan’s shoulders slumped a little. “Oh. That.”

  “What?”

  Allan swung the chair back. “The, um, others think that giving you access to our records isn’t a good idea.”

  “What?” It was more shock than anything.

  “I didn’t realize they had blocked you yet. I’d assumed Schmidt would have talked with you first.”

  A hot knot of anger clenched inside Matt’s gut. “He blocked me? That son of a bitch!” He brought his hand down onto his armrest a little harder than expected. The resounding thud echoed through the room.

&nb
sp; Sighing, Allan nodded. “I know.”

  “So what in the hell am I supposed to do around here?” he asked, his fingers tightening into a fist. “If he’d told me back in Canada that I’d be treated like some criminal, I’d have told him to kiss my ass. What happened to, Dämoren trusts you, so we trust you?”

  Allan’s gaze darted past Matt, then back. “They’re worried about you having access to all of the Valducan records.”

  “They?” Matt turned to see Mikhail tensely stooped lower over his book, obviously trying not to appear like he was listening. Matt looked back to Allan. “Why don’t you just say Schmidt and Malcolm?”

  “It’s not just them. Others agree, as well.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure there are.” Anya, for one. She’d thrown suspicion on Matt the instant that ifrit turned, but he didn’t want to say that to Allan. He’d noticed enough side-long glances to know Mikhail wasn’t the only Librarian that liked her.

  “But,” Allan said, optimistically. “I did get them to agree you can have access as long as it’s under my watch. So as long as you’re in here, with me, you can go through it.”

  Matt leaned back into the swivel chair, letting out a long breath. “Thanks, man.”

  “Don’t worry,” Allan said through a toothy grin. “I’ll be putting you to work.”

  “Like what?”

  “For one, finding out who those people were. We’re pretty certain we’re dealing with a cult, but don’t know anything beyond that.” He turned and opened a picture on his computer: A zoomed still of the robed man talking on the phone. A pendant hung from his neck, but too fuzzy to make out clearly. In the night vision’s green monochrome, it was impossible to even tell what it was made of. The light seemed to glint off it. Metal? Stone?

  “Anya and I have gone through every glyph we know of, but haven’t found anything that matches it.” He opened a new window. Another picture, this one zoomed in on the pendant itself, filled the screen. Crude digital lines, drawn in black, followed the medallion’s pixilated curves. There was clearly a circle of sorts. Inside it a shape.

  Matt leaned closer. The little drawn lines gave it almost the appearance of a letter ‘J’ lying on its side.