“Why don’t you look in the hallway and see if they’re near?” I nodded toward the door. She didn’t move. Collin took the lead and stuck his head out.
I tossed in a few liquids, going by memory. Then I ground up a dried bulb of garlic, some fennel, and a root from the Paceus plant that was a bitch to locate. These also went into the noxious mix.
“We need to talk.”
“Not now, Glenda, and don’t mention you know what,” I hissed the last few words. “No one can know. You weren’t even supposed to be allowed down there.”
“Fine,” she whispered back with a tight frown.
I rummaged around a small wooden box, found what I thought was a crow’s feather, and drew it out.
“No you don’t.” She shook her head.
“Oh yes I do.”
As voices filtered in from the doorway, Collin rose to stop them, but he seemed to be in a losing battle.
“Phineas!” Glenda said, like she was scolding a child.
“Why don’t you just run out in the hallway and yell ‘he’s in there!’” I shook the potion, relatively sure that I hadn’t missed anything. “Shit.” I moved bottles aside.
There was a banging at the door and Collin shouted to be heard, but the people on the other side ignored him. He had one large foot pressed against the door. I got a glance at what must have been a size thirteen shoe and a light bulb went off.
“Really?” I said, nodding toward his shoe.
Glenda raised her hands and shrugged, either unsure what I was implying or she was going for actress of the year.
“Mercury,” I said and pushed the bottle aside.
More banging at the door. Then loud shouting as the unmistakable voice of Lukan joined in.
I knocked over a bottle of lavender and then pushed aside clove oil. Why wasn’t it here? Wait. There it was! Oh, very funny. Mercury was next to lead and lead was next to dried worms. Like you ever knew how to fish, Salazar.
“It’s been real fun.” I said, as I moved toward the plywood duct-taped to the side of the building. I ripped a piece away and that left me with the perfect suicide door.
“You better not! Phin!” Glenda whispered as loud as she dared.
I wondered if that was about to be the last sound I heard out of her.
I stepped into space and plummeted into the night sky. The potion was already at my lips, but I jostled the bottle as I fell and got a mouthful, which was entirely too much.
I shot straight up at what felt like forty miles an hour. Wind whistled through my hair as I rose. I had the other bottle in hand and managed to drop the flight potion, hoping to the hells I dropped it and not the other vial. If the lead fell out of my hand, I was in for a quick trip that would end with my frozen corpse exploring the expanses of space.
I bit off a tiny chunk of lead and muttered a spell over the wind. At least it stopped my descent from a near drop to something approaching a parachute-assisted fall. I would have needed a half an hour to properly measure all of the ingredients. Even then the lighter than a feather potion was volatile at best. I fell out of the clouds and the buildings came into view. So I steered toward the warlock headquarters and threw a splash of power into my landing, hoping that no one was in the way.
I dug out my pitchfork and fled into the night. The next stop, after I ran an errand or two, was the necropolis. I liked my brethren well enough, but it was hard to get over the smell.
Chapter Eleven
“Your dog is possessed,” the woman behind the counter said. Her glasses emphasized a lot about her face. Mainly her eyes, because the glass was so thick that her pupils bugged out. Speaking of possessed, her eyes were possessed. Her nametag read Sheila.
“He’s not really my dog.”
“She.”
“Oh.” I tried to look apologetic.
“That’ll be two hundred and fourteen dollars.” She smiled.
I waited for my mouth to close. This place was called The Lucky Dog. I wasn’t feeling the sentiment.
“That seems pretty high.”
“You said one night and left her for four. If you hadn’t shown by tomorrow we were going to call animal control. Lots of people abandon dogs, and frankly,” she leaned forward, “that dog is weird and evil. I get it.”
“She’s very sweet.” I smiled in what I hoped was a winning manner. She wasn’t impressed.
“Yeah. All she does is eat, growl, and glare. We haven’t been able to walk her. When she craps in her cage we draw straws to see who will clean it up. What was she eating before she got here?”
“Steak and potatoes.”
What had Clara been feeding the dog? If it even belonged to the grandmotherly woman. I still held out hope that she had been somehow tricked into sending me to the park late last week to find her husband’s killer.
“Smells like she’s been eating road kill to me.” She ran my debit card and I waited to see if I even had enough funds to cover the charge. I thought about glamouring the room, grabbing the dog, and making a get away if I was short of funds. A quick glance told me that would be a bad idea, since they had at least one security camera.
“She smells that bad?”
“Her – you know -- poop.”
“Oh.” This time I gave up on trying to look apologetic.
“You’ll have to come get Peaches. She won’t let any of us touch her.”
“Peaches?”
“Your dog. Her name was on the tag, or did you forget?”
“I thought you said no one would touch her.”
“No one in their right mind. Carlos isn’t afraid of anything, but he came out of the kennel mumbling about El Diablo.”
“Like I said, she’s not my dog. I’m just keeping an eye on her for a few days.”
“I’d keep an eye, a chain, and at least a muzzle.” Sheila turned to lead me into the kennel.
The room was silent when we walked in. Dogs lay curled up, nose to tail, except for a couple of Chihuahuas that shivered next to each other. Their bulbous eyes reminded me of the lady that led me to Peaches.
Steel cages lined the walkway with dogs of all sizes, conditions, and ages inside. I would have expected them to be howling as we went into the space, but they all regarded me with accusing eyes. Oh leave off, dogs. I’m not even in my warlock clothing today. Besides, what did I ever do to dogs except kill a large one the other night?
At the end of the cages I found Peaches. She was laying on her back with all four legs pointed straight up. Oh dear, I was going to be unhappy about paying kennel space for a dead dog.
But she rolled over and rumbled to her feet as I approached. She didn’t really move that quickly. More like she was ponderous instead of the rolly-polly bounciness of a Pomeranian. I smiled, but she didn’t smile back. She didn’t even blink.
“That dog is strange,” the woman said. She snapped the end of a leash, handed it to me, and walked back the way we had come.
Peaches didn’t move.
“Come on, girl,” I said.
The dog lifted one leg and farted long and loudly. I shook my head while the animal regarded me like it was just waiting for me to say something. I didn’t. In fact I turned, eyes wide, because I could have sworn I’d smelled something besides doggy gas. I thought, for a few seconds, that I’d smelled brimstone.
I tugged at the leash again and led her out.
**
We had to dash for my truck because the rain was starting up again. The plan was to pick the dog up and then run. Instead I staggered when I got her into both of my arms, because she seemed to weight about sixty-five pounds instead of fifteen.
It wasn’t all that cold, and some humidity hung around like it was bored. Typical grey late September day. The sun might be up there or it might be on vacation until June.
I pounded over puddles and was thankful that I’d left my robes at home this time. Not that I had a clean one anywhere in the house. I was going to have to place an order ASAP if I were to do any more war
locking.
I tossed the dog in the side door and ran around to the driver’s side. Sliding in, I shook my long black hair to get some of the water off. She looked at me for a few seconds and then returned the favor.
“Wet dog smell. Great,” I muttered.
I slid the key in and started the truck. It rumbled to life like a bad day and sat puttering. Then I shifted the heat around so I could get some on the rapidly fogging front window, some on my wet hair, and some on the dog.
She stood on all fours glaring at me. I glared back, but she didn’t blink.
“What’s your problem, dog?”
“From dawn’s repast, yea the light doth filter in and greet me,” it replied in a voice that sounded like a pair of boulders being ground together by an angry god, while a classroom of special needs children sang the national anthem at the top of their lungs, in falsetto.
A spell leapt into my mouth, but I didn’t utter it when the dog lifted one leg and bowed its head slightly. I stared at it and it stared back. Beady little eyes had a hint of intelligence. Dogs didn’t talk unless they were changers, and they couldn’t speak well because their vocal chords changed with their bodies.
“You’re not a changer.” I tried not to jump out of my skin.
“Tis true. Fear not, mortal. I no longer wish to kill you.”
“You must work for Balkir with all that ‘mortal’ crap. Say, can Pomeranian’s wring their paws together?”
It’s called bravado, and it was all I had at the moment. I was stuck in a truck without even a backseat and there was a demon inside a Pomeranian.
“Ah, very good. I commend your humor. Alas, I have no wish to harm you.”
I don’t know what was freaking me out more. The fact that the damned thing was talking or the fact that her mouth didn’t move. Was I supposed to pet her? Give her a cookie? Toss her back to a ward?
“Mind telling me how you got in there?”
“We fought. You won. Now I reside here.” It paused dramatically.
“Who and what resides here?
“And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”
So that happened.
“Is my name so important? There is great power in the knowing of such things. My essence, you placed it in a bottle, and this vessel grew curious. Perhaps it was because I called in that special voice of the animals. I would share, but such things are wasted on mortals.”
“This vessel? Oh I get it. The dog.”
“Thusly.”
“Thusly? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“From dawn’s repast …”
“Here we go again.” I sighed dramatically.
“Apologies. Such a prickly one.”
“I get it,” I said, and put the vehicle in reverse. “You’re not just a demon. You’re a cultured demon. How did you do it anyway? I’ve had the bottle with me the entire time.”
“It has a leak. Thus my essence was slow to escape and now I am whole.”
“So that vial is empty now?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly? Does some part of you remain?”
“Thusly.”
I sighed and put both hands on the wheel to stop from punching something.
I had already come to the decision that I should hit the freeway, get up to speed, and then toss the dog out the window. There were a couple of things holding me back. My conscience, and lack of upper body strength. Besides, it wasn’t like the dog had done anything wrong. It didn’t deserve to be mushed into gooey Pomeranian bits. Take away the demon and I was sure the mutt would be its normal canine self.
“You are correct, sir. Long have I lived and many lives have I consumed. But I weary of the wards and wish to stay a time on Earth. Can we strike some sort of bargain?”
I hit a side road and roared toward the freeway. I was thinking about how much I didn’t want anything like this in my life. A demon could not be trusted. At the first opportunity it would shred my soul. Rip my body to pieces. I might be laying in bed, late at night and BAM! I would be warlock bits ready for the stew pot.
“Uh huh. Live on Earth, sing Kumbaya, hang with some mortals, maybe take in a nice doggy park?”
“And I shall be a great help in your own studies. I sense your power but it is weak. I can also sense something else, something buried. I may be able to assist in bringing it forth.”
“Uh huh. Lots of power, praise his unholy name and shit.” I nodded and hit the freeway, already accelerating past the speed limit. I had to get this beast home and into some kind of containment device. I would need time and a place to work. That meant I needed a distraction for my new companion.
I had a book of demons somewhere at home. Nothing you’d find in the possession of a true demonologist, but it had its uses since it listed major and minor inhabitants of the wards. It covered how to deal with them and how to hang on to your soul in the event you were actually confronted. I might as well just write down my plans in olde English and set them in front of the dog’s snout.
“You don’t trust me or my intentions. Canst say I blame you.”
“Uh huh, intentions.”
“Bezophelondia Elus Dothraniumtortaskinum,” the demon said. My hair stood on end.
I slammed on the brakes and slid onto the shoulder. Cars shot by as I came to a screeching halt. The dog was thrown to the floor, along with all the old newspapers, maps, Google direction print offs, and at least three empty coffee cups.
“What did you say?” I stared at the Pomeranian that was buried in all the crap that had been on my front seat.
“My name. Do you feel safer?”
I did, actually. Having the demon’s name meant I had power over it. I could control it if I so desired, to an extent, but not as well as a true demonologist. With a name, they could make this demon dance, juggle, and sing show tunes. I was already burning a glyph in my mind that represented him. If I needed too I could bring forth the symbol at any time, and with it the demon.
“I felt safe before, demon,” I quipped, trying to regain some of my bravado.
“I was foolish before, unplanned. I should have waited, but the blood lust was so very strong. Were we to go again, I have no doubt I would come out the victor. Your soul would have been the spoils.”
“Wouldn’t that upset your master, Balkir?” I checked my blind spot and roared back onto the freeway. I took it roughly to see if the little beast could stay on four paws. He did all right, but he staggered a little.
“Balkir is strong. Very strong. Do well to remember that if you ever face him.”
“I did face him, and sent him howling to the wards. Still so sure about that next bout?”
“You sent him to the wards?” Then the demon did something that chilled me to the bone. It laughed. The sound, like a million pissed off bees, was suddenly coughed out of a giant mouth.
“Are you done yet?” I asked in indignation.
“Tis a fine game being played. A fine game.”
“So it was Balkir that called you to destroy me?”
“No. Not he. Another whom I am forbidden to speak of.”
“What if I offer you unlimited doggie biscuits?” I patted her head.
Peaches howled with laughter as I roared toward home.
Chapter Twelve
My house was like a long lost friend. I walked in and wanted to hug every room. Bilbo left her hiding spot to greet me, but bolted across her gigantic web at the sight of my dog. Great. Now I had rival pets to deal with.
“Don’t eat my spider.”
“I would not dream of such a thing.”
“Hmm.”
The Pomeranian, I had decided to call her Peaches instead of her demonic name, studied the space the spider had occupied. Why Peaches? Because a possessed Pomeranian named Peaches had a great ring to it.
Peaches didn’t growl, just looked. The stand off continued, b
ut now the shoe was on the other furry foot.
I tossed my junk mail on the counter and hoped there weren’t too many late payment notifications buried in the mess. If I got really bored I might sort them into recycling bins. Otherwise I planned to lay them down for Peaches to piss on. Did I have a fire extinguisher?
I popped on the television and let the local news drone on. No more gory murders in Seattle, which reminded me about my payment. So I dug through the mail, but a check from the Seattle Police Department did not magically appear. I might have to resort to selling potions on craigslist if I didn’t get an actual paying job soon.
I should’ve called Carlisle and gotten Thora’s number. Maybe I could dump Peaches in her lap “Here’s your puppy, good luck!” and run.
I didn’t feel like cooking, so I tossed a couple pieces of non-suspicious bread in the toaster and set it for almost black. Not that a little green was bad for you.
My ratty couch had seen better days a decade ago, and when Peaches the wonder demon decided to hop up on the cushion next to me I didn’t say a word. I should’ve called Glenda to remind her to keep her mouth shut about the secret room, but I knew it was just an excuse to hear her voice.
Then I thought about calling Ashley and asking her forgiveness for setting her business on fire, but came to the same conclusion.
I wolfed down the bread. It had the barest of butter spread between the two slices because the tub of lard was down to a few side scraping. My stomach rumbled, so I popped open a local microbrew.
The vial was still on the counter. I took it back to my seat and showed it to Peaches.
“Who’s a good doggy? Who’s a good doggy?”
Peaches did not look impressed.
I popped open the vial and let the rest out. Her essence was a grey mist that swirled out in a languid cloud. It formed a spiral then Peaches leaned in and snorted it like meth smoke.
“I am complete.”
“Wonderful.”
“I like beer,” Peaches said from the seat next to me. She perched with one leg tucked under her chest, back leg extended. When she looked at me, her eyes glowed an unholy red, like someone popped a pair of Christmas lights in the back of her skull then attached glass eyes. It was downright creepy and I live for this kind of stuff.
At the Behest of the Dead Page 17