by Ryan Attard
“I will never give you the book, Greede.”
“You won’t,” Greede said, “but that doesn’t mean the book won’t end up in my hands anyway.” He chuckled at our bewildered expressions. “Call it destiny, call it fate, call it me bribing some fat cat in a suit. Point is, whatever your course of action, that book will inevitably end up in my hands, regardless of whether you go stop the bad guys or not.”
He spread his arms, inviting us to reclaim our gear.
Slowly, I reached out and grabbed Djinn, keeping an eye on the armed guards. They remained motionless, as did Greede.
“This isn’t over,” I said.
He smiled at me. “Golly, I hope not. This really was a lot of fun.”
And just like that, Greg and I walked out of that penthouse office and exited the Ryleh Corp building.
Chapter 18
After the physical and emotional beat down at the Ryleh building, I desperately needed to refocus, and judging by the way he kept glaring at nothing, I’d say Greg felt pretty much the same way.
I had severely underestimated Alan Greede and paid the price for it. He had done what very few managed: he had got in my head.
It was two in the morning by the time we made it back to my car. I dropped Greg off at a motel and went straight back to my office where I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, replaying my conversation with Greede in my head over and over again.
We had to get to the Necronomicon first and shut it down. I shuddered to think of the kind of damage someone like Greede would be able to do with a tool that powerful at their disposal, and finally managed to drift off to sleep, but not without the usual deluge of nightmares snapping me awake every couple of hours.
The next morning I woke up determined. Screw worrying and living in fear — I was a hunter, a warrior.
Greg arrived at my doorstep, a grim expression on his face.
“Come on in,” I said.
Abi walked out of the kitchen with a coffee mug, just as Greg entered the office. “You must be Greg,” she said.
The Kresnik smiled at her. “Erik did not mention the fact that he was married to a woman as beautiful as yourself.”
Abi choked on her coffee while I whipped my head around so hard I might have given myself scoliosis. “She’s not-”
“We’re not married,” she said.
“It’s not like that.”
Greg raised his eyebrows.
“She’s my apprentice,” I said.
“Is she now?” A smile tucked at the corner of his lips. “And she lives with you?”
“So what if she does?” I shot back.
“I am not judging you. Many men would do more than offer tutelage and lodging in order to sleep with young, beautiful girls.”
I sighed. It was way too early in the morning for this shit.
“That’s not what’s happening here,” I retorted. “She’s my apprentice. Just my apprentice. She’s also part-succubus, so try and focus.”
“I see,” he said. Immediately I could feel his discomfort, his eyes darkening. “And how often do you consort with demons?”
Both Abi and I were about to say something in response, when the cat walked in.
“Did I hear someone blue ball Erik?”
Greg cocked his head at the animal. “The cat talks,” he stated, more casually than most people who hear animals speak. “It’s cute.”
Amaymon shifted and stood erect in his human form, hands crossed and grin lopsided. “Meow, bitch.”
If Greg was tense before, he was in full-on battle mode now.
“Relax,” I said, seeing his hand reaching for the disassembled spear at his back.
“I could not sense you, demon,” Greg said. “That is impressive.”
Amaymon shrugged. “Thanks, I guess. Maybe you ain’t the hot shit you thought you were.”
“Or perhaps a certain wizard is hiding you in plain sight,” Greg said, looking at me accusingly.
“We’re not doing this,” I said. The Kresnik looked at me quizzically. “We’re not gonna have this showdown. Let me remind you, Greg, that your church lost the Necronomicon, and that my sister has allied with you. I’m here pro bono. My only concern is the ghost boy. Speaking of which, where’s Arnold?”
Amaymon stuck his thumb over his shoulder. “He’s upstairs in your room. Has been there since you sent him back here.”
“Good. Leave him there for now.”
Amaymon nodded but gave me a look that unsettled me.
A thinking look.
Amaymon wasn’t the thinking type. In fact, he was the kind of demon that gave the rest of them a bad name — wanton destruction, pulling pranks which left the victims maimed just for shits and giggles, and tearing apart whole communities just to occupy an afternoon.
If he was trying to send me a subliminal message, I’d better take the hint.
But not right now.
I turned back to Greg.
“Where was I? Oh, right. The you’re-under-my-roof talk. Point is, you came to us for help, so you do not get to judge anything you don’t like.” I pointed at Amaymon. “He’s a demon, but he’s under my control. And if I tell him to go nuts, you can’t say anything otherwise. Same goes for her.” I pointed at Abi. “If she wants to run around going all succubus on people, you can’t say shit.”
“I’m down with that,” Amaymon interjected.
“You’re not helping.”
“When have I ever?”
“And I never went ‘all succubus’ on anyone,” Abi replied. “Not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to say.”
I rolled my eyes. “Point is, anyone can do whatever it is they wanna do — except you, Amaymon, don’t get any ideas — and no one is gonna judge them for it.”
Greg raised his hands. “I was merely observing my surroundings,” he said. “You are very high strung in the morning. Maybe a good bowel movement will help with that.”
I sighed. “I’m surrounded by children,” I murmured. Then loud enough for all to hear, “Abi, please go prepare the map downstairs. We’ll be down in a minute.”
She nodded, drained her coffee, and dropped her mug in the sink on her way downstairs to the basement.
“Amaymon.” I turned to look him directly in the eye. “I’ll be right with you.”
The demon uncharacteristically remained silent and simply backed away.
“You must be asking yourself why you are here,” I told Greg.
He shrugged. “You will tell me when you are ready.”
“Drop the zen master act,” I said. “Yesterday, we had our asses handed to us. And we didn’t even lift a finger.”
“Alan Greede is a dangerous man,” Greg said. “He should be thoroughly investigated and stopped.”
“I couldn’t agree more. But he’s not our priority right now — the book is.”
“It seems we are once again in agreement.”
I crossed my arms. “And since we are fresh out of leads, we’re gonna have to make our own. I distinctly remember you saying something about sensing necromantic magic at the cemetery. How does that work?”
Greg pursed his lips.
“It’s an innate ability my kind possesses,” he answered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “All magical abilities have their own signature, like a color on a painter’s canvas. Necromancy has a distinctive shade to it, a hue that stands out above the rest, especially to Kresniks. It is how we find our prey. Zombies, vampires, ghouls — these are all creatures of Necromancy, in one form or another.” He cocked his head quizzically. “Why does this aspect of my physiology interest you so much?”
“Because,” I said, “that’s how we’re gonna find the Necromancer. He’s the closest out of all of us to getting the book. We find him, chances are we also find the book.”
Greg shook his head. “If I could locate such a small signature by myself I would have done so long ago. Unfortunately, a city of this size is too large for me to
lock onto one single being. Not to mention the extraordinary prevalence of magical energy that canvases all of Eureka.”
“You can thank my sister for that,” I said. “But with regards to your radar issue, I got you covered.”
I motioned for him to follow me downstairs.
My basement served as little more than a store room for all the junk I had collected over the years but never used.
A narrow little hole with barely enough space for three people, three walls were aligned with aluminum shelves, which in turn were stacked with tupperware boxes containing god-knows-what, trays full of magical trinkets, a set of potion equipment which was almost entirely for Abi’s tutelage, and — my personal favorite — a few crates of booze.
Greg and I walked in, finding Abi standing beside a small table with a map of Eureka spread open and held down by candles. A bowl lay next to the map, full of dead animal remains, mostly rat and bird — Amaymon’s sole contribution to this whole enterprise.
“As I said, I got you covered,” I said, pointing at the map. “The map is fairly self-explanatory. The table is pure wood, no metal bits in it, so as not to magnetically interfere. The candles are symbolic of ‘lighting the way’, and nearly every tracking spell has some mention of candles in it, so why not have them?”
Greg nodded. “Have you ever tried this yourself?”
I shook my head. “My situation is a bit more… complicated.”
“I see.” He looked at the bowl. “What are the animal remains for?”
“Death residue,” I replied. “The cat killed them this morning and took the time to skin them.”
“How altruistic of him.”
“Not really. He was giggling the entire time and singing Let it go.”
“I’m starting to regret taking him to see that,” Abi said. “He kept making inappropriate remarks. There were kids there.”
“Told you.” I turned to Greg. “Anyway, this is how you can locate the Necromancer.”
He looked at the whole set up and nodded. “Yes. This could work.” He pulled the chair, but did not sit down.
Instead, he looked at the smallest wall, directly opposite the entrance. The wall that had the fullest shelf out of all.
The shelf covering a large sigil with the Chinese character for ‘gate’ inscribed inside it.
“There is magic there,” Greg said. “I can sense it even from back here. Potent magic.”
I grimaced. “It’s nothing,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly.
Greg looked at me and frowned.
“It’s nothing,” I repeated. “This is my house, so expect some surprises. But trust me, nothing will come at you unless you provoke it.”
I gave Abi a look, wordlessly telling her that what I had just said also applied to her. To her credit, the apprentice simply shrugged. She knew by now not to pry too hard.
Greg sat down facing the entrance and pulled out a chain from his person. On one end of the chain was a ring, which he slid into his left middle finger, while the marble-sized metal ball on the other end was left to dangle over the map.
He looked at me. “This will take some time.”
“How much?”
“Perhaps an hour. Less, if the Necromancer is actively using his powers.”
“Good,” I said. “That gives me time for a proper breakfast. You want anything?”
“Just some privacy.”
I started to leave and Abi followed me. “Mind the shop,” I told her.
“No need to leave your apprentice behind, Erik,” Greg called.
“Don’t worry, Greg, she isn’t here as your warden,” I said, before turning to her. “If he does anything suspicious, kick his ass.”
Abi smiled sweetly at Greg, who sighed and concentrated on the map.
When I climbed out of the basement, Amaymon was right where I had left him.
“You’re acting weird,” I began.
“Something’s off about him.” His voice was low and throaty — very unlike the regular Amaymon, who approached life in a way that would have made Deadpool proud.
I shrugged. “He’s an ass, I know, but-”
“That ain’t it,” the demon cut me off. “Something’s off about all ‘o this.”
“Can you describe this feeling?” I asked.
“I can’t,” he replied. “It’s this feelin’ I get. Like when Mephisto used to run one of his ploys back when we were under the Demon Emperor. Like someone’s pulling our strings and we’re just followin’ along.”
I glanced over the entrance of the basement.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “There’s a diner down the street. We can talk there, without our guest eavesdropping.”
Amaymon nodded and followed me out the door.
Chapter 19
The diner was in that perfect state of busy but not packed. Patrons flowed around the counter, getting their coffees to go, while a select few — us among them — occupied a booth or table. The ambient noise was a mixture of coffee machine sounds, the gargling of foaming milk, the rumbling of pressing coffee beans through a filter, joined by the clinking of plates and mugs, and silverware clattering together.
Intertwined with all of this was the usual symphony of human sounds: breathing, sighing, talking on cellphones, keyboard sounds from smartphones (Amaymon assured me there was a special place in Hell for the bastard who invented that) and of course, talking.
My familiar and I sat behind the wooden partition, a furniture island stuffed with fake plants, occupying a booth that shielded us from any sounds coming our way: the optimal spot for the type of conversation we were about to have.
Amaymon and I stared at each other for a moment.
“Are you expecting a formal invitation,” I asked, “or maybe you’re trying to lure me into buying you dinner first?”
The demon chuckled. “You are buying. I ain’t got no money. Still can’t understand that bullshit.”
I pretended to be annoyed. “Well, go on then. What’s bothering you?”
“That Greg dude,” he said. “What do you know about him?”
I relayed everything to him, from the moment I met Greg to the meeting with Alan Greede.
“Holy shit,” he said when I got to that last part.
At that same time, a lovely young waitress showed up at our table, looking uncomfortable around the demon.
“What can I get you?” she asked.
“I’ll have a large coffee and the short stack,” I replied.
“Same, with a side of bacon,” Amaymon said and the waitress left. He waited until she was out of earshot. “So essentially, we know fuck-all about the guy currently in our house, alone with Abi.”
“She can take care of herself,” I replied. “Besides, Gil seems to trust him.”
He scoffed. “She’s also the one who trusted the angels, and we all know how well that turned out last time.”
I winced. The archangel Raphael was the reason I ended up trapped in another dimension in the first place. Few things in this world can break you like watching an angel fall from grace and going on a rampage. There was a small shrine in a park somewhere in downtown Chicago, in memory of all the people Raphael killed when he went rogue.
I spent a whole night reading about it, obsessively stalking the story on the internet, before the alcohol took effect.
“Yeah,” was all I could say.
The conversation between Gil and Greg crept up in my head for some reason, replaying itself over and over. Only this time, it was like someone was highlighting the facial expressions, like when you watch a movie so many times you start noticing stuff in the background.
Gil’s facial expressions, her usual air of command, coupled with a reservation I rarely saw.
Greg’s assuredness around her. Mephisto was as much a demon as Amaymon — hell, they were brothers, for fuck’s sake — and the Kresnik failed to display the jitteriness he did around my familiar.
The whole thing did not add up.
“What’cha thinkin’?” Amaymon asked.
“Greg,” I replied. “He acted nervous around you.”
“Understandable.”
“But he was fine with Mephisto, when we went to see Gil.”
Amaymon cocked his head. “What are you implying?”
I looked the demon dead in the eyes. “That maybe he knew about Mephisto, but not about you. Almost as if someone was feeding him information.”
“But they only stopped at your sister,” Amaymon surmised, “because they don’t know anything about you. Or maybe someone — let’s say, your sister — fed them just enough information to keep ‘em happy, without revealing the whole deck.” He frowned. “Question is, who is your sister affiliated with that she’d want to keep you a secret from?”
The answer came like a flash of lightning.
Amaymon and I stared at each other, both of us thinking the exact same thing, the exact same name, and neither one of us daring to say it out loud.
The waitress chose that time to come with our food, and placed it hurriedly on the table.
“Thanks,” I said, not taking my eyes off my familiar. She scuttled away without a word.
“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Amaymon asked.
“That we scared off that poor woman?”
“That too.”
I looked at my plate of pancakes with a slight distaste in my mouth. “You think it’s them?” I asked. “For real?”
Amaymon shrugged. “Only one way to find out. But it’s the only logical conclusion.”
“Arnold too?”
“Yep,” he said. “He’s a MacGuffin.”
“Poor kid.”
Amaymon chuckled and grabbed the maple syrup from the table, slathering his pancakes in the sticky goo. “He ain’t the issue. The real deal is the guy alone with Abi right now. This is a turncoat situation — question is, a turncoat for which side?”
I picked up my coffee and took a sip, happy to get my first dose of caffeine for the day.
“Could be our side,” I suggested.
“Mighty optimistic of you, given our current track record.”