by J. T. Bock
I shook a rock out of my shoe and shifted against the sharp stone point of the fountain. And who builds a triangle fountain in the center of a roundabout? Where was everyone? Yeah, it was well after sunset, but this was the spot where four major streets of the town converged, circling around a grassy patch and the oddly angled fountain. There should have been at least a few people and a bit of traffic at this crossroads.
Crossroads. A triangle within a circle. I ducked my head inside the drained fountain and saw exactly what I expected. Along the inner wall of the fountain were inscribed a series of runes – binding runes. I was sitting inside a summoning circle, placed in the ideal location for calling a servant from Hel – the junction of two roads.
No wonder Crappy Krampus had been so bored. How many centuries had he been summoned into this town and made to carry out the same dull routine over and over again? Poor little guy. This was truly a demon’s worst nightmare – well, beyond charity work, that is.
I jumped into the fountain and traced my fingers over the runes, searching for any residual bit of energy either the summoning or the demon had left behind. Nothing. Whoever had done this was either very skilled, or had extensive practice in cleaning up after their workings. I spiraled inward, feeling along the rough stone that made up the fountain floor, then up the fluted column at the center.
Finally I was rewarded by a tiny bit of blood that dotted the column edge like small dried cherries. The column was well inside the triangular fountain, which meant this blood could only be from the demon. Any sorcerer foolish enough to reach this far into the binding triangle would have been splattered like bloody hamburger all over the place.
I touched the dark red dots, reading them with the energy of my spirit-self. I recognized this demon’s signature as the one who’d just attacked me as well as one other thing – he was Low.
Low demons are the whipping posts of Hel, with few skills and even less power. They spend their lives trying to keep out of everyone’s way. Killing them is seen as sport. Households often hold contests on who can catch and kill the most. A few are lucky enough to find protection within a household run by a more powerful demon. They are still played with and tortured, like a disposable chew toy, but at least they have a chance.
Poor guy indeed. Lows seldom visited this world. If the gate guardians didn’t kill them, the angels quickly did. Crappy Krampus had a free ticket to ride, but these annual trips had to have been the worst vacation ever. Being summoned sucked, and a Low wouldn’t be able to negotiate his way out of the deal. He’d be stuck doing whatever the sorcerer commanded — to the letter — then banished before he could have even the slightest bit of fun.
Angels. Oh shit. Gregory was out hunting this guy. I mourned losing the binding we’d once had that would have allowed me to summon my angel to my side to call him off the hunt. I cast out my awareness because I had to find this demon before Gregory did and hide him until I could break the cycle of summoning and banishment his life had become.
I shouldn’t care about a paltry Low, but these demons had an odd way of tugging on my heartstrings. Well, whatever heartstrings I might have developed over the last few years. They reminded me of my childhood when I was afraid and bullied, when I constantly doubted my ability to live another year. Someone needed to look out for the little guys, and that someone was me.
Lows didn’t have much energy to leak, but thankfully this one was nearby. I sensed him a few blocks away and hopped over the fountain edge, trying to keep to the shadows as I made my way down the silent streets.
Crappy Krampus was there, peering in the window of a darkened brick building. I’d shredded his burlap sack, but he’d managed to acquire a plastic garbage bag to replace it. A broken piece of lumber substituted for his birch switch. I’ll give the guy credit; he was nothing if not inventive.
His long tongue darted out, tasting the air, and I shrank against the battered blue Peugeot I was hiding behind. I didn’t leak energy. I was stealthy. There’s no way he could know I was nearby.
“I know you’re there!” His squeaky voice was a bit too loud. “Go ahead and kill me if you want. Anything is better than another year of this boring shit.”
I winced, feeling even more sympathetic. No, he didn’t really want to die, but he clearly knew that his odds against me — against any demon — weren’t worth the bet.
“I don’t want to kill you; I want to save you. There’s an angel after you, and I need to get you out of here before he tracks you down.”
The demon tensed, as if he were ready to bolt. “I completely believe there’s an angel after me — I’m surprised it’s taken this long, but I don’t believe that you’d want to save me. I attacked you, put you in a sack and hit you with a stick. Why would you want anything but to kill me for that?”
I sighed. How to explain my very un-demonic urges? “I’m the Iblis. And I’m sort of a weird angel-demon hybrid. It’s my duty to protect you.”
He gasped. “You’re the Iblis? That devouring Imp? I heard you were fucking an angel.”
Damned rumors. “Yeah, sort of. And the angel I’m fucking is the one who is probably going to show up any moment and try to kill you. So, are you with me or not?”
I could feel him hovering on a precipice of indecision.
“Okay. I don’t know how you can help me, though. You might be the Iblis, but I’m bound by the commands of my summoner.”
If only everything were this easy. “Lead me to him, or her. You may be prohibited, but I can murder the sorcerer without a moment’s hesitation.”
Crappy Krampus slumped, his shoulders dropping with relief. “You can? Oh, to go through an entire year without worrying about this excruciating week of boredom. Do you have any idea how horrible it is to kill humans by rote and ritual every single day for a week? There’s no artistic sensibility, no poetry in the actions. It’s like endlessly working an assembly line. I can’t think of anything more hellish.”
My heart lurched in sympathy. Artistic sensibility was a key theme in my own murders. “Show me who summoned you, and I’ll take care of everything.”
Crappy Krampus stepped away from the house, moving toward me as I came into view beyond the Peugeot.
“How will I get back if you kill him? I can’t activate the gates, and the guardian will surely kill me.”
I glanced around. We needed to hurry the fuck up or the gate guardian would be the least of our problems. “I’ll figure that out later. Where is this sorcerer guy?”
The Low halted. “I don’t know where he is. I’ve got five more days of killing, and then I meet him at the summoning site to go back to Hel.”
“All right, who is he? I’m sure he’s in the phonebook. Maybe we can Google him and find out where he works.”
“I don’t know his name.” The demon flicked his tongue nervously.
I sighed. “Describe him?”
“Ummm, he’s got two legs, no tail or horns. His skin is a sort of beige color. He wears pants.”
Oh, for fuck sake. How the hell was I going to find a sorcerer in a town of sixty-thousand people? I could rule out any amputees and women – unless Crappy Krampus couldn’t tell the difference between human males and females.
“I’m glad you decided to join the hunt, Cockroach. You truly have amazing tracking skills to have beat me to the demon.”
Shit. I went to dive between Gregory and the Low, only to have the demon shove me aside and race for the alley. I admired his effort, but I’d learned how futile it was to try and outrun an angel. Gregory pushed past me and had the demon against the side of a dumpster in a flash.
“You betrayed me,” the demon wailed as a sword materialized in the angel’s hand.
I hadn’t, but now wasn’t the time to argue with the demon.
“Don’t kill him!” My own sword appeared, and, in spite of a complete lack of skill, I managed to block Gregory’s swing. “He’s been summoned and ordered to murder. None of this is his fault.”
&nb
sp; My angel scowled. “You know the rules. He’s broken the treaty by being here. The penalty is death.”
“He didn’t violate the treaty. He didn’t have any choice. A sorcerer summoned him.”
The sword vanished, but Gregory’s other hand remained firm on the demon’s neck. “I can’t just let him go to run around this side of the gates, killing humans.”
“He doesn’t want to be here. If we take out the sorcerer and send him home, he won’t be back.”
“I won’t! I won’t be back!” Crappy Krampus trembled, his red eyes huge.
“It’s not like I haven’t bent the rules all over Aaru and back for you a million times before, but this time I’m holding firm, Cockroach. The only demons allowed this side of the gates are your household.”
He was fucking brilliant. “What’s your name,” I asked the demon.
“Bobbinghorn.”
Not a terrible names as Lows go. “Okay Bob, you are now part of my household along with all your possessions.”
His eyes grew wide. “Thank you, Iblis. I’m honored.”
Gregory scowled. “He’s killed humans. That revokes his immunity.”
“But he wasn’t part of my household when he killed. Clean slate, baby. And he won’t kill humans from this point forward.”
“But I have to,” Bob squeaked. “I have no choice. I’m magically bound by the summoning.”
Shit. “No, no. There will be no more killing. I’ll take down this sorcerer and fill out that stupid fucking two-hundred-page report to keep you alive. Because I’m nice like that.”
“I have to. At midnight I have to take someone from the list, or—”
“Nope,” I interrupted, glaring at Bob. “Not happening. Otherwise this angel is going to kill you. Get it?”
He did. Licking his lips with the absurdly long tongue, Bob shot a quick glance at Gregory and lied. “No killing humans. Never ever again, and certainly not tonight at midnight.”
Gregory tried to look stern, but I saw his lips twitch. “All right then. Immunity for this little demon. Now, how do we find the sorcerer?”
That was the problem. I frowned, trying to think as the church bells chimed a few blocks away.
“Can you pop back to the inn and bring some of those clothes I packed for you?” I asked Gregory. “Pants, a shirt, shoes, and a hat. A really big hat if you can find one.”
The angel shrugged. “Sure.”
I grinned at the Low. “Ever been to church? Because we’re about to join the entire town at a special midnight service.”
***
The church was packed, which was a mixed blessing. With such a crowd, we didn’t draw as much attention to ourselves, but the crush of people meant it was difficult for the Low to scout out the sorcerer. Especially difficult since I’d told him to keep his red glowing eyes downcast. We still got some frosty looks from the townspeople, though. My jeans were evidently not appropriate clothing for a church. No one seemed to mind Gregory’s blue jeans.
Unfortunately, nothing except for a naked supermodel would have detracted attention from our demon’s baggy clothing and giant knit cap.
“You’re the American tourists?” One woman asked politely. “I don’t believe I’ve seen your companion before.”
“Oh, this is Bob.” I pushed the Low behind me a bit to block her view. “He doesn’t speak.”
I didn’t tell her that the reason Bob didn’t speak was that we’d had to roll his tongue up and rubber band it together to keep it in his mouth.
“Are you traveling with him?”
I tried to body block the woman while frantically looking around for Gregory. Where the fuck was that angel? He’d ditched us the moment we’d walked through the doorway, no doubt to go gawk at some painting or bless the orphans or something.
“Yes. No. We met him while taking a stroll this evening, and we’ve sort of been hanging out together. Well, nice meeting you. We better grab a seat before all the good ones are gone.”
I grabbed Bob and plowed my way through the throng of people into the sanctuary, dropping him into a pew. “Stay here. Keep your head down, but look for the sorcerer. Here,” I shoved a bible into his hands. “Block your face with this. Pretend to read it or something.”
I left Bob reading Psalms 17 and roamed the church, scanning for any residual trace of magic, any energy signature, anything that might indicate who had been summoning demons recently. I didn’t have the skill to detect residual magic as far as I was aware, but anything was better than sitting around waiting for the service to begin. I only hoped Gregory was having better luck.
Music began. People started milling to the pews, programs in hand. I saw Gregory opposite the sanctuary, frowning as he scanned the crowd. Then I heard the scream.
“Mffmfem. Pleumm bnum!”
It was Bob, standing on the pew and pointing. What he was pointing at, I had no idea. The rubber band on his tongue made speech impossible to decipher. The scream came from a young child in front of him, who was evidently positioned in just the right place to see his freaky demon eyes.
I knocked two old ladies over in my haste to reach him, but I was too late. With a frustrated shake of his head, Bob broke the elastic, and a two-foot-long black tongue came rolling out of his mouth.
One scream became a dozen.
“There! The man with the pants and no hair.”
Well, that described about thirty men from where I was standing, and there was no way I could ask Bob to clarify further since he vanished, apparently trampled by the mad rush toward the chapel doors. I tried to fight my way toward the one being that could identify this cursed sorcerer, but the momentum of the humans forced me backwards. Out of desperation, I grabbed the two bald men closest to me and held tight. Hopefully one of them was the sorcerer.
Another scream tore through the air.
“It’s midnight, and you’re on the list. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I have to kill you. It will be quick and very boring, so take comfort that I’m not enjoying it.”
Bob! I started plowing people aside in earnest, dragging the two struggling men with me. It took all my demonic strength, but finally the crowd thinned and I saw Bob whacking a young man with the bible while trying to shove him into a red velvet pew cushion cover.
Where the fuck was Gregory? Not that I wanted him here to witness Bob’s homicidal efforts.
“Bobbinghorn, as the Iblis and head of your household, I command you to stop!”
“I can’t,” he sobbed.
And I couldn’t do anything while trying to hold onto two bald men. “Are either of you guys the sorcerer?”
“No!” They shouted in unison.
I didn’t sense falsehood, so I took a chance that neither one was a sociopath and let go. They raced for the exit, while I pounced on Bob, prying the bible from his hands and shielding the guy who lay on the floor, his upper half tangled in the makeshift bag.
In all honesty, I felt more sorry for my Low than his intended victim. Bob curled up on the floor as if in pain, rocking as he repeated his inability to break the summoning compulsion. He just wasn’t strong enough to find the loopholes in the agreement or magical binding. I, on the other hand, had lots of experience in weaseling my way out of things. I also had an unusual resistance to compulsion.
“As head of your household, I take the burden of the summoning from you.”
Bob slumped in relief, and I felt the prick of magic encircle me, like barbed wire against my skin. Damn, this sorcerer was good.
“Now you will kill this thief that has plagued our town as well as the other four sinners on the list. And you will come back year after year to do so.”
I turned to see a nicely dressed man who didn’t look much older than the dude in the cushion cover. He’d shaved his head and sported a gangster-style beard, because, clearly, being a sorcerer wasn’t enough.
“Damn, son, you ballin! Look at you, playa with the Pradas! Why you gotta be fucking with that magic shit?”
The sorcerer just stared at me. Evidently his gangster-esq stopped at the beard.
“Aren’t you a little young for this? Not that you’re too young for a fatal heart attack, or a knife in a dark alley, or a runaway bus.”
He glared, and I felt the magical bonds tighten painfully. “My family has been summoning the demon and keeping the town clean from sin for four generations. My son will carry on the tradition after me.”
I did some quick math. “Your son is probably still in diapers, and I’m willing to bet you won’t see the sunrise.”
He smiled. “You can’t kill me. And the other little demon has run off and abandoned you.”
I looked around. The only other being in the room was the intended victim, oddly still in his velvet covering. The bible Bob had been smacking him with must have been harder than I thought. And where the fuck was Gregory? He might not outright kill this guy, but perhaps the sorcerer could conveniently trip down the chapel stairs or something.
“It’s midnight. Get on with this thief, then you can rest until tomorrow.”
The compulsion didn’t do squat to me, but that didn’t mean I could shrug off the binding of the summoning. There had to be a way out of this. I picked up the young man, stalling as I felt through the tangled web of magic. Whoever this guy’s great, great grandfather had been, he had been a damned good sorcerer. This was more than just a solid spell in a well-written grimoire — this guy had power to back it up. I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t command anyone else to harm him. I couldn’t even suggest it.
“So, he’s in a sort-of bag. Not burlap, but it seems acceptable under the command. The bible wasn’t an acceptable substitute for the birch switches, though. I’ll need to find some of them before I can complete the job.”
I could feel the anger pouring off the sorcerer. “No! Beating him with the book was fine. Take him to the lake and kill him.”
I shook my head with regret. “Gotta follow the rules. Bag. Birch switches. Drown the guy, and then eat him. Can I cook him first? Raw human isn’t exactly my favorite meal. Perhaps I’ll stop by the store and grab some seasoning. I’ve got all night. The command stipulates I need to be done before sunrise, so that should allow me some time to at least prepare an adequate marinade.”