Lost Lamb

by M. P. Taylor

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Like I said, don't know much about what's going on,” he pointed to the staff, “You a witch or something? Magic obviously exist so ah, thought you might have...I don't know. Made it or something.”

  “No,” I replied dryly, “I only summon demons.”

  He gave me a strange look, clearly not sure if it had been a joke or not. I wasn't really sure either and that line of thought tended to make me depressed. The best jokes had a hint of truth, but the worst ones had too much.

  On the ground was the reason that I wasn't already running back to my car.

  The creature's arm was still being held up in the air by my entropic spell. It having taken on the distinct lack of light that was similar to the initial shaft of the spell's trajectory. Logically, it should have fallen to the ground but even gravity held no sway on the subject. It was as if suspended in the empty region of creation just waiting to be taken. Of course, any attempt to take it would naturally fail until the spell ended, but I managed that with a short command.

  It flopped onto the ground, “Mind if I take it?”

  “The arm?” Filson just gave me a blank look, “Ah, sure. It would just make things more complicated and what's one more lie on the pile I'll have to come up with. Thankfully, that bit of action happened off the dash cam anyway.”

  “Small mercies,” I said before picking the arm up, ever thankful I was in the habit of wearing gloves.

  Sirens could be heard, not too far away. I turned to to Filson who nodded in understanding, “Get out of here. Be damned sure that they don't see you on the way out. Last thing I need is some woman running around with a...whatever that thing is?”

  “Good luck detective,” he gave a pug-like snort in acknowledgment.

  Chapter Eight

  Running around on rooftops and scrapping with unknown monsters tended to leave me a little drained.

  As much as I wanted to jump to Ms William's rescue, I simply didn't have the energy. I took a trip home, put the knee on ice, and collapsed onto the bed next to Bucket – who I'd dropped off earlier. I didn't even complain that the mutt had stolen most of the bed's space. Didn't have the energy.

  The next morning left me feeling a bit better. Most of my energy reserves had returned. My knee was throbbing something fierc, it was bruised from where I hit the satellite dish the day before. A tense stab of pain would also lace up my back whenever I stretched out a bit. Figured that one must have happened when the killer knocked me into a wall.

  All in all, it was a marked improvement from the night before though that thought wasn't exactly comforting.

  The day's business was simple enough. Find monster, kill monster. A minor issue existed in that I had no idea how to kill said creature. I didn't worry about that part, figuring that I'd cross that bridge when I got there.

  First I needed to find it.

  There were a number of tracking spells at a wizard's command. A more experience magi might have been able to simply snap their fingers and get a directional sense, but I was something of an amateur at divination. It was certainly possible but I'd have to spend a great deal more energy to make up for my sloppy spellcraft.

  By the afternoon I'd gone through a half-dozen grimoires and found a suitable spell that might do the trick. I took the arm out of the freezer and let it thaw out. It would be my focus, something that tether my spell to the subject. Though the arm was no longer attached, it had once belong and a spiritual chain remained. A piece of hair, fingernail, or even bones would have worked just as well but the bigger the piece, the easier it was to trace. In theory anyways, I still didn't have a clue what I was doing or what I was even hunting.

  That led to the second bit of business, finding someone who knew.

  It would have been easy to call up Gerald and ask him to dig up information for me, but I didn't. He already did me a solid one yesterday and I knew his business as a justicar kept him busy. His home might have been in Seattle but there was a good chance he was on the other side of the world on business – portal networks were common in his line of work. Besides, there was someone who was potentially a better expert than himself.

  I was soon in my car and driving off to one of the seedier parts of town. I didn't worry about thieves, wards on my car would keep them at bay. Bucket came along as well as frankly, he needed to work off the excess calories he had gained from the day before. Barking at any street thief who might have stripped my tires was a start.

  The destination was a local shop known as the Seeker, it was one of those antique shops where everything either appeared to be fake or far too good to be true. Given its location in town, it had metal bars covering the windows and a reinforced steel door. To even enter the place you had to press a buzzer and wait for someone on the inside to let you in.

  I pressed the bright red button and enjoyed a moment of childish joy.

  A squeaky voice came on, “Yes, yes. How Skitter help you?”

  “Information,” I replied, “I'm willing to pay.”

  There was a pause for a few seconds before the voice returned, “Come in. Be down in a moment.”

  I opened the door and was greeting by that classic old person smell – too much dust and an unwillingness to clean it up. There was also the after smell of some cleaner but it did little to help.

  A number of airplane magazine doodads were laid out in a rack in front of me. I thought about buying an apparently, 'genuine ceramic plate from the far east', it had a tiger etching that looked rather striking. Sadly, my desire to not be tacky kicked in and I walked past them. Much of the same, junk antiques, lurked on the shelves.

  There was a clerk behind the desk who gave me a nod as he flipped through his magazine, “Meeting the boss?” I nodded, “Back room. Door's open.”

  A quick 'thanks' and I was on my way.

  The door at the back of the room looked far more secure than the other. It was reinforced with a heavy frame and a metal bar that would slow down any thief or assassin.

  My consultant was something of a paranoid person but it was fair given that many people sought him out. Turns out that being a hoarder of artifacts and knowledge tended to make you a target. I was expecting a bit more on the interior but it was just a small room, with two doors, a fold out table and plastic chairs.

  Truly a place for secret powers to meet.

  I sat down and considered the color of paint on the wall for a moment. This was ended by a metallic shriek as the far side door was opened. It must have been poorly fitted as it skid upon the ground and made me want to jab a pencil into my eardrum.

  After the massacre of my senses was concluded, a small creature came walking into the room – a goblin to be precise.

  Goblins were something of a common species. Many considered them to be vermin of the civilized supernatural societies. They never had an aptitude for magic and their size made them rather pathetic in a fight. That was all made up for by their habit of having massive colonies. Where there was one goblin, there were a hundred. Mostly they lived in tunnels under the ground, or in the other astral realms which occasionally overlapped with the Earth.

  Skitter was something of an exception. He was old when most goblins died young. He was successful when most goblins lived as nothing more than slaves. His oddest difference was that he was intelligent.

  All goblins were smart enough to speak but few of them had true intelligence. They lived in a sort of group based conscious but Skitter had stood apart and stuck out on his own some time around the sixties. Then he earned a name for himself by dodging death and gaining a number of valuables along the way. He'd also managed to acquire enough goodwill with the major powers to be treated with reluctant respect.

  He made his way over to the chair, paddling along with his cane, and came to sit across from me. A long smile was on his face though it was somewhat hard to see due to the top hat he wore. It made him look like some satire cartoon of roaring twenties business executives.

  It als
o made me smile which I very much appreciated.

  He shot a hand across the table, a gaunt thing with slightly grayish skin, it shook with excitement, “Skitter doesn't believe we've meet before have we? Hm, Ms Vane correct? Quite nice to meet you.”

  He managed to say all that in the time it took me to extend my hand and shake his, which proved to be a mistake. He clamped down tightly, his other hand joined the first, and then he began to shake mine with a vicious force. I endured the strange handshake, thinking that if an alien was trying to impersonate a human that it would act like Skitter.

  “It's nice to meet you as well. Mr Skitter.”

  “Skitter is Skitter not a mister Skitter. Skitter is only a Mr Skitter if there was a Ms Skitter,” he was still shaking my hand, “I know! Your human habits are hard to remember but Skitter will correct you Miss Vane.”

  “But if yo-Oh nevermind,” I glance at my shaking hand, “Um, how long do goblins shake hands for?”

  He looked down and seemed surprised that he was still shaking, “Skitter's sorry. Miss Vane has soft glove, nice to shake... not like ogre handshake or beastmen.”

  “Thank you,” he didn't stop shaking my hand so I took the initiative and broke away.

  He looked sad for a moment but then smiled as he remembered something, “Miss Vane had business with Skitter, yes?”

  “Yes,” I began to consider that I might have gotten the address wrong, “You are Skitter, the loremaster of his clan?”

  He nodded his head in a manner that reminded me of a crackhead who couldn't find a fix, “Skitter the best loremaster.”

  My discomfort was hidden by a false smile, “That was what I'd heard. I'm seeking information on a strange monster that I encountered the other day.” I gave a brief description and summed up the last few days as best I could.

  Surprisingly, Skitter listened with wide eyes, “And now I'm about to track it down but I don't have the faintest clue what it is or how to kill it.”

  Skitter nodded his head and brought his fingers into a peek, “Hm. Big man thing with claws that drag on ground. No fangs?” I shrugged not knowing, “Skitter sees. Fangs would narrow it down. Skitter thinks he has an idea of a few creatures it could be but Skitter can't say which one for certain. All can be killed with right weapon.”

  “This is a business transaction so I assume there is a price to this knowledge,” the goblin's smile grew.

  “Always a price but Skitter is fair. Knowledge for knowledge.”

  Fair indeed, “What do you want to know about? I'm something of an expert at cryomancer and I've learned a n-”

  “Skitter know much about magic,” he leaned a bit, “Skitter want to know about...demon.”

  I flinched.

  It was surprising that this little bundle of energy knew about my mistake, even if he didn't know the details. There had been a few thousand people present at the time but a good chunk of them had died. The rest had been sworn to silence by the leadership. They didn't want word going around that a demon had been summoned in their fortress. Of course, rumors had leaked and people like Harold knew something of me, but he was a wizard. I hadn't expected an outsider of our community, one like Skitter, to know.

  It took me a moment but I nodded, “I...I can talk about it.”

  Skitter's smile grew even wider, “Good deal, Miss Vane! Skitter will go first! You are Skitter's guest after all!”

  “By all means.”

  The goblin leaned a bit and spoke in a low voice, a kid around a campfire, “There are three such creatures that Skitter believe your monsters could be. The gaunt features, tall form and massive arms, but still human like, aren't all that uncommon but it was its lack of fur that narrowed the creature down.”

  “Fur is typically assigned to the natural creatures, made by disease or blessing from nature,” his voice darkened, “What Miss Catherine speak of is a human afflicted with curse. No fur but mutated flesh. Foul magic.”

  “A curse? So like a werewolf?” Skitter shook his head.

  “No no. Werewolf is disease. Werewolf is natural. Curse is magic, bad magic, unnatural. Can only be made by evil and it must also be accepted by the cursed. The three creatures all be cursed, and all be made by mortals who accept it.”

  “Why? That thing was nothing more than a monster. Who would accept that?” the notion of being turned into something like that sickened me to the core.

  Skitter nodded in understanding, “No one seeks the evil, but the evil comes to them when they are afraid. Have you ever been afraid, Miss Vane, to be willing to do anything just to make it go away?” I nodded, “Then Miss Vane knows the temptation the dark ones offer. When there is nothing else, they will whisper salvation. With that fear, true fear, mortals will accept. Mortals will become wretched things of evil. Mindless husk, struggling to remember a purpose to their bargain.”

  “So bad things happen and these spirits just what? Give power and turn the mortal into their meatpuppet,” the goblin paused, looked as if he were about to say something, then eagerly nodded his head, “Great. So what about the three?”

  “Eater of flesh. Eater of family. Eater of shape,” Skitter gave a sad sort of smile, “Many names but similar in their evil. Flesh eats man when he starves. Family eat kin for power. Shape eats other to hide in their flesh.”

  “Eater of flesh. Cannibals who become monster, I'd heard tales like that. Wendigos and the such,” I didn't add that I thought them nothing more than myth.

  Native American folklore was just as unreliable as any other. Wendigos were one of the most common myths and was a creature that had more than one movie. A desperate group of travels get caught up in a storm. With no food they are forced to eat their friends to survive and quickly become evil monsters who crave human flesh. Accounts on their appearance were unreliable as, to the best of my knowledge, it hadn't been a real thing.

  Then again, I'd once been foolish enough to think that demons were a myth.

  But there was something that didn't fit, “It didn't eat flesh. The victims were cleanly killed.”

  Skitter blinked and nodded, “Would be unusual, not impossible. Eater of flesh can have thoughts depending on how old it is.”

  “The others? Eater of family...I'm not sure what that is but eater of shape is what, a changeling?”

  Skitter nodded his head three times, “Shape is like changeling, but not likely what you seek. Skitter included eater of shape because it COULD appear to be flesh or family. But not likely, shape moves quickly – takes faces and leaves city.”

  “Eater of family,” Skitter said with a final note, “Betrays love for power. Dark, dark spirit. It is a monster. Evil shape matches evil heart.”

  “So you think its either an eater of family or flesh?” Skitter nodded, “Which one?”

  “Eater of family,” Skitter gave a knowing grin, apparently pleased by his deductive skills and I believe I knew why, “Took one. Flesh never takes. Flesh always kills. Family takes. Family torments former love and eats it whole.”

  A name snapped into my mind next to the monster. It was the only logical candidate given the information I knew. Miss William had been taken by a monster, potentially this eater of flesh who was said to hunt loved ones. Miss William had been in mourning for a husband who'd undertook an 'experimental procedure.' Sounded harmless enough until you added the additional information about blood knights and human paramilitary organizations being involved.

  Ethan William, the name I gave to the monster.

  There was still more of this to unravel but Skitter could offer me limited advice. I hoped he could answer the most important question, “How do I kill it?”

  “Can't kill eaters. True eater is spirit. Bullets, knife, magic. Kills flesh but they will never kill its spirit. Host will die, slowly... in pain. Host will be free. Evil spirit will return to shadows and find another mortal to whisper. Can banish, free body from evil, but Skitter not expert on banishment.”

  The choice between killing and banishment w
as easy. Banishment would allow me to interrogate the host and get information. There were a number of possible ways to do just that. Magic circles could bind a spirit to a singular location while the body could still be moved. Certain runes could also be used but they would require me to carve the creature's flesh with a silver blade. I doubt it would let me do that. There was also the possibility of challenging the spirit into a battle of wills. Such an effort would be a literal mental invasion of the creature's mind. I dismissed that notion, I lacked a strong will.

  One more bridge for me to cross.

  “Thank you Skitter,” my thanks were sincere. Skitter was indeed useful as I'd been led to believe. He might have been a little odd but I valued usefulness far more than normality.

  The goblin beamed at me, “Knowledge for knowledge. Miss Vane's turn.”

  Chapter Nine

  It was my first time entering Sanctuary. Given the namesake, it wasn't exactly hard to guess the purpose of the ancient structure.

  Sanctuary was a fortress. Despite the many enemies of the elders, it had never once been breached. Chiefly this was due to the simplicity of its hidden nature. At any given time there were only three people who knew the location. Each was capable of opening portals and one was always stationed within the sanctuary while the other two would do the actual portal opening. They couldn't be tortured for the information as they were bound by a geas, a binding contract of the soul, to kill themselves before telling another.

  Hiding was the first defense but not the last.

  As soon as we stepped through the portal I felt a heavy pressure bearing down on me. I'd heard of this effect before but this was the first time I'd encountered it.

  Dense magic. Thousands of layered ward in a tight area that radiated such magical power that it made the air hard to breath and made the gravity pull on one's shoulder. I stumbled a bit but my master, Theron, he grabbed me and laughed at my reaction. It wasn't funny. There was enough wards in front of the gateway to burn a few legions worth of supernatural bad guys. For all I knew, stepping on the wrong part of the floor could have sent me flying to the moon – if the sanctuary was even on Earth.