Demon Master

by Daniel Pierce

  Before Risa could deliver a punch with her tiny, hard fist, Wally came into the house mumbling over an envelope that looked important. I was right, because she handed it to me wordlessly and sat down at the kitchen table. She began running her foot absently over Gyro, who occupied the bulk of the cool tile floor. We were all present. Later, it would seem fitting given the contents of the letter, but just then it was another moment in our lives, unremarkable.

  That was before I opened an envelope that was bitter and rewarding. Just like immortals, that moment was a give and take in which we were given an opportunity to help at the cost of a good soul. Risa scanned the letter, briefly referring to pages beyond the top sheet. I knew enough of her reading speed to sit patiently, as did Wally.

  Then Risa delivered the bad news first with no filter. “Lyle is dead. He fought and lost. Here, read it.” She handed it to me, disgusted and saddened by the loss of someone we had hardly known. But we knew what Lyle represented, even if we did not know much of the man. He had been a force against evil. Now, he was gone. Looking at the letter and reading the high points, our conversation sprang into clarity, because Lyle, a man who had built and sold an American success story, had just left every penny to us.

  I slid the packet to Wally, who began to read while her long finger tailed down the pages as she consumed each line of the life changing news.

  We were now owners of two accounts that had several million dollars, none of which we needed. Lyle had known that, and his conversation with us had advanced an idea that had been around for two years. We needed an attorney to help distribute the funds discreetly, a sort of windfall for the families left behind when their loved ones were killed by immortals. We needed someone trustworthy.

  We needed Liz Brenneman, so I asked aloud, “Dinner tonight? Let’s invite Liz and bring her up to speed. If she says yes, we’re good. If not, I don’t think we’re hurt too badly, but I don’t like making her . . . unnecessarily aware of the real world, so to speak. What about it?”

  The girls were attuned to the ragged history Liz had overcome to live again. I didn’t want sole responsibility of shaking that foundation, no matter how noble the intent.

  Wally spoke first. “Yes. Full disclosure, tonight. She will agree, because she loves her daughter and at heart, I think she is a crusader. Inside her is the will, we will give her the means.”

  I raised my hand. “I volunteer to cook. Flatbread pizza, salad, no wine. Fruit tea. I’ll get dessert while I’m out. Cake okay?” Two quick nods to my question, and I was out the door. We had plans to make, and we would be well fed.

  Liz arrived at seven and we ushered her in with genuine warmth, as she has that effect on people. Gyro leaned appreciatively against her, jostling her with his enthusiastic brand of affection. Risa suggested earlier that we let Liz ask whatever she needed to get comfortable with the fact that the world had and unseen layer of truly shitty beings. She was used to asking questions as well as being told stories of variable truth. How she reacted was anyone’s guess, although my instincts said that her intellect would allow her to assess and qualify the evidence fairly quickly.

  I began with a simple question that we had more or less scripted prior to the dinner. “Liz, if we gave you a chance to help—really help people who have gone through a tragedy they cannot understand, and we could pay you enough to care for your daughter and yourself, would you consider coming to work for the three of us as our legal and financial counsel?” I laid the proposition out as simply as possible, knowing that a soft sell of something so irregular wouldn’t work.

  Liz set her tea down then spoke clearly. I could tell she was measuring her words. “We are friends, or at least friendly. So telling you my earnings means nothing because you’re my landlord, and you know my history. However, the opposite is true as well. I know enough of your life to place some general values on what your holdings are. Until now, I never really asked how you earn your livings, but the fact that we are discussing this matter means, in all likelihood, that you’ve had a windfall. A fairly significant one, if I’m guessing. This leads me to believe that you have enough money to hire me. Also, since you know how I feel about, well, who I represent and what I do, I can presume that you aren’t asking me to do anything illegal. Which leads me to the real question, I guess. What do you want me to do with the money that you have recently acquired, and why me?” She folded her hands in her lap and leaned back on the couch, her body language becoming that of a receiver rather than speaker.

  “We’re killers.” It was Wally who broke the ice.

  Liz didn’t blink. But we had even more of her attention than a moment earlier, if that was possible.

  “And you do this legally?” Liz asked, dubious.

  “We don’t kill humans. Or animals, for that matter,” I began, “but rather than me tell you a decade of history, or try to do such a thing, we have a different idea. A format you might be more willing to trust. And you don’t have to do anything except read.”

  With that, Risa flipped her laptop around, setting it on Liz’s skirt. The screen was open to Risa’s Files, which was as complete a database of the undead as we could create. Immediately, Liz grasped what we were asking her, and with a quiet settling into the cushions, she began to read.

  From Risa’s Files:

  Subject: Male, human, late thirties. Caucasian. Altered, drugs and alcohol. Assaulted Liz B., who was incoherently drunk and passed out in her car at Center. Subject was persuaded by Ring to leave the area after a brief physical altercation. Ring unhurt, subject no longer had the use of his left arm. Loose teeth were put in his pants pocket, told not to return to the area. Not immortal, merely a predator passing through. Do not expect to see him again as he had a healthy desire to live when questioned by Ring.

  Hours went by as Liz read, and then, when the first rays of dawn arrived in an orange whisper, she finished her reading, closing the screen gently with a click. She began rolling her shoulders and neck to shake off the effects of a long session of intense concentration. She had called the babysitter hours earlier when it became apparent that her task was going to involve more than a cursory glance at a few files. Her eyes were bright as I approached her with a glass of juice; I had risen earlier and let the girls and Gyro sleep in the massive heap they formed on my bed. I spent the night on the couch, listening to the tapping of Liz’ fingers as she scrolled through the record of our personal vendetta against the undying.

  “What do you think?” I said, handing her the glass.

  She drummed her fingers on her leg, looking around. “It’s like finding out that my entire childhood has come back to life—every nightmare, every creature under the bed, in the dark water of my imagination . . . everything that I left behind in the light of reason, it’s all back. And it’s real. And you kill them? Apparently with ease?” She shook her head in amazement.

  I gave a single slashing gesture to disabuse her of the notion that what we did was easy. “Not always. I have been injured. Badly. I nearly died recently. The ones we are dealing with, they seem to be much older. Smarter, more capable of planning in the long term. We think maybe that our entire living situation”—I waved around at the quiet house—“might be a construct of one of them. A grand experiment for what purpose we don’t know, but maybe you can help us understand. And I know you can help us clean up the wreckage, make those left behind a little more comfortable. Less frightened of how they will live, at least?”

  “A crusade, like you said. I’ll do it, but there is one issue that comes to mind before we agree to anything.” Her mouth was set in a grim line.

  “Oh? Tell me. Is it something I can fix? Offer? Just ask.” We needed Liz, and I wanted to close the deal.

  “The law? It will have to be stretched, on occasion. Nothing fraudulent or risky, since it’s your money, but we’ll have to create dummy insurance payouts, wills, probate. Trusts from long forgotten relatives. Fictitious awards or stock benefits. Anything to create a wall between the
victims’ families and the truth. And they cannot ever, ever meet you or the girls. The risk would be astronomical, both in terms of their finances and their lives. I don’t think you want glory, but you must remain anonymous. Can you do that?”

  I stuck out my hand. “Agreed, counselor. Your rent is waived. Your salary is one third more than whatever you make now, plus certain benefits that may come our way. We’ll share. And thank you. We need you to help, to make some of the wrongs less permanent, maybe pull some good from the ashes.”

  She gave my hand a firm pump and pulled me close for a hug, but whether that was because I was killing immortals or helping provide for her future, I couldn’t be sure, but I enjoyed it just the same.

  50

  Florida: Ring

  The mood in our house had improved considerably. Risa and Wally took the boat for a victory lap to celebrate and soak up some sun. I suspected beer was a critical component to their plan, and as I was not invited, I opted to visit the Butterfly for an early dinner. Since the Suma issue still hung over us, there was a chance that my meal would be awkward, at least in my mind. I resolved to keep my routine unchanged or at least outwardly similar until we could form a solution that didn’t bring us collective heartbreak.

  Boon’s brilliant smile greeted me moments later as she took me, arm in arm, to a table near the east window. I exhaled fully, feeling tension leaving me as the warmth of the room lifted my mood. A blessing of calm enveloped me before my tea could arrive and Pan waved from the kitchen door as I mouthed prawns to Boon, a one-word order based on the incredible smell drifting from a nearby table. This was home. There was so much more here than I had initially realized when they opened the restaurant. I was at ease from my first steps in the door, which made my actions toward Suma and her lies so magnified, so critical. So permanent.

  Boon joined me with my meal, picking scandalously at my plate with merry eyes as I slapped at her hand. It was a dance we did often. She crunched the savory head of an enormous prawn and smiled around her stolen treat as I did my best not to gulp my tea. Pan had been heavy with the chilies and I had a thin sheen of sweat on my forehead early in the meal.

  “Too hot for the tame American?” Boon teased, laughing and handing me another napkin to wipe my brow. Pan was being sadistic with the spices, and I would pay now. And later.

  “Your hubby is cruel. But I can’t stop eating,” I confessed, dredging another prawn through the vivid red sauce pooling on my plate. “Where is Suma?” I looked for her, realizing she had not popped over yet.

  “Hair. Nails. She has an appointment and she’s doing girly stuff. I told her my hair and nails were perfect, to which she snorted and informed me that if I didn’t get my nails done, she was going to refuse being seen with me in public.” Boon appraised her fingers and wiggled them as if proving Suma’s assessment was wrong. It was. Her hands were like pianists’, long and thin. She sighed and stood, announcing her return to work. “See you later. I’ll tell Suma you stopped by.” Her blissful lack of awareness gave me a pang of regret for something that had not happened but could not be avoided. I finished my tea and left, my thoughts making the end of my meal far less pleasant than the beginning.

  51

  Florida: Ring

  Wally stood brandishing a phone at me as I closed the door to my truck. Her face was a mix of anger and curiosity, never good on anyone but particularly worrisome on her. I took the phone, wondering what disaster this particular call might bring.

  “Ring, Deb Broward here. Jim would’ve called but he’s gotten himself worked up and had to use his inhaler, so I’ll do the talking for the next few minutes.” She was speaking hurriedly, with a hint of anger.

  “I take it this isn’t a quality control call about the truck?” I knew better.

  “I wish, but we know we’ve got your business. Why waste the call? We just had a visitor asking some questions, flounced in here asking for you, said he was willing to triple whatever we paid for the jewelry you were selling us. Sound familiar?”

  Did he ever. “What name did he use?” I was betting on Joseph. His arrogance was boundless.

  “Joseph Lamarck. Said he worked for a buyer who knew you, and that they were very interested in buying any and every piece you’ve sold us over the past year. I’m not even going to ask how he found us; I imagine you’ll tie up that loose end. But as a friend, let me tell you something. Whoever he represents has more money than God, I can smell it, and they don’t give a shit about anything other than what they want. I’ve met his type before; he was so assured, oily, smug. He made my skin crawl, and that takes a heluva lot with me working in this business, you know?” She sounded worried.

  Oh, Suma. “Deb, there is no loose end, I have it under control. I wanted my little side job to be . . . discovered, let’s say.” I lied as smoothly as I could. “You’re not at any risk. The hole will be closed this Friday, and you’ll never hear from him again. They think I have a larger collection. I don’t. But that misconception works for me, so we’ll just let that ride, okay?”

  Jim and Deb were no amateurs. I knew that they would be fine. Her next sentence proved it. “Oh, we caught on quickly. We told young Joseph that we didn’t have any other jewelry from you, but we’d be happy to sell him the gold coins you’d liquidated. At a mere four hundred percent markup. He said he’d think about it and left. Very polite, that one.”

  I laughed heartily. They were slick. My concern about how those two horse traders could handle a fishing expedition was unwarranted, even if the pole was being cast by a seasoned dandy like Joseph. I said my goodbye and thought ahead to my upcoming time with Delphine. I didn’t have multiple pieces of the Baron’s jewelry, as Joseph had believed. And probably still believed.

  This made it the perfect time for me to begin bluffing, and I had an idea how I was going to do it.

  52

  Florida: Ring

  “I’m telling you we should remain distant; let’s keep this under wraps until we know which direction we’re going to go with Suma, the Baron. Everything,” Risa said, mirroring my conclusions. It was Friday morning, and the sun was pouring in the house to announce that today was a day for romance. My date with Delphine had arrived.

  Joseph called, announcing that a driver would pick me up, and no, he didn’t need our address, thank you. As a professional it was his place to know his Mistress’ clients and . . . the rest I tuned out, liking him even less if that were possible. I packed a simple bag. I didn’t own a tuxedo, despite Wally’s enthusiasm for the orchestra. I took the only two things that I truly needed: my knife and the necklace. Both were keys to bringing us closer to Elizabeth, and hopefully, some sort of peace.

  Risa was worried. “That bitch has cut us out of the picture. She’s smart. A boat we can’t get on, where we can’t watch you, help you. We don’t even know how many staff will be onboard or if they’re all immortals. Or even worse, Helpers who want to let blood merely to please their mistress.” Wally was fidgety, a sure sign that she was unhappy.

  I grasped both their shoulders gently. “I know she’s getting me alone. That’s fine, we knew that would happen, so let’s not obsess on possibilities. Let’s plan for realities. I go in, drop the hint that there’s more loot, maybe she gives me the royal treatment or maybe not. Either way I’m on board a vessel owned by someone who knows and competes with Elizabeth. That’s a win in my book.”

  I was right, but they didn’t have to like it. A knock at the door broke the tension of the room and Wally opened up to a driver in a black suit, wearing an expression of competence and professionalism. I had expected nothing less.

  “Mr. Hardigan? I’m Crow Hop, your driver for the afternoon. May I take your bag?” He smiled at me with even white teeth that stood out from his ebony skin. He was late twenties, six feet tall, athletically built, and had an intelligent, friendly face. I was expecting a relic in moth eaten tails. Crow Hop, along with his name, was a complete surprise.

  “Thank you, Crow Hop. G
oodbye for now, roomies. I’ll be back Sunday.” I let the charade speak for itself, handing my bag to Crow Hop and stepping outside. A Rolls Royce Silver Ghost sat idling silently, magnificent and shining with the care properly accorded a classic. Approving, I went through the open door into an interior that made clouds seem like flypaper by comparison. I slid smoothly across the leather as Crow Hop pulled away from my home, pointing the nose of the Ghost toward the water, and Delphine. The necklace rested cool against my chest and my knife was cinched perfectly in the small of my back. I was ready.

  “How did you get such an unusual name?” I asked across the distance to the front.

  “It’s actually a bland story. I was a running back in college, and I tended to hop side to side when I was in traffic. My high school team mascot was a crow, so . . . there you have it. No mystical family history, no heroic deeds. Just me, hopping side to side and trying not to get crushed by guys who looked like elephants with helmets.” He smiled as he delivered the story of his name. It was a good one, and I told him so as we pulled into the parking area adjutant to the Inquisitor’s slip. He opened the door in a smooth motion and gathered my bag from the trunk while I stood, sizing up the monstorus yacht. It was a bit much for my tastes, but I would make do. I’m a trooper when it comes to roughing it.

  The gangway was polished aluminum, bright and scuffed from countless feet ringing the grooves with heels and luggage. At the top stood my nemesis, Joseph. It could be no one else, and when he spoke, I knew I was right.

  “Mis-ter Hardigan, we are delighted to have you aboard for holiday,” he began, in a vaguely southern accent but with European syntax that was as off-putting as his cologne.