Devil's Gambit

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  We drove down the mountain track, faint lampposts and the car headlights to illuminate our path. The black eyes stared unblinking. I kept Voidshot drawn and my other hand on the hilt of my sword.

  I needed more time. More time to interrogate Cornelius. To ask why. To find out where he was keeping the mages. To see if he was truly evil or just a victim pushed too far. I needed time. But I had none. All I knew was that this man was running from me, and I had to chase him.

  “Is that him?” Conrad asked, peering through the legs of the creeps.

  I saw the back of a red-robed mage, running up a dirt path, obscured by shrubs. He turned his head towards the headlights and I saw the glint of his glasses. Cornelius. The car could not go any further. So, I opened the door while we were still moving, and dove out. A creep exploded on the fire of my coat, but the force knocked the wind out of me. I landed on my knees and fired blindly and wildly, putting three bullets into the air. No creeps pressed further. I ran up the dirt path, after Cornelius.

  Cornelius rounded the corner of a rockface and disappeared. I cried out at him. A wordless cry, calling for him to halt.

  I turned and saw creeps closing in. They silently and motionlessly covered the dilapidated mountain road, the cliffs and Conrad’s car. They did not attack but, with every blink, they moved closer towards me. They must be hesitant now that I was armed with something that could hurt them. But that hesitation would only last so long.

  It was properly dark on this side of the mountain. No light from the city to form a fake starfield for my comfort. The glow of my coat was the only thing that lit my way. It was on fire, but I didn’t feel its burn. It was as if it had claimed me as its true wearer. I felt a tinge of sadness that I’d killed its real owner. But if I had not, then I would not have the coat now to help me. Life and the hunt were not a morally simple affair.

  “Cornelius,” I shouted, as I ran up the dirt-path past the bend of the rockface. Creeps pressed in on me, staring unblinkingly. “Cancel the curse. Call them off. Don’t make me kill you!”

  No response. The path was shrinking, as it became hemmed in by a sheer cliff and an unguarded drop down the rest of the mountain. I wasn’t really afraid of heights, but anyone with half a brain would feel a bit of acidity in their stomach as they stared down the dark abyss. My footing was shaky on the path and I had to move with my back to the wall, skirting along the edge. I looked up and saw beady black eyes staring down at me.

  “Cornelius!” I shouted again. I saw creeps clinging to the cliff above me. I fired but saw no evidence of any death. “Give up. None of us has to die.”

  With every step, my heart jumped. I couldn’t see far ahead and couldn’t get a proper grip on the cliff to steady myself. I kept my hand on Voidshot, levelled in the direction of the creeps, advancing ever closer as I blinked and panted. The path continued to shrink.

  How did Cornelius come this way so fast? And why this way? Was it a part of his plan? Was I going into a trap? Or was he simply desperate and ran down the first path he saw?

  The path widened and I turned a corner. Ahead, there was a precipice, overlooking the Southern Suburbs of Hope City, looking like a Christmas tree with all its different coloured lights.

  On the precipice, Cornelius stood, with his back to me. He was doubled over. Panting. In the silhouette that the city lights formed around his body, I saw the dark shadow of spittle and vomit trail down his chin and onto the rock and dirt below. I suspected now that this was not a part of his plan. That he was not a seasoned killer. He attempted to escape and went down an unknown path, pursued by me as I was pursued by his hunters. He was probably betting that the creeps would get to me first.

  “Cornelius,” I called. I felt a stab in my back. The coat tried to immolate the assailant but failed. I fell forward and turned my head. Creeps covered the mountainside. A sea of white, with black beady eyes. Their silence was more unnerving than the gurgles and screams of a thousand undead.

  “Call them off!” I shouted. Creeps closed in, blinking in and out of existence. They looked impassive, but also a bit curious. I’d already killed a few of their number. But what did that matter? They blanketed the mountainside. I couldn’t last forever. Rifts! I wouldn’t last a few more seconds.

  Cornelius turned to me, and I saw sadness in his eyes. Moisture behind his glasses. A quiver to his lip.

  “Kat! They’re coming,” Duer shouted. My chest constricted, and I lifted my gun.

  I tell myself every day, “Never hesitate!”

  “Kat!” Treth shouted. I felt the presence of the creatures behind me.

  Hesitation is death. Hesitation is the end. Evil doesn’t hesitate. It doesn’t care.

  They were closing in.

  But Cornelius, poor Cornelius, stared into my eyes and soul. He was not evil. But he had done evil things. He was just a victim. A man pushed too far.

  Could I call that evil? Could I call the victim evil?

  No. But I still pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 18.

  Secrets

  I never really decided if Cornelius deserved to die. The creeps disappeared as soon as his corpse fell off the mountain. He had summoned them. He had been the murderer. I finally accepted payment from the Citadel, even though I had not found the location of the missing mages. The Citadel helped keep the cops off my back. No vigilante or murder charge like with Jeremiah. The public prosecutor was satisfied with the results. The Citadel, even more so. Not only had the disappearances stopped, but they had someone to blame. Everyone was satisfied. Except me.

  More than resentment had pushed Cornelius over the edge, and I needed to find out what. I needed to piece together the last pieces of the puzzle of the man who wanted me dead. I needed to know why.

  Charlotte gave me Cornelius’ address and, after handing in my assignment late to Miriam, I went to my latest victim’s home.

  Cornelius lived in a small house in Pinelands, a sleepy suburb locked between the North-Road settlements, Old Town, the Southern Suburbs and the border slums. It was a district of contradictions, which hid all its angst behind the veneer of suburban pretension and make-believe. It was the perfect place to raise a family. But by the size of Cornelius’ house, I doubted that he was doing that. Charlotte confirmed my suspicions. Cornelius was, or had been, a bachelor. A hard-working, if side-lined, wizard and administrator.

  Charlotte gave me all this info on Cornelius with her usual impassivity, but I did sense a subtle change in her tone, the way she avoided my eyes and the speed at which she wished to get rid of me.

  Charlotte, perhaps unlike the rest of the Citadel, had liked Cornelius.

  Should that make me regret killing him?

  Should that make me sad?

  I did not know, and I did not give myself time to find out.

  It was late afternoon by the time I found time to visit Cornelius’ house. I’d finished Miriam’s assignment on theories of vampire contraction compared to lycanthropy, handed it in, had lunch with Trudie, checked up on Pranish in the IT lab, hunted a barghest for Conrad, bought some groceries for myself, Alex and Duer, hunted a few routine zombies, finally bowed to Treth’s insistence to eat…

  You get the picture. It had taken me awhile to get to Cornelius’ house. Now, I stood on the front lawn, my hands in my pockets, scrunching up my salamander coat behind me. The lawn was well manicured. Green. Uniform. I glanced up and down the street. A dog-walker eyed me up and down but looked away as I looked back. I was used to stares. I’d need to get more used to them with my new get-up.

  “Be careful, Kat,” Treth said.

  “I’m just tying up loose ends, Treth,” I replied, taking a step onto the grass, towards the tiny home. “No more creeps tailing me.”

  I felt the echo of pain on my wraith and creep-caused wound on my scalp. I was no longer hiding the scar that covered the side of my head.

  “The archdemon…”

  “Is gone,” I interrupted. “Cornelius must have been the one hol
ding his reins. Makes sense. The demon was summoned in Pinelands. Cornelius lives here. He had a motive and showed a willingness and ability to summon demons to do his dirty work.”

  “What was his motive, though?”

  I frowned. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

  The front door was locked. I looked behind me to see if there were any nosy neighbours. My monster hunter ID could get me out of a lot of trouble, but this still was breaking and entering. Even if the owner of the house was already dead. I may have dodged the murder charge, but that didn’t mean I wanted to risk serving another day in court. I’d feel bad about Colin defending me pro bono a second time, and I knew he’d do it too.

  I held a lockpicking scroll to the door and exerted my will. The paper disintegrated as it tapped into the local weyline and channelled that power into manipulating the door lock. I heard a click and the door was unlocked.

  I closed the door behind me quietly. More habit than anything else. I didn’t think there’d be anyone, or anything, home.

  The first thing I noticed in the orange afternoon light, was a cross on Cornelius’ wall. Not the Titan’s fist, that I’d expect from an employee of the Titan Citadel, but a crucifix bearing the likeness of Christ hanging from it.

  “Cornelius was a Christian, it seems,” I said aloud. Very peculiar. It wasn’t a normal thing to find a Christian who practiced wizardry. While many churches had reconciled natural sorcerers with God’s plan, most denominations still saw wizardry as a sinful corruption of the world. In my opinion, it was just a way for the cardinals who had spark to justify their power while still keeping the little guys weak. Wizardry, like guns centuries before, was the equaliser in this magical society. The naturally powerful didn’t like equalisers.

  I walked quietly, my sneakers only creaking slightly on the old wooden floor. The cross was by itself on the wall, overlooking the front door like a silent watcher. I reached towards it, but stopped, and turned away.

  “Back in the church…” Treth started.

  “Would rather not talk about it,” I stopped him.

  “What did your God do to anger you so?” He ignored me.

  Cornelius’ living room, just to the right of the front door, was sparse. No TV. Just a single armchair and bookshelf. I squatted down to examine the titles. Nothing theological as I would expect. Nothing magical, even. A motley collection of popular non-fiction titles and a few classics like Dickens and Tolstoy. The types of books you’d expect to find in the shelf of a non-reader who desperately wanted to look like they read.

  I read over the same title, not comprehending it again and again. I felt a frustrated anger rise, stemming from Treth’s question.

  What did my God do?

  Nothing. Or something.

  And that was the problem.

  “He doesn’t exist, Treth.” I frustratedly sighed, standing up. I had a feeling that the bookshelf wouldn’t reveal anything about the nature of the man I’d killed.

  “Then why do people venerate him so?”

  “Why do people do anything? For easy answers. For a sense of safety. To scapegoat their problems to the unknown.”

  “Seems that it has to be more than that. On my world, we knew our gods.”

  “Good for you.” I noted that it was getting darker. I hoped that the neighbours wouldn’t get suspicious if I turned on a light.

  “Not so much. They died before the end,” Treth said, sadly.

  I snorted. “Gods don’t die.”

  “Perhaps, that is your problem,” Treth suggested. “Too strict an idea of what makes a god. For us, it was the virtuous and the powerful. The self-sacrificing beings who kept our society alive, gave life to nature, and kept the darkness at bay.”

  “And they died?” I asked, my curiosity was sincere, but my tone was irritable.

  I felt a sadness come from Treth in the pause. I guessed what he’d say. Much like how Treth had died, and all his comrades, his gods had perished as well. Everything had died on Treth’s world. Perhaps, that was why he accepted his lot so readily on Earth. He knew there was nothing to go back to.

  “I believed in God, once,” I said, eventually, my voice quieter. “But then…you know what happened.”

  I clenched my fist.

  “I cannot believe in, much less worship, a being who created the evil that killed my parents.”

  When Digby mentioned my mother’s name…

  “They were good people. They were faithful. Moral.”

  I checked to see if I was crying. I wasn’t. But I should be.

  “It got them…”

  I shook my head. No use continuing. I whispered, almost spat. “Some mysterious plan.”

  “I am confused,” Treth said. “You speak sometimes as if the God you hate exists, but other times that he doesn’t exist. Which is it?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No,” a deep voice, tinged with casual confidence, chuckled from just behind me. I turned, drawing my wakizashi and dusack instinctively. I noted the comforting weight of Voidshot on my lower back. It wasn’t as consoling when I saw the assailant.

  He was wearing the same black suit, over a white-dress shirt that highlighted his sharp features. His cleanly shaven face was grinning, underneath a pair of black thumb-sized horns jutting from his black, suave hair. The only difference in his appearance were a pair of obsidian dark, batlike wings, outstretched like an eagle before swooping in on its prey.

  I instinctively took a step back. My skin went white and my breath caught in my throat.

  His grin grew wider. “Nice coat. A bit bright, but I like how it adds to the ensemble.”

  He leaned in, half a metre from me. I held my swords out. He ignored them.

  “If I may, I advise a black shirt to add contrast. I like Fleetwood Mac as much as anyone, but the white overpowers the coat’s orange. Perhaps an inverted shirt, with the album picture in white and the shirt in black?”

  “What…” I stammered out, simultaneously trying to digest his words. “What are you doing here? I thought…”

  “That the creep summoner was my…master? Alas, that is not the case. I am still bound to this world by mortal whims.”

  He sighed.

  “Bound a bit like your knightly companion. I shouldn’t be so bitter, though. At least I have my own body.”

  “You…you know about Treth?”

  “Know about him?” the demon chuckled. “I can see him looming over you right now, wearing the same battle-scarred and blackened armour that he wore when he was slain by his own brother.”

  The demon looked above me, and I felt Treth recoil.

  “Do you still love him, Treth Avicin of Concord, Knight-Paladin of the Order of Albin? Do you still love your lich-brother, even after everything he did to you? After he destroyed everything you had?”

  The demon’s gaze drifted down. Treth was hiding behind me. I felt his breath on my neck. I felt his tears.

  “Stop it!” I said, trying to shout. It came out as a whimper.

  The demon stared past my shoulder for a few more moments, and then looked me in the eyes. It took all my willpower to return his gaze.

  “An appropriate pair,” the demon said. “The broken knight, slain by his own undead brother. And the broken huntress, killed in spirit if not in life by the forces of evil.”

  “I’m not broken yet,” I said, tensing my grip on my swords. “And neither is Treth.”

  The demon eyed us up and down.

  “Perhaps,” he muttered, as if to himself. “But perhaps not. I see now why my summoner sent me. One who kills the victim so wantonly could just as easily kill the perpetrator. Evil done once, can be done again.”

  “I’m not evil, demon.”

  “Really? What would Cornelius think about that? What did he think when he heard the click and bang of your reality-defying gun?”

  “He sent the creeps after me. I had no choice.”

  “Did he?”

  “I…don’t k
now. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Then let me expedite your investigation. It is the least I can do after my behaviour last time we met.”

  He laughed, causing me to jump.

  “I’m almost pleased that you had such hidden power. It meant we could have this overdue discussion. Cornelius was not my summoner, as you may now have guessed. But he was working with him. To what ends? I can only begin to imagine the twisted agendas of mortals, but I suspect that Cornelius’ goal was similar to my summoner’s. The world is one way, and he’d rather it be another.”

  “He wanted to play god, is what you’re saying?”

  “Don’t you all?” the demon smirked. “Isn’t the human paradigm one of twisting nature, thought, and action to suit one’s desire? Isn’t the entire state of human being a twisting of reality into a fiction that comforts the mortal?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not like him, or your summoner.”

  “Are you not? You pictured a more convenient world where Jeremiah Cox did not exist. You made it happen. You pictured a world without Cornelius, where his creatures wouldn’t pull you into the abyss.”

  The demon seemed closer, as if he had moved like the creeps. A subtle teleportation.

  “You pulled the trigger, Kat Drummond. How does that make you different from them?”

  “They…they were trying to kill me.”

  The demon returned to his spot across the room. He clapped his hands, an uncomfortable sound in the quiet house.

  “You figured it out. You did not slay them because they were evil and you good. You killed them because they wanted to kill you. And that is the way of the world. Instigator instigates, instigating others into becoming instigators.”

  The demon grinned at his own repetition.

  “I was not an instigator. They chose their evil ways. That led them to me. I did what I had to.”

  Why was I arguing with a demon? To be fair, it was all I could do. I couldn’t kill him, after all.

  “Evil, Kat? You’re a smart girl. You should know better. Perspective, and all that. To Cornelius, to Jeremiah, you were enemies. To them, you were evil. You stopped Jeremiah’s plan to save people.”