Demon in the Machine

by Lise MacTague

  “Why should we split up? And why on earth would you think I should go with Johnson. If either of us needs him, it’s you.”

  “We need to cover as much ground as possible. Every second we waste means more imps. It only makes sense, Isabella.” She leaned in, close enough that Isabella could smell the scent that was uniquely Briar’s. “And you need someone with you who can perceive infernal inscriptions.”

  “I can see them well enough through this lens.” Isabella tapped the left side of her goggles.

  “And what if you lose that lens?” Briar sighed. “I’d feel better if he went with you.”

  “I still think splitting into two groups is a mistake. We’ll see more if there are three of us.”

  “And we’ll take longer.” Briar stopped at the door and took Isabella by her shoulders and turned her around. Isabella looked Briar in the eyes, and Briar searched hers in return. It wasn’t likely that she could see more than her reflection in Isabella’s glasses, but it felt like Briar was looking down into her soul. “We’re better together, there’s no denying that. I don’t want to leave you either, but there is no other solution.” She tugged off her glove again, but instead of licking her fingers, Briar reached up one sleeve and pulled out a small silver dagger. She made a small cut on her fingertip then raised it to the center of Isabella’s chest. She painted a glyph in her blood, then pressed her still-bleeding finger to the center of it.

  The glyph flared to life through the lens over Isabella’s left eye. It glowed bright red. Experimentally, Isabella closed her eye, and the light from the rune disappeared, leaving not even a smear of blood behind.

  “Take off your glove,” Briar said. She waited patiently as Isabella complied. Briar took her hand. “This will sting,” she said, and she pressed the tip of her knife to Isabella’s finger.

  Isabella gasped at the pain, but Briar’s touch soothed it away. Briar took her finger and placed it on her own chest. She drew a different glyph, then pressed Isabella’s finger to the center of it. Just like the one Briar had drawn on her, it burst into flames that died down quickly, leaving a pulsing crimson inscription in the center of her dress.

  “If something goes wrong, lick your fingers and draw them through my name. I will know that something is amiss and come for you.” Briar patted Isabella on the cheek. “I will do the same if something happens to me. The flames will go dark if I destroy your name on my chest. That way we can be assured of each other’s safety, even though we’re apart.”

  “Good idea,” Johnson said. If he thought it strange that they should not want to be parted, he said nothing. Again, his eyes skipped about, taking in everything and missing nothing. “Should we not get goin’?”

  “Into the belly of the beast, then.” Isabella’s bravado rang hollow, even to her own ears. She was as ready as she could be. This time, at least, she was prepared for an attack, however unlikely it was. It was impossible to be too prepared.

  “Quite so, my dearest,” Briar said. Her bare hand lingered on Isabella’s cheek a moment longer, then she turned toward the door, pulling on her glove. She didn’t replace the knife up her sleeve. “Open the door, Johnson.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Her head still swam from the heady mix of Isabella’s emotions: fear and the determination not to show it were there, but all beneath a layer of what Briar could only describe as love. It was gratifying to know their feelings were so strong for each other. Of course, Isabella had no way of knowing how Briar felt, and she resolved to tell her as soon as they were done with this and alone together somewhere. Briar understood the fear; it bubbled up much the same in her own gut, though without as much excitement as Isabella also felt. She was used to such things, and Briar was not. She avoided unanticipated adventures. In her experience those rarely turned out well. This time, there was little to do about it except keep moving forward. At least this adventure promised to be quite tame.

  The room beyond the door was dark, though she could see well enough. She knew Isabella could also, but Johnson put his hands out in front of him and stopped in his tracks.

  “Keep moving,” Isabella whispered to him.

  “I can’t see,” he said.

  “Of course you can’t.” Briar kicked herself for not thinking of him. “Wait but a moment.” She pulled off a glove and licked the tip of her finger, then reached out toward him. She stopped. “I’d like to use magic to help you see in the dark. Do I have your permission?”

  Johnson uttered a noise of wordless surprise, then nodded slowly. “Nice of you ter ask.”

  Touching him with her bare skin would open her up to his emotions. Briar steeled herself, then reached forward again. She sketched two runes on his forehead, one for shadows, the other for sight. They flared red in her vision. She tried not to feel the anxiety coiled tight along his spine.

  “Better?” she asked.

  It seemed to have done the trick. Johnson blinked twice, then looked around. “Ayup.”

  There wasn’t much to see. A hallway stretched before them, doors going off to the left and a blank wall to the right. The air hung heavy around them, nothing to move it along now that the door was shut behind them. Briar had been in catacombs abandoned for centuries that seemed livelier than this place. There was no sign of life; they were well and truly alone. The fear simmering within her belly abated somewhat, leaving behind only the occasional roil of anxiety.

  “I’ll take this room,” Briar said in her normal voice. It echoed queerly down the hall, bouncing from one bare wall to the other, too loud in this desolate place. “You two check the next,” she said more quietly.

  Isabella nodded and walked ahead, her eyes sweeping back and forth. Johnson flanked her to the left. Isabella didn’t acknowledge his presence, and she seemed content to allow him to split the room with her. Briar knew very well that his presence made her nervous, but hopefully she would come to trust him as she did.

  The door to Briar’s left opened into a small storage room. It was as empty as the hall, save for the tall metal shelves that ran the circumference of the room. Dust lay thickly everywhere and puffed up with every step she took. It appeared the room hadn’t been used in quite some time, long before Isabella had come into the factory looking for the grimoire. There was little to do but walk around the small room to make sure she wasn’t missing anything. There were no hidden runes or inscriptions. This room was exactly as it appeared to be: a storage room long disused.

  Briar went back into the hall and paused at the doorway to the room where Isabella and Johnson still prowled. Something had been stored in there at least. There was almost as much dust as in the previous room, but when Briar peered inside, the square voids on the floor were ample evidence that something had been moved. There was more storage, but without the shelves of the last room. Everything had been stacked in the middle, and moved out when the inventor and his imps decamped. The only footprints belonged to them, Briar noticed with a chill. How had they moved out whatever was in there without touching the ground? Imps could fly, true, but they weren’t known for their strength.

  Satisfied that Isabella was quite well, Briar made her way down to the next room. Its door was ajar and squeaked quietly when she pushed it the rest of the way open. It too was empty. An overturned bucket lay forgotten in one corner. It gleamed against its backdrop of dust. Briar made her way inside, trying not to disturb the dust too much. Her nose had started to itch and run. She sniffed lightly to clear it, but only succeeded in increasing the aggravation within her nasal passages. Her eyes watered as she tried to hold the sneeze inside, but it was having none of that. Briar tried to stifle the explosion from her sinuses, but she met with little success. The sound of her sneeze, high-pitched and loud, was much too noisy to her ears. Once it was released, she was helpless to hold back two more accompanying sneezes. She remembered the athame held in her hand a moment before she accidentally scratched her face and settled for rubbing her nose on the back of her hand instead.


  “Are you all right?” Isabella’s quiet voice drifted to her from the hall. “Tell me that was a sneeze.”

  “It was a sneeze,” Briar said. There was nothing more to see here, so she joined the other two in the hall. “This place is incredibly dusty.”

  “That it is. I don’t recall it being so when I was here a week ago, but then I never got down to this part of the building. I spent little more than a few minutes in here.”

  “You said you spent more of your time in the inventor’s offices. I’ll want to see those. There may be something you missed.”

  “That’s very likely.”

  Through unspoken agreement, they worked their way quickly through the remaining rooms. Briar was unsurprised when the rooms were as empty as the first three had been. If no one had come running after Briar’s fit of sneezing, then they were likely alone. They were all storage rooms, save one small room with two quite dilapidated desks inside. Even that contained nothing else of interest and was liberally coated in dust.

  A pair of metal double doors waited for them at the far end of the hall. Isabella pulled a large pistol-like object from the waistband of her suit and gripped it tightly when they got to it. Johnson firmed his grip on the sledgehammer, waiting until she drew abreast with him. They both expected the worst, and Briar couldn’t fault them. Her own knuckles ached from the strength of the grip she held on the dagger in her left hand.

  Briar placed her fingertips on the metal door. It was cool under her hand, even through gloves. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to feel, whether it was heat or some vibration telling her it was unsafe to enter. Whatever her expectations, she felt nothing. She pushed down on the handle, wincing as the mechanism released with a loud clang that reverberated through the hallway.

  Beyond was a large room, nearly the size of the entire factory. They’d found the manufacturing floor. Nothing remained that looked remotely like the hellish scene Isabella had described, except the cylinder looming over the far end of the room. Dust carpeted the floor, still strangely devoid of tracks. Briar inched her way into the room, her eyes darting here and there, alert for the slightest hint of danger. Johnson slipped in front of Isabella without any comment. Isabella emerged quickly from behind him, her pistol at the ready. A narrow metal staircase climbed the wall to their right, then ran around the room to a platform with a door high above their heads.

  “Is that the way to the inventor’s offices?” Briar asked Isabella.

  She nodded once in reply, never stopping her perusal of the room. Her eyes flicked this way and that, pausing at one point of interest, then moving on to the next one, then back again.

  “I don’t think we’re alone,” Isabella said. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  “I haven’t felt anything. There is no sign of demon activity.” They might as well have walked into a long-forgotten church, with its high ceiling and echoing halls, not to mention the complete lack of infernal energy. She’d seen no active inscriptions, nor had she smelled even the slightest whiff of brimstone.

  “I don’t know.” Isabella licked her lips. “I’ve been in abandoned buildings. This one doesn’t feel right. It feels like the factory is holding its breath.”

  “How can a building be holding its breath?”

  Isabella shrugged, discomfort in every tight line of her body.

  “Maybe we should come back with some help,” Johnson said. “I don’t feel anything either, but maybe Isabella is right.” His eyes took in the room before touching on them briefly. “Can we afford her to be right?”

  “It’s fine.” Briar pushed down her impatience. “The earl sent his men to look into it, and they found nothing. We’ve found nothing. Or did you see something I missed?”

  Isabella shook her head, but it didn’t take physical contact to perceive her disappointment with Briar.

  “If we see anything, even the slightest thing, we’ll turn back. Unless that happens, we can’t afford not to keep looking.” Briar pointed to the door off the platform. “I’m going up there to see if I can find anything. You two take a look at that over there, the…what did you call it?”

  “The voltaic pile.” Isabella’s voice was flat, but she didn’t argue. She moved slowly around the room, never turning her back to it, at times resorting to a peculiar crab-like shuffle.

  Once we’re out of here, she’ll be all right, Briar told herself. We all will be. For her part, she climbed the metal stairs, taking care not to step too hard on each step. Even so, her footsteps sounded too loud in the space. If anything, they echoed more here than in the hallway, and she cursed the hard soles of her shoes. She was only being cautious, not allowing herself to descend to the fearful wallowing to which Isabella had apparently succumbed. It was unlike her, and Briar hoped she would be able to hold herself together. Johnson was there to back them up. Between her magic, his brawn, and Isabella’s insights, they could handle almost anything. Of that she was certain.

  Briar stopped to examine the dais on the platform. Isabella had reported that this was where the grimoire had been kept. She could see well enough where the book had lain but no sign remained of the chains that had held it in place. Here she found her first remnants of an inscription. It had been inactive for a while and was starting to fade, but it seemed simple enough. It combined an amplification spell with pain and was keyed to those with demonic blood. It was a good thing Isabella’s blood lacked any trace of demonic parentage or she would have had quite a shock when she’d reached for it. Apparently the inventor had felt he had more to worry about from the demons under his control than from outside interference. He’d been wrong, as it turned out. Briar kept her hands clear of the writings. Faded as they were, they would still pack a punch and she had no desire to be incapacitated by pain. Instead, she turned and faced the door.

  Inscriptions covered its surface, these more concerned with locking in sounds and smells. Those were layered over and over, with the oldest ones little more than glowing patches and the newest ones still shining brightly. The nature of the demons made them difficult to conceal, especially with a building full of humans not fifteen feet away. Humans were curious beasts, and seemingly without the instincts of self-preservation that served their animal cousins so well. Even cats with all their inquisitiveness had better sense than did most humans. There was nothing on the door to suggest a painful surprise for anyone exiting, so Briar pushed down on the bar and made her way into a cramped hall.

  Her gorge rose at the back of her throat almost immediately as the floor seemed to shift beneath her feet. The walls curved to one side, making Briar feel as if she were half a second from tipping over. She closed her eyes to center herself, and the worst of the disorientation ceased immediately. So this was how the inventor kept his imps from leaving. It was ingenious in its own way. She opened her eyes to find the runes he’d used but had to close them again. If she was going to get through the hall, she would have to do so blind. The idea made her uneasy, but she needed to see the inventor’s rooms for herself. She had the best handle on infernal magic, and his offices were the place most likely to have something that could help them.

  Briar took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She oriented herself to the door at the far end of the hall, then closed them again. With her right hand held out to get a fix on that wall and the left stretched out in front of her, she moved forward. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and she fought the instinct to look around. Too much more disorientation and she would likely lose everything she’d had for breakfast. She had to rely on what her right hand told her. The wall was still there; she was still going toward the far end of the hall. When her left hand finally met something solid, Briar almost sobbed with relief. She pulled in a shuddering breath and felt around for the handle. She pushed down on it and pulled it open, then walked briskly over the threshold.

  She looked down on the darkened manufactory floor. She was right back where she’d started.

  “Hell and damnation,” Briar whisp
ered. She peered over the edge of the platform. There was no sign of Isabella or Johnson. She glanced down the front of her dress. Isabella’s name still glowed strongly. “She’s fine,” Briar murmured, not trying to convince herself of the fact at all. “She’s fine,” she said louder, believing it this time.

  She turned back toward the door to the inventor’s offices and pushed the door open. There was no sense of twisting yet. When did I get turned around? Impossible to tell. It wasn’t going to happen again. Briar raised her hand and pointed the palm at the door barely visible at the end of the short hall. She licked her fingertip and drew two runes on the back of her hand. These would keep her on her true path. When she moved her hand left or right, the color shaded to blue, but when it was straight on course, the runes flamed bright red.

  She stepped back into the hall and the nausea returned immediately. If she focused on the back of her hand, it was manageable, so she kept going. The door clanged shut behind her, and she jumped, her hand wavering and the runes shading to blue then back to red then blue again. Briar glared at her hand and shifted it left until the rune was once again a brilliant crimson. She kept on, ignoring the instinct to keep going straight. Every time she surrendered to it, her hand darkened to blue. If she went the way that felt right, Briar had no doubt she would find herself back on the platform above the engine floor.

  The door at this end had a push bar, not a handle. She’d made it, of that she had no doubt. Briar pushed down the bar and stepped through.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The voltaic pile looked like what it was: a gigantic battery. At least, Isabella didn’t see anything amiss with it from her cursory examination. Turning her back to the room to inspect it more closely made her skin feel like it was going to crawl off her body. The manufactory didn’t feel right. Briar and Johnson might be convinced it was empty simply because they’d seen no sign of demonic activity, but Isabella knew what it was like to sneak around in a building. The occupants had been home in most of the houses she’d burgled from. They’d been abed and unseen, but the potential of their movement imbued the house with a feeling of being on the edge of motion. Mirabilia felt the same way. Sure, there was all of this dust and the empty rooms. She’d seen neither hide nor hair of imps. Did imps have hair? She hadn’t noticed in either encounter with them.