Sin City Daemon

by Rick Newberry

  I pop the pills into my mouth and gulp down the cold water.

  Dixie rubs my chest before she slips out of bed. “You get some sleep. I’ll check on you in a little while. Promise.”

  “But what about Colonel Dayton? What about Cutty?”

  “What do you mean what about us?” Glancing toward the sound of the voice, I smile at the sight of Colonel Dayton and Cutty standing by the door. Cutty laughs. “Get some shuteye; you’ll be good to go after some sleep. Man, you should see that car—it’s a total mess.” Yuk-yuk-yuk.

  I prop up on my elbows, my head banging like a kettledrum. “I don’t understand. The last I heard, you two were dead.”

  “Hardly,” Colonel Dayton says. “C’mon, old boy, lie down. You’ve hit your head pretty hard, but don’t go making a meal of it. We’re fine.”

  “I wish I could say the same for my contact,” Aunt Rose says. “Oh well, I’m sure I’ll hear from her soon.”

  “Get some rest,” Marco says with a wave of his hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Once again, Dixie eases me down on the pillow, this time curling up next to me, warm and soft. “This room is too crowded. Everybody out. I’ll make sure he gets some rest.” She takes a wet washcloth from the nightstand and drapes it over my forehead. “Go on, now. All of you—out.”

  Footsteps shuffle across the carpet, and the door eases shut with a soft click. The room is dark, and the washcloth soothing. I close my eyes, feeling Dixie’s warm touch on my chest. My head is heavy and my breathing soon falls into an even rhythm. Now that I know where I am, and Dixie, the colonel, and Cutty are safe, I can truly relax. When I speak, my voice is small, almost like talking to myself. “They all looked so worried.”

  “Of course they’re worried about you, silly,” Dixie whispers. “They’re your friends, they care about you.”

  I manage a short laugh. “I’ve never had friends before.”

  She rubs my shoulder. “Well, you do now.”

  “I’m sorry about crashing your car.”

  “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t know The Sufferings would take so long. I already scolded Aunt Rose. She should’ve warned us what to expect, but she said it’s different for each individual.”

  Did I say something? Did I answer? The bed is soft and inviting, and Dixie feels good beside me. The hammering in my head eases. “How long have I been here? I don’t remember—”

  “Shhh, go to sleep.”

  The bed jostles as she settles next to me. Her breathing drops into a soft pattern in line with mine. From now on, this is how I want to end every day of my life—minus the headache, of course.

  ****

  Dixie crawled out of bed just after midnight, making sure not to disturb the mattress and comforter. She paused, listening to Adam breathe—an even rhythm, calm and serene—then slipped out of the bedroom and wandered down the hallway toward a light shining from the kitchen. Aunt Rose sat at the table, her head propped in her hands.

  The hypnotic aroma of freshly baked bread lured Dixie to the table. “Sourdough?”

  Aunt Rose glanced up and smiled. “No, not quite. It’s just white. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s sleeping. I feel so bad. He has no idea what’s going on, and it’s all my fault. Now, he has a concussion.”

  “He took a hard knock, but his head’s as hard as a rock. I’m sure he’ll be quite all right by morning light.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “You can tell as well.” Aunt Rose motioned for Dixie to sit down. She reached across the table, covering Dixie’s hands with hers. “Close your eyes and think about Adam. Truly concentrate on everything about him. Run your thoughts across his body, around his mind, and deep into his heart. You know how to do this; you learned during The Sufferings. Relax your breathing. Now, tell me what you see.”

  Dixie did as told. She visualized Adam, his dark eyes and boyish smile, chiseled frame and ruddy complexion. As her thoughts focused, she set aside his physical form and entered his mind. His thoughts were calm, no doubt because he was asleep, but active and dreaming. His heart beat to a perfectly timed rhythm, strong and sure. Pain coursed through his body, but it was a fleeting tenderness and promised to heal quickly. “I feel him, Aunt Rose,” Dixie said, her eyes still shut tight, her lips smiling. “He’s going to be fine, just like you said.”

  “Well done, my dear. Affinity is a skill of The Sufferings, difficult to master, but you picked it up, just like that. I’m so proud of you.”

  Dixie straightened up and gazed at Aunt Rose. “I wish you would have told me.”

  “About The Sufferings?”

  “About everything: The Sufferings, being a Daemon…about The Pit.”

  “The Pit?” Aunt Rose ran her eyes across Dixie’s face. “Why do you ask about The Pit?”

  “Charlie Nguyen. She said I should ask you.”

  Aunt Rose sighed, rubbed a trembling hand across her brow, and closed her eyes. “The knowledge has been passed to you during The Sufferings. You know all about—”

  “I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you.”

  After a long pause, Aunt Rose opened her eyes then waited a bit longer as the grandfather clock in the entrance hallway struck the hour. “In the beginning, the Lake of Fire at the bottom of The Pit held all Daemon souls. Satan alone possessed the key to freedom. The only escape was to join The Legion, which every Daemon did, of course. I mean, The Lake of Fire, or freedom, not much of a choice. After achieving freedom, and after hundreds of years, Daemons formed two groups: those who followed Satan, and those who did not.”

  “And you, do you follow Satan?”

  Aunt Rose blushed. “Certainly not, how can you think such a thing?”

  “I’m sorry, I just thought—”

  “Be quiet and listen. Those who broke away from The Legion, over time, aligned with human design. We lost eternal life, and the ability to visit the other side.”

  Dixie’s eyes widened. “But we gained something in exchange, right?”

  “Oh my dear, we gained so much. The ability to bear children, to raise families—”

  “And to love.”

  A large china plate materialized in front of them filled with slices of freshly baked bread.

  “Have some, my dear. You’ll feel better.”

  “I don’t feel like eating anything.”

  “No? I find a little something before sleep is good for the body; good for the soul.”

  Dixie picked up a slice, still warm from the oven or wherever it came from—she glanced over Aunt Rose’s shoulder and saw the “bake” light off. She took a bite. It tasted like Christmas morning.

  “Now then,” Aunt Rose said, “you’ve learned so much in the past two days—everything, really. Practice it, use it, make it part of your daily life. The better you get at using what you now know the more power you’ll have over the evils, the more at peace you’ll be with yourself.”

  “But I am at peace. What makes you think I’m not?”

  Aunt Rose gave her the look. “I’ve known you your whole life, Dixie Mulholland. You’ve always been driven, searching for something, examining, exploring. Now you know what it was. Don’t be apprehensive about being a Daemon. Enjoy it.”

  Dixie took another bite of bread. “You’re right. I am apprehensive, but not about what I am. I’m worried about telling Adam what we have in mind. He’ll feel betrayed.”

  “Don’t be concerned. Use what you’ve learned.” Aunt Rose beamed. “Explain it to him using the powers you now have.”

  “You mean a spell? No. I’m not going to make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. I’m simply going to tell him the plan, and hope he makes the right decision. It’s up to him.”

  “Fair warning, my dear, Adam may not accept his role in our plan.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “What I’m saying is he doesn’t reason like a typical human because he’s not. He’s not fully human, nor is
he fully canine.”

  Dixie took another bite of bread. “You lost me. What the hell are you saying?”

  “Language, my dear.” Aunt Rose stood up. “What I mean is he may be a combination of all three.”

  “All three? You said, not fully human, and not fully canine. What else is there?”

  “Daemon…but not fully.” Aunt Rose trundled to the refrigerator and grabbed a butter dish. She placed it on the table and took a knife from the silverware drawer. “Here, my sweet. Everything tastes better with butter.”

  “Tell me what you mean.”

  “Well, when the bread is warm, the butter soaks right in and—”

  “No. Forget about the bread.” Dixie tossed the slice back onto the plate. “Forget the butter, too. Tell me what you mean about Adam.”

  Aunt Rose sat down. “He and his kind were created by spell, a Daemonic spell. When spells are cast, traces remain. He was born a Giant Irish Wolfhound with the ability to transform into a human, but behind it all, there lies the residue, the slightest creational hint, of a Daemon. You know this; you’ve known since The Sufferings.”

  Dixie did know, deep down inside, but convinced herself otherwise. Her eyes misted over. All Adam ever wanted was to leave his canine ways behind and live as a normal human being. Should she tell him he might also be part Daemon?

  “No, my dear,” Aunt Rose said, invading Dixie’s thoughts. “He needs to live his life as he sees fit. Why confuse the boy with speculation? It is, after all, only a slight possibility.” She buttered a slice of bread and offered it to Dixie. “Here, you’ll like it.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “No, you’re angry.”

  “Of course I am. All the plans, the hopes Adam has, may not be possible.”

  Light footsteps sounded from the hallway. “Why?” Adam said, pacing slowly into the kitchen while yawning, his plaid robe tied snug around his body. “Why isn’t it possible?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Come. Sit down, my boy and I’ll tell you all about our little plan.”

  “No, Aunt Rose. You can’t tell him just like that. It will—”

  “Hush. He’s a big boy, he can take it.”

  I’m a little shocked, but certainly relieved somebody has finally decided to tell me the reason everyone’s been tiptoeing around. In a way, I’m glad it’s Aunt Rose. She has a way of explaining things so they make sense—not perfect sense as in logical, orderly, and valid, but common sense as in understandable, clear, and sound. I pull out a chair and sit at the table next to Dixie. My hand closes over hers.

  “Here,” Aunt Rose says, pushing a plate of bread in front of me. “Take a slice. It’s nice and hot, straight from the oven. Try it with butter.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She shakes her head. “Doesn’t anybody eat anymore? Ah well, maybe it’s just another lost art, like reading books, or owning encyclopedias—”

  “Aunt Rose,” I say in a quiet voice. “The plan?” I grab a slice of bread, swab it with butter, and take a bite. This seems to make her feel better.

  “Ah yes, the plan. Every night for the past four, a survivor on Claremont has been killed by gunshot. This is no random act. Somebody is murdering the Giant Irish Wolfhounds one by one. I’ve done my best to keep an eye over them, so has Colonel Dayton and Cutty, but to no avail. It’s time we get to the bottom of this. Now, it’s up to you. You, my boy, must take up residence on Claremont.”

  I almost choke on the bread. “Live on Claremont? Why?”

  “We need somebody—we need you on the inside. Don’t worry. You won’t be alone. Charlie Nguyen will accompany you.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel better.”

  “Absolutely, my boy. She can communicate with me.”

  First of all, I have no intention of living with the wolfhounds. Second, I wouldn’t trust Charlie Nguyen with my socks. This isn’t a plan; it’s a joke. And I tell both Dixie and Aunt Rose exactly that. “Where did you come up with this hair-brained scheme anyway?”

  “Major Ransom,” Dixie says. “It’s her plan. I agree with you, it doesn’t sound very workable. I’ve tried to tell her, but—”

  “Major Ransom came up with this nonsense?” I turn to Dixie and take her other hand. “How do you know you can even trust her? How do you know she’s even real?”

  “She is real.” Dixie squeezes my hands. “Something is luring the wolfhounds to their death, and she says you are the logical choice to find out who it is so we can stop it. I know the plan doesn’t sound very―”

  “Sane? Rational?” I stand up, feel a bit dizzy, and sit right back down again.

  “Are you okay, my boy?”

  “Fine. Just a little woozy. Can I get a glass of water?”

  “Of course.” Aunt Rose grabs a glass from the cupboard and shuffles to the kitchen sink.

  I turn to Dixie and whisper, “Is this why you got me out of prison?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. Listen, I had no idea where you were. I didn’t even know if you were alive or dead. Major Ransom told me all about your plight. She suggested Colonel Dayton break you out.”

  “So I can live with the wolfhounds?”

  “Not just live with them, but help save their lives.” Dixie’s voice grows louder, as if trying to convince herself of the plan. “I felt the same way when Major Ransom told me, but now it makes sense. We don’t need eyes on the packs; we need eyes in the packs. You’re the only one who can see the world through their eyes. Somebody on that hill must know something, but is afraid to come forward.”

  “Or afraid to be found out.”

  “Exactly,” Aunt Rose says. “The murderer could be one of them. You and Charlie Nguyen will join the survivors on Claremont, find out what’s going on, report back to me, and I’ll catch the culprit.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Easy-peezy.”

  If Aunt Rose can’t even catch my sarcasm, how is she ever going to catch the culprit? “Why Charlie Nguyen?”

  “For whatever reason, I seem to have a strong connection with her mind; yours, not so much. She’ll be your direct link to me.”

  “I don’t like it. Nothing about it feels right. First, I’m not a spy or a detective. Second, I don’t even know where to begin. I mean what do I do? Walk up to each one of them and say, ‘Excuse me, you don’t know me, but can you tell me if you’ve killed anyone today?’ No. This is a bad plan, and you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “You don’t need to be a spy. We’ve got one: Colonel Dayton,” Aunt Rose says.

  “And we’ve got a detective as well,” Dixie chimes in. “But they can’t be what you are—”

  “And what’s that?”

  “A canine.” Dixie is quiet for a moment, as if listening to something outside. All at once, she snickers.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Major Ransom wants to know if you see the irony in all this.”

  “Tell her, no, but I see the insanity of it.”

  “We first met because you thought Giant Irish Wolfhounds were hunting humans. Now, the wolfhounds are being hunted…ironic.”

  “Yeah, tell her good observation, but count me out.”

  Aunt Rose stares at me. “This is not something you can walk away from, and you know it. I see it in your heart. If you turn your back on us, you will never forgive yourself. Knowing you had the chance to stop a tragedy, but did nothing, is not in you. You must help us; if not for the sake of the wolfhounds, then for the sake of your own peace of mind.”

  Her speech hits the bullseye. Even though I don’t want any part of this plan, it’s something I have to do. She’s right; I would never forgive myself if I walked away.

  ****

  Slivers of light snake in through the kitchen window, crawling across the linoleum floor like the fingers of an invisible creature. I watch the fingers inch toward the table. A quick glance at the clock confirms 6 a.m. Dawn in downtown Las Vegas.

  Dixie’s gone to lie d
own before the others come over to discuss the logistics of the plan. I stay seated at the kitchen table facing Aunt Rose; the same chair I’ve occupied all night. We’ve been small talking ever since Dixie traipsed off to the bedroom about thirty minutes ago.

  I can’t explain why, but I feel comfortable being with Aunt Rose in her house; in her kitchen surrounded by all her things, the aroma of fresh baked goods filling the air. It’s like I can talk to her about anything, and she’ll listen—really listen—and not judge me or advise me or dismiss me. It’s like we share some kind of a connection I can’t explain. It feels so good to be accepted by someone this way.

  The morning birds begin their chorus of chirps and whistles just outside the window in the backyard. The world is peaceful and calm. I speak to Aunt Rose, informally, like I’m sharing time with an old friend, “Dixie told me you’ve been looking for my sister. She said they never found her body at Claremont the night before the Convergence.”

  “That’s true. The next night…well, that’s a different story. They found dozens of wolfhounds, and dozens of humans, too. It was all quite a mess. But the night before, the night Marco was called out to the house, the only thing they found even close to canine were paw prints in the backyard. I’m certain your sister did not die that night. I wish I had as strong a connection to her as I did your brother, Ivan. In any case, it only makes sense she escaped the house alive. I’m certain of it. I feel it here, in my heart.”

  My optimism is not as strong. I recall Lucy and Bane fighting that night, and the awful yip Dixie and I heard as we drove away. I am positive Bane killed her.

  “You mustn’t think negatively, my boy. We Daemons have a saying: the universe rewards optimism.”

  Maybe she’s right. “Another reason for me to follow your plan and snoop around Claremont. Maybe I can find a clue that’ll lead me to her.”

  “That’s the spirit.” She places her glasses on the table and rubs her eyes.

  “Are you tired?”

  “No. I don’t sleep much these days. Getting old, I suppose.” She picks up the plate of bread and carries it to the counter. Even though we munched on the delicious white bread all night long, the plate looks full, as if it hadn’t been touched at all. She turns around and smiles, her eyes lighting up in a bright glow. “Do you want some toast?”