by M. D. Massey
He had me there. I pursed my lips and exhaled heavily through my nostrils. “Any last bit of advice?”
“Hit it hard, hit it fast, and don’t let up until it’s in full retreat. Damned things like to bite the heads off their victims, so don’t let it grab you. If you do, you’ll be trading fashion tips with the Dullahan in short order.”
“Great,” I said as I readied myself to charge the caddaja. “Wish me luck.”
Finnegas was already rolling a cigarette, apparently unconcerned that I was about to face down a cannibalistic, ten-foot-tall demon. “Bah, you’ll be fine. Besides, why do you need my luck? If I’ve learned anything in the short time I’ve known you, it’s that you’re the luckiest sum’ bitch I’ve ever met.”
“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one,” he quipped. “Now, while you go kick that demon’s ass, I’m going to rescue the fair maiden in that tree and enjoy a smoke. Damned hike down here was a bitch.”
“Asshole,” I muttered as I slipped through the trees to flank the demon.
Twelve
Demon or not, I suspected the thing was as susceptible to a surprise attack as any other creature I’d fought, so that was my plan. Once I got behind him, I crept out of the brush toward the caddaja’s back. In my partially-shifted form, I was maybe seven feet tall—formidable in most situations, but not against a ten-foot tall demon. To even the odds, I intended to kneecap the thing and bash his skull in once I had him down on the ground.
But, as Moltke said, “No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy.” I was about three steps away from the demon and almost within striking distance when the lady in the tree noticed me.
She looked straight at me and started screaming, blowing my cover. “Help me, please!”
I winced. Look on the bright side—at least I look human enough that she didn’t spook.
The demon spun around, spotting me instantly. He released a growl that told me he was not happy that I was interrupting—well, whatever he intended to do to the woman.
I sighed. “Lady, that’s what I was doing before you warned tall, horned, and ugly here.”
The lady’s eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s not every day that I get chased up a tree by a giant monster! Excuse me for getting a little worked up.”
I raised a hand to placate her. “Look, I get it. Don’t worry, I have this under control. Just hang tight and I’ll have you down—”
The demon took a quick step forward and hit me with a lightning-fast backhand that sent me flying into a patch of agarita bushes, which only barely broke my fall. The blow knocked the wind from my lungs, and I rolled out of the brush gasping for air. As I sat up, I realized I’d lost my war club. Damn. I scanned the ground for it as I crabwalked away from the demon.
I was still searching for the club when the monster stomped over and squatted down to look at me. When he roared at me, his breath carried an almost palpable cloud of funk that was a combination of skunk musk, sulfur, and rotted meat. One whiff of it nearly made me lose my breakfast. I waved my hand in front of my face, holding my breath for a moment as I scooted farther away from the thing.
“Man, what is it with man-eating monsters and bad breath? Don’t you ever brush your teeth?” I continued to fan the air in hopes of alleviating the odor. “Pro tip—a little dental hygiene goes a long way, even for an inter-dimensional cannibalistic demon such as yourself.”
Normally, I wouldn’t have bothered bantering with a creature like this, but I needed to give Finnegas and the woman time to get away. As I kept the demon occupied, Finn was busy helping the woman get down from the tree. I only needed to stall for a few more seconds, then they’d be away and safe—at which point I could chase the thing off without the risk of getting anyone else hurt.
The caddaja’s brow furrowed as he held an open hand in front of his mouth and released a puff of air. He sniffed his palm and shrugged. “Smells fine to me. But it would smell a lot better if you hadn’t interrupted me in the middle of capturing and eating my sacrifice. Nothing freshens the breath like a bit of human blood.”
The demon’s voice was rough, yet cultured. It reminded me of the way young werewolves sounded when they spoke in their shifted form. It generally took ’thropes a few decades to learn how to shift while maintaining their human vocal cords, and even then it took some practice to speak normally.
I arched an eyebrow at the creature. “You speak perfect English.”
“I do. Spent some time in the service of a well-to-do warlock in Connecticut, just after the Revolutionary War. He taught me to speak English, and I waited until the terms of our agreement were concluded before I ate him. It seemed an even trade.”
I sat up, wondering how I should handle the situation. The thing had been trying to eat someone just a few moments prior. But since he was intelligent and willing to communicate, I figured it couldn’t hurt to make an attempt at finding a peaceful resolution.
I rubbed my chin and pointed at the creature. “You said something about a sacrifice. Would you mind elaborating on that for me? If only for posterity’s sake.”
The demon curled his upper lip and tsked. “Certainly. Every few hundred years or so, I show up and the local tribe provides me with a sacrifice. They feed me a virgin, and I don’t eat their babies and scare off all their game. It’s a rather fine deal, if I do say so myself.”
“I can see how a demon like yourself might enjoy such an arrangement,” I agreed with a nod of my head as I continued to search for my club.
“Exactly! Usually it’s a captured slave—the last time it was a white settler I found to be quite delicious, if a little on the bony side. I’d expressed a desire to have the same on my next visit, and the tribal leaders agreed. When I popped over on this side of the Veil and saw the female, I figured she’d been sent to appease me.”
“Huh. Yeah, about that…”
The demon cradled his chin in one clawed hand. “Was I mistaken? If I was about to eat the wrong person, I apologize. If so, you merely have to point me in the direction of the appropriate victim, and I’ll be happy to dine on that one instead.”
I squinted as I tongued a molar. “See, that’s the problem. There is no sacrifice.”
The demon drew himself up and huffed indignantly. “Well, if the locals have decided to renege on our arrangement…”
I raised my hands. “Hang on, let me finish. Those tribes haven’t been around for centuries. They were driven out by the whites ages ago, either killed off or forced onto reservations. That’s why there’s no sacrifice for you, because the people who used to leave them no longer exist.”
The demon whistled softly. “My, but this is awkward. And the woman I intended to eat?”
“Merely a passerby, out enjoying nature. Purely happenstance that you stumbled upon her.”
“Well, it is quite a lovely day.”
“That it is.” We both kind of sat there for a few moments, avoiding eye contact. Finally, I cleared my throat. “So, about the sacrifice…”
The demon sucked on his teeth as he rubbed his chin. “Yes. Yes, of course. Well, this is conundrum, but we all must make do with the circumstances we’re given. Although I would prefer eating a virgin, I suppose you’ll just have to do.”
“Excuse me?” I scooted back a few feet to give me more time to react, all the while searching the ground with my hands for my club. “Maybe you didn’t hear me when I said that the people you made that arrangement with are no longer around.”
“Oh, I heard you quite clearly. But this is my territory. All my kind have their own areas to look after, you see. And I have quotas to meet. One adult human sacrifice per every two centuries—that’s the bare minimum to keep management off my case. You know how it is.”
“Not really,” I said as I scratched my head. “Look, I’m sorry that you aren’t going to be able to meet your sacrifice quota, because you seem like a nice guy—for a flesh-eating demon, that is.”
&nb
sp; “And you seem a fine fellow for—whatever you are,” the demon stated agreeably.
“Um, thanks. But the thing is, I’m just not on the menu. No one around here is, actually, and it’s sort of my job to keep it that way. I hate to break it to you, but you’re going back across the Veil empty-handed today.”
The demon sighed softly. “So that’s the way it is, eh?”
“That’s the way it is.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll be going then.” The demon rocked up on the balls of his feet, as if he was standing up to leave. I knew better.
Wait for it…
The caddaja sprung forward as he grabbed for me, just as my fingers found the handle of my war club. I grabbed it as I did a shoulder roll, coming to my feet and pivoting to face him.
“And just when I thought we were coming to an understanding,” I said.
The demon raised his hands, palms up to the sky. “You can’t expect a leopard to change its spots, can you?” He looked at the tree where, moments before, his intended meal had been safely ensconced. “Damn it all, I was really looking forward to eating a nice tasty virgin today.”
“That’s what she said,” I mumbled under my breath. I raised the volume of my voice as I continued. “By the way, the name’s Colin—Colin McCool. Druid justiciar and general thorn-in-the-side of all things supernatural and evil, at your service. Just letting you know, so when I send you back across the Veil you’ll know what to tell your boss about why you didn’t hit your quota.”
The demon turned back to me. “Oh, I like your style, human. It’ll be a shame to have to kill you.” He took a short bow without taking his eyes off me. “Snaketongue Spinebreaker, Esquire of Hell. Hoping to make knight soon, although that’ll depend on the results of today’s excursion. Shall we proceed?”
“Sure, let’s dance,” I replied.
No sooner had I spoken than Snaketongue did a front handspring into a flying drop kick that was aimed right at my chest. I managed to dodge it by spinning to the side, but only barely. I attempted to crack him in the face with my club as he passed, but he was moving too fast. As he landed I stepped forward, striking with the club Filipino-style in a staccato series of strikes aimed at the demon’s knee, elbow, and throat.
Snaketongue danced away from my strikes in a surprisingly graceful display for such a large creature. As the fight continued, he moved just enough for me to miss by millimeters, frustrating my attempts to kneecap him or otherwise cripple him and bring him down to my level. And if I gave him any opening whatsoever, he responded by swiping at me with those enormous clawed hands of his. At the end of our first exchange I had yet to touch him, while he’d opened some long, shallow gashes across my chest.
Damn, this thing is fast. Finnegas had said they were dangerous. Since I’d never fought a demon before, I’d had no idea how dangerous they could be. I wasn’t exactly fighting at my best, considering that I hadn’t shifted completely, but at the moment I was faster and stronger than normal—and that was saying something. Even in my human form I operated at the peak of human potential, as all natural-born champions did.
Yet, I hadn’t been pressed this hard in a fight since I’d fought The Rye Mother back in Underhill. Snaketongue was just as fast as her—maybe faster, if not as vicious. Still, stopping him was proving to be beyond my current physical abilities, and if I didn’t do something fast, I was going to end up in that demon’s belly.
Now, that would be embarrassing.
The demon had me on the defense now. I sidestepped, ducked, and otherwise evaded his attacks, which were much too strong to block. His fighting style reminded me of Blanka from Street Fighter, a weird combination of capoeira, tiger claw kung fu, and gymnastics. It was acrobatic and unorthodox, and it made his movements deceptively hard to anticipate.
I attempted to strike his base leg as one of his kicks whooshed overhead, but Snaketongue sprung into a single handstand to avoid the strike. As his hand hit the ground, the demon snapped an inverted kick at my face, a move that looked a lot like an au batido from capoeira. I mistimed leaning away to avoid it and got clipped on the side of my head for my trouble.
More frustrated than injured, I stumbled away to give myself a few seconds to come up with a plan of action.
My main issue was the fact that Snaketongue was so damned agile. That, combined with the size differential, was making this a lopsided battle. I needed to immobilize him to even the odds. But how?
I thought about trying to make the ground beneath him into quicksand, by pulling groundwater up from below and altering the composition of the soil. Although I thought I could pull it off, it would take a lot more time and focus than I had to spare. Another idea was to simulate the soil liquefaction that happened during earthquakes, which would basically have the same effect as quicksand.
That was a great plan, except I’d never been taught how to do it. It would have been nice to vibrate the molecules in the soil until they reached a liquid state, and watch Snaketongue get swallowed up by the earth. But since I had no idea if it was even possible, I scratched the idea immediately.
Maybe I’m approaching this the wrong way, I thought as I dodged another swipe from Snaketongue’s claws. The demon said he’d been forced to serve a warlock—so, how did a warlock or conjurer contain a demon long enough to strike a deal? How did one force a demon to come to terms in the first place?
By capturing them within a summoning circle.
I knew nothing about such things, but I knew a hell of a lot about wards. And one thing I knew about them was they were mostly powered by the spell caster’s will. The more intricate the circle and wards, the greater the amplification of the magician’s willpower. Thus, a simple circle could theoretically only contain relatively weak entities, while an elaborate circle would allow a wizard to contain more powerful creatures.
I wouldn’t have time to construct an elaborate, warded circle. The good news was, I wouldn’t have to. All I needed to do was trap him for a few seconds, long enough to kneecap him so I could put a beatdown on him. Thirty seconds or so would be plenty of time to cut him down to size.
I beat forward with a flurry of strikes, then quickly withdrew, flourishing my war club to keep the demon at bay. I held up a hand, indicating that I wanted to speak.
The demon paused and gave me a sneering look. “Oh, so now you want to parley? Mr. McCool, unless your offer involves virgins, you should know that I’m absolutely not interested.”
I waved him off with one hand while I reached out with my mind to the vegetation behind him. “I’m afraid to say that I don’t know many virgins, but I am acquainted with quite a few young ladies. Perhaps I could lure one out here, in exchange for my life?”
Snaketongue stood a bit straighter, his eyes looking up and to the left as he considered my offer. “While it is tempting, I seem to have worked up quite an appetite over the last few minutes. No, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. I’m sorry, Mr. McCool, but I’m afraid I’ll be having you for the main course today.”
I tapped a finger on my chin, stalling while I mentally tempted and teased several strands of Virginia Creeper vine into the rough approximation of a circle on the ground behind the demon.
“How about two young women? Or heck, let’s make it three. All good things come in threes, right?”
The demon hissed. “You’re stalling.”
“Well, I’m certainly not eager to be eaten,” I replied with a roll of my eyes. “Would you by chance consider four maidens?”
Asking a question just before a sucker punch was the oldest trick in the book. In the time it takes for the question to register the brain is preoccupied, offering a momentary opening for a surprise attack. I took full advantage of the opportunity my question afforded, and leapt into action a split-second after the words left my lips. Closing the distance in a rush, I delivered a quick combination of slashing strikes at the demon’s torso and legs.
Snaketongue, however, was a seasoned and savvy combatant
. As I expected, he never let down his guard, and the demon easily sprang back to avoid my attack. But instead of pressing the attack, I knelt down quickly, touching my hand to the viny circle I’d created during the lull in our fight.
“Gabh deamhan,” I whispered as I willed power into the makeshift circuit. As I did, a bright green halo lit up around the demon, just as the vines tore away from their roots with an audible snap. Snaketongue was now trapped inside a complete and unbroken circle, roughly six feet across.
The demon clapped his hands lightly. “Bravo, Mr. McCool. However, this won’t hold me long.”
I frowned and shook my head. “Oh, it doesn’t have to, Mr. Spinebreaker.”
Lunging forward while taking care that my lead foot didn’t touch the circuit, I swung the club at full extension, right at Snaketongue’s waist. Unable to move away from my attack, he did the only thing he could do; he leapt straight up in the air. While he cleared my initial attack, he lacked the power of flight. Newtonian physics being what they are on this planar realm, the demon came straight back down, and my war club cracked him across the knees on my backswing.
The club packed a punch. The impact crushed the demon’s knee joint with a sickening crunch, and Snaketongue landed awkwardly inside the circle in a heap. Careful to avoid stepping on the vines, I proceeded to walk around the circle beating him with the club again and again, smashing bones and pulping his flesh. Seconds later, I was breathing heavily, and the demon was a bloody, nearly unrecognizable heap.
But I didn’t let up. If I did, he would break free from the relatively weak demon trap, and for all I knew he’d instantaneously heal once freed from the circle. So, I kept up the attack.