A Shot in the Dark

by K. A. Stewart

  “But, dude? Who is he?”

  Damn good question. And as soon as this little magic trick was done, I was going to find out the answer.

  The air in the house was almost choking on the smell of cloves. That’s how I knew whatever Cam was doing was working. Funny how no one else ever seemed to notice that smell.

  “So . . . how’s it going?” I kept a safe distance back, just at the edge of where my skin started prickling. Never good to startle the magic man.

  “I . . . think I have something that will work.” Cam displayed some neat and orderly symbols scratched into the back of the mirror that looked nothing like what Mira normally used.

  “That’s magic?”

  “No, that’s prayer. Written in shorthand.” We traded skeptical looks at each other.

  “Will it work?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  With some effort, we got the mirror propped upright and one by one we paraded in front of it. Even Duke got his turn on the runway.

  The mirror showed nothing, except that my little brother was starting to put on weight.

  “It’s all those doughnuts, little brother.” He flipped me off.

  “So, what are we supposed to be seeing?” Marty looked at himself in the mirror, Duke at his heel.

  “Hopefully, nothing. So, either this thing’s not working, or we’re not infested yet.”

  “It’s working!”

  “Infested with what?!” Cameron was offended. The rest of the guys were just worried.

  I motioned for Marty to help me move the cumbersome thing until we could frame the two Quinns in its reflective surface. I heard a small blasphemy from Cameron’s lips, and a worse one from Will’s. My own stomach twisted in a painful knot. “Infested with those.”

  I called them Scrap demons. They were the parasites of the demon world, giant poisonous fleas if you will. In singles and pairs, they could feed off a person, subtly sucking their will to live, nudging them toward depression, paranoia, or worse. And I had never seen so many in one place.

  A veritable horde of the little bastards clung to the Quinns. Their black forms, like greasy mops, scuttled over young Zane, their spindly insectile legs exploring every inch of his body. One of them plucked at his hair with a three-toed “hand,” bringing it to what I presumed was its face to sniff. Hard to tell when they didn’t actually have any eyes.

  “Wh-what the fuck are those things?” Oscar had found the courage to speak again. Wide-eyed and pale, he watched one of the creatures clamber up on his reflection’s shoulder. To his credit, he didn’t try to bat it off. Wouldn’t have worked anyway.

  “Those are Scrap demons. Nasty little buggers, but easily squishable.” I tried to get a head count on the grubby little swarm. There were at least seven on Zane that seemed permanently attached. Another dozen or so skittered between the two, not caring if they crawled over each other, their twiggy legs catching in the oily coils of fur on their fellows. Those would be the ones to watch, the ones that would latch on to one of us just as easily.

  “They don’t look like much. Are they dangerous?” Will bent down to poke at the mirror, and I grabbed his hand to stop him. I didn’t know if he could disrupt Cam’s magic, but I wasn’t willing to risk it until we were ready.

  “One alone, not really. This many . . . They’ll kill Zane if we don’t get them off him. It’s not shock, it’s them, sucking on his life. They’re probably what’s making Oscar all pissy too. If we can scrape off the scuzzies, things will go back to some semblance of normal.”

  “But . . . he said this was holy ground.” Oscar pointed at Cam who had finally slumped onto a bar stool again.

  The possibly ex-priest looked a bit gray around the edges too. He’d way overextended himself. “The land is consecrated,” he explained. “Not the cabin floor. They were inside before the wards went up, so now they’re trapped here with us.”

  “But where’d they come from in the first place? I mean, how long have they been on us?”

  If I had to guess, I’d say the Yeti sicced his little greasy minions on the Quinns when Zane sold his soul. Despair is a good motivator, and if the demon could bag the whole family, so much the better. With the kid’s mom just passing, they’d have been ripe pickings. “There’s no telling. With all the stress of losing your wife, you probably never noticed the behavior changes. If Zane’s been a little more hostile than usual . . . If you’ve felt extra depressed. Mood swings, irritability, sudden bleakness. It was all explainable. Hell, if it wasn’t for the big doofus, I’d have never known they were here myself.” I patted Duke’s head, and he leaned into me hard enough to almost knock me over. “From now on, we watch the dog. If there’s something wrong, he’ll know before any of us.”

  “All right. We know they’re here. Now how do we kill them?” Cole walked over and touched Oscar’s shoulder, the one that was currently hosting a Scrap demon. In the reflection, the demon scuttled away from Cole’s hand, climbing down the front of Oscar’s shirt, clinging to the cloth with its three-toed claws. Interesting.

  “First, we need weapons.” Cole reached for his holstered handgun—when had he found time to put that on?—and I shook my head. “Bit of overkill there, little brother. Besides, we might need the bullets. Just . . . find stuff that will stab or smash. They’re crunchy inside. Think of them like really big, really hairy cockroaches. With huge mouths full of shark teeth. And oh yeah, they’re venomous.”

  The look from the group as a whole said, “Are you out of your freaking mind?!”

  9

  The first thing we did was light every lantern we could find. The sun was well and truly down by now, and the last place I wanted to be hunting demons, even little ones, was in the dark. Every shadow was a potential hiding place, and we positioned the lights to eliminate as many as possible.

  “Count them. We have to get them all. There aren’t any other mirrors in the house, so this is the one shot we’ll get at them.” The troops were lined up, hanging on my every word. Sort of.

  We’d managed to wrangle weapons easy enough. My sword, some fireplace implements, a hatchet. Duke. It had been decided that Oscar and Zane weren’t up for helping, nor was Cameron. So it would be just me and my buddies on bug-squishing duty. The trick was going to be getting all the little buggers before they got over their fright and faded back across the veil.

  “They’re going to scatter the moment the glass breaks. They’ll know they’re visible, and they’ll try to hide until they can gather their wits and slip back across. So we gotta move quick. If one gets away from you, watch Duke. He should be able to keep up with them if we can’t.” Man, I hoped I was right. Duke was more known for his cowardice than anything else. It remained to be seen if his sudden bravado would hold.

  “Whatever you do, don’t get bit.”

  “What happens if we get bit?”

  “I . . . don’t actually know. Just know you’re not supposed to get bit.” I nodded toward Zane and his blackening fingers. “It’s not like that. It’s a different poison. If it gets on your skin, it’s gonna feel like battery acid, and it’ll eat through your clothes just the same too.” I was trying to cram as much information into one briefing as I could, but I just knew I was going to forget something. “When they die, they’re gonna just mist away. Try not to get too much of the black stuff on you. It won’t do any damage in small doses, but it’ll make you numb and cold temporarily. Any questions?” No one spoke up.

  Somewhere deep inside, I was proud of them. Cole had dealt with demons before, but never in combat mode. Will had glued the pieces of me back together often enough after a fight, but had never seen one. Marty . . . well, there was a large leap between “knowing” and “seeing” and he’d just made it in the last couple of hours. And none of them seemed fazed.

  It took us another fifteen minutes to get a head count on the little demons that we could all agree on. Each of us took up a position more or less surrounding the Quinns, and Cam stood read
y next to the mirror.

  Unfortunately, the skuzzy little vermin were not being cooperative. We had to have them all within the confines of the mirror to get them all yanked across. One of them, maybe sensing its imminent demise, crept around just at the edges of its fellows, pausing to comb through its greasy mat of fur about every third step.

  “Dammit, come on . . . scoot over . . .” It would scurry almost into frame, then hesitate, backing up a few steps. It seemed reluctant to stray too far from Zane and Oscar, but at the same time it was afraid to get too close.

  “Here, maybe if I . . .” Watching himself in the large mirror, Zane held out his hand to the creature, palm up. Though there was nothing visible in the room with us, in the reflection we could watch the parasite sniff the kid’s hand, swaying on its three-toed feet in indecision.

  Finally, it seemed to come to some conclusion, and clambered its way on to Zane’s hand, spindly legs scrabbling for purchase on his narrow arm.

  The kid frowned a little. “I . . . can’t feel anything. Just cold. My fingers are cold.” Slowly, he retracted his hand until he was holding the little Scrap demon in his lap, and then it scuttled off to join its brethren in their constant exploration of the Quinns.

  “Let’s get this show on the road before any more of them get adventurous.” I found a place above one of the demons, holding my sword just above the greasy little mop. I nodded to Cam. “Do it.”

  With a good hard swing of a hammer, the glass shattered, falling out of the frame to fragment all over the floor. What followed looked like the greased pig chase from Hell. Literally. All we were lacking was the Benny Hill music.

  The Scrap demons screamed as they were yanked into the physical world. Now, one of them is bad enough, but eleventeen of them screeching in unison was enough to almost deafen us. Even as they sprinted in every direction, I drove my sword down with both hands, feeling the crunch as it cracked the hard carapace and stuck in the wood floor. My first victim wriggled spastically for a heartbeat, then poofed into a small black cloud that dissipated almost immediately. I wrenched the blade free and went after another.

  “Get ’em, boy!” Marty called encouragement to his dog even as his hatchet split one of the parasites in two. Duke didn’t need the urging, bellowing as he barreled into the knot of them. Scrap demons went flying everywhere as the big mutt whipped his head from side to side.

  One of them made a scuttle for the kitchen cabinets, and I dove after it. “Get back here, you little—” It turned to hiss at me, toothy maw gaping. The venomous mouth took up almost the entirety of its greasy little body, the mop opening up to reveal rows upon rows of sharp, serrated teeth. One good sword thrust between the dentures, and it was so much blight, drifting back to where it came from.

  I could hear the sickening cracks as one by one, the Scraps were reduced to their base essence, wafting away to darker realms. Will pinned one to the wall with the fireplace poker, and another attempted to clamber up his back, fleeing in blind panic. “Don’t move, Will!” Good man, he froze and I batted the thing off with my sword, in Cole’s direction. “Get it, little brother!”

  “There’s one under the coatrack!” Oscar pointed, but Duke got there first, and there was a screech as the scruffy thing met its demise in the dog’s massive jaws. The coatrack itself . . . well, we could use it for kindling later.

  A twitch in the curtains behind Marty caught my eye. “Marty, the curtains!”

  The hatchet made a solid thunk as it buried itself in the wall, thrown with deadly accuracy, and the demon gave a sad little twitch as it died. I blinked at Marty, and he shrugged. “Blacksmiths do that.”

  “Little help here!” Will had one on the run, but it was making a beeline for the fireplace. If it got up the chimney, we’d lose it. My buddy launched his poker at the creature, and it clanged against the hearth, sending brick chips flying. The demon reversed course and scurried toward Marty.

  Unarmed, Marty stomped down with one heavy boot, and the greasy thing went splat, its legs flailing until they disintegrated into blight.

  It took us all a moment to realize we had no more targets in sight.

  “Was that . . . was that all of them?” We turned in slow circles, eyeing the shadowy corners of the room.

  “I think so.” My eyes were on Duke, though. The mastiff prowled the room, sniffing under things until he was satisfied. Only once did he hesitate, at the foot of the stairs, a faint growl rumbling through his chest, but whatever was up there wasn’t worth pursuing because he let it go. I made a mental note to check out the second floor later. If the dog wasn’t worried, it would wait. “I think we’re good.”

  “How soon will we know if it’s gonna help Zane and Oscar?” Will was already eyeing his patient critically.

  “Dad? Dad, you okay?” We turned to see Zane peering at his father as the older man blinked in confusion.

  Oscar took a few deep, experimental breaths. “Yeah, I think so. I just . . . I can breathe again. Like there’s a weight gone.” The older man rolled his shoulders hesitantly, and breathed deeply.

  “‘Bout that quick. See how Zane’s doing. I’ll get this glass cleaned up.” Mirror shards crunched under my boots, scattered all over the floor in the chaos.

  Cameron was on his feet, albeit wobbly, when I took the mirror frame away from him, leaning it on the bar. “I should go sit with the Quinns. Maybe I can offer them some comfort . . .”

  I grabbed his shoulder, squeezing harder than was strictly necessary. “I don’t think so. You owe me a talk.” Now that the immediate threat was over, and I had time to really think about it, I was getting pissed. Cameron was so much more than he’d pretended, which meant he’d lied to me, my friends, my wife, and most importantly, to a woman I greatly respected and cared for. Dr. Bridget was my wife’s best friend, yes, but she was one of mine too. And if you think protective dads are bad, just wait ’til you get a load of me.

  He glanced around the room, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. Civilians. “Not here. Upstairs.”

  I nodded, and went about cleaning up the mess first. There was glass to sweep, and blood to mop, and that was just the start of things. It was going to take him a bit to get up the stairs anyway, in the condition he was in. I was honestly amazed that he hadn’t collapsed already.

  By the time I got the glass in the trash, the possibly ex-priest was out of sight. I headed for the stairs with one of the lanterns. This wasn’t a night to be in the dark.

  I picked up my sword, too, on the way up. Duke was wary of the second floor for some reason, and I wasn’t taking any chances. In the white light of the Coleman lantern, there seemed to be nothing amiss, however. The sleeping bags were all still laid out where we’d left them, and there really wasn’t anywhere for anything to hide. Just the darkest shadows, gathering in the eaves of the roof. I raised the light higher to banish them, proving to myself that there was nothing there. Nope, just me and the hiss of the kerosene lantern. And Cam of course.

  He eyed my bared blade from his seat on his own sleeping bag. “Thinking of using it?”

  “I guess that’s going to depend on what you say. Jesse’s a very grumpy fellow at this exact moment.” I set the lantern on the floor.

  “Does Jesse often refer to himself in the third person?” When I just gave him a flat look, he sighed wearily. “You’ve got every right to be angry. And suspicious.” Instead of offering more, though, he just sat and looked at me.

  “Look, I’m not going to play twenty questions with you. Spill it. Now.” I’d never turned my sword on another human being in my life—What were those things outside? Shut up, Jesse.—but at that moment I wanted to.

  “All right, but you’re not going to like most of what I’m going to say.”

  I settled for perching on Will’s sleeping bag, still rolled into its little ball. “You don’t get to presume to know me that well. Talk.” The lantern left us in a small bubble of light, with the night pressing in all around. I felt like
we were two kids, telling ghost stories in the dark. Only there really were ghosts in the dark, and they were trying to eat my face.

  “I wasn’t honest with you. With any of you. About who I am.”

  “Y’think? Is Cameron even your name?”

  He nodded. “Brother Cameron, to be more precise.”

  “Oh God, you’re a monk?!”

  He was trying for patience, and I knew I was sorely testing it. Couldn’t help myself, it’s my nature. “It’s a title. Just a title. I’m part of the Ordo Sancti Silvii, the Order of Saint Silvius. I don’t know if you’ve heard of us . . .”

  “I usually call you all the Knights Stuck-up-idus.”

  A faint smirk crossed his face. “I’ve heard that before. That was you?”

  Demon hunters, champions like me, only run by the Catholic Church. Five men, never fewer than five, operating under the name of a saint who didn’t exist. They had as little to do with us, Ivan’s champions, as possible. Mocked and reviled us, even. So why the sudden interest in fraternization?

  “So that makes you a holy roller?”

  “Yes, I am an ordained priest. Technically.”

  “And what are you doing here?”

  He sighed, raking fingers through his short hair. “We were . . . afraid something like this might happen. I was supposed to stay near you, keep an eye out.”

  “Something like what exactly? You knew we’d be ambushed and trapped inside a cabin in godforsaken nowhere?”

  “No.” Weariness just oozed from his pores. I’d seen Mira after some big magic, and it knocked her on her butt for days. I was surprised Cam was still upright, much less speaking coherently. “No, if I’d have known about this, I’d have come ready. Me being here on this day was just . . .”

  “If you say divine intervention, I’m going to kick you in the face.” Okay, there was a small flicker of guilt at the thought that I was threatening an actual priest, but it was a really tiny flicker.

  “Let’s say happy coincidence.”