Necropolis PD

by Nathan Sumsion

  This is a bad idea. In all of the human history that I’ve come across in my short life, there’s not a single story where someone had something good come from making a deal with a demon. I assumed those tales were metaphorical, of course, but the fact remains the same. The long-term consequences almost always overshadow the short-term gain. But what choice to do I have? There is a tangible solution in front of me, a real way to end this spree of killings and ensure that the demon can’t do it again.

  I nod.

  Frank smiles a grin that sends shivers down my spine. “Excellent. We have a deal.”

  Ms. Greystone?

  “Yes, Detective?”

  Will you and Marsh meet me over here at Warner’s? I need to discuss something with you.

  “Have you gone completely insane?” Marsh bellows at me, spraying me with spittle.

  I’m here with both him and Greystone in Frank’s room. Frank is currently nowhere to be seen. Marsh and Greystone arrived about ten minutes ago, allowing Armstrong and Kim to return to the precinct. According to them I was warbling out some awful singing with Frank accompanying me on the piano the whole time they were there at Warner’s. I ground my teeth in irritation, waved goodbye to them, and resolved to speak to Frank about the glamours he uses in the future.

  And then I explained to Marsh and Ms. Greystone what was going on. The words spilled out of my mouth eagerly now that I could share them. I told all I knew about Frank, about the secret I was sharing with them, and about how it put their lives in jeopardy. I explained the trap that Frank could show us how to make, and then the price he was asking for it.

  Which is what prompted Marsh’s current reaction.

  “I know you’re as bright as a bag of hammers, Green,” he leans in to hiss the words at me, “but this is beyond the pale stupid. Not only are you listening to a demon—a DEMON!—not only are you listening to one, you’re actually believing what the hell he’s saying, and thinking it’s a good idea. A dog licking its own butt shows more sense!”

  Greystone clears her throat. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Detective Marsh, though not as colorfully. Surely, you don’t believe this demon can be trusted?”

  I shake my head. “No, of course I don’t trust him. But it makes sense, him asking for a way out of the trap he’s going to show us. It makes me think the thing will actually work.”

  “Balls!” Marsh snorts in derision. “Oh, and then you agree to give him some of your blood!”

  I scratch my head and ask, “The blood. What does that mean? It sounds like a big deal, but I don’t really know.”

  “Of course, it’s a big deal!” Marsh yells again.

  “How?” I ask sincerely.

  Marsh gesticulates with his arms, his face scrunched up in confusion. “How the hell should I know, dumbass? I don’t do magic. You want to know, ask the captain!”

  “But we can’t do that. I can’t tell anyone else about this.”

  “Yeah, that’s real convenient,” Marsh huffs, turning his back on me.

  “There is great power in blood, Jacob,” Greystone explains. “Even normal human blood. A transfusion can provide life to another. A virus can be carried in it and cause death. Blood can fight infection, repair damage to flesh. The brain can will it to move about one’s own body. It carries oxygen and sustains life. It can be removed from a body, and it replenishes.

  “Then there is the blood of a Seer. Who knows what additional properties your blood contains? There must be some, or this demon wouldn’t be seeking it specifically.”

  I mull this over. I really would like to ask Captain Radu. But there is no way I could ask him that wouldn’t raise suspicion, and that would be dangerous for all of us. I’m afraid our only course of action, the only way to stop this demon is to make the key, build the trap, incarcerate the demon, and worry about any repercussions at a later time.

  “I can say ‘no,’ obviously,” I explain to my friends. “There’s nothing forcing me to do this.”

  “Then DON’T!” Marsh yells.

  I continue. “But any other solution gets us what? A brief delay? If we try to banish him, then we’re just sitting around waiting for his followers to bring him back again. And then start all over? And, by that point, he’ll be gunning for us, since he’ll know that we know about him. But if we can build this trap, it will contain the demon forever.”

  “This is assuming that Frank is telling the truth,” Greystone reminds us.

  “Yes, assuming he’s telling the truth, which I believe he is.” I haven’t mentioned to them that Frank can lie his way around me. My Seer gifts of truth detection don’t reliably work on him, but I’m confident that on this, at least, he is telling the truth. “If we trap this demon and toss the trap into the Pit, the problem is over. Forever. And if we run into any more demon problems in the future, we’ll have a way to fight them.”

  Marsh is silent, steaming mad but quiet. In the end, for better or for worse, I get my way.

  We agree to make the key.

  Marsh does most of the coordinating. It takes a couple of days to get everything put together. We find a foundry to make us a mold based on the specifications in Frank’s book. Marsh mixes the ingredients together. He has to be especially careful with the silver; his skin is sensitive to it, and he bitches nonstop whenever he accidentally touches it. Silver is surprisingly hard to get a hold of here as it is poisonous to many of the city’s inhabitants. And highly illegal. Marsh manages to get into the evidence room and sneak out one of the bars we found at Clark’s apartment. He has less trouble with the mercury, sulfur, and the other herbs and metals.

  But it wasn’t the only hurdle. We have to burn certain other herbs and incense while intoning foreign words that do their best to not come out of my mouth. And I mean they actually won’t come out of my mouth; it was like they were somehow fighting me to keep from saying them.

  Finally, I lance my left index finger and squeeze several drops of blood into the mixture.

  My blood flares first bright orange, then crimson as it mixes into the rest. Marsh pours the metal into the key mold, and we wait several hours for it to cool. Once we can handle it, I carve the necessary symbols into the key’s surface. Finally, for the first time since arriving here, my background in art pays off.

  In the end, I’m holding an ornate skeleton key. I don’t recognize the symbols I’ve carved into its surface. They could be letters in some foreign language, or just gibberish, and they seem to catch the light when I see them out of the corner of my eyes. The key fits into the palm of my hand, and it feels heavier than it should. It has two whirling loops at the bow that look like angry eyes. I’m not sure how that happened as I don’t remember building that into the mold. The blade of the key ends in a complex lattice of curves and ridges.

  It doesn’t look like it should be so important. Too fancy to put on a key ring, but not grand enough to be valuable to an eternal creature.

  Greystone and Marsh accompany me back over to Warner’s. The key is in my pocket, its unnatural weight making me feel unbalanced as we walk inside. Frank sees us immediately as we walk into the door, and he waves us back.

  “You have it? You have the key?” he asks eagerly as we enter.

  “Yes,” I say, but Marsh pushes past me.

  “Let’s just hold up for a second. We need to get some things clear here.”

  Frank smiles easily. “Of course, Detective. Whatever you want.”

  “We’ve made your damned key, but I need to hear from you what we’re getting for it.”

  “I am giving you the solution to your problem,” he drawls. “All I am asking in return is a means to not be snared in my own trap. While I trust Detective Green’s word to not attempt to capture and banish me, I do not extend that trust to all his friends.”

  Marsh nods. “Fine, smart. Very smart. Now, explain this trap.”


  Frank rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated that Marsh needs further explanation. “I will show you how to build a cage which can contain those of my kind for all eternity, or until such time as the cage is opened or destroyed.”

  “And we will actually be able to build this trap? We can get everything we need to put it together? It’s not going to do something nasty like trap us too?”

  My eyes go wide, I hadn’t even though of that. Frank smirks, “You are certainly a suspicious one, Detective. Yes, the materials are readily available, and the device will be perfectly safe for you to use.”

  Marsh ignores the jibe. “How does it work?”

  “Build the cage. Open it. Put a demon inside it. Close it. Put it somewhere safe; I would recommend out of earshot. The prisoner is likely to be quite upset.”

  I wish we knew more about what we were dealing with or, at least, could discuss it with someone trustworthy and more knowledgeable about it than me. We’re just stalling, now. I can tell Marsh is struggling to think of some other reason to delay this.

  Finally, Marsh sighs and levels his gaze at Frank, “So we just hand you the key and trust that the directions you give us are the solution to all our problems?”

  “Exactly that, Detective,” Frank smiles. “I have a volume in this room, with the instructions to build a demon trap. You give me the key, and I give you the book. Everyone wins. You can trap demons to your hearts’ content, and I will be free from that danger.”

  I reach into my pocket, but as soon as my fingers close around the key, I realize something. “Frank, how do I give you the key?” I ask him as Marsh beings pacing in the room. “You can’t hold it.”

  “Are you sure about that, Detective?” he asks, and holds out his hand.

  I glance at my friends. Greystone looks ill. She won’t get near the demon and seems remarkably skittish even being in the same room, but she’s not telling me no. Marsh is scowling fiercely, his arms folded in front of his chest. He’s shaking his head, but he’s not stopping me either.

  I sigh, giving in. “Fine.” I hand Frank the key.

  I expect it to drop to the floor, but surprisingly Frank grabs the end of the key and holds it above his head. The metal flares where he is touching it, and it starts to burn like magnesium. The key is melting, dissolving into the demon’s hand. He lets out a scream, half pain and half joy, and it makes my skin crawl. The scream goes on and on, making my head ring painfully, and I clap my hands over my ears to try and drown it out. The scream keeps getting louder. And then I realize I’m the one screaming, not Frank. My eyes are clenched shut, chin pressed to my chest, and I start to hear other voices in my head screaming in unison; they sound like my brother, like my mom, but they all blend together inside and echo inside my mind.

  I look up to see Greystone and Marsh staring at me in concern, and I realize they aren’t affected by the scream.

  My heart stops in my chest, and I feel like Marsh just plowed into me. I drop to the floor, struggling to take a breath. I can see Greystone hovering above me trying to say something, but I can’t hear her over my own hoarse cries.

  Finally, my heart lurches back into an erratic rhythm, and my voice dies away. There are tears in my eyes and an awful ringing in my ears, but I can hear voices now.

  “You bastard! What did you do to him?” Marsh is yelling from several miles away.

  “Curious,” Frank is saying. “That was not what I was expecting.”

  “. . . tive Green? Are you OK? Can you hear me?” Greystone asks.

  Wha-?

  “Are you injured?”

  I try to think back to her, but my thoughts are groggy, and my head is swimming. I try to sit up. I’m not sure what just happened, but other than a hollow ache in my chest and the crushing pounding in my head, I can feel myself returning back to normal. My knees are a little shaky, but finally, I’m able to stand back up.

  “Are you OK, Jacob Green?” Frank asks, the concern in his voice is betrayed by the absolute glee on his face.

  I nod, not meeting his gaze. I’m not convinced that Frank didn’t know that process would hurt me in some way. “I’m fine. You got your key. You’re free from demon traps. Now, how do we build one?”

  “Of course,” he says in a conciliatory tone. “You will find the book you require behind that small bookshelf over there.”

  Marsh stomps over to a waist-high bookshelf nearby. He roughly shoves it aside with one hand, and the contents scatter across the floor. There is a shelf in a small alcove in the exposed wall, inside of which is a single thin volume. The cover is bound in thick leather and wrapped in twine. I crowd next to Marsh to look at it as he opens it up. Inside are loose sheets of vellum, with drawings and schematics nestled among small, elegant script in some foreign tongue.

  “What the hell is this?” Marsh demands. “We can’t read this.”

  “It is written in a dialect unique to some forgotten order of Catalonian monks. I am sure you can find someone to translate it.” Frank tilts his head, a self-satisfied smile on his face, “From my own reading of it, once you have the instructions, the traps should not be difficult to create.”

  “Dammit, Frank! You’re not going anywhere until you—”

  But Frank starts fading away, a grin still spread across his face. “I am sorry, Detective, but this whole ordeal has been rather taxing. Be sure to let me know how it goes.”

  There is a bench in one of the booths on the side wall, and it doesn’t have too much debris on it. I stagger over to it and lie down.

  Marsh storms out of the room, swearing up a storm. I close my eyes and will myself to feel normal again. Even laying down, the room still feels like it is spinning.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you, Detective?” Greystone asks me. She floats near the booth, looking down over me.

  “How long is he going to be gone, do you think?” I ask.

  “The demon?”

  “No, sorry. I mean Marsh.”

  She frowns, puzzled. “I have no idea. Do you need me to relay a message to him?”

  I shake my head. “No, nothing like that. I was just thinking, you’ve told me about the other members of the squad, but you haven’t spoken to me about Detective Marsh yet.”

  “Oh, I see,” she says. She mulls it over. “What can I tell you about him that you don’t already know?”

  “You’ve told me about the other detectives when they worked with Detective Olsen. What did Marsh do with him? Olsen was his partner, right?”

  She is silent for a long moment. When she speaks again, it is barely louder than a whisper. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  Detectives Olsen and Marsh

  “He was there, at the end. With Detective Olsen. Seven months ago.

  “I had been interrogated extensively regarding Detective Olsen’s recent actions. How much had I known? Did I have any suspicions? Being linked as we were, why hadn’t I sensed anything of what he was up to?

  “He had meticulously and rigidly avoided giving me any hint of his thoughts or activities during those weeks. I think he wanted to protect me. Once he was captured, Detective Olsen didn’t try and hide anything about what he had done. He freely admitted to all the crimes he had committed. He gave detailed descriptions of everyone he had thrown into the Pit, though he was less forthcoming about the reasons. His voice was defeated, passionless. All told, he had incapacitated two dozen people and thrown their remains into the Pit.

  “The scope of his crimes was unprecedented. I cannot begin to describe to you the egregiousness of Detective Olsen’s betrayal, not just against the police force but against the city and its citizens. As representatives of the enforcement of the laws in this city, we operate by common consent of the city’s populace. If citizens of Meridian begin to feel they are in danger from the members of law enforcement, or if they think we are abusing our
authority, they may attempt to flee. If they do not believe they are safe here, they will return to the mortal world and possibly endanger us all to discovery.

  “Despite this, right up until the end, Detective Olsen was sure his actions were justified.

  “‘It was necessary,’ is all he would say when asked why. Even Captain Radu couldn’t get him to divulge anything more.

  “I argued passionately for a reduction in his duties. I thought that stress had overcome his reason. Surely, he could remain incarcerated or under observation, but Detective Olsen asked me to stop.

  “‘If you let me go, I’ll just continue. I won’t ever stop.’

  “I was speechless at that. Detective Olsen was adamant in his decision, that was clear; if he were ever released, he would pick up right where he left off. In the end, there was nothing we could do. Captain Radu ordered him thrown into the Pit, and he ordered Detective Marsh to do it.

  “The last time I saw him was on that same platform where I stood with you so recently. Detectives Marsh and Olsen were there with me. Detective Olsen stood there, staring at the vortex of energy and the howling madness. And he smiled. An aura of peace settled over him, like a great weight lifted off him as he knew his journey, his responsibilities were at an end.

  “‘I don’t understand, Olsen,’ Marsh said. ‘What happened to you? Just tell me. Between you and me, we can figure something out. It’s not too late.’

  “My esteem for Detective Marsh increased significantly that day. He tried one last time to redeem Detective Olsen.

  “Detective Olsen merely turned around and looked at both of us—that sad smile on his face. The link we shared had been severed earlier, to spare me the fate of being linked to someone being tossed into the Pit. I didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, but it seemed as though he was sadder for us more than for himself.

  “‘Someday soon, you’re going to realize what I discovered. And you’re going to wish you were in the Pit with me.’