“And then he stepped backward off the platform and was lost to the Pit.
“‘Well, shit,’ Marsh said. He and I both simply stood there on the platform, silent in the deafening roar, and stared.”
I don’t know what to say to her now. I replay her story in my mind.
“Ms. Greystone, do you have any idea why Olsen was disposing of people in the Pit? Was he working with the demon too?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m certain he was not. My suspicion, though I have no evidence to back it up, my suspicion is that he stumbled onto the existence of these demons and was trying to eliminate them. The people he destroyed, I suspect many of them were innocent. He committed acts of great evil. All to serve some greater good. But he couldn’t wrap his head around what he faced. He was a good man, Detective Green, but he lost his way.”
Chapter 42
The demon trap proved more difficult to build than the key. It helps to have a few geniuses working with you on the force. It turns out that obscure Catalonian dialects are part of Detective Meints’ sizeable store of knowledge. He was so eager to study the book that he didn’t even appear too concerned about what information it actually contained.
I admit, even after looking at the schematics in the book, I expected to be building some large contraption we would need to haul around on wheels or with a crane. Instead, it is about the size of a shoebox. When you are trying to capture something that doesn’t have a body, the actual size of the trap doesn’t matter too much.
It has taken us several days to gather the necessary ingredients. Some are rare, some just tedious to collect. But the hardest task has been avoiding the scrutiny of Captain Radu during this time. We’ve delayed informing the captain about our specific plans. The less he knows about building the trap, the less curious he may be about where we learned how to do it. And I would like him to remain in the dark about Frank’s involvement in all this. It hasn’t been easy. The captain has the unnerving ability to appear behind me every time I turn around.
Case in point: I turn a corner in the hall and feel the temperature drop several degrees. That’s the warning I receive that the captain is nearby.
“Detective Green,” the voice slithers out of the shadows in the hallway. “Your progress.”
He manages to load a metric ton of weight behind those two words, asking me a question and issuing a command at the same time. I’ve just returned from tracking down some stupid dust of something-or-other we need. I hold a clay jar awkwardly and try not to call attention to it. I am on my way to meet with Marsh in the squad room.
“We have a lead, Captain,” I stammer.
“Oui, je sais. I know that, Detective. You assured me of as much the last time we spoke.” He glides out of the shady corner of the hall, floating effortlessly towards me, and stops just out of arm’s reach—which, by the way, is still uncomfortably close for my tastes. “I would like to know what progress you have made since the last time we spoke.”
I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. I can’t think of any way to dodge his questions. “Captain, you know what we’re dealing with. A demon! I think we’ve found a solution to capture the demon. We want to make sure when we confront this thing again, we have a way to contain him.”
His arms are crossed in front of him, and he moves one hand to cup his chin in thought. His eyes never leave mine though, scanning me for subterfuge.
“Explain.”
“We managed to find a book that explains how to build a trap for demons,” I confess, trying not to sound too evasive. “We’re building one.”
He cocks his head microscopically, examining me. “Qu’est-ce que c’est, ce livre? You found a book? Which book?”
I shrug. “I don’t know its name.”
“And you believe it to be authentic?”
I nod. “Yes, sir. We’re confident this is the real deal.”
He frowns. “I see.” He thinks silently, sliding just a little closer to me while I try not to backpedal away. Finally, he says, “I will examine this book.”
I can’t very well deny him, so he follows me back up to the squad room. I try to keep from running when he’s looming behind me the entire length of the hallway.
“About damned time Green,” Marsh bellows at me as I walk in, his back turned. He doesn’t notice Radu until he starts to turn around. “You sure took your sweet-ass time . . . Eh, hello, Captain.”
Marsh glances at me questioningly, but all I can do is shake my head, denying whatever it is I feel guilty of. Captain Radu continues past me over to Marsh’s desk where the journal is open. The other detectives are in the room, going over what we know of Cortez and Goldman. There are maps on the chalkboard depicting the layout of the homes of both suspects. Armstrong and Kim are focusing on Goldman; Meints and Burchard are concentrating on Cortez. Marsh, Greystone, and I are working on getting this trap built. We all stop what we’re doing and watch the captain.
Radu slowly scans the topmost page. He extends his hand and, with a long fingernail, flips it over to look at the next page. We all stand silently, expectantly, waiting as he leafs through all the pages and schematics.
Finally, he raises his head and looks at all of us in turn. “Who determined the authenticity of this book?”
No one responds. They’re clearly waiting for Marsh or me to say something. Marsh finally clears his throat and then nods at me. “The kid found it. I thought it looked legit.”
Thanks for throwing me under the bus, Marsh. I smile uneasily.
“What do you think, Captain?” I ask meekly. “Is it authentic?”
His eyes seem to be boring through my skull. His face is expressionless. “Yes. It was written by a group of monks I had the pleasure of slaughtering many centuries back. I had thought all trace of them had been removed from this earth. But I recognize their work. It is authentic, without a doubt. I’m curious why you thought it to be.”
I shrug and turn to Marsh, trying to deflect the captain’s curiosity. “I’m still living, old books all look legitimate to me,” I answer lamely, and I don’t think for a second he believes me.
Instead of waiting for him to say as much, I step around him and toward Marsh. “Excuse me, sir,” I give him as wide a berth as possible and hold the jar out to Marsh. “I got your dust. I think that’s the last ingredient we need.”
My partner nods and takes the package from me. He goes back over to his desk where he’s working on building parts of the trap. I follow him, pretending to watch what he’s doing. The whole time, however, I am conscious of Radu’s gaze tracking me, calculating God knows what. My skin is crawling. It’s all I can concentrate on, which is why I’m shocked when I realize a couple of minutes later that Radu is no longer in the room. I was keeping track of him the whole time but never saw him leave.
I shiver and try and turn my full attention to helping Marsh.
By the end of the evening, the trap is ready. It’s a bit of a letdown. As I said, I was expecting something more impressive or grandiose I guess. The final product can be held in one hand. It is made of wood with a metal frame, interwoven with wire and metallic thread. There are symbols carved into the metal, burned into the wood, and carved on the sides. The symbols are similar to what we used on the key, but somehow are nothing alike. I know that isn’t helpful; I just don’t know any other way to explain it. The characters look like they are from the same family but completely different. On the key, they were angry, aggressive. On the box, they are softer, stronger. I keep thinking I see pictures in the symbols, but when I look again, the picture is different or gone altogether. It makes my head hurt. None of the others seem too bothered by them.
The lid on the box has no lock. It is attached by a pair of silver hinges. I don’t see how it is supposed to stay shut, but both Marsh and I agree it is built according to the specifications in the book. And, I have to admi
t, it looks a lot better thanks to the fact that Marsh put it together. I don’t know if I could have followed some of the instructions as precisely as he did.
Marsh looks at me. “You ready, kid?”
I look over at Greystone. She nods. The other detectives in the room have paused what they are doing, looking over at us.
I nod. “Yeah. Let’s see if this thing works.”
We decide to hit Cortez first simply because he has a single home, whereas Goldman occupies a large warehouse. We’ll try the smaller venue first. The entire squad—six detectives and Ms. Greystone—pile into a single large coach and travel nearly half an hour to Cortez’s home.
It is located in one of the many offshoots of the town. We travel along a misty dirt track lined on both sides with dead and decaying trees growing up out of brackish water. The swamp extends into forest on both sides. We pass homes and shelters occasionally, but for the most part, we only see a few travelers on the way there. When we pull up, just out of view of the home, we can barely see the light from town behind us. A weak wind whistles through the trees, blowing damp dead leaves in swirling eddies. I try to convince myself that my shivering is just from a chill in the air.
We arrive at a walled villa located just off the same Black River that winds through the dock district. The river here is broad and deep out towards the center, but up near the shore, the current isn’t strong. Reeds grow taller than my head along the muddy banks. The smell is rank, fetid. Swampy pools extend out from all sides of the river and stagnate in moss-covered pits. The home sits inside a few acres of willows and quaky oaks, covered with carpets of kudzu and alive with mosquitoes, moths, and large horseflies—all of which seem much more interested in me than in my dead companions. The wall is only waist high, made of river stones and mortar. I can’t pinpoint the locale of the home’s style. Who knows what part of the real world this was pulled out of?
Lights are on in the home, but the rest of the grounds are deserted. All I hear are insects, the rustle of blowing leaves, and the calls of night birds from the woods around the home.
“Right,” Marsh says. “Greystone, normally, I’d have you scout ahead since we don’t exactly know what we’re dealing with here. But I don’t know how much danger that will put you in. You better hang back behind us and let us know if anything tries sneaking up on us.”
“Very well, Detective,” Greystone replies.
Marsh continues. “Armstrong, Kim. You guys circle around back. Make sure he doesn’t try running.”
Kim nods; Armstrong draws his gun and waves to us as they start running around the inside of the wall to get at the back. The rest of us ready our weapons. I hold mine in one hand and the trap in the other. I don’t know how accurate I’ll be if I have to shoot this cannon one handed, but I’m not about to walk in without it drawn.
We’re not positive we’ll be running into a demon tonight, but I don’t want to travel anywhere without the trap until we’ve caught it. If it’s not here, maybe we can get Cortez to tell us where to find it. We move quickly, as quietly as possible, Marsh in the lead, heading straight at the front door.
There is a covered porch on the front of the house. A gas lantern hangs from a hook to the side of the door, casting weak light that shows us there are no surprises waiting for us.
Marsh doesn’t bother with any delays or tactics. He kicks the door open, knocking it off its hinges and splitting it in half. “Police!” he yells as we all rush in, weapons forward.
The room is full of corpses. Granted, that’s not all that unusual to me now. But this is different. The stench nearly knocks me over. There are bodies stacked like cordwood at the back of the room; some are propped up against the wall to our left; more still are sitting on the couch and chairs around the coffee table. Men and women. Some dressed, some not. But these are simply inanimate corpses, piled carelessly wherever there is space like discarded clothes. There must be fifty, maybe one hundred corpses in here. A narrow path winds its way between all the bodies, leading from the front door to the kitchen beyond. I can barely see the bare wooden walls, the worn carpet, or any other furniture that might be in the room as there are so many bodies stacked and stuffed throughout.
“What the hell?” Marsh mutters.
“Welcome to my home,” one of the corpses says. It is Cortez. It is one of a half-dozen corpses on the couch, nearly buried under bodies. I barely register him speaking to us before Burchard’s gun fires and completely disintegrates Cortez’s head. The body flops over to the floor, lifeless once more. Detective Burchard keeps his gun trained on it just in case.
The voice chuckles from behind us, from one of the bodies in the throng of corpses stacked against the wall. I can see the face moving at the back of the cluster of bodies behind us.
“I thought this thing could only push someone out to inhabit their body!” Marsh growls at me like this is my fault. “It can take control of dead bodies too?”
I shrug helplessly. We’re not standing in a room full of discarded husks; we’re surrounded by potential hosts.
“What did you fools hope to accomplish here?” I have my gun drawn on it, but the corpse slumps back again. The eyes flare brightly before snuffing out, its face losing all life and animation.
A different body, one of the bodies leaning against the far wall, stands up straight. “Shoot me. Destroy this body. Destroy all these bodies. What good will it do you?”
“Shit,” Meints mutters, keeping his gun aimed at the demon in his new body. I’ve got mine aimed at the corpse behind us, Burchard hasn’t wavered from the one he shot. Marsh is scanning the rest of the room. We hear a commotion from the back of the house, some loud swearing from both Armstrong and Kim, and the sounds of something heavy hitting the ground.
The demon merely smiles at us.
“You think that because you have overcome death, that puts you beyond our reach. It does not.”
It doesn’t move; it just stands up easily in the midst of the crowd of bodies and turns its gaze to me. “And you, Seer. Do you think that seeing us protects you from us? I will enjoy defiling your body long before your spirit finally breaks free from its prison of flesh.”
A dry hand caresses my face, and I spin wildly but see no sign of which body moved. Laughter travels from mouth to mouth around the room. Eyes erupt in geysers of fire in one corpse after another. “Who are you?” I ask, glancing frantically around me for signs of any other bodies coming to life.
It tsks at me from a new body.
“Surely, a Seer understands the importance of a name. I will not give you my true name. You can call me Carrion. Or Woe. Or Abandon.”
One of the other bodies slowly stands up and stares at us with malevolent eyes. I glance back at the body that was just speaking to us. It blinks back at me, its smile growing.
“Uh, Marsh, is there supposed to be more than one?” Burchard asks, shifting his aim to the new demon.
“You can call me Desolation. You can call me Misery,” the second body says.
A third corpse begins to chuckle. Yeah, it’s an evil chuckle; I’m not sure a demon knows any other way to do it. It stands up behind us.
“What is the phrase again?” the third demon asks. “My name is Legion, for we are many.”
Three of them. There are three of them.
This is bad. There are three. Crap, at least three. This whole time, we were searching for one. Did Frank know? Of course, he knew.
I’m going to kill Frank if I survive this.
I feel Greystone nod assent in my mind, but she’s too scared to say anything. Even from outside, she can feel my panic, sense what’s going on in here. I don’t know what they can do to her; it’s not like she has a body to possess. But the fact that she fears them tells me she’s vulnerable in some way.
Three corpses start shuffling toward us from different points in the room, arms reachi
ng to grab us. Gunfire erupts all around me. Bodies are blown to pieces, but whenever one falls, another rises to take its place. A hand wraps around my ankle and starts to squeeze painfully. I look down to see an arm reaching out from under a pile of corpses. I don’t even know which figure it is attached to. I shoot, blowing the arm off at the elbow.
More laughter comes from the mouths of corpses all around us. Three bodies stand up and grab Detective Burchard, knocking his gun out of his grip and piling on top of him.
I suddenly realize I don’t know exactly what to do with the trap; it’s just been hanging uselessly in my hand. Since my gun seems to be less useful than I had hoped, I jam it in a pocket so that I can hold the trap with both hands. I hold it up in front of me, as far in front of me as I can reach, in the general direction of the demons. I’m holding it like a ticking bomb, turning my face from it like it will blow up at any moment. I have no idea how it is supposed to work. The instructions in the book told us how to build it, not how to use it. All three demons see it at the same time because it shuts up their laughing fast.
“What?” Abandon yells in disbelief.
“How is this possible?” Misery screams, the sound piercing painfully in the confines of the room.
“Flee!” Legion yells, but the voice sounds as if it is from a great distance.
I am holding the trap out in front of me, and while I haven’t done anything to it, I can feel it start to change. The temperature begins to drop around it, growing colder by the second. The box is getting heavier, and I struggle to hold it up. It keeps gaining weight; at first, it felt like a wooden shoebox of about ten pounds, but now it weighs at least twice that and still gaining.
The symbols on the sides of the box begin to glow. I want to say it is a dark blue, but reds and greens dance in the corners of my vision. I hear a rushing sound, like a waterfall or a jet engine taking off. The lid slowly lifts open on its own.
The windows of the house explode outward. The symbols glow blindingly bright on the sides of the trap. I hear one of the demons screaming in terror. My brain calls him Abandon though I don’t really know which of the three he is. Blackness starts encroaching on the edges of my vision. I’m struggling to breathe; it feels like there’s a huge weight on my chest.
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