Daemon

by Doug Dandridge

  Jude concentrated, trying to break past the emotions and the thoughts to the images that might be foremost in that consciousness. The visuals came, playing like the disjointed scenes of a play written by a madman. The woman herself. Lucius Daemon. Her laying in Daemon’s arms, their flesh pressed together. The sacrifice chair, a crying prisoner strapped to it, prepared to give his life to the energy reservoirs of the city. A blue face covered in fur, its large eyes looking out with fear and confusion. The spike of the sacrifice chair driving through its head, the energy spouting into the air to be absorbed by the chamber’s systems.

  What the fuck, thought Jude as that last image played out. The creature had looked like nothing he had ever seen. Nothing of this world. With that image had come the wave of guilt. Nothing had accompanied the sacrifice of the human criminal, just a clinical detachment. But the little blue things had brought forth the guilt.

  I killed them. The innocents. I killed them. The innocents.

  Whatever they were, Gloria Knight had not felt it was right to kill them. And when the entity had come for her, for killing the little blue things? She had not resisted it taking her life. And it had killed her without violence and left her spirit intact, not eating it and destroying it forever as it had done with the others.

  Because she was remorseful? he wondered. Or because it couldn’t think of a worse punishment for her than leaving her spirit in its own self-imposed Hell? And what the hell were the blue creatures. They looked like nothing that had ever lived on Earth? Just what the hell is Daemon Corp up to?

  The spirit continued to castigate itself, sending its emotions over the connection. Jude tried to break through the wave of emotions and images, to access some of the other memories. But the spirit would not react to any of his attempts or entreaties. It just kept on its single track, over and over. Finally he had enough and broke the connection. He opened his eyes on the empty room, saying a short prayer under his breath to the God he didn’t believe in, in case that God did in fact exist, asking for mercy and forgiveness for that tortured soul he had contacted. He finished the prayer with a request that he never have that end pushed on him, and that he never find his actions leading to that kind of guilt.

  Jude opened his eyes on the empty room, reminding himself that this had been the dwelling of a woman who had been forced to do things she had not felt were right. She had died here because of those things. She had been more than a body to be subjected to investigation. More than the victim of a killing, a crime against herself and society. She had been a person, someone with life and loves and plans for the future. No more.

  Jude got up from the couch and staggered a bit from the emotional hangover. He shook his head and said a short spell to clear his head, then made his way to the entrance of the living room.

  Something is here. Jude could feel the other presence as soon as he entered the foyer. At first he thought it might be some kind of detection spell that had been hidden from him when he first entered the building. It didn't have that kind of feel. It had the feel of something, Daemonic? Jude opened up his senses and searched, locating the energy and trying to catalogue it. But it didn’t fit into any catalogue that he had ever heard of.

  “I am like nothing you have ever kenned,” said a whispering voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. “I am not of this world.”

  “Why are you doing this?” asked Jude, sure that he had contacted some aspect of the entity that had killed the employees of Daemon Corp.

  “This is justice,” said the voice. “Justice must be served.”

  Jude felt the shivers race down his spine. This creature, whatever it was, could destroy him in an instant. Instead it was communicating with him. He didn't know if anything he said might change its mind, and make it decide to destroy him. But he had to say something.

  “Justice for who?”

  “For my poor people,” said the voice. “For your people. Things will happen. Things you will not like, but that are necessary. Listen to the woman. Follow her lead, that you may survive.”

  And then it was gone. No slow reduction of energy. No fading away. Once instant it was there, the next gone.

  I better get the fuck out of here, thought Jude, heading out the door onto the street. Enough energy had been released here tonight for a magically blind man to note, were he near. Jude had found out what he had come to find, and more. Listen to the woman, the entity had said. What did it mean by that?

  Sarah, thought Jude as he hurried down the street toward the elevated station, looking around for anyone who might be following him. What does she have to do with this? Or could it be the God she worships. Is that the connection? He wasn't sure what the connection was. But there were some other things he needed to do, and he had the means to do them waiting at his apartment. After some sleep, he thought, yawning.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nobody seemed to want to talk with Jude when he had gone to the station. He was still groggy himself, after four hours of sleep. He was just as happy that no one bothered him. Part of it had to be that he had lost his partner. No one ever knew what to say when that happened. The other part had to be that people didn't feel comfortable being around mages who dealt with death. Either way, he was glad to be left alone, as it suited his purposes.

  He had found the file he was looking for, checked it out, and brought it back to his apartment, against department policy. But what he was going to do with the file was against department policy as well, with a possible punishment of suspension or dismissal.

  Now he sat at the table in his small kitchen, six white candles arrayed along the table edges, the file opened in front of him, a picture of the man he wanted to contact laying within the file. He started preparing his mind. Santana took that moment to jump up on the table and walk to him, rubbing his head against Jude’s arm.

  “Get off of here, cat,” he scolded the big orange tabby. The cat of course ignored him, seeking attention in the way of his kind. Jude smiled at the animal, thinking again of its association with his wife. That thought brought a thought of Sarah to his mind. He still wondered where that relationship was going. Or where he wanted it to be going.

  “OK,” he said, giving the cat a lopsided smile. “I warned you.”

  Jude closed his eyes, ignoring the cat rubbing on him, and started the mind calming sequence of the spell. He went into the spell, saying the words, opening his eyes and staring at the picture of a man who had been dead for over a year. As with a séance, he wasn’t sure what kind of information he would get from the ghost of the departed, only that it would tell him things he didn’t already know. And he hoped that Mr. Jason Klein, deceased Vice President for Research at Daemon Corp, would have much that the Detective didn’t know.

  Jude was about a minute into the chant when a cold wind blew through the closed room and the candles flickered. Santana decided he needed to be elsewhere and jumped from the table to disappear from the room. The temperature continued to drop, until Jude’s breath smoked from his mouth, as the negative environment beyond the veil sucked the heat from the room. Jude could feel a presence in the room, and concentrated on the picture of the man while sending its image from his mind. In a moment the messenger spirit left, and after a couple of seconds another presence appeared.

  “Who is here with me,” Jude said softly the ritual words.

  “I am what is left of Jason Klein,” said a wavering voice from the air.

  “The one who worked for Daemon Corp?” asked Jude, his excitement growing. It had been years since he attempted this kind of contact, and he was not sure how well it would work.

  “I am that one,” said the spirit in his wavering voice.

  Jude shuddered as he picked up that tone, realizing that this spirit came from a place that was not a desirable afterlife destination. He had probably been suffering some kind of torment in fire, or ice or something else that didn’t bring on warm and fuzzy feelings.

  “How did you die?” asked Jude, remembe
ring that the file had said it was an accidental drowning in the man’s estate swimming pool.

  “I was murdered,” said the ghost, rage infusing his voice. “I was held in the water by a man Lucius Daemon sent to kill me.”

  “And who was this man?” asked Jude, hearing his own fear in his voice. He was going places that could lead to his own death if the people he was inquiring about found out about his knowledge of their activities. What the hell, he thought. They already want me dead.

  “I had only seen him a couple of times before,” said the ghostly voice. “His name was Stark, and he worked sometimes for Lucius.”

  Jude felt his heart in his throat at that, pulling aside the picture and looking down into the file. The case had originally been opened by the Metro police. But very shortly into the investigation the Magara, the Secret Police, had taken over, claiming national security concerns. The final report was there in the file, sent to the police department to dot the T’s and cross the I’s. And the report was signed by a Lieutenant Steiner Stark of the Magara. This was beginning to look like some kind of government conspiracy or cover up.

  “Why were you killed?” asked the Detective, anxious to hear the answer, but also feeling the fear congeal in his chest.

  “Because I objected to using the new source,” said the ghost. “Because I thought it was wrong to raid other worlds for their life energy when we had almost killed our own.”

  “Other worlds?”

  “Yes,” said the spirit, his voice rising. “Other worlds. We found a way to access other dimensions. To go there and steal the life force of other beings. And I was against it. I threatened to reveal the information to the people. I didn’t think the people would agree to destroy another race. And Daemon had me killed. He…”

  The spirit moaned, the voice fading, and Jude realized that it had outstayed its welcome in this world. He closed his eyes for a moment, then sensed the presence of something else in the room.

  “Looking and listening to things that are not your concern, mortal,” intoned a chilling voice.

  Jude knew that something had followed Jason Klein from the other world. Something that had been set on the spirit, to watch it from the world beyond, and make sure that it was not questioned in the manner that Jude had used. It had been years since Klein's spirit had left this world. Maybe the guardian hadn't been as well prepared as it might have been. But it had still followed the spirit to Jude’s apartment, using the pathway to enter without welcome.

  “Perhaps you should join him,” said the voice as the oppressive presence grew in the room.

  Justin felt as if a hand of interstellar cold was clutching at his heart. A great pain grew in his chest, and Jude was sure he was an instant away from death. His body would be found here in the apartment, the victim of a heart attack. Unless he moved, and moved now.

  Jude reached out a hand for one of the candles and slapped down. The candle was completely molten, held up by forces of spirit magic. Hand hit wax and smashed the candle down, and the presence recoiled a bit before surging back to clasp the heart of the living yet again.

  Jude cried out from the pain, forcing himself to crush the second candle. Again the presence recoiled, but there was still a gateway, and it could still kill the living. Jude clutched at his chest, the agony growing unbearable. His vision began to fade, and he called up the image of Sarah, using her memory to gain the strength he needed to survive. He reached out his hand and slapped the third candle, then the fourth, and the gate slammed shut. The presence faded, screaming in rage as it was separated from its victim.

  Jude clutched at his chest a moment more. The pain faded and warmth flowed back into his torso. He sucked in a breath and blew it out, calming himself. Or calming as much as one could after facing an assassin spirit from the afterworld.

  “Meow,” said Santana, putting his head around the corner and looking into the room he had fled moments before.

  “It's alright, kitty cat,” said Jude with a smile, pushing back in his chair and getting up. “It's over here. Now I’ve got another idea on where to get some information.”

  Jude gathered his coat and made sure the cat was fed and watered. “I haven't been to a ball game for quite a while,” he said to the uncomprehending animal. “Wonder how the local team is doing?”

  * * *

  When the hell is he going to get his ass out of that apartment, thought Richard Guffy, staring at the entrance to the apartment building. He put a hand in his coat pocket, feeling the hard cold mass of the pistol. Thou shall not steal, he thought, remembering how he had gotten the weapon. But the Church also had an admonishment about killing, and there was murder in his heart.

  No, he thought, glancing around the street and noting the two men in dark coats who stood up the block. Not murder. Retribution. And well deserved.

  Guffy pulled his hand out of his pocket, noticing that the trembling member was clean at least. The Church had been good to him. They had fed him, gotten him off the streets, given him new clothes. And this is how I repay them? he thought with a grimace.

  I'll ask forgiveness later, he thought, watching as the door to the building opened and his boy came out. He don't look so good, thought Guffy, seeing the drawn face when Parkinson looked up and down the street. The face stared for a moment at the two men up the block. Then he turned away and started walking up the street, away from the elevated station that the two men were probably covering.

  Guffy waited for the two men to walk by, one of them glaring at him with the look of a predator sizing up his prey. Guffy waited for the men to get about twenty feet ahead and started after them. You can't have him, he thought at the men, hand going back into his pocket and gripping his gun. He's mine, you sons of bitches. He's mine.

  * * *

  I really don't like the look of this, thought Jude, looking at the two men in black coats that appeared to be waiting for him up the block. Their clothing screamed thug, or Secret Police, which were essentially the same thing. And they were between him and the elevated stop up the street.

  Let's see what they do, thought Jude, turning and walking with long strides the other direction, away from the train station. He glanced to his side for a moment on a premonition. That guy looks familiar, he thought, as he noted a man in a long gray coat, hand in his pocket, looking over at him. No. More like glaring at him.

  Jude forgot about that man as he concentrated on the men he knew were threats. Saying the words of a spell under his breath, he extended his awareness of the street. He could sense them following him. He could sense their intent was not good, and that they were frustrated that he went in the direction they had not expected. Not too much frustration, more of a mild irritation. So they have a contingency plan in place, he thought, looking ahead to see where it might be. Down an alley I am sure. But which alley. He guessed it would be a couple of blocks ahead, mainly because the obvious choice would be a closer one.

  Jude felt like a fool as a man hissed at him from that first alley, the one he had been sure they would not use. A large handgun was pointed at the Detective's face. The next thing Jude noticed was the glowing amulet hanging from a chain around the man's neck. A masking amulet, thought Jude as his eyes locked on the arcane artifact. No wonder I didn't sense this one. And only a couple of organizations would have access to that kind of equipment.

  “Move into the alley, Parkinson,” said the man, gesturing with the pistol. Before Jude could make a move the men following were up with him, pushing him into the alley with their bodies.

  “We'll shoot you where you stand if you resist,” said one of the men pushing him into his ear.

  Jude stiffened a moment as he felt the hard barrel of a gun shoved into his kidney. He shuffled forward, trying to delay while he brought a defensive spell up to his conscious. He could think of something that would take one of them out, maybe even all three if they lined up right. Not that these boys would be that stupid. They would know he was a Mage. And they all had guns.
>
  “Move,” said the third man, shoving Jude in the back.

  About forty feet in the alley branched both ways, running down the backs of buildings. Numerous doors opened onto the alley, all locked, Jude was sure. Fire escapes were all locked in place. Not that he would be able to climb to the roof with three men shooting at him.

  “Stop right there,” said the man with the amulet, waving his gun in a gesture at what he wanted Jude to do. The three stood with weapons pointed at the Detective, their formation such that he could not line them up for a single burst of power, and they would not endanger themselves with a crossfire.

  “What's this about?” demanded Jude, looking from face to cold face.

  “You been sticking your nose places where it shouldn't be,” said the man with the amulet, the obvious spokesman.

  “And where would that be?” said Jude, trying to gather the courage to do something before it was too late, and his body ended up here in a back alley where it might or might not be found for many days. A convenient power outage in this spot tonight and the Shadows might make sure there was no body at all.

  “Don't even think about it, wise guy,” said the smallest man, a guy with roving rodent eyes and the smallest piece. “I'll put one in your gut and make sure you live till nightfall.”

  “Shut up, Pete,” said the leader, glancing over at the small man, his gun never wavering from Jude's face. “Of course we ain’t gonna leave you in pain, Parkinson. The boss didn't say anything about leaving you to choke out your life in this damned alley. He just wants you to shut up. So we can make it easy, or hard.”

  “And who is the boss?”

  “Ah, that's the rub,” said the amulet bearer with a smile. “It’s questions like that that got you in this mess in the first place. If only you had done what you was supposed to do, and solve the crime. I don't like killing people. I really don't. But it's orders. And I always obey orders.”

  “Sounds like typical Magara to me,” said Jude. Seeing the reactions on the faces of the others he knew he was right. “I'm surprised Steiner Stark wasn't here to do this himself.”