Cunning Devil

by Chris Underwood

  “How can you defend those monsters, after what they did to your family? After what they’ve done to countless other families?”

  I licked my lips. “Because I’m done dealing death and suffering. I’m not a witch anymore. I’m a cunning man.”

  Holly Mills’ face hardened once more. She moved a finger across her fetish, and my jaw slammed shut of its own accord. My mouth was back under her control.

  “You’ll change your mind, cunning man.” She twitched a finger, and the door in front of her flew open. “Come.”

  She rolled through the doorway, and my legs carried me staggering after her. The door slammed shut behind me.

  We were in some kind of large sitting room. The light of the full moon trickled through the dirty windows—obviously Alcaraz had never meant to house vampires here.

  The creature that had been caged here was now lying in the corner, a broken mess. Feathers littered the floor around it. Still, even dead, there was something about the sirin that drew the eye, swallowed the mind. If I’d been in control of my own body, I might’ve wandered over to the creature, drawn in by the magic it exuded.

  But my feet were fixed so firmly to the floor they might’ve been nailed there. After a few moments, I fought free of the dead sirin’s magic, and I was able to look around the rest of the room.

  The whole gang was here. Early and Alcaraz were staring bug-eyed at me from the far wall. One of Alcaraz’s huge cages—the one that’d held the sirin, I guessed—had been ripped apart, and now the iron bars were twisted around Early and Alcaraz like ropes, binding them to the wall.

  The bars weren’t the only things holding them in place. Each wore a fetish around their necks. By the design of the fetishes, I figured they were keeping the two frozen almost as effectively as Holly Mills was holding me.

  Relief swept over me as I met Early’s eyes. His head was still pointing the right way. His limbs were intact. The old man was alive.

  For now, at least.

  Rodetk was lying on a couch, his head propped up on a pillow. More of the bent iron bars were holding him in place, but there was no fetish around his neck. Bottles and vials were scattered about the floor beside him, including a bottle of sirin urine that sparkled like liquid gold in a stray shaft of moonlight. The goblin’s boils had shrunk, and it looked like the bewitchment had been broken. His eyes slid open as the witch and I came into the room.

  “Oh, good,” he muttered. “The cavalry’s arrived.”

  Holly Mills twisted her head toward Rodetk. The goblin’s muscles tensed and he squeezed his eyes tight, grunting in sudden pain.

  “Keep your filthy mouth shut, monster,” the witch said, her voice calm and even.

  One of the fingers on Rodetk’s left hand suddenly jerked backward with a quiet pop. A long, drawn-out groan forced its way out of the goblin’s throat.

  Instinctively, I tried to take a step forward. My feet stayed rooted to the spot, of course. But as I strained against my own body, I felt the fingertips of my left hand twitch.

  The witch turned away from Rodetk, releasing him from her power, and suddenly my fingers froze again.

  The warding charms sewn into the lining of my coat were having some effect, I realized. Or maybe it was the witch bottle in my pocket that’d done it. When she was directing all her power in my direction, she could easily overwhelm my minor protections. But when she was distracted, her power divided, the charms gave me back a fraction of control over my own body.

  Great. Maybe if she spent half an hour torturing Rodetk, I’d regain enough control to be able to scratch my nose. It’d been itching for the last five minutes.

  “There,” the witch said as Rodetk’s face screwed up in pain. “That’s better. Remember that next time you have something you want to say, goblin.” She turned away.

  Panting, Rodetk glared at the back of the witch’s head. It was all he could do, and it wasn’t even a particularly impressive glare. Early had obviously managed to break the curse Likho had cast on Rodetk, but the goblin was still badly weakened. He shot me a look, demanding I do something to stop all this.

  As if I could do anything. I was caught, plain and simple.

  Pressing on her wheelchair’s controls, Holly Mills rolled over to a small table next to the empty fireplace. The table had been positioned in a shaft of moonlight pouring in through the window. It was the kind of thing that people might serve tea and scones on. Today, a different delight was being served up.

  The Blackheart lay in the center of the table, surrounded by a trio of unlit candles. As centerpieces go, it was…well, let’s just call it interesting.

  Brandon Mills’ heart formed the main body of the thing. Strangely, it didn’t look bloody at all. It was dry, almost desiccated, though she’d only cut it out of him a few hours ago.

  One of the roggenwolf’s eyes had been embedded into the muscle on the front of the thing, a blank white orb staring out from the center of the heart. The other eye hung from a string connected to the base of the heart, along with other trinkets: the fang of some animal, and a long, white feather I didn’t recognize. The flesh of the Blackheart had been painted with more arcane symbols, the same kind that’d been drawn on Brandon Mills’ skin.

  Where the main blood vessels leading out of the heart had been severed, artificial vessels had been stitched in place. It took me a moment to realize—to my growing disgust—that the new vessels had been stitched together from the skin of the hobgoblin.

  The hobgoblin-skin tubes looped around and connected back up with the heart, making a self-contained system. No, now that I looked closer, I saw there was one vessel standing open near the top of the heart, held open with some kind of ring. A screw cap hung from a chain next to it.

  I swallowed. That opening was where the blood would be added. And once that was done, it was all over.

  There was one final piece to the Frankensteinian organ. A gnarled hand—almost human, but not quite—was clutching the heart. Sharpened yellow fingernails dug into the heartflesh, holding it tight.

  Guess I’d found the hag’s missing hand.

  As the witch moved toward the Blackheart, a hiss of fear rose up out of the darkened corner of the room. There was a small cage sitting on the floor. As the witch approached, the creature in the cage moved for the first time, shuffling back toward the far wall. Its claws clacked against the floor of the cage. A pair of eyes peered out of the darkness.

  Hell. She’d found Lawrence. Which meant she had everything she needed to complete the curse.

  And I’d arrived just in time to enjoy the show.

  The witch touched her fetish, and my legs lurched back to life. I was carried across the room toward her and dropped into a dusty armchair sitting near the fireplace. At least that stopped my leg throbbing.

  “Let me tell you a story.” She reached out, and the wick of one of the candles sprang to life. The flame danced in the moonlight, though there was no breeze in the room. “My husband was a big city police officer. That was how we met, actually. I was at a party he’d been sent to break up. We were both young, and I was drunk, and I thought he was cute, so I flirted with him while he was throwing me out. When I sobered up, I found a piece of paper in my purse. It was his phone number. He’d slipped it to me when I wasn’t looking.”

  The witch moved her withered hand, and the second candle caught fire. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but I thought I saw the Blackheart twitch.

  “We dated,” she said. “Moved in together. Broke up, got back together. We tried for a baby, but the doctors said I was infertile. It got too much for us. We broke up again. A few days later, when he was on patrol, he got stabbed. And on the same day I found out I was pregnant.

  “We made up, had a courthouse wedding two months later. I wanted us to leave the city. I didn’t want to raise a child there. I didn’t want Brandon to get killed on the job, and my son to grow up without a father. I thought if we moved somewhere small, somewhere peaceful, we’d be safe.”<
br />
  The third candle flickered to life. A cold breeze cut through the room, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. It bit right to the bone.

  The Blackheart contracted. No doubt about it this time.

  The witch was facing away from me, but I could sense her excitement as she bent toward the table, her arms raised above the Blackheart. The cold grew sharper, and it brought with it a smell like death. The heart relaxed, contracted again. Slowly at first, and then faster, it began to beat with a hollow thump.

  Behind me, Rodetk let out a low groan. He knew what was coming.

  “I told you to be quiet,” Holly Mills said over her shoulder. “You’re only alive so I can make sure the curse is working. But I can make you hurt before you die, monster. Believe me.”

  She moved her hands in slow circles above the table, willing her husband’s heart to beat faster. It made a dry, scratching sound with every contraction. The candle flames were growing brighter.

  But with her power divided, the protective charms in my coat were just enough to overcome her witchcraft. Her control over me was slipping slightly.

  For what good it’d do me. The only part of me I could move was my left hand, and even that was barely twitching.

  I concentrated, pushing all my energy into my thumb and forefinger. Maybe I could get to my revolver. But no, it was over in a pocket on my right side. Totally out of reach.

  There had to be something. Anything!

  The witch returned to her story. “My son didn’t have an easy start in life. He was rushed back to hospital for emergency abdominal surgery when he was only 10 days old. It seemed like another sign. For more than a year I begged Brandon to let us move. And a couple of months ago he finally relented. We quit our jobs. He found a security position in a small, backwoods town called Lost Falls.

  “So we came. We came here.” For the first time, a hint of emotion crept into Holly Mills’ voice. “My son was taken a week later. And they left something else in his place.

  “I knew it wasn’t him in that crib. I knew it. But no one believed me, not even Brandon, at first. He said it was the stress of the move, the sleep deprivation, the homesickness. But it wasn’t. That wasn’t my boy lying there, screaming. My boy was long gone.”

  I strained my muscles, trying not to focus on the sickening sight of Brandon Mills’ heart beating on the table.

  There were only a couple of pockets within reach of my barely moving hand. I hadn’t been able to fully restock. What was left? Was there anything that could break the witch’s hold over me?

  Hell, if only I hadn’t used the last of my silver.

  “And then I found out the truth,” Holly Mills said. “I found out what had happened to my son. And I was offered the chance to take my revenge against the monsters that had preyed on us. I had to make…sacrifices.” She shifted in her wheelchair, and I could see her looking down at the stumps of her legs. “So did my husband. But we both knew what we had to do.

  She turned her head, her eye fixing on me. “It will be humane,” she said. “More humane than they deserve. I’ll stop their hearts, just like they stopped mine when they took my son. They’ll all die in an instant. Lost Falls will never be plagued by goblins again. No more parents will have to endure the suffering that Brandon and I went through. Tell me that doesn’t sound just, Mr. Turner.”

  I realized she’d given me back control of my mouth again. I licked my lips. “Yeah. You’re a real Mother Teresa. What about that taxi driver sitting outside, huh? She screw you on the fare? Was that just too?”

  Her mouth tightened. “That was unfortunate. She didn’t want to drive up here. She kept saying the estate was haunted. I had to make her.” She paused. “It had to be done.”

  “Well, I’m sure that’s going to make her family feel a lot better.” I laughed bitterly. “And what about us? Your husband already tried to kill me once. Going to finish the job?”

  “No. I want you to understand.”

  “Why? Why the hell do you want my approval?”

  “Because you know. You know the pain they’ve caused. You know they deserve this.”

  I glanced at Rodetk. “Not all of them.”

  She shook her head. “The hag was right. You’ve grown soft. But you’ll see. When this is over, you’ll see the good we’ve done.” She turned back to the Blackheart. “It’s time.”

  She held up her hand and spread her fingers. The heart began to groan, like reality itself was creaking under the force of her will.

  A fire burst into existence in the empty fireplace, burning with brilliant red light. There was a sound on the edge of hearing, like distant screaming.

  I gritted my teeth and struggled against her power, but she was still too strong. My fingers scratched at my pocket, but I couldn’t get inside. My own muscles were fighting me.

  “You can’t do this!” I yelled. “There are thousands of them under the mountain! For fuck’s sake, they have children too!”

  I knew her deafness wasn’t as bad as she’d feigned, but she pretended not to hear me.

  She picked up the beating heart, laid it in her lap, and turned toward the corner of the room. Lawrence screeched in his cage as she rolled toward him.

  I looked madly around the room. Early was staring at me, frozen in place. Alcaraz was even less help. We were trapped, all of us.

  Holly Mills was too far gone to be reasoned with. Her grief had burned away everything else. She thought she was hunting monsters.

  So had I, once upon a time. But something had shifted in my head. Whatever lingering anger I’d felt after Teddy’s death, it had all boiled away. The goblins who’d killed him had paid for what they’d done. I’d seen to it. That was justice.

  This…this was senseless. This was murder.

  I looked at Rodetk. He was straining against his iron bonds, his lips peeled back. He caught my eye.

  “Don’t let her do this, Turner!” he shouted.

  I twitched my fingers again, stretching for my pocket. Still too far. Rodetk’s gaze flicked to my hand, then back to my face.

  Lawrence squealed in fear as the witch stopped in front of him. He’d backed away as far as he could. He couldn’t take its eyes off her. She reached out.

  “We ate your boy!” Rodetk shouted at her. “Did the hag ever tell you that?”

  Mills froze. Her face twitched.

  “That’s right,” the goblin said. He threw his head back and laughed. “I was there. We stuck him on a spit and roasted him over a fire. Like a fucking pig. Mmm, I can still smell it now.”

  The witch slapped the joystick on her wheelchair and spun around to face him. “Shut your mouth, monster.”

  Rodetk licked his lips. “The young ones always taste the best. They’re so soft. So succulent. They melt in your mouth. And do you know what we did afterward, when we’d stripped all the meat off him?”

  “Shut up!”

  “We ground his bones to make our bread. Just like that old human story, the one about that thieving little bastard and his beanstalk. We used every little bit of your son, ate him and shat him out, and I wouldn’t take it back for—”

  The witch let loose a scream of rage. Rodetk let out a choking noise, his eyes growing wide. I could see his windpipe flexing beneath the force of her magic.

  With a groan of tortured metal, the iron bars around him snaked tighter. His left forearm got caught between two bars, and his eyes widened in pain. Bone snapped with a sickening crack.

  But he was giving me the chance I needed. While the witch’s power was divided even further, I reached into my pocket and grasped the spirit bottle the Dealer had given me.

  Within the translucent blue bottle, something twitched in anticipation. The Dealer had advised me against opening it unless I had no other choice.

  Well, I had no other choice.

  It was time for the Hail Mary.

  37

  I flipped open the cap and tossed the spirit bottle to the floor beside the witch.
<
br />   With a screech like a kettle boiling, something began to flow out of the bottle. It moved like liquid, then like smoke, then something in between. It was fuzzy at the edges, but in the center it began to take shape.

  The thing poured upward from the bottle’s opening, growing ever larger. It didn’t have a face, or limbs, or anything that marked it as a creature.

  But it was alive. There was no doubt about that.

  And it was pissed.

  Holly Mills stared up, slack-jawed, as the entity loomed over her. It billowed like steam, spreading along the ceiling, taking in its surrounding.

  I felt a strange intelligence probing at me with some alien sense. It felt warm and wet against my mind.

  I trembled. That was the first sign the witch had lost her grasp on my body. I could tremble.

  My body was mine again. Mills was using her power elsewhere.

  With a snarl, the witch reached into her collar and pulled free a collection of talismans strung about her neck. I felt something shift in the air, and a star-shaped talisman began to spin wildly.

  The entity splashed back from the witch as if struck. Holly Mills had landed the first blow.

  But it was like punching water. The thing swirled, reformed. Its tone changed, the screech turning into a low thrum. And it turned its attention on the witch.

  A flash of light hit the room like a thunderclap. Mills went flying from her wheelchair, hitting the floor with a thud. But before she’d stopped rolling, she held up her talisman again, and the entity reeled, groaning. There was another flash of light, and the battle recommenced.

  I couldn’t follow what was happening. I was just a lowly cunning man. I could track down a hobgoblin, and brew a mean vial of witch’s fire, but this…this was the big leagues.

  So it was a good thing I wasn’t competing. My job was simple: use the distraction to get everyone the hell out of there.

  I jumped out of the chair and hobbled across the room. Hell, it felt good to have my body under my control again, even if my leg was still burning.