The Deception Dance

by Rita Stradling

  I nod; the explanation makes sense with what I saw. “Why do people sell their souls?”

  “...you mean, why did Chauncey?”

  I nod; I guess that is what I mean.

  He considers this one for a while. “The reasons why people sell their souls rarely make sense to a rational mind. From the little Chauncey told me before she died ...” he pauses to look down, “…I can only really guess. I don’t think she was a much loved person. On the plane ride she was delirious and confused; but from what she told me, I think that she believed that being the most beautiful woman in the world would make people love her. She told me that Linnie was the only person who truly loved her and she loved you infinitely more.”

  Stephen exhales slowly. I remember that he shed a tear for Chauncey.

  He continues, “Demons can’t buy souls under coercion of torture, or by threatening to kill a person…”

  “…but, wait,” I interrupt, “what about with my dad and Linnie?”

  “Did no one tell you?” He looks so intense as he stares into my eyes. “Your father didn’t actually sell his soul; he offered to, was willing to, but the Chauncey ‘puppeteer’ could not buy it because she was the one torturing and threatening Linnie. The puppeteer was only able to buy Linnie’s soul because it was a human who was threatening your father. That’s how demons get out of that limitation; they use others: humans, animals, or circumstances, to do their work for them.”

  I quickly, furiously, review what the puppeteer told me that night in the Hotell Trädgård Visa in my mind. She said my father was willing to sell his soul… that she collected all the souls she needed… She implied it, but, I guess, she never specifically said that my father sold his soul. Oh, hell.

  Stephen continues, “From what I’ve seen, most soul-selling is either impulsive or made under extreme circumstances, and always, always regretted. Some people don’t truly believe in their soul when they barter it for their heart’s desire. No one knows the entire truth; no one knows about the regret they will feel, or that they can never appreciate what they bartered for. And nobody knows that when they die their body will be vacant for a demon to puppet and impersonate them to attack their loved ones.” We both silently digest this for a few seconds but Stephen cuts the silence with, “We need to get back on topic. Time is short. Andras...”

  “…so Andras’s body was a puppet too?”

  He cocks his head, reminding me of Nicholas. “Yes, but not in the same way as Chauncey. Andras is a Grand Marquis; he’s more than a greater demon, he’s the ‘greatest’ earthbound demon. The body he seduced you with, and Nicholas destroyed, belonged to a magician.” He wipes his eyes making him look exhausted. “Black magicians and black witches are humans with self-inflicted demon infection.”

  “Witches, like Madeline?”

  “No, not at all like Madeline, she is an earth witch. She doesn’t even deserve to be labeled with the same word as the black. Madeline worships the earth, she would have rather sacrificed her own life than chop down those trees; but human sacrifice invites the devil.” He has a look of genuine admiration on his face, but it quickly falls. “The black are a different sort, they come by their power by torture and murder. Most poison themselves with demonic blood, to increase their power. The magician, whose body Andras stole, was a Roma rejected by his people because he murdered his own brother; he summoned Andras to incite rage amongst his people so they would destroy themselves. Andras tricked the man out of his protective circle and possessed his already tainted and strengthened body.” He leans in. “But Andras can take a soulless body, and often does, but he burns through them in a matter of weeks or even days. He took the body of a soulless homeless child when you were young, he even approached you.”

  “Andrew?” I examine his face while biting my lip and narrowing my eyes. “Kids can be soulless?”

  “Not usually, no. I think a child has to do something truly horrendous, first.”

  I shiver at the thought. Then I ask, “How long have you been watching me?”

  He slowly leans away, straightening up. When he answers my question his voice is low, “Since before you were born. But, you’re not the only child we followed and guarded. Your father never let our sentinel ...”

  “Mrs. Trandle.”

  He gives an infinitesimal nod, “…close enough to inspect your mark.”

  My fingers clasp the back of my neck.

  “But after Andras visited you as a child we were almost positive that it was you.”

  I press my back into the green truck. If I continue on this line of questioning, I’m only going to get pissed at Stephen, and right now he’s my only ally. I sigh. “So, Andras has found another magician’s body?”

  “No.” His hands grasp my shoulders. He moves in front of me and stares intently. “This is our biggest problem. Our intel reports that Andras has been taking over soulless bodies; he’s burning through them at alarming rates. We captured a demon three nights ago that announced Andras declares that he's tired of being limited by human bodies and plans to ascend in his demonic form.”

  I say each word slowly, “What does that mean?”

  “It means, that when Andras burns through the body he now occupies, he’s going to open the gates and unleash all of Hell on earth.”

  “The gates to Hell are closed?”

  “The demons now on earth are thirty legions; the legions of one spirit of Solomon, there are seventy-two. If Andras opens those gates the results will be, apocalyptic.”

  “Apocalyptic, like the apocalypse?” I can’t breathe, why can’t I breathe? I feel lightheaded. My legs give out and I start to slide down the truck.

  Stephen grasps my other shoulder.

  I gasp in air.

  He holds me up against the truck. “This is what is at stake. You need to know before we go into the meeting.”

  With wide eyes and a desperate, raspy voice I gush out, “It doesn’t make sense, why would Andras do this now? This isn’t even the first time I’ve died. Why now? How could he plan to be with me after an apocalypse? Who’ll be left?”

  His hands support me by my shoulders. “He did throw another fit when you first died in 1563...well, we don’t need to get into that...” He sighs. “Raven,” he tells me in a consoling tone, “Demons feed on humans, in a manner of speaking. The Apocalypse is not the same thing as the Armageddon; it won’t wipe out all of humanity, probably about half, or a little more. Human population has now reached an amount where the demons believe that the casualties caused by a demonic take-over will not inhibit their continued existence.”

  His brow creases and his scar puckers as he gives me a sad look, “People have predicted the coming apocalypse for centuries. Some believe that this was Satan’s plan all along, I among them. Why else would Satan give Andras, not only responsibility for his dealings on earth, but also the metaphysical equivalent to the ‘keys’ to the gates of Hell? Andras is perhaps his most passionate, humanlike and least ambitious demon in his elite battalion. Andras will open the gates, take what he was promised...” he nods at me, “…and not attempt to seize Satan’s dominion.” Stephen sighs and lets go of my shoulders.

  I’m surprised I don’t fall forward.

  “Raven, we’ve known this risk from the start. My family made a catastrophic error in not telling you; I know that." His hand covers his chest. "This information is more than anyone should expect you to process in such short time. But, I need you to get all your weakness out here, in this parking lot, right now. When we walk in there…” he points to the gentlemen’s club, “…you need to be strong, tough, sharp and knowledgeable about what is at stake. Can you be these things for me?”

  I close my eyes. “Give me a minute?”

  “One, but that’s all we have.”

  I concentrate on my breathing.

  After what feels like a couple of seconds Stephen continues, “This is what you need to know: Andras is in Copenhagen. This morning, Tobias ordered thirty ‘runners’ to
bring the message of your safety to Andras in Copenhagen. We predict that, at best, Andras will burn through his current body by the end of tomorrow. Now, are you ready to have a voice in this?”

  I straighten my back and inhale while shaking out my arms and head. Lifting my head I meet Stephen’s gaze and hold it steadily. “Yes. We need to get the message of me being alive to Andras by the end of tomorrow or he will open the gates of Hell; there’s no electricity, no phone lines, a legion of demons and who-knows how many soul-bound in our way…”

  “And, what is the first rule to understanding demons?”

  “To them, the ends always justify the means.”

  He gives a decisive nod. “Good. That’s all we have time for.” He steps away but keeps gazing at me fixedly.

  He waits for me to step forward before he turns to the men’s club. I feel hesitant walking into the building, even though it’s a mirror image of the guest house; Tobias said it was forbidden for women to enter. Only one woman has ever entered before me, and she disgraced herself. And, knowing me, I'm probably heading for disgrace number two.

  The guards don't stop us, they don’t even sneak a glance in our direction as Stephen presses his thumb to a scanner and the door swings open of its own accord.

  The entrance is identical to the guest house’s, a long hall with gilded mirrors and portraits of distinguished bored people, the only obvious difference is where there should be doorknobs on each door, there are large scanners. We stop at one of these, the closed entrance makes the hall completely dependent on the chandelier overhead for light. Stephen presses his whole hand and wrist to the scanner and a blue light traces around, when he removes his hand the print is still there with every crease, freckle, and line traced in black. I half expect a disembodied female voice to say, “Welcome, Stephen,” like some b-movie sci-fi flick, but the door just slides open; slides open, it's an elevator.

  We step inside the spacious elevator car and turn around. There are four buttons lined vertically on the wall; Stephen presses the fourth and last button then spreads his hand to a pad that scans his full hand and wrist. The elevator smoothly slides downward the moment the door shuts.

  I lean against the wall. “What’s in the house?”

  “Surveillance and security stations for the grounds...”

  “Is the basement where you train people to kill demons?”

  Stephen inhales and lowers his voice to a whisper as we descend, “A couple centuries past, Leijonskjöld Slot was an actual castle, when it burned down the sub-ground levels were undamaged. Some of the first basement level is used by the guest and main houses, but most of the area is used for barracks, training and living space for our soldiers. We have subterranean tunnels that lead out of the grounds, which is why you didn’t see any of our soldiers before. Below that, in our second-basement level, is our storage, mostly weapons, we need special weaponry for some of what we do...”

  “And the level we’re going to, level ‘TH’?”

  He shakes his head and meets my gaze. “I can’t tell you everything Raven. I have already told you much more than I am supposed to...” The elevator stops and Stephen cuts off his sentence. He motions me forward and I push off the wall and straighten up.

  Stephen grips my shoulder with one reassuring squeeze, and then turns to stand next to me as the doors slide open. The hallway the elevator opens onto reminds me of a spaceship, it’s completely made up of panels of buffed out metal and soft white lighting. The hallway is crossed on the left side by other hallways; unfortunately we take the first turn.

  At the end of the short metallic corridor, gathered in front of a glass sliding door, are the three men I dread seeing the most, Sir Tobias Snivels, hammer-boy Albert and Nicholas the jerk-face.

  Facing demons is one thing… facing uncomfortable emotional situations? No thanks. I realize that I still have time to retreat, they haven’t seen me yet; I could just step out of view, run to the elevator and let it carry me up.

  Jeez. Am I seriously that weak? While my instincts are yelling, ‘Run! Hide!’ I know I have to grow the hell up and face the fire that I started. I consciously slow down my breathing and place one foot in front of the other.

  It only takes an instant for Nicholas and his brothers to notice us. I don’t look at them; I concentrate on the vertical strip of lights dividing the metal ceiling.

  The angry shouting that immediately breaks out and echoes down the hall as the men charge to greet us is thankfully in Swedish, which helps me keep my composure. I only avert my gaze from the ceiling when Stephen calmly, almost jovially, says, “English please, brothers.”

  “What is the meaning of this, Stephen?” Albert rages, “She’s not coming into our meeting!” He advances on Stephen and I have to force myself to not step back and cower.

  Stephen does not even flinch, “I called the meeting...”

  Nicholas breaks in, his Swedish accent bleeding through in his anger yet again, “What are you playing at, Stephen?”

  Stephen snaps his attention to Nicholas. “Winning,” he says without a moment’s hesitation. “I’m playing at winning. As far as I see it, I am the best strategist and she is the most valuable player. And this isn’t some skirmish; this is the world-cup of calamities and I’m not going to overlook the most important member of my team because of something so stupid as self-importance, chivalry or personal conflict.” He looks at each one in turn.

  Nicholas yells, “This isn’t football. We’re up against Hell not the Spanish football team!”

  “So stop wasting my time. Get out of our way, my team...” he nods to me, “and I, need to get to strategizing.” He doesn’t wait for them to move, he shoves past clearing a path for me to follow.

  When we reach the sliding doors, Stephen calls back, “You can come, too; if you mind your manners.” He grins as the doors silently slide closed behind us. “Small victories...” he whispers to me. “While they pretend to deliberate, I’ll quickly catch you up to what you need to know.” He gestures to a swivel chair, one of ten in the room.

  The room is larger than I expect, but the rectangular table in the middle is only made for the chairs around it. I discover the reason for the room’s size as Stephen taps the table. Both a large square at Stephen’s fingertips and the top-half of the wall across from us illuminates. Stephen presses his hand to the screen on the table and (an instant later) identical maps light up on the table and wall.

  “Outside of Copenhagen the damage is not as catastrophic. Most soul trading is being brought about by demonically-infected-ravens attacking people, where if people survive at all, they have to trade their soul to remove the demonic infection. The world is calling it a flu…” He shakes his head. “It is as I told you; the demons are letting these infectious ravens do their work for them; they just watch the attacks and if there are any survivors, they offer them a deal. The farther from the city, the less the land is infested; reports say that northern Sweden is relatively raven-free.” Stephen fingers fly across his table screen as he speaks.

  “And inside Copenhagen?”

  “Copenhagen…” Stephen closes his eyes, exhales, and doesn’t finish his answer.

  The main part of the city appears on the screen, it’s almost a peninsula bordered by water on two sides; this is the part the map zooms in on. The city has about forty-or-so green dots randomly spaced, each with words labeling it.

  “These dots are religious, spiritual, or other sites protected from demonic beings twenty-six days ago. And these are the sites we still have contact with.” He touches the screen again and all but four of the green dots turn black.

  Well, that’s not good.

  Stephen walks to the large screen. “This church, Vor freslers Kirke, is virtually cut off from the rest of Copenhagen, fortunate for them, but virtually useless to us. This...” He points to a dot near one point of a large star shaped area at the eastern-most tip of the little stretch of land reaching out toward the Oresund strait, “...is St. Alban’
s Anglican church. It is a religious stronghold protecting the entrance to Kastellet, which is this large star area, where we have several battalions protecting Copenhagen’s remaining survivors. Kastellet also has a church in its center, which is why it’s such a protected space,” he points to the green dot at the center of the star.

  “And here...” Stephen points to a dot much farther down from the strait but still on the water, “...is Holmens Kirke.” The image zooms in on the church, providing several pictures of the church in boxes along the top, “Holmens Kirke is the ‘basket in which were keeping all our eggs,’ unfortunately. It is not only the rendezvous point for all the ‘runners’ who have the video of you, it’s our only open route to Andras’s nest.”

  “Nest?”

  “The demon nest...” he points to a red ring on the map even farther down and away from the water, “is Copenhagen City Hall.” The map switches its focus, providing photos of the city hall instead. “Our only...”

  The doors swish open, stopping Stephen mid-sentence. But what I imagine halts Stephen’s explanation is not the entrance of his three brothers; no, what stops him is most likely the same thing that impedes my breathing for a few long seconds, it is the panic on all of their faces.

  Tobias usually nasally voice is shrill, “Thirty seconds ago, we lost contact with Holmens Kirke. None of the runners had arrived.”

  A cold silence settles on us like an evening mist.

  Even though I know the question makes me sound uneducated, I have to know, “What does that mean, ‘lost contact’?”

  Tobias pinches his lips together, “It is not...”

  “We don’t really know what it means,” Stephan cuts in as he returns to the table. “We’ve not recovered anyone we’ve lost contact with. But we hypothesize that soul-bound break through our barriers, and then desecrate the site to allow the demons in.”

  All three of the incomers have slumped postures and downcast gazes, but when they take a seat they all three sit across the table from me. Their glares say, ‘we might be miserable, but we’re not going to forget to hate-on and judge you, Raven.’ Well, that’s just fine. I feel stronger every minute.