Demoneater

by Royce Buckingham

  “Oh no!” Nat yelped.

  The first home slammed into a large yacht.

  Boom!

  Screaming wedding goers who’d been standing courteously on the deck as the pastor conducted the ceremony flew in all directions like plastic cake figurines flung carelessly across a kitchen. Guests in suits and dresses landed among the appetizers, on top of each other, and tumbled over the side of the ship—a fairly long fall that produced particularly long screams. The bride’s billowing dress ballooned like a parachute as she plummeted into Lake Union with her meticulously set hair, while her frantic groom clung to the rail, his feet kicking in midair.

  The second houseboat careened into a dockside nightclub, sending the disco ball tumbling across the floor like a shimmering bowling ball. It flashed and sparkled as it mowed down patrons fleeing the dance floor.

  The sleeping owners of the houseboats awakened. The first tumbled out of her tilted front door into the middle of the recovering wedding party. In her long white nightgown and rollers, she looked like a pauper’s version of the absent bride.

  The man from the other house flew through his window and spun to a stop on his back in the middle of the nightclub’s floor like a break-dancer, while the hip-hop song playing in the club continued to blare from one smashed speaker.

  With the houses gone, the Troll noticed the serpent coiled around its wrist. It turned and plowed through the water toward the dinghy, hauling the boat toward itself.

  “Here it comes!” Nat said, and he raised the box.

  “Look out!” Sandy cried.

  Before Nat could strike, the Troll ducked underwater and out of reach. Nat leaned over the side, peering into the dark ripples on the lake. Suddenly, the Troll exploded upward directly underneath the dinghy, flipping the small boat into the air.

  Sandy flew head over heels into the water near the dog-paddling bride. Lilli sailed in the other direction and landed with her limbs flying, but she quickly bobbed to the surface and grabbed hold of a couch cushion that had burst through the window of one of the wrecked houseboats. Zoot, who had been resting comfortably in the pattern of her socks, oozed to the surface as a multicolored oil slick with a pair of staring white eyes floating in the center.

  Nat hit the water and went under. Disoriented, he popped up screaming. He’d been thrown from a boat before—on the night his parents disappeared. At twelve years old he’d thrashed for his life in the cold waters of Puget Sound, and that nightmare had never left him. It took a moment for him to remember where he was and that he was not twelve. When he’d calmed down, he blinked and looked around and then stroked twice and pulled himself up onto the overturned dinghy, still shaking.

  He had failed, he realized. The Troll was moving off, away from shore and into the depths of the lake. He wouldn’t be catching it tonight. But as Nat got his bearings, something knifed past him through the water and straight toward the huge statue.

  The Troll sensed that it was being followed and splashed away in a spray of foam. Nat watched as he clung to the overturned rowboat. The Troll hadn’t feared him or the girls, but the gigantic statue plowed through the water in a panic now, pushing a huge wave ahead of it. What followed was smaller. In the dark night, in the dark water, Nat could only make out a thin wake trailing the large demon.

  The Troll turned, trying to evade the thing, flopping frantically toward Nat. Suddenly, something yanked it beneath the waves. The water boiled as the Troll was pulled down, and Nat stared as a piranha-like frenzy ensued. The giant stone hands beat at the surface of the water, and the great head erupted into the air one last time to groan in agony. Then it went under for good. Moments later, Nat’s upside-down dinghy drifted through scattered, sinking pieces of the Troll.

  CHAPTER 19

  LILLI’S SECRET

  Sandy and Lilli ran to help Nat out of the lake as he kicked the dinghy to the dock.

  “What was that?” Sandy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Nat said, shaking his head. “But we lost the Troll, and it’s been damaged.”

  Behind them, Lilli shivered, lip quivering. “No. It’s not damaged,” she said in a hushed voice.

  Nat and Sandy turned. “What?” Nat said.

  “It’s dead,” Lilli continued, her voice shaking. “The thing you saw in the water . . . it ate the Troll.”

  Nat stared at her. Lilli glanced about, not meeting his gaze, and he realized that Sandy was right. He’d just met Lilli. He didn’t know her, despite their common abilities, despite how laid back she seemed, despite how cozy she’d been with him when they met.

  “What else do you know?” he said.

  “More like, what hasn’t she told us?” Sandy said accusingly.

  Lilli took a deep breath as Nat and Sandy gathered around her.

  “I’d heard about the Troll,” she said. “When I came to Seattle, I wanted to see it. It’s a fabulous piece of art, you know?” Lilli looked to them for agreement. The two just waited, grim-faced, for her to explain herself. “But I was also running from something.”

  “Who?” asked Sandy.

  “What?” said Nat.

  “I didn’t know,” Lilli said. “I don’t know. But I felt it in San Fran—something hungry, watching. When I got here the other day, under the bridge, I felt it again.”

  “It followed you,” Sandy said.

  “Whatever it was, it found me. And when I went out for coffee and left my darling babies trapped in the trailer like caged animals, it broke in.” She began to cry. “It ate them!”

  “Nat, she went to your house,” Sandy said.

  “So?” Nat snapped. “It’s a free country. Why do you have to act jealous at a time like this?”

  “I’m not being jealous,” Sandy said evenly. “You’re being defensive. But more to the point, there’s something out there that eats demons, and if it’s following her, she’s led it right to the house . . . your house.”

  Nat stood dripping and stunned. He looked out at the empty lake where the Troll had met its doom and then back at the earthy girl who might have brought that doom with her. Her ravaged trailer was parked directly in front of his house and her VW Bug sat in the driveway.

  “I need to know everything . . . now!” he said suddenly, pointing at Lilli. “What is that thing?”

  “I’ve never seen it,” Lilli insisted. “It’s hidden, disguised, something. But I can feel it. The day you came to my trailer . . . ”

  Sandy flashed Nat a dirty look.

  “ . . . it must have been nearby,” Lilli continued, “and when I left, it struck.”

  “Where else have you been hanging out?” Nat demanded.

  “I washed dishes at an Irish Pub downtown for money when I came to town, and I do my yoga at an elementary school playground nearby.”

  “I want to see those places,” Nat said. “Take me there.”

  They didn’t have to go inside McHale’s Pub to know what had happened there. They could see the listless patrons from the window. The customers hunched over their lifeless mugs of ale with dour expressions. The room was not lively, as it usually was. No music. No conversation.

  “It’s dead in there,” Sandy said.

  “Without chaos there is only monotony,” Nat explained. He turned to Lilli. “Now the playground.”

  It was no different in the schoolyard. Young students filed in and out of the building in an orderly fashion, without fun, without excitement. The dark clouds in the sky hung low over the school, and no vibrant light found its way to the children.

  “Richie should be here to see what happens when demons are destroyed,” Nat said. “It kills spontaneity in places of happiness, leaves drudgery in place of discovery. That tavern and this playground will suffer from their losses. This will not be a joyous place for children for a long time.”

  “A demon made the schoolyard fun?” Sandy said. “I always thought elementary school kids simply had a high metabolism and, hence, excess energy that led to increased activity.”
<
br />   “That’s just what textbooks say,” Nat said.

  “Chaos is the sustenance of a free spirit,” Lilli said softly, tears welling in her eyes. “Without it, the soul withers.”

  “It seems that demons are sustenance for something else too,” Nat said, “something that goes wherever you go.”

  “Oh man,” Sandy said. “I knew she was trouble, Nat, but it’s worse than I’d thought. She’s brought something with her that could destroy everything you protect.”

  Lilli cried openly. “I didn’t mean to,” she wept.

  “Why didn’t you tell me when I met you?” Nat said.

  “I don’t know.” She looked to Zoot, searching for words. He could only shrug. “I guess I didn’t want to say anything wrong. I just . . . I wanted you to like me,” she said finally. She gave the pair a pleading look. “Please, I don’t have any friends here.”

  “No, you don’t,” Sandy agreed.

  “I’ve got to get back to the house,” Nat said. He gave Lilli a hard look. “But I can’t have you around my demons.” With that, he turned and walked away.

  “Sorry, hippy chick,” Sandy added. “You’re gone.”

  CHAPTER 20

  THE STORM GROWS

  Sandy pored over the Journal, entering entire sentences into her laptop’s translation program as Nik watched out for Sparky and Nat ran from window to window, checking to ensure that the house was secure. He peered out anxiously like a gopher peeking out of its burrow to watch for predators. Outside, the wind rose, creeping in from the west over Elliot Bay and the islands. The rain built steadily like classical music, its drops coming harder and more rapidly as the storm grew.

  Richie was posted by the front door. “What am I watching for?” he asked, armed with a bent fireplace poker.

  “I don’t know!” Nat shouted from upstairs, frustrated. “Sandy? Talk to me.”

  “There’s something here from Irish Keeper George McFeen in the 1700s,” she called from the study. Nat hustled down the stairs. He and Richie trotted into the study and settled on the couch, where Sandy read aloud.

  There were four journal entries. Sandy recited them in English in a slow, careful voice, lingering over each word to ensure that it was correct. It was a short, sad tale, and she winced as she relayed George McFeen’s final line.

  “‘My mentor is a Demoneater,’” she whispered.

  Nat and Richie listened without saying a word as she finished. Afterward, Nat realized that he had not taken a breath since she began reciting. He exhaled heavily.

  “Whoa,” Richie whispered.

  Finally, Nat spoke. “Charr wasn’t trying to kill us,” he said, grimacing. “Oh, I’m so stupid. Charr was trying to get to me for safety. That’s why we captured Wedge so easily. It was fleeing. But we just stood by and let Charr die.”

  “Dude,” Richie said, “I still swear I didn’t snuff out the fire.”

  “I believe you now,” Nat said. “And I’m sorry I blamed you. I was upset. I think the monster McFeen described ate Lilli’s demons, killed the Troll, and was down there with us in the dark to finish off Charr.”

  “A Demoneater?” Sandy said. “But that would make it three hundred years old.”

  “Sustained by centuries of chaos,” Nat said, “just like it sustained him at sea with no food or fresh water.”

  “What does it look like?” Richie asked.

  “McFeen doesn’t say,” Sandy answered. “It’s hard to tell from the translation, but I don’t think he knew exactly.”

  “He said it changed his mentor,” Nat pointed out, “but not how.”

  “If it eats bad demons,” Richie said, “that’s just less work for us, right? Maybe it could eat the Beast.”

  “No,” Nat said. “Blindly destroying chaos does not make the world a better place. Would you kill the world’s lions because they eat humans?”

  “If I were the human they were gonna eat, I might,” Richie said.

  “Would you eliminate surprises, variety, the unknown?” Nat said. “Imagine life with nothing but mechanical predictability.”

  Richie cocked his head. “No out-of-control spontaneous rock concerts?” he said.

  “Right.”

  Richie grimaced.

  “We catch the dangerous demons and those that can’t reconcile with mankind,” Nat continued. “But we don’t destroy them, and we leave the rest. Humanity needs some chaos.”

  Richie nodded.

  Nat stuck his head out the front door to check up and down the street. Lilli’s trailer and VW Bug were still parked outside. Lilli had not yet come to get them. The Bug functioned, and she could drive it away, but it would no longer pull the large bus. In the other direction, toward the bay, the wind was picking up. A gust blew past Nat. He cocked his head and listened. It whistled a familiar tune.

  “Wait,” he said.

  Sandy and Richie followed as he threw open the door and walked out onto the porch.

  “Wait for what?” Richie asked.

  “Yeah,” Sandy said. “What’s going on?”

  “The storm,” he said. “I need to feel it.” Nat walked out to the road, arms outstretched, into the growing gale, concentrating, letting it wrap around him, feeling it the way that he’d seen Lilli feel the karma under the bridge. The wind came from different directions—it felt random, discombobulated. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up.

  “I’m leaving,” he announced.

  “Where are you going?” Sandy and Richie said at once.

  “Into the storm.”

  “What?” Sandy gasped.

  “Why?” Richie said.

  “Because it’s Flappy.”

  Nat was already prepping the big boat for launch when Sandy and Richie caught up with him and climbed aboard.

  “Nat!” Sandy called. “Stop. Think. Is this a logical decision or just impulsive?”

  “You talked about the four ancient elements, right?” Nat replied. “Fire, earth, air, and water.”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “The Demoneater went after Wedge, the earth, and then Charr, the fire. This storm is the air. And it’s Flappy. I can feel it.”

  “But you’re leaving the house unguarded.”

  “It’s been snacking on minor manifestations—beer and playground demons, Lilli’s graffiti, the animated Troll statue—but the major first-order demons are its real meals, the elementals. When Charr and Wedge showed themselves, it went straight for them, and Flappy’s grown large enough now that I felt his presence in the storm. The Demoneater will too.”

  Nat unwrapped a rope from the rear cleat. Sandy still didn’t look convinced. “You know, Flappy was my first minion. He’s always stood by me. I must return that loyalty. Besides,” he added, “I hope I’m not leaving the house unguarded.” He gave Sandy a pleading look.

  Sandy sighed. Dating a Demonkeeper was a choice she’d made. It was a chaotic relationship at times and not particularly safe. In contrast to her simple, ordered life as a junior librarian, though, it was definitely exciting. But Nat could see that she didn’t like being left behind.

  “I’ll do it this one last time, Nat,” she said. “But the next time you go off on some adventure and don’t take me with you, I’m not going to be here when you get back.”

  Even in his rush, Nat paused. Sandy didn’t waste words or bluff—she was a straightforward girl, no mystery, no games. He could see that she meant it. He thought for a moment and then nodded. “I understand,” he said. Then he hopped over the side of the boat and gave her an unexpected kiss. This time he didn’t miss her mouth . . . or her tongue. Nor did his hands fail to find the curve of her hips. And despite his hurry, he didn’t rush. Sandy smiled when he finally let go and climbed back up to the flying bridge.

  “Richie!” Nat called out. “You’re my apprentice. Help me prepare to take her out through the locks and into Puget Sound!”

  Richie brightened. “Yes, sir!” he said, and he darted around the
boat, pulling rain tarps from the strange gadgets. There were nets, cages, and suits of wooden armor. He noticed the name of the boat for the first time—the Wanderer. He pulled a tarp from a large structure on the foredeck, and his eyebrows arched. A sleek steel barrel was mounted on a swivel stand bolted to the deck. A coil of rope fed into the side, and a long shaft with a nasty barb on its tip protruded from the end. “A harpoon cannon,” he breathed. “Cool.”

  Richie untied the last rope and called up from the deck. “Dude, we’re ready to hoist the jib, trim the transom, and lift off,” he said, unsure of the seafaring lingo he should use as a deckhand but delighted to be on board.

  Nat waved to Sandy.

  “How can I help you?” she called, sounding more like a librarian than ever.

  “Just watch the house,” he said. “And tell the door to keep itself locked this time.”

  With that, Sandy stepped away from the boat, the engine chugged to life, and the young Keepers pulled away from the dock.

  CHAPTER 21

  INTO THE STORM

  Nat steered the Wanderer out of the lake, through the Ballard locks, and into the turbulent waters of Puget Sound. Seattle dropped out of sight behind them, and they headed between the dark, looming shadows of the San Juan Islands. The storm was gaining strength, and Nat piloted the boat straight into it, ignoring Coast Guard radio warnings to find shelter in the nearest port.

  “What are we looking for?” Riche asked.

  “The eye of the storm. That’s where Flappy will be.”

  Richie squinted into the blasts of cold air that greeted them at the crest of each wave. Pernicious hopped onto the rail for a look.

  “Why do you think he’s at the eye of the storm?” Richie hollered over the wind.

  “Wedge is an earth demon, and Wedge grew to a destructive size once it got out into the wild. Charr was fire, and it became a roaring blaze after the Thin Man no longer controlled it. Flappy has probably grown too. He’s an air demon, and I think he’s the source of all this.” Nat gestured at the howling wind. “He’ll be at its center.” Nat looked down at the deck and frowned. “Pernicious, stay away from the edge! I’m not stopping to fish you out if you fall in.”