by A R DeClerck
“A bit.” Trimble raised a shoulder. “I’m an engineer by trade.”
“Fortuitous, then. Do you know where we might find the magnets we need?”
“I might.” Trimble’s eyes were serious even as a smile danced over his lips. “But you won’t like it.”
“Whatever it is, we will have to come to terms,” Archie said impatiently. He could hear the scrabbling of the demons against his wards; and feel the press of the evil even inside the house. They were intent on feasting, and once called up could not be put back until the sun rose to send them scrambling for the deep dark of their pits.
“Your dirigible uses seven such magnets, of appropriate size and shape to do as you wish, in its ballast.”
Corrigan did not hesitate and Archie admired the man’s quick grasp of their delicate situation. “Very well. I need three to fly, but four will do what we need.”
“Tops.” Trimble buttoned his coat. “The captain and I will take my carriage to the ship and collect the magnets. If you and the other wizards can get us a safe passage, that is.”
“I have a better idea.” Archie hurried toward the old nursery, and discovered the Grand Master’s most powerful familiar playing a game of Pop Goes the Weasel with the Romani children. He paused and raised his sleek head to stare at Archie with his weasel’s eyes. “Come along, Machiavelli, we have a job for you.”
The weasel became the man-bird somewhere along the hallway, and he hurried to catch up with Archimedes as he strode back to the foyer. “We need to get Trimble and Corrigan to the dirigible as quickly as possible.”
“Whilst keeping their flesh and bones intact, I’d wager,” the familiar said jauntily.
“Preferably.” Archie bit back his annoyance and waved Trimble and Corrigan closer. “Go up to the roof, and fly them over the horde to the ship and safely back.”
“And if there are Volanti demons out there?” The birdman ducked his head as he cackled, enjoying his joke. The Volanti could fly, and take down a full-sized bull from the sky in a blink.
“Then you’ll transform into something much more fierce,” Archie said.
“Very well, very well. Lucan will owe me for this. I didn’t realize that tagging along on this excursion would lead to so much work.”
Archie ignored the familiar and looked at Corrigan. “Get to the ship and get back as quickly as you can. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can.”
“We should stop at my shop,” Trimble said, eyeing the items in Corrigan’s bag. “I have a few more things that might help.”
“Hurry back,” Archie agreed.
When the men and the familiar were gone toward the roof he closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying his best to master the raging fear and anxiety that swirled in his stomach. He’d often wondered what drove Icarus to retreat into anger and short temper; what beast clung to his back and kept him always on edge. Now Archie had a name for the beast. Duty. Honor. Responsibility. Love. It could go by any of those, he supposed. He could not deny that he felt the press of it against his own shoulders even now.
“You will wrinkle before your old age,” a soft voice said, as even softer hands caressed the frown between his eyes. He breathed deep, taking in the exotic scent of oranges.
“I cannot save everyone.”
“You can save enough.” She held his mechanical hand, even though she knew he hated the thought of her skin against the metal. “Every life matters. Every attempt matters.”
“I once thought I was the wiser of my comrades,” he said, leaning into the soft of her palm with his eyes still closed.
“Surprises keep us young.”
He laughed and opened his eyes as lips pressed against his. They were not lush and full, and they did not taste like cherries. He stared into the bright blue eyes of Elizabeth Wicket in horror.
He pushed her away gently. “Mrs. Wicket!”
“Come now, Merriweather.” She pressed closer, her lips against his again before he could think to move away. Her hands tangled in this hair, her nails sharp against his scalp. “Imagine this body unclothed, writhing against yours in utter abandon. There is much I can give you that your Italian witch cannot.”
“Elizabeth, please!” Archie put her at arms’ length, his mind frazzled. The scent of oranges was gone now, replaced with that thick lavender. “I am courting Adept Conti.”
He wondered what had come over the young widow. Her cheeks were flushed and she watched him with feral intensity. Something about her eyes spoke of hysterical insanity, but she was a strong woman. He much doubted that she was suffering from such an ailment.
“I am hungry for you.” She pushed her way to his arms again, pressing her lips against his, but the only thing Archie could do was stare into the wide, anguished eyes of Lucia, who stood in the doorway behind Elizabeth.
“No, Mrs. Wicket. Elizabeth.” Archie wanted to push the woman but knew he was stronger and so he gentled his anger as Lucia dashed a tear from her cheek and turned, marching away. He wanted to run after Lucia, but the young woman in his arms was sobbing and distraught and he could not leave her in such a state. “Come now, what is this?”
She could not speak, just shook her head as she cried harder.
“Perhaps you need to rest,” he said, and she nodded miserably, not raising her head.
“Come, I’ll have Bastion fix you a sleeping potion. The demons are warded away and soon we will be better fortified. You should sleep.”
She followed him docilely enough, and he left her in the care of Bastion with only a clipped command to see her to bed. The apothecary nodded, but pointed in the direction of the darkened library. He shook his head, and Archie knew that Bastion had seen the hurt on Lucia’s face as she’d passed by. He sighed. He had to explain it to her. He had to make her understand that what she’d seen was not at all what it looked like.
Somehow, going outside to a pack of demons seemed like a safer option.
The Mysterious Ninth Room
“I daresay I never thought I’d be flying tonight.” Atraxas Trimble looked over the darkened countryside from his perch near Machiavelli’s neck. The familiar had transformed into a raven a thousand times the normal size, and now he carried them smoothly on the currents of autumn air.
“I do enjoy the feeling of wind on my face.” Levisque’s eyes, however, were trained on the shadows that seemed to encapsulate Summer Ridge.
“Demons rise when called,” Machiavelli said in his reedy bird-voice. “But sometimes, when the door is left open, they spill out and heed no master.”
“Is that what happened here?” Corrigan questioned. “Someone left the door open?”
The bird didn’t answer, but swooped low over the fields of grape vines below.
“What the devil is that strange feeling?” Atraxas said, his face paling.
“That is a taste of hell, Master Trimble.” The bird rose again, the altitude lessening the vacuum that had emanated from the ground.
“Can we close the door?” Corrigan asked.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Machiavelli cackled when Corrigan huffed. “Nothing is certain when dark magic is involved. Surely you know this by now, Captain.”
“Aye, I know it.”
“I see the ship.” Atraxas pointed, and the dim outline of the dirigible was visible in the open field.
“Watch out!” Corrigan ducked as something feathered and clawed passed only centimeters from his face. He pushed on Atraxas’ back, urging the other man to bend low over the familiar’s neck.
“What is that?” Atraxas glanced about with wide eyes, craning to see what attacked.
“Shirragh demons!” Machiavelli said, banking hard left and causing the men to hold tight.
“Pack hunters,” Corrigan said, removing his pistol. He aimed, and shot one of the feathered serpents with a burst of electricity that made it scream and plummet toward the ground.
“I think you made them angrier,” Atraxas said as the flock of creatures swooped at th
em again.
“Gentlemen, please.” Machiavelli swooped low, and Atraxas gulped as his heart moved north to his throat. “Allow me to take care of these foul creatures.”
“We can’t outfly them, Machiavelli,” Corrigan argued, taking aim at one of the wickedly beaked birds that flew too close. He pulled back his hand as claws three meters long barely missed his fleshy inner arm.
“I don’t need to outfly them. IIosgi.”
Corrigan flinched as the aether around them glowed a brilliant blue fire for a brief moment. It lit up the demons, the blue reflected in their wide orb-like eyes as they caught fire like dry kindling in the hearth. They were balls of dancing blue flame as they burned and spiraled to the ground. “I had no idea you could use spells, Machiavelli.”
“And how else do you think I perform such amazing feats, Captain?” The giant bird cawed with amusement.
“I assumed you borrowed power from Lucan.”
Machiavelli banked sharply right, and when they were righted Corrigan realized he had been put in his place.
“The familiar provides power to the master, not the other way around. I am Lucan’s conduit to the aether, the bridge between him and his magic. Without his familiar the Grand Master would be only half as powerful.”
“I apologize.”
They landed gently on the ground only a few feet from Corrigan’s ship, and his XO, Nickerson waved from the deck.
“I do not take offense to ignorance.” Machiavelli said archly, but he bowed his head in deference to the apology.
“Let’s hurry and gather the magnets,” Atraxas said, looking nervously at the sky. Corrigan figured that he wasn’t the only one worried that more demons would try to attack them at any moment, even though they were far from the border of Summer Ridge and Alabaster Acres.
“I’ll wait here and keep watch,” Machiavelli said as Corrigan shouldered his rucksack. “Master Trimble is correct, we should hurry.”
ARCHIE PUSHED THE DOOR open and poked his head through, expecting any manner of object to come flying in his direction. “Lucia?”
“Come in, Archie.”
He moved inside and closed the door behind him. The people of the estate were already on edge; they did not need to be exposed to the row that was about to happen.
“Light the lamp, would you?”
He pressed the button on the steam-powered lamp, fanning the small pilot light until the flame caught the wick and the room was lit with a soft yellow glow.
Lucia sat by the cold fireplace, her chin in her hand. He moved closer slowly, and knelt by her.
“I did not kiss Elizabeth Wicket.”
She smiled. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Of course I know.” She tapped the cameo that sat lovingly against the soft skin of her neck. “You don’t break promises, Archie.”
“But you cried.”
“I did. It’s always a bit of a shock to see one’s beau lip locked with another woman.”
“She kissed me. Some kind of hysterical fit. I gently put her off, I swear.”
“I heard you.” She sat forward, her hand caressing his face. “I am not angry with you. Or with her. These are trying times.”
“You are an angel, truly.”
Lucia laughed and the sound made the knot in Archie’s heart begin to slowly unwind itself.
“I am not going to pretend that I was not overtaken by a red haze of jealous anger for a moment.”
“Oh really?”
“Really. I wanted to tear that woman’s eyes out for daring to touch what belongs to me.”
“And do I belong to you?”
“In my heart you do.”
Archie kissed her. That was the soft taste of cherries and the smell of tangy orange that was his Lucia. The way her bottom lip cradled his and her fingers twirled lazily in his hair made him pull her closer as he did his best to plunder all the treasures of her lips.
When they parted she kept him close with her hands in his hair. “I feel danger all around us. At every turn,” she whispered. “Do not let down your guard for even a moment.”
He nodded and she let him go.
“It’s nearing the midnight hour,” he said, standing and reaching for her hand. “I need to walk the perimeter and renew the wards.”
She took his hand and stood, squeezing it but the worried shadows still darkened her eyes. “Yes, I think it’s best we stick together. I’d hate for any more damsels to suffer from a hysterical fit and fall against your lips.”
He laughed at the irreverent twist of her lips and the sardonic lift of her brow as she teased him.
“Indeed, you shall be my shield. If any wayward widows come my way you can step between us.”
THEY WALKED QUICKLY around the outside of the house, she guarding his back as he quickly rebuilt his wards. They required attention to keep them strong and he layered them in intricate patterns that even the most intelligent demons could not unravel. When he was finished, he stood looking out toward the Trimble estate.
“They will return,” Lucia said, as if she could read his mind, and he often wondered if she could. Her hand crept into his, but her wand was still tight in the other.
“I wish Icarus was here.”
She laughed. “To do what, precisely? Devise an ingenious plan to save us all? Or to hem and haw and glower? I believe we are certainly as capable of saving these people as he is.”
“I’ve seen him do fantastic things.”
“I’ve seen you do better.” She glared in his direction and shook her head. “You are just as powerful a wizard as Icarus Kane, and it’s time you leave his shadow to show that to the world.”
“I’m rather happy in my role as his shadow.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “There’s much to be said for humility, Archimedes, but you take it a bit far.”
“Come,” he said, tugging her hand as the demons caught their scent and began to converge on their spot by the front door. “Inside we go until Corrigan and Atraxas return.”
“Remember what I said,” she rebuffed as she followed him into the house. “I believe in you, and it’s time you do the same.”
“Tell me, Captain, who designed this machine?” Atraxas looked over the intricate inner belly of the dirigible with a sparkle in his eye.
“A Frenchman by the name of Alphonse Penaud.”
“The devil you say!” Trimble rubbed his chin with glee. “I’ve had occasion to correspond with Penaud regarding his design for an ornithopter. I had no idea he’d already done so much with dirigibles.”
“Brilliant fellow. A bit melancholy, as the French are want to be.” Corrigan pulled the large magnet free from the ballast with a grunt. “This should do, I think.”
“Just in time, too.” Atraxas bent, staring out the window at the fields. “We have company.”
“Damn these devils,” Corrigan muttered, tucking the magnet into his bag with the others.
“Machiavelli is holding his own, and your men appear to be helping, but we’re nearly surrounded.”
“Damn.” Corrigan sighed and removed his Bo from his pocket, elongating the compacted design to its full stature with a snick. “We will have to fight our way out.”
“Capital!” Trimble flushed when Corrigan chuckled at his enthusiasm. “I’m no fool, but this is the most excitement I’ve seen in an age.”
“Let’s head for your father’s house,” Corrigan suggested. “We can gather what you need from your workshop and hopefully avoid as many of the beasts as we can.”
“This way, then.” Atraxas led the way from the belly of the ship and out the cargo hatch, running bent in the tall grasses toward the copse of trees that divided the back forty acres from the front of the estate. They ran quickly, dodging tree limbs, and the stillness of the wood was broken only by the snapping of twigs under their feet. Corrigan was out of breath when they broke through the other side and had only a hundred yards between them and a few small outbuildings to
provide cover.
“That’s my shop,” Atraxas whispered. He led the way toward the largest of the buildings, but drew up short when a wall of black mist converged in front of them. “Corrigan?”
“Mwg demons.”
“Mwg?”
“Smoke demons. They have no real form, but they can do damage from the inside if they manage to get inside you.”
The smoke shimmered and broke apart, coalescing into seven or eight wispy columns.
“How do we fight them?” Atraxas asked, backing up as three of the undulating columns of mist advanced on him.
“Good question.” Corrigan swung the Bo staff and it passed through the mist, which simply reformed a moment later and continued to stalk closer.
“I’ll draw them away. You get to my shop and take whatever you need.”
Corrigan laughed. “No need for selfless heroics at the moment, Trimble. We're not in dire straits yet.”
“Give me your canteen.”
“You’re thirsty now?” Corrigan asked, aghast.
“Smoke is a colloid. If we soak ourselves with water then all the particles that make up the demons will be drawn to the water droplets and the smoke will disperse as we run through it.”
“You’re suggesting we run directly through them?”
“Trust me. I spent years studying these things.”
“Very well.” Corrigan tossed Atraxas his canteen and watched the man dump half the contents directly over his head. Corrigan was surprised when the demons seemed to move back. Atraxas handed him the canteen and he poured the contents over his head, shivering as the icy water ran in rivulets over his neck and down his back. “Are you sure this will work?”
“It’s all we have,” Atraxas said, and Corrigan had to agree. Without this idea they were sadly without any at all.
“Wish me luck.” Before Corrigan could stop him, the man ran directly at the nearest column of black smoke. When he passed right through it, shattering the creature’s barely corporeal outline, a shrill scream rose up from the other misty columns.
“I’ll owe you an ale when this is over,” Corrigan said as he took a deep breath and charged the three Mwg demons closest to him. He slipped through them and the feeling was that of grimy fog, trying desperately to cling to him but sliding away when it could not grab hold.