Black City Demon

by Richard A. Knaak

  The second floor revealed itself to be a long series of doors supposedly leading to guest rooms. I was loath to try any of the doors, but when I saw that one was slightly ajar, I knew I had to check it out.

  The knob had a dull but noticeable polish to it that indicated it’d been used often. I eyed the floor, but still saw no hint that Joseph’d headed through. Despite that, I carefully entered.

  Surprisingly enough, it was a hotel room. A Victorian iron bed replete with mattress, sheets, and pillow stood on one end. There was a wooden table and chair set by a window covered with thick, dark curtains.

  Opposite the bed was a closet and dresser. Recalling my recent encounter, I used the tip of the sword to check out the drawers. When I found nothing, I turned to the closet, only to come up with equally useless results.

  We waste time here. . . . He will be on the highest floor. . . .

  He didn’t specify whether he meant Joseph or Holmes, and I didn’t care. Still, this room clearly had nothing else to offer. I headed for the door—

  The sound of a car on the street made me pause. I went to the curtains and shoved them aside. As I’d seen from outside, they were heavily barred. Yet, even though my view beyond Holmes’s sanctum was limited, it was enough to identify just who’d arrived.

  Claryce and Fetch.

  Another epithet escaped me.

  The dragon snickered. Such saintly language. . . .

  Claryce climbed out of the Wills and looked directly at the castle. I was certain that she couldn’t see it, but, like me, remained suspicious of the building.

  I kept praying that she’d turn and leave, but then Fetch joined her and started to sniff the air. A moment later, he said something to Claryce and trotted toward my direction.

  Fetch’d picked up my scent. He led Claryce toward the building. I hoped that they’d wander around the empty stores and then give up. I couldn’t imagine any way they’d be able to find a path into Holmes’s world.

  Then, something else at the far end of the street caught my attention. Another car very slowly heading toward our location. Not at all to my surprise, it hesitated as it neared . . . as if the occupants had just taken notice of Claryce and Fetch and didn’t want to be seen in turn.

  I squinted. With the dragon’s vision, I could just make out a very pale figure in the front passenger seat. One of the Schrecks. I couldn’t see if his twin was in the back, but one was too many already.

  They abandoned their car right there. I made a quick study of the rest of the gang. It didn’t surprise me that there were some other goons with Holmes’s lieutenant. These had a different look, though, darker and tougher. I couldn’t make them out well enough, but they moved more like animals on the hunt. These clearly weren’t dupes to be later sacrificed, but rather a band brought in for a specific reason. I didn’t doubt for a moment that I . . . and by extension Claryce and Fetch . . . was the reason.

  I couldn’t help myself. Whatever Holmes had in mind, I had to let it and Joseph wait until I got Claryce to safety. At the very least, I had to warn her. I rushed back to the door and pulled it open.

  It was at that point my mind brought up the fact that the door’d already been open when I’d last left it. Now, it’d been shut.

  I didn’t care. Claryce and Fetch were all that mattered. The sword ready, I opened the way.

  The corridor was gone. Another room greeted me.

  A second door beckoned from the far wall. With little choice left to me, I immediately headed toward it. Without hesitation, I tugged it open.

  I faced a new corridor. Glad to find something that wasn’t a room, I stepped out into it and looked for the stairway.

  It wasn’t there. The only exit from the floor was the elevator, which, unlike the one on the first floor, had two rusted doors tightly shut together. I didn’t doubt that trying to open them would cause a lot of noise.

  Eye can help us. . . .

  “No thanks. Remember what happened in Feirie?”

  He grumbled, but didn’t argue. I still wasn’t exactly certain what Holmes’d done to us or how much control he might have over our transformation, but I didn’t want to test that right now. I still hoped to catch him unaware, however unlikely that was.

  The elevator doors were open. I paused.

  “Weren’t those shut?”

  Eye can tell you nothing . . . but assume that they were. . . .

  He had a good point. I stood in front of the open elevator, debating.

  Someone called my name. No, not just someone. Claryce.

  Her call came from far away. It was enough to make me rush toward the elevator.

  A hand on my shoulder held me back. The grip was a powerful one, stopping me in my tracks.

  I turned on my attacker.

  Joseph smiled.

  “It’s cresting. The shadow’s everywhere.”

  I didn’t answer him. I barely looked at him, my attention on the female figure behind him.

  A ghost.

  Claudette.

  CHAPTER 24

  Claudette’s lips moved.

  “The Beast is nearly complete,” Joseph commented earnestly. “He and the shadow are almost one.”

  I looked from her to Joseph and then back again. He was repeating her words. He was giving her a voice in the living world.

  “Follow us . . . free us . . .” Barnaby’s son whispered after her lips moved again.

  “Claudette . . .”

  She smiled sadly.

  “Oh, Kravayik . . .” Joseph dutifully repeated.

  It wasn’t the comment I’d expected. Before I could try to glean something from it, Claudette turned her tearful gaze down the hallway behind me. I instinctively looked where she did.

  Claudette stared back at us from the other end. I quickly looked behind Joseph and saw that no one stood there now.

  “Come on.” I gently tugged Joseph by the arm and led him toward the ghost.

  Claudette watched us as we neared. She was calmer than any of the other spirits I’d come across. Or—maybe not calmer, but more determined.

  Actually, more real, too. I wondered if Holmes knew that. He’d been focused on how the Frost Moon’s wake would enable him to magnify his abilities and his spellwork, but from what I’d seen, the wake affected nearly everything magical or supernatural, even without his actions. It’d enhanced Fetch and the dragon. I’d seen how it’d affected Diocles. Why not then the ghosts of the Beast’s victims?

  Claudette suddenly reached out a hand. She caressed the air at about face level.

  Joseph sighed and tilted his head. Even though a short distance still separated them, he felt her caress.

  She mouthed something.

  “Poor Kravayik,” Joseph muttered. “There is nothing to forgive. . . .”

  She faded away. I shelved her words for Kravayik for a time when I saw him . . . and for when I myself had forgiven him for his lies and omissions.

  Behind where Claudette’d stood there now was an open wall. I couldn’t remember the wall being open before this. With a silent thanks to Claudette, I pulled Joseph along. I might’ve left him behind for safety reasons if not for the fact that he not only seemed to have some memory of the place, but evidently had an affinity for ghosts as well. Besides, I wasn’t certain there was actually anyplace safe here at all.

  We climbed through the opening . . . and entered the maze.

  I might’ve been tempted to back out, but the choice was made by the disappearance of the opening. With no other route, I moved on. Although the outside had shown windows, none were apparent here. There was nothing I could do to warn Claryce. My only hope was to reach Holmes and force him to call off his dogs.

  The maze had no intention of cooperating in that respect. The path veered abruptly to the left, away from where I thought I had to go. I wasn’t helped by the fact that Joseph seemed inclined to let me lead.

  All this time, Her Lady’s gift had glowed a steady crimson in response to nearby Wyld. That ha
dn’t surprised me, considering what I’d seen previously. The entire sanctum likely had traces of Wyld power. Now, though, I noticed a subtle shift in the glow, an almost imperceptible change toward gold. I had no idea what that meant, since Her Lady’d not bothered to tell me.

  I tested it out in different directions. All remained the same except when I pointed the sword ahead and just a little to my right. The blade shone brighter. That made no sense, though. The wall there looked very solid.

  Eye can make a path. . . .

  “I don’t want to bring the whole place down on us.” I might’ve actually been tempted to do that if Claryce and Fetch hadn’t shown up already.

  The sword persisted in glowing strongest when facing the one wall. I let go of Joseph and swiftly ran a hand over the area in question. No secret panel opened up.

  Eye could—

  “Shut up.” I stepped back, raised the sword, and cut into the wall.

  The wood melted away as Her Lady’s gift cut deep. Yes, melted. Normal physical boundaries sometimes didn’t matter with the sword. It made for easy removal of the barrier, not that what I saw behind it was at all what I’d expected.

  He’d been dead a long, long time. The fact that he was wearing a suit that dated back to the time of the Columbian Exposition wasn’t at all surprising.

  What was surprising was that, even mummified by time, I recognized a younger version of Barnaby’s dear old friend . . . Des O’Reilly. The real Des O’Reilly . . . alias Bobbie O’Hanrahan.

  Alias someone or something that’d been serving Holmes these past three decades.

  Circumstance and discovery had forced Holmes to flee Chicago, which had in turn led to his capture. Far away from his sanctum, he’d been weak enough to be little trouble to the law. Still, I couldn’t help thinking he’d planned for his body to be returned here no matter where he ended up. Death hadn’t mattered to Holmes so long as a part of his bloody domain had existed beyond the mortal senses. What had mattered was that he be where the magical shadow of the Gate created by the wake would strike early.

  Saint Boniface had been the nearest cemetery, but even then, someone would’ve had to bring him nearer to here for the wake to give him the strength he needed to stir again. My first thought went to Oberon, but I saw nowhere where their desires would’ve crossed. Yet, Holmes had mentioned someone else when I’d been his prisoner. Maybe he’d been talking about “Bobbie.”

  “This is your fault, you know,” I muttered to Joseph. From what I’d learned from Barnaby back when we’d been trying to locate his son and his son’s associates, Joseph’d revealed abilities very young. I didn’t know when the false “Bobbie” had befriended Barnaby, but I suspect it’d happened shortly after that. It was even growing likely that one of those who’d been linked with Joseph’s plot had actually also been part of Holmes’s.

  I exhaled in frustration. There were times when fighting a dragon to the death seemed the simple part of my existence.

  The sword continued to give off its different glow. I touched the tip to the very late O’Reilly/O’Hanrahan’s vest.

  The glow magnified.

  I brought the tip to the area just above the head.

  The glow grew so blinding I had to look away at first.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do,” I quietly growled at the absent queen of Feirie. I’d never seen the sword do this, which made me wonder if it reacted specifically to something Holmes was doing. Just like her husband, she’d known that Holmes might somehow someday return, and she’d readied her gift for just that possibility.

  And, naturally, hadn’t bothered to mention it to me.

  I peered above the desiccated corpse, but still didn’t see anything.

  I had a thought. “Joseph.”

  He came like an obedient puppy. I put my free hand on his shoulder, then looked again.

  Sure enough, now I saw a long string of a black substance I knew well. It was metal, and it originated from Feirie.

  Black silver. A deadly substance. Very rare, but not so rare as I’d once thought. Probably only rare because those who knew of its dangerous but seductive properties hoarded whatever they found.

  O’Hanrahan had the string jutting out of his skull. I could imagine it having been wound through his entire system. I could also imagine it having been meticulously done while he’d still been alive. The agony would’ve fueled not only the black silver’s latent properties, but also Holmes’s monstrous work.

  I studied the path of the string as it stretched up above. Although it disappeared a few feet up, I could see which direction it went. Leaning back, I eyed the walls and ceiling in that direction.

  With Joseph in tow, I followed the trail. As I studied the maze’s design, I noticed a system that relied on the black silver. Holmes had it running through the entire structure. Small wonder he’d been able to create and, more importantly, hide this entire place from not just the sight of men, but even from the most skilled of Feirie. Only Joseph seemed to be resistant to it. Joseph, who seemed to know it well—

  Joseph, who I now believed had at some point helped Holmes complete this entire arrangement.

  At that moment, he stopped dead in his tracks.

  I tugged at him. “Come on! We—”

  “No, that’s not right.” He stared at the ceiling where the first string crossed a second, then began doing silent, invisible calculations in the air.

  “We don’t have time for this, Joseph!”

  Leave him! We do not need him!

  “Not right at all,” Barnaby’s son went on with a strong shake of his head.

  “Joseph—”

  The hand I had on him began to change.

  “Stop it!” I ordered the dragon.

  Eye have done nothing!

  Even had I not believed his words, his tone gave no doubt as to his honest answer. Then I lost all care as the transformation spread to my limbs, to my head . . . to my entire body.

  My howl of pain became a dragon’s furious roar. Joseph shrank before me . . . or rather I grew so large so swiftly that he was dwarfed. He appeared as if he didn’t care at all, his attention still on his calculations.

  “Not right,” Barnaby’s son continued. “That would make it do—”

  I couldn’t hear him anymore. Suddenly, I no longer stood in the maze. Instead, I floated above a now-familiar view. Once again, I was high above Feirie, but Feirie in turmoil. The mountains shrank and grew and shrank again like a tide, while the massive forest looked as if it were swiftly shriveling from some intense heat. Mighty oaks curled over like soft flowers under the relentless burn of fire. Their crowns browned and then blackened.

  I could feel the entire realm suffering. I’d never had much sympathy for any of its inhabitants, especially those of the Court, but this was a catastrophe of astounding proportions. Feirie was not a place as huge as the mortal realm; each second meant the eradication of large portions of it.

  This was certainly Holmes’s doing, but I couldn’t sense how it was happening. All I could sense was the raw energies arising wherever some part of Her Lady’s realm collapsed. At the rate it was happening, it wouldn’t take long for Feirie to completely crumble.

  And if that happened, the balance between the two sides of the Gate would collapse, affecting Chicago and beyond.

  I tried to move, not just for the sake of Feirie, but even more so for Claryce. However, no matter how hard I struggled, I remained where I was, hovering over the center of Feirie.

  Give me control, I demanded of the dragon. Give it to me!

  Eye have done nothing! Nothing! This is not me! This is not us, fool of a saint!

  I had no idea what he meant until I tried to delve deeper. Only then did I hear the whispers, the terrified whispers.

  The whispers from Holmes’s tortured victims.

  There was only one reason why I would hear them here in faraway Feirie. That awful conclusion was verified as the dragon body moved of its own accord . . . or rather,
of H. H. Holmes’s accord.

  He was the dragon now . . . and we his helpless captives.

  No, not exactly captives. Holmes didn’t sense us, so meager a part of him we were. Even the ghosts were a stronger piece of him than we were.

  And that made me look again at our own situation. If Holmes hadn’t yet sensed us, that could only be because we were not actually in Feirie but still in his sanctum. We had to find our way back, so to speak. Only then could we hope to do anything more.

  But doing that was turning out to be a lot harder than I could’ve imagined. All my willing didn’t do a damned thing. It took me a moment longer to understand just why. The help I thought I’d be getting from my constant companion was proving to be just the opposite. Instead of trying to escape, he was dwelling in the power Holmes was gathering and trying to find a way to make it his own.

  Give it up! I ordered him. You won’t get it that way. He’s drawing from us as much as he is Feirie!

  That finally seemed to tear him from his desire. With a snarl, he joined me in trying to tear free. I focused our effort on imagining the castle and the location where we’d last been. Unfortunately, now it was my turn to become distracted, because the more I thought about Holmes’s sanctum, the more I thought about the threat facing Claryce. Claudette’s ghost had been yet another reminder of the constant danger to every incarnation. I couldn’t bear that happening to Claryce.

  Nick!

  Barely had I heard her name than suddenly Feirie receded at a rapid pace. The world briefly turned black, then green, then black again.

  A moment later, my head and back collided with something wooden. I knew it was wooden because the loud cracking that accompanied our collision wasn’t my spine . . . something I had heard and felt more than once in the past. At the same time, the surface we struck partially gave way.

  “Nick?”

  I tried to respond to Claryce, but for the moment I didn’t even have the strength to speak. It had little to do with the crash—although that hadn’t helped—but mostly with our shift of perspectives. Matters weren’t helped any by my fear that Holmes’d now knew we were here.