Black City Demon

by Richard A. Knaak

  “You’re joking.”

  “No.”

  She bit her lip, and the two of us stepped past the body to where Kravayik lay . . . or should’ve.

  “He was here,” Claryce insisted. “He was still breathing last I saw him, but I don’t see how he could’ve had the strength to even move an inch!”

  My sympathy for him faded a bit with this abandonment. For someone who’d cast off the evils of Feirie for the Church years ago, he’d still been pretty damn spry.

  “I know how they felt about one another,” Claryce murmured as she leaned close for both warmth and support. “Claudette and Kravayik. She was me . . . but she wasn’t.” To my surprise and pleasure, Claryce suddenly gripped my chin, turned me toward her, and kissed me. After she stepped back again, she added, “It just happened between them. I think because she saw his dedication to you. That started it, anyway.”

  “Claryce, you don’t have to—”

  “Kravayik had gone in and disrupted the array. Holmes didn’t have Joseph then, and his own calculations of the wake’s waning proved inaccurate. He still might’ve been able to kill Kravayik, but Claudette, who’d followed, interfered. Holmes cut her throat, then had to flee Chicago without being able to complete his work.”

  She didn’t have to explain more. Kravayik’d arranged her body out of love and respect, and then, when no one else had claimed it, he’d come forward as a servant of the Church. I doubted it’d been easy for him to see her body again and know she’d died for his sake. I knew that guilt all too well.

  Fetch, once again a hound of sorts, cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Master Nicholas and Mistress Claryce, but if I may suggest, we’d better scram before the coppers get here. . . .”

  “As soon as we take care of one thing.” The twins’d disappeared along with the sanctum, which meant that it’d only take long enough to remove Lysander’s body before we ourselves left.

  Trouble was, when we turned around . . . his body was gone as well.

  “I hate elves,” I growled. Things from Feirie had a tendency to fade after a time if left out—which meant even the mutilated corpses of Holmes’s elven victims would soon simply cease to be. That might leave some puzzled folks at the police department, but in a city where evidence of all sorts vanished on a regular basis, someone’d soon chalk it up to one of the gangs.

  Then I recalled the other member of our little group. Lon. There was no hint of him anywhere. He’d been pretty near where Lysander’s body’d been. I put two and two together and got a number I didn’t like, but knew I had to leave the matter of the Feir’hr Sein and his mistress for later. With Holmes gone, I suspected that Feirie’d already begun mending. It was resilient like that, not that it deserved to be so.

  I suddenly recalled the bit of Lysander’s blood Her Lady’d given me. I hadn’t had a chance to use it, but I wondered if it’d help me locate Lon once things settled down. With this ended, I didn’t want him wandering about Chicago wearing the corpse of a dead elf noble. That was even too much for this city.

  We found our way down just as the sirens became deafening. I spotted the Wills and pointed. “Claryce, you and Fetch take Joseph—damn it!” Joseph’d obediently followed us down, but now, like Lon, he was gone. Unlike Lon, I couldn’t just leave it. “Claryce, the two of you go on. I’ll deal with Joseph.”

  “Nick, we can’t—”

  “Don’t argue. Go!”

  She obeyed, albeit reluctantly. Fetch trotted after.

  “You smell him?” I asked the dragon.

  We inhaled through our nose. He is around the back of the building from which we came . . . Eye think. . . .

  I could’ve let Fetch sniff for him, but then Claryce would’ve stayed. Following the dragon’s suggestion, I hurried around the corner. The last time I’d been here, I’d ended up being confronted by a couple of Holmes’s human pawns, one of whom Lon had taken.

  This time, I ended up facing Kravayik.

  You did not ask about this one. . . .

  I saved my anger at the dragon for later. Kravayik didn’t look good. He was as pale as ice and panting hard. There was no sign of Joseph.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “Master N-Nicholas?”

  “Joseph. Barnaby’s son. You know him very well. You were there six years ago, too.”

  “I-I have not seen him.” He clutched his side near the ribs. “I have been attempting to atone.” He drew in a breath, which clearly pained him. “Master Nicholas. It started out as an attempt to help save you from her dying again. I thought that if I kept her from your knowledge, she’d escape. I was wrong. Instead, I became her curse even as she became my salvation.”

  Somewhere on the other side of the building, the screech of tires and the roar of motors signaled the arrival of the cops. “Never mind that now. What do you mean you’ve been trying to atone? What’d you do?”

  “They need . . . they need a murderer. A reason for all the deaths. I have arranged one of the dead . . . hoods, I believe Fetch calls them . . . to take the rap.”

  “‘The rap’? You’ve been around Fetch too much, all right. Where?”

  He pointed on the side of the block farthest from where the cops were. “He was closest to the Beast’s general description. I do not think that the police have actually seen the Beast, so it should work.”

  “I can appreciate what you’ve done, but—”

  I swore. In the two seconds I’d looked away, Kravayik’d run off.

  Did I mention I hate elves?

  The dragon and I tried to sniff out Joseph one more time, but there was no hint. I decided to vanish like everyone else. Cortez had his murderer, slain, I’d expect to hear, in a gangland hit. I trusted Kravayik’s thoroughness, if nothing else anymore. We’d be talking soon enough. He knew that just as well as I.

  The moon . . . which was not full now . . . lit up the area fairly well, but I made use of the dragon’s gaze all the way. I slipped back around to the far side of the building. I caught a glimpse of the cops paused down the street, where the Feir’hr Sein had left a trail of bodies. He’d actually done me a favor, giving me a chance to reach the Packard while they were occupied.

  There was no sign of Cortez. At least, no sign until I got to the Packard.

  “Nick Medea . . . we sure do meet in the funniest places at the funniest times, you know?”

  I turned to find him leaning against the wall of the nearest building. He’d chosen a spot out of the wind, but clearly he was cold despite his thick coat. As usual, an unlit Lucky dangled from the side of his mouth. A single street lamp not too far away gave him just enough light to see me . . . but not close enough to see my eyes change to normal.

  “Cortez.” I debated my options. He had to be suspicious.

  “I got questions. I do,” he commented as he walked toward me. “One of those is that I wonder if you know if our friend Dr. Bond is part of all that?”

  “Could be. I’d think he’d have connections to the gangs.”

  “Yeah, makes sense. Someone phoned and said he’d seen someone like Bond around here, and then I get a call that some cars were headed down here because of gunfire.” Cortez tugged on the cigarette. “I came here separately and drove past what I thought was your heap.”

  “I was here—”

  Cortez shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Ghosts always show up at night. That’s why you’re here now, am I right?” After I nodded, he continued, “You know, my Maria, she said a special prayer for you this morning. She doesn’t do that often, and she didn’t explain to me why. She’s like that. Finds people she thinks really need prayer. You must really need some prayer, Nick Medea.”

  He had no idea how much he needed prayers himself. If he pressed, I’d have to do something. I didn’t know what, although the dragon was giving me a few visual suggestions I had no intention of following through on.

  “You know,” he went on, “if we find Dr. Bond, dead or alive, that’d make a lot of folks happy, wh
ich’d make me happy—”

  At that moment, a horn honked from the direction of the police cars. Cortez tossed his cigarette in the snow.

  “Told them to honk if they found something important, like maybe Dr. Bond. You think they found him, Nick Medea?”

  “I hope so. He needs to face justice, one way or another.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I think. I’ll be talking with you.”

  He headed off in another direction where I assumed his car awaited. I quickly climbed into the Packard and got it going. I wasn’t certain what’d just happened or whether I owed Cortez or he owed me, but I did know that I owed his Maria a lot for those prayers.

  Those apparently powerful prayers.

  Claryce and Fetch made it back to her apartment just fine. Fetch waited with her until I showed up. He looked extremely anxious to rush off, and I remembered that he still had a refugee from Feirie on his paws. He seemed very protective of this particular refugee, which made me think I’d have to keep an eye on both of them.

  Nothing was ever simple.

  I made a belated call to Father Jonathan as soon as I could and wasn’t surprised when he hadn’t seen any more signs of his ghostly visitor. Not only had Diocles done as I’d asked and stayed as far away as he could from the priest, but now that the wake had passed, I suspected that things would be back to normal . . . or as normal as they could be.

  Claryce and I headed over to Provident first thing we could the next day. I didn’t like having to tell Barnaby I’d lost his son somewhere, but thought maybe he’d have some notion as to where Joseph’d gone. We’d checked the house but found nothing. I’d then gone to “Des’s” home and found that empty, too. I would’ve preferred to wrap things up nicely by dealing with Barnaby’s good “friend,” but from the haste which with the imposter Des had clearly fled, he was far, far away by now. It wasn’t the first time that sort of thing had happened. Sometimes they were smart and never came back; sometimes they couldn’t help themselves. We’d have to wait and see.

  Thankfully, it was Fremd’s day off. Barnaby was alone. He looked battered, but on his way to mending. We exchanged the usual pleasantries, and then he told us what he could of events. There wasn’t much he could add. Mostly he remembered unexpectedly coming face-to-face with one of the twins, who was in the process of guiding Joseph out of his room. Then, someone behind Barnaby . . . someone who hadn’t been there a moment before . . . beat him hard on the back of his skull. After that, there’d only been oblivion.

  I was glad about that. Judging by his condition when we’d found him, he’d been worked over fairly hard. It’d been a good thing he’d not felt most of it.

  Still, throughout our conversation, it was clear that there was only one thing truly on his mind . . . and mine.

  “Nick. About Joseph . . .”

  “I don’t know where he is. I’ve got some ideas, but don’t worry, I’ll get him back for you—”

  He gave me a peculiar look. “What are you talking about? I just talked to Dunning before you arrived! He’s back there alive and well, brought by a friend of yours. A Negro, they said. Michael. The nurse couldn’t recall his last name.”

  Claryce was good enough not to make a sound. I just nodded and replied, “Michael’s trustworthy. So Joseph’s safe and sound in Dunning. You’re going to keep him in there, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. It’s better. I thought he’d be secure with me, but then all that happened. . . .”

  At that point, I explained to him about “Des.” Barnaby glowered. He wasn’t a man who made friends easily, but when he did, he was very loyal to them.

  “A fool I am.”

  “This was planned over the span of thirty years,” Claryce offered sympathetically.

  “I suppose that’s something.” Barnaby grunted. “But the Beast is dead this time, isn’t he?”

  “He’s faced his proper justice.” I didn’t add anything further. A long time ago, Barnaby and I had agreed that it was best he knew as little as necessary.

  “Good riddance.” His eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

  We took that as our cue. I left a note with Bertha informing Dr. Fremd how I’d be taking care of all costs, and then we drove off.

  “We need to make one more stop, if you don’t mind, Nick.”

  I slowed the Packard. “Claryce . . .”

  “I want to go there. I owe her that.”

  So we drove to Saint Boniface.

  There was no one around . . . including Diocles. I led her toward the grave, at the same time making certain we avoided the one where Holmes as Bond had been buried. No need for reminders.

  We made a brief pause at Clarissa’s site. Claryce smiled sadly at me, but said nothing. She knew what’d happened to me back then and understood how much guilt I still felt for not being able to save Clarissa. After crossing herself, she moved on.

  I brought her in front of Claudette’s grave. Claryce knelt and gently touched the stone. “When we were together, I could feel how much she was me . . . but she was also herself. I suppose the others were as well, but with her, I felt it so deeply. We were one, but we were still two.”

  I understood what she meant. I’d always just assumed that each incarnation’d been the same soul starting over in a new body, but at least for her, things were much more complicated. Each personality had its separate essence, almost a second soul. I wasn’t sure how that squared with Heaven, but to me it verified what I’d seen in Claryce. Yes, she’d been Cleolinda and all the rest, but she was also very much herself.

  She had no idea, but that knowledge relieved me. More than ever, I knew what drew me to Claryce was as much Claryce as any link she had with those before her.

  Then, I realized we were no longer alone. At the same stone where I’d last seen him was Young Michael. He peered down at the grave before him, then, seemingly aware I’d just noticed him, looked up at me.

  There was no pleasure in his expression, only something I thought might be regret. He tipped his hat at me, almost as if in salute.

  I must’ve made a sound . . . probably a growl . . . because Claryce suddenly said, “What is it, Nick?”

  I looked down at her, silently berated myself for doing so, and immediately looked back at Michael.

  Yep. He was gone, too.

  Claryce put a hand on my arm. I realized I’d gone from growling to hissing. Hissing like my constant companion, who at the moment shared my frustration.

  Eye will burn that one someday, he muttered. Eye will . . .

  “Nick! Are you all right? Is he trying to get out?”

  I shook my head. My anger began to dissipate. “No. Just a little disagreement between us. It was nothing.”

  “Nothing? Hmm.” Her hand suddenly tightened. “That reminds me. Nick. That grave . . .”

  I cursed Michael again. Thanks to him, she’d just noticed Holmes’s/Bond’s grave.

  But I was wrong. Instead, she bent by another.

  “No, not quite the same. With elves, ghosts, and such, I think I’m becoming paranoid about everything now.”

  “That doesn’t sound paranoid. That sounds sensible.”

  Claryce straightened again. She grimaced. “Sensible? I see some scrollwork on a tombstone and think it’s the same as that tattoo I saw on the neck of one of those ghoulish twins.”

  “Tattoo?”

  “It was so unique, I couldn’t help remembering it.” She took my arm in a more comfortable way. “A stylized dragon head with a curled tail around it. At the time, I wondered if it was some magical ward or something.”

  “Possibly,” I answered neutrally.

  “Doesn’t matter anymore, I guess.” Claryce shivered. “We can go now. I’m starting to freeze.”

  “We’ll get some coffee first thing.”

  “Just so long as it’s not that tar you drink. I want to warm up, not burn a hole through my stomach.”

  I smiled back at her joke. I was going to do my best to at least enjoy one day with
her before I let the Gate and my curse take over my existence again. Granted, it was going to be a lot harder to enjoy even this short moment, no thanks to Michael. He’d drawn my attention at that moment to get Claryce to notice what she had. For her, it’d just been a vague resemblance to something odd she’d seen before, but to me it was a damned warning.

  I hadn’t seen the tattoo, but her description had been enough. I’d seen the dragon head with the tail circling it before. Of course, that’d been sixteen centuries ago, but one doesn’t forget one of the last things one sees before being beheaded. Nor could I ever forget what it’d stood for.

  A dragon head circled by a tail. It’d become his symbol in one form or another. His take on what some called a Dacian Dragon . . . to mark the land responsible for his vile birth.

  His symbol.

  Galerius’s.

  It could’ve just been coincidence, a mark that happened to resemble the emblem. It was entirely possible.

  The dragon hissed loudly in my head.

  We do not believe in coincidence. . . .

  “No,” I whispered so lightly Claryce couldn’t possibly hear. “No . . . we don’t.”

  I held Claryce tighter as we walked.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As usual, thanks to my editor, Rene Sears, and the rest of the Pyr gang—Sheila Stewart and Jeffrey Curry for their copyedits, Jackie Nasso Cooke for her cover design, and Jake Bonar, my publicist—for helping put this new story together into a real book. Thanks also to all the elements and history of Chicago for helping to add the city, a truly essential character, to Nick’s world.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Richard A. Knaak is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of The Legend of Huma, WOW: Wolfheart, and some fifty novels and numerous shorter pieces. He is best known for his work in such shared worlds as Dragonlance, World of Warcraft, Diablo, Pathfinder, Conan, and more, plus his own stories, especially his popular Dragonrealm series. He has scripted comics, mangas, and more, and his work has been published worldwide.

  Recent works include not only Black City Saint—first in this series—but Reaper’s Eye for Pathfinder, a reissue of his urban fantasy, King of the Grey, and The Horned Blade for the Dragonrealm. Forthcoming releases include Cut from the Same Shadow & Other Tales (a Dragonrealm novella collection), Knight of the Frost (the first in a new Dragonrealm trilogy), and the next installment in Nick’s saga. In addition to those, he is also involved in other projects to be announced. He splits his time between Chicago and northwest Arkansas.