The Demon Hunters

by Linda Welch

  His demon eyes flashed and a tiny smile touched the corners of his mouth. He stepped up to me, put his hands to my waist and pulled me to him. “You’re one smart lady, Tiff.”

  Holding the mop and bucket out from my sides, I relaxed against him. They did do something to stop him. They wanted me kept in the dark. I wished I knew about what, but I pushed the question to the back of my mind. Everything was all right again. Royal wasn’t deliberately shutting me out.

  Well no, everything was not right again. Gia Sabato and Daven Clare tampered with Royal, just as Gia did with me, and he couldn’t tell me how or why. I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration. Damn them, they would not get away with this! They couldn’t be allowed to just waltz about messing with a person’s mind!

  He pushed back from me. “I have to be going.”

  I made my voice light. “You don’t want to mosey on upstairs and check out my etchings?”

  His hands came up to my shoulders, but dropped before they got there. “More than anything, but I have to be somewhere else. You don’t know how sorry I am.”

  “This stinks, Royal.”

  Saying nothing, he reached across the space which separated us and cupped my cheek in his hand.

  I leaned into his palm. “Why did you come, anyway? Did you need something?”

  “Only you.” His palm drifted over my hair. “Just checking up on you.”

  I calmed my features. Right then I had nothing in mind, but I’d come up with some way to set him free. But if he so much as suspected I meant to take on Gia and Daven, he would tie me up and stow me away someplace. “I want to meet with our clients again. Can you arrange it?”

  He looked a question at me.

  I looked at the floor. Out the corner of my eye, I spotted a shard of pottery under the bottom edge of a cabinet.

  “Tiff, don’t do anything foolish.”

  I gave him a little smile. “Now why would you think that? I’m not stupid.”

  He eyed me doubtfully. “Honest, Royal, they’re too scary, I am not gonna mess with them,” I said seriously.

  How could I stand there and lie to his face? It’s called a white lie, when a lie is a better alternative than the truth for all concerned. Well, it’s what I told myself, and I almost believed me.

  ***

  “Now why would you think that?” Jack mimicked after Royal left. “Tiffany Banks, do anything foolish? Never in a million years.”

  I scrabbled on the floor, finding a shard of bowl here, another there. Some were tiny and I didn’t want Mac to find them. If they had a morsel of cookie dough attached, down his throat they would go.

  I wished Jack would leave me alone. I was not in the mood for his sarcasm.

  There should be a way to chastise spectral roommates. I can’t throw something at them, or threaten them with violence. I can only use words, but I don’t have their talent for sarcasm. So most of the time I don’t bother.

  I climbed to my feet and tossed a handful of broken crockery in the bin. And it was my best mixing bowl! Actually, it was my only mixing bowl.

  I sat at the table, trying not to think. The oven-ready signal pinged triumphantly. “Not today, bud. No cookies for you,” I told it. I would not have been surprised to hear a regretful sigh echo from the chamber. Poor thing hardly got used.

  Elizabeth’s journal beckoned. I turned to the next page

  “I have never before felt Air that seems to have a physical Weight. I wish I were too young to wear these confining Gowns or brave enough to dare Convention and dress like the Native Women. Nester Carlin defies convention and in Daddys opinion defies the entire Western Civilization by discarding her Corset and Stockings and most of her Petticoats. I think she looks wanton as she wanders Nagka with Skirts flapping against her Legs and clearly defining their outline. Her Hair is loose and tangled down her back. Something is Wrong with Nester. She goes about with a strangely dazed or vacant expression and often does not hear what is said to her. At night if I wake her Bed is more often than not empty. Daddy can not bring himself to address Nester concerning something of such intimacy and it is not my place to do so. I hope she is not sickening with one of those horrid Asian viruses. I admit her behaviour scares me yet she seemed a decent sort back in the old GB.”

  Elizabeth went on to describe some of the palaces and the day-to-day life of the expedition. But her entry on the following day began with a heading.

  “Today I had a terrifying Adventure.

  “I went to find Jimmy in building Number 15 which is a large Palace against the southerly Wall. Jimmy was there with Mister Trencham and Mister Beecher. Mister Trencham had finished with the horsehair brush and was blotting a Pillar to remove as much loose dust from the etchings as possible while at his side Mister Beecher pored over a cleaned section with a large magnifying glass. Jimmy was half way up a Ladder propped against the east Wall examining a small portion of the huge Relief which covers every wall.

  “I stood in the centre of the Room on a part of the floor sunken slightly below the rest and wondered if it had a purpose. The Floor was interesting with each large Tile carved in low relief with spiral and square patterns. Mister Beecher asked for his leather Satchel and I took it to him.“They were animated because the engravings in the Palace seem to portray scenes from daily life in Nagka the only ones to do so in the entire City. Mister Beecher said they are not as old as those decorating Nagkas other Buildings and inner Walls.

  “Mister Trencham became very excited. Upon closer inspection we saw that the scene he studied is of Nagka at night. Figures of all sizes stand in open Doorways in the Towers looking out through Windows while below much smaller Figures run to and fro. Many cover their faces with their hands. I thought the smaller People looked frightened. Mister Trencham pointed out that the tall Figures have long teeth and long arms and wide shoulders and their eyes are narrow slits. He pointed to the depiction and said they could be evil Spirits. Burmese mythology teems with evil Spirits.

  “I returned to the floor to study the Tiles and one moved under my foot. I saw a gleam in the gap between tiles. They said I must move away from there. Mister Beecher pointed to what looked like a large square Grid held against the ceiling. Before I could move all the Tiles jiggled and tipped up on their edges and several dropped down and many cracked into separate pieces. I put out my Arms for balance trying to decide in which direction I should jump. But the entire Floor dropped away and I fell in a hail of tiles and broken fragments too unexpectedly and too fast to scream. I fell forever before I hit some Water and plunged under.

  “It was not deep but I landed in the Water with a terrible jolt. I tried to protect my head from the Masonry still falling on and around me. The Tiles were so heavy they sank to the bottom and stayed there and I was amazed when none hit me. A whole tile would have brained me and a fragment would have inflicted a serious Wound.

  “I was at the bottom of a square Well lined with brick. The walls bristled with small wooden pegs. High above me the Men peered down with Faces drained of colour. Every tile in the floor had given way. Jimmy asked if I were all right and I reassured him.

  “The air was dank and the walls slick with moisture which dripped monotonously. I was very cold. Mister Beecher told me to be brave. Daddy came to the edge of the Well and he was very upset. I hoped he would not be angry with the Men. He said he would send down a Rope to me but at that moment I heard a very loud grinding rumbling noise. Jimmy looked upward and swore and told everybody to get back. The Grid structure came hurtling down from the ceiling. Miraculously the Grating stopped with a terrible sound as the edges hit the opening above me.

  “Jimmy felt the Grid and said it was made of very heavy Wood and rested on a rim around the Well. They tried to lift it with all four grasping and pulling upward together but it was too heavy. Jimmy left to get chains with which raise it. But then the Grating moved as the ancient sandstone crumbled under its weight.

  “It was a Trap. When a person stepped on the Tiles they
would give way and then the Grid come down to hold them in the Well. Daddy raged at everyone and I was very frightened. A person falling in would probably over time become so weakened they would collapse and drown. I thought that would be my fate if the Grid fell down to pin me beneath the Water. I looked around for an exit and saw a circular opening in the side of the Wall. Daddy said it would be where the Water came in to fill the well. But I could not climb up the slick brick facing. Daddy lost control and called for an Ax but Jimmy did not think that would chop through the Wood. He suggested they lower a Rope and pull me up to the hole.

  “And then I saw a Face on the other side of the Well. And then shoulders and arms and a chest as a Man rose from the water. He was my Man from the Palace.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The phone rang. For a few seconds my gaze lingered on the pages of Elizabeth’s book. I was there, with her in the dank well, and I didn’t want to leave.

  Royal’s voice said, “Tiff? Are you there?”

  I twisted in the kitchen chair and reached for the phone. “Yeah?”

  “Our clients are here. You want to come over?”

  A shiver ran over me, but I clenched my teeth on it. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  I heard a brief, mumbled conversation in the background, then Royal said, “Get here as soon as you can.”

  “Half an hour,” I reiterated and put the phone down.

  I closed Elizabeth’s diary and stood over it, staring at the cover. Was any of it supposed to mean something to me, give me a message which so far I couldn’t decipher? A young girl traveled to Burma with an archeological expedition. They went to some old city, which one of the party discovered a few years prior. Elizabeth spotted a stranger in one of the buildings, but he disappeared. Elizabeth fell in a trap. The message, if one existed, must be further on in the book, because I didn’t see it so far. It could be anything: the people, the events, the location. The book must have come to Banks and Mortensen for a reason. People don’t choose names at random from a phone directory or mailing list, stuff Victorian journals in envelopes and send them off.

  Or maybe it came to me by mistake; the sender muddled up the name of the agency for which it was intended. If they’d bothered to put their return address on the envelope, I could have contacted them.

  I went back to the phone and dialed Lynn’s number. She picked up almost immediately.

  “Hi, Lynn. I need your take on something,” I said without preamble.

  Lynn is used to my abrupt telephone manner. “Go ahead.”

  How should I go about this? “Suppose you meet two people who look kind of like demons minus the glittery bits and sharp teeth. They have superlative hearing, like demons, and they can get inside your mind and twist your thoughts without you knowing.”

  A brief silence, then, “Anything else?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “You told me demons can make us see them as human.”

  “Um. Yeah.”

  “Then I think you know what they are, Tiffany.”

  Gee, thanks. And she had to call me Tiffany to boot.

  Her tone came across as tight. “Are they in Clarion? Whatever they are, you should stay away from them.”

  “Yeah, well they’re clients.”

  More silence. Then, “Tiffany, you be very, very, careful.”

  “Always,” I said, and hung up before she could call me out on that.

  I tucked the journal among the telephone directories and stood at the table, gnawing on my lower lip, thinking. Gia and Daven had to be Gelpha who made me see them as human. No other explanation.

  “At times like this, I regret being dead,” Jack said. “What I wouldn’t give to go with you.”

  “What I wouldn’t give to go anywhere!” from Mel. “And I always regret being dead.”

  I paused on my way out the kitchen. “You must do. I’m sorry.”

  “Aw, don’t feel bad, honey. It’s not your fault. We’re lucky to be here with you. I can’t imagine what it’s like for all the ones who are alone.”

  “Still. . . .” I peered into her eyes. “Why don’t you and Jack go on your way, Mel? Your killer is long dead, there’s nothing to keep you here.”

  “The same reason you didn’t sell the house and move on when you found us,” Jack said.

  “This is our home. You’re our family. We belong,” Mel said. “And. . . . And we don’t know what waits on the other side.”

  ***

  I eyed Gia Sabato and Daven Clare across the leather trunk. Royal sat on the couch facing them. He gestured at the space next to him, expecting me to join him.

  “Would you like to make yourself comfortable?” Gia asked.

  “I’m fine right here.” I glared down at the exquisite black-haired woman in her pale turquoise silks and matching diamond and turquoise jewelry. I bet every one of those stones was real.

  She gave a long-suffering sigh. “As you wish.”

  I pulled my Ruger.

  I rehearsed this driving over. Except, now I faced them and they gave me their full attention, staring at me through narrowed eyes, it no longer seemed like a good idea. I forced out the words, trying not to sound like I strangled on them. “I know Royal is fast and I get the feeling you have a few tricks up your sleeve, but I have a firm grasp of my weapon, and I don’t think anyone can take it away from me.”

  “Tiff, you - ”

  “Shut up, Royal.”

  Gia now looked totally at ease, not as if an angry woman pointed a gun at her. She arched one delicate eyebrow. “I don’t like threats, Miss Banks, and I suggest you explain yourself before you get hurt.”

  Hurt? Gulp. Sweat trickled from my hairline down my neck. “Whatever you did to Royal, you undo it right now.”

  I settled into my stance and steadied my aim. If she came at me, I’d try for a disabling wound, but a person is nothing like a target at a shooting range and your own humanity knows. Leastways, mine does. The last time I shot someone, I aimed for the shoulder and hit him just above the clavicle.

  Gia and Daven stared at me, and maybe I imagined something inhuman in their gaze. My palms started to slick over. “I want to know what’s going on, what’s really going on.” I shifted my gaze to Daven. “Where did you and Royal go, and why? And what did you do to him?”

  “Do to him?” he drawled, looking relaxed and amused.

  I made an annoyed noise in my throat as I looked over at Gia. “I’m not stupid. I know you did something to make me agree to see you at my house. I know you did something to keep Royal quiet.”

  Gia glanced over at Royal. “You’re right, she is smart.”

  Daven and Gia exchanged meaningful looks. The sweat dribbling down my spine made my back itch something awful.

  “Miss Banks,” Daven began. “May I call you Tiffany?”

  “Only if you want my foot up your ass.”

  Gia’s eyes narrowed like an angry cat, or like Mac in one of his moods.

  “It’s Tiff,” Royal said quickly with a hint of desperation in his voice. “She prefers Tiff.”

  Gia stared up at me. “Look at me, Tiff.”

  I looked all right, but not in her eyes. You don’t look directly in a demon’s eyes unless you want to fall under their spell. I already made that mistake once.

  But then she stood right in front of me, her face just inches from mine. I didn’t have time to wonder how she got there, or remind myself demons can move real fast. The gun went from my hand, I didn’t feel it leave. Gia shoved my shoulder. My feet left the floor, I flew backwards. The backs of my knees hit the back of the couch and the rest of me went over. My head swung down and hit the floor, and I followed it down.

  Dazed and disoriented, I fixated on a dust bunny which had escaped Royal’s cleaning regime and hid out under the couch. So he wasn’t Mr. Perfect Housekeeper after all.

  But a pair of fashionably clad feet distracted me as they tapped over the floor and stopped inches from my face. “I told you,
I don’t like threats,” Gia said. Her voice sounded muffled, like she spoke underwater. Her hand clamped on my braid.

  I grabbed her ankles and bit one, though I didn’t break the skin. Not an elegant fighting technique, but I don’t have a technique. I use what’s available, kind of like an inept Jackie Chan.

  Gia yelped and let me go. She yelled something unintelligible. I couldn’t hear properly, like I wore a muffler around my head. Had my eardrums burst? Fingers like talons dug in my shoulders and hoisted me up. I opened my mouth so I didn’t take a piece of Gia with me.

  I dangled from her hands with my toes off the floor. Gia didn’t look attractive now, she looked ugly, her face twisted, her eyes black pools too close to mine.

  I took hold of her upper arms and head-butted her in the face.

  I don’t remember flying across the room to the far wall. I must have flown, because I hit the medium-size Christmas tree a foot or so above the floor. At least the tree broke my fall. I lay still, wheezing, tangled in merrily blinking, multicolored lights with the silvery ultra-thin shards of shattered glass ornaments glittering all over me. Gia stalked over. My head should have broken her nose, but I couldn’t see I did more than make her madder.

  I gulped in air and tried to pull myself together, literally and figuratively. I struggled to break free and almost succeeded in bringing the tree down on top of me.

  “Oops!” I ground out through my teeth. “Clumsy ol’ me.”

  I guess Gia didn’t appreciate my humor. She bent, snarling, her mouth twisted. Her hands fastened on the neck of my T-shirt and hauled me upright. The lights and tree came with me, the tree toppling to lie along my back, artificial branches digging through my shirt into my skin.

  Royal had not moved, he still sat on the couch, hunched over, hands fisted, shaking from head to toe. Daven was on his feet, obviously yelling, but I couldn’t hear him either. Gia tugged me to her, her face so close I felt her breath on me.

  My own muted hearing gave me an idea, but first I punched her in the chest. Only a woman knows how painful a blow to the breast is. That took her back a step. Then I swung my arms up, elbows bent, and clapped my palms over her ears, jerked them away hard and fast. Do it right and you can rupture the eardrums. I practiced on a dummy in self-defense classes, but never on a person, so didn’t trust its effectiveness. But it must have caused her some discomfort because she gasped, let go of me and backpedalled.