Demon's Daughter (Demon Outlaws)

by Paula Altenburg

  It seemed Mamna was not the only one who had business with the Godseekers this day. She was willing to bet that the saloonkeeper was here on behalf of the Slayer, because as far as she knew, whores did not make house calls to public rooming houses with notoriously thin walls.

  The saloonkeeper and the whore entered the house on the far side of the courtyard.

  Suspicion about the Demon Slayer’s activities had her traversing the uneven cobblestones after them, then pausing to listen at the outer door of the house they had entered. She heard voices inside, but they sounded muffled and far away. Cautiously, she eased open the front door.

  The voices, more distinguishable now, drifted down from the second level and included the higher pitched tones of a woman arguing with someone. Several doors opened and closed, there was movement, then more voices drifted down to her. A flight of stairs facing the entry rose a dozen steps to meet a small landing, then turned to the right and continued upward and out of sight. She stopped at the base of the stairwell, resting one boot on the first rise, and deliberated as to whether or not to proceed. As far as anyone knew, she still ruled Freetown. She could come and go as she pleased and answered to no one. That did not mean someone would not take the opportunity to kill her if it arose, and no one knew she was here.

  But what was the Slayer up to?

  She took another step.

  “There aren’t enough of us,” a man said above her. “It’s too soon.” Another, quieter voice rumbled low in a response she could not quite capture. “The Demon Slayer has made it clear he doesn’t share our beliefs. He’s prepared to fight demons, but not to lead an army against them.” A second, longer pause followed. “If he gives me the amulet I will lead them myself. We serve the goddess, not the Slayer.” Then, “Let me think about it,” and, “Yes, I know time’s running out.”

  She did not recognize the speaker’s voice. It was not that of Fly, the Godseeker who had approached her. As far as she knew, Fly was dead.

  A door clicked open, then footsteps descended the stairs, and she scurried into the parlor where she pressed against the wall beside the door. She watched three people depart—the saloonkeeper, a younger man, and the whore.

  One man remained behind. He turned to go back upstairs.

  She stepped into the hall and pushed back the hood of her cloak so that it draped around her hunched shoulders. “Godseeker. I would like a word with you.”

  He was a tall man, and as handsome as she would expect of a northerner, although his dark blond hair carried more than a hint of gray. A familiar amber stone glinted against the open throat of an unbuttoned white linen shirt, the shirttail untucked from a pair of thigh-hugging, faded blue trousers as if he’d dressed hastily. He wore a shoulder holster with a very expensive pearl-handled pistol.

  His eyes were slate gray and very direct. “Mamna, I assume?”

  Irritation made her sharp. “It would be difficult to assume otherwise, given my appearance. Your name would be…?”

  “Pillar.”

  “Pillar,” she said. “Can we speak in private?”

  He ushered her into the parlor and opened the shutters a crack to allow for more light before closing the door.

  Mamna chose a black hrosshair sofa to sit on, then removed the heavy tan cloak and laid it next to her on the roughly cushioned seat. She had her own pistol in its pocket for protection, and she wanted it close in case she should need it.

  The room possessed faded wallpaper that puckered at the seams and lifted in several places where it joined the ceiling. The woodwork around the long window and door had been painted too many coats of white without proper stripping beforehand. The overall impression was one of clean and tidy neglect.

  “I’ve already met with a Godseeker,” she began, in a preemptive effort to avoid any questions as to why a priestess had seemed so reluctant to meet with the goddesses’ chosen. “His name is Fly. He spoke of an army. Is this correct?”

  Pillar went to stand near the window, his gaze drawn to the courtyard outside as if he waited for something. Or someone.

  “Fly went missing several weeks ago,” he said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Pillar shrugged. “He was premature in discussing an army. Unfortunately, it’s not as well-organized as we’d hoped it to be when this moment arrived.”

  She deliberately misunderstood what moment he meant. “This isn’t the first time the Demon Lord has used fire,” she said. “The other night was a test, nothing more.”

  Pillar made a dismissive gesture with his hand, sounding impatient. At the very least he was distracted, and not as deferential to her as he should be.

  “Not the fire. The goddess’s return. Not all the Godseekers are aware of it yet. Too many of us are spread throughout the northern mountains, and are isolated.”

  “When you say goddess are you referring to the thief from the mountain?” Mamna asked. “The one the Demon Slayer was hired to bring to justice and now refuses to release to me?” She curled her lip in disdain. “She’s no more a goddess than you or I. She’s the demon spawn of a priestess.”

  “I’ve seen her,” Pillar said. “I know a goddess when I see one. Female spawn don’t exist.”

  Mamna pressed her palms flat against the tops of her thighs to resolve any telling movements that might reveal her intentions. Or her lies.

  “How can you be so certain female spawn don’t exist?” she asked. “I agree it’s very unlikely for any spawn to survive beyond childbirth, and those born in mortal form would be an even greater enigma. But do you really think a priestess wouldn’t be made aware of a goddess’s presence? That the goddesses wouldn’t speak to me?”

  Worry lines dragged at Pillar’s brow. Stubbornness remained. “I no longer know for certain what to think, other than that I saw a goddess with my own eyes.”

  “You saw a spawn,” Mamna said. “You have been with a goddess, Pillar. You know what their presence is like, and how it feels to be touched by one. A demon is not so very different. This female spawn will have her father’s immortal presence to her. It’s part of what makes her dangerous, especially to mortal man.”

  Pillar finally gave her his full attention. “The Slayer believes she is special.”

  She kept the excitement from her expression. He had not quite accepted her argument, Mamna thought. Not yet. But he was close.

  “She is special,” she replied, “and the Slayer knows why that is. The Demon Lord himself claims to be her father, which was why the Slayer was hired to bring her to me. I was then to turn her over to the Demon Lord.”

  “If that’s true, why would the Slayer be willing to follow her?”

  Real doubt entered his manner. She could hear it in his voice, and see it in the way the question filled his eyes.

  “Is she beautiful?” Mamna asked.

  Pillar nodded once, although as if reluctant to acknowledge it. “Exceedingly so.”

  “The Slayer is mortal.” She pressed her advantage. “Is it so strange to think he, too, might fall under the spell of a beautiful woman, especially one who is half demon?”

  “What if you’re wrong? What if she really is a goddess, sent by the others to lead the Slayer and the Godseeker army?” Thoughtfulness eased some of the worry lines around his eyes. “Have you seen her? How can you be so certain she’s a demon’s spawn?”

  She was very close to success now. She pretended to examine a tear in the faded wallpaper, as if unwilling to concede he might be correct.

  “No, I haven’t seen her,” she admitted. “But I’m certain if I did, I would know. I served the goddesses.”

  “As did I.” Pillar again looked through the shutter’s slats into the courtyard, lost in thought. Mamna waited, careful not to push, allowing him to come to his own conclusions. “What if you saw her for yourself?”

  “Impossible. The Slayer knows it’s the Demon Lord who wants her, and he made it very clear to me just this morning that he’ll protect her at all co
st, even from the priestesses. It’s unfortunate that he shows so little faith,” she added. “The priestesses serve the goddesses. If he believed in her, he wouldn’t be worried.”

  A few more moments of indecision settled over him before Pillar made up his mind.

  “I can arrange for you to see her,” he said. “If you swear to serve her as a goddess once it’s determined for certain.”

  Mamna smiled. Perhaps all was not yet lost to her. If she could convince the spawn it had been betrayed by the immortals, then it might be persuaded to restore and invoke Mamna’s amulet. If not, then Mamna would kill it and at least have some vengeance on both the Slayer and the Demon Lord.

  “If the Demon Lord has no claim on her, then I will gladly serve this new goddess,” she said.

  …

  Airie helped Sapphire serve coffee to the men who had come to speak with Hunter and Blade.

  She agreed to do this to help Hunter, but she did not like being presented to people as something she was not. Serving them was a silent act of rebellion, to let Hunter know this was a part she played, and that she disapproved of his plan.

  It amused him more than anything. Though he avoided looking in her direction, she could tell by the set of his mouth. It was not as harsh as usual.

  The men sat in half-circles at the round tables they’d drawn together in the saloon, all facing forward so that they could see and hear. She thought there might be fifty men in total, maybe more. Most were Godseekers, but some were locals, according to Sapphire.

  Hunter, Blade, and a Godseeker sat at a table before them. The Godseeker was quite a bit older than Hunter and Blade and seemed to be in charge of the northerners. Pillar, she heard someone call him. Airie remembered him. He was the one who had threatened Hunter.

  The two men appeared to bear each other no ill will over the incident.

  The curious scrutiny of the strangers present left her uncomfortable as she moved in and out of the room, but she wanted to hear what was being planned and so did not rush.

  “The Godseekers have a system for communication set up throughout the city,” Pillar said, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “There are plenty of men who will fight demons if we call them. More will fight if they believe the Demon Slayer does, too.” His eyes slid to Airie, then away, but he made no mention of goddesses.

  “The demons will attack from above, and they’ll use fire,” Hunter added. “Every available man or woman who can use a bow and arrow or sword should be positioned on the rooftops inside the city, and the walls surrounding it. Only the best shots should be using rifles. The chance of ricochet is too high.”

  Pillar agreed. A number of other heads nodded, too. “Those who can carry water for fighting fires should do so. We’ll need access to private wells, including the one in the temple. I can arrange for that.” He exchanged a long look with Hunter. “More rain would be helpful.”

  “I’ll see to that.” Hunter leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs. “We don’t want the demons to accurately guess our numbers. Let them think we’re paralyzed with fear, which is what they’ll expect. They haven’t met with organized resistance in three hundred years. We’ll draw them in as close as possible, then let the sharpshooters take over. Demons are most vulnerable here, here, and here,” he said, indicating points on his body. “That’s where the joints in their bone plating are.”

  “What will you be doing?” someone asked, directing the question at Hunter.

  Airie was curious about that, as well. The way his mouth hardened indicated he was no longer even faintly amused, and that had her worried. So did the way he still refused to look at her, despite her having chosen a position near the center of the room and in his direct line of vision.

  “I intend to challenge the Demon Lord,” Hunter said. “If we take away their leader, they’ll lose any semblance of an organized attack. Demons don’t have much more liking for one another than they do for us, and they don’t fight well together. That’s our real advantage.”

  Her concern had been justified. The walls and the ceiling of the saloon rippled and danced, leaving her dizzy and grasping at the back of a chair for support. Thankfully, the copper tray she carried was empty.

  Hunter had seen her reaction. He partly rose in his chair, caught himself, and shifted the action so as to turn and lean across the table and whisper something to Blade.

  Airie returned to the kitchen behind Sapphire, and with a tinny clatter, tossed the tray on a counter.

  Sapphire turned to her.

  “Pillar, the Godseekers’ leader, would like to speak with you privately,” the blonde girl said. “He said to say you would remember him because you set his boots on fire.” Fair eyebrows lifted in an unspoken query, but she did not ask about it. When Airie did not explain either, she continued. “He says a priestess wishes to join the battle against demons as your servant. What should I tell him?”

  “Do you know the name of this priestess?” Airie asked.

  “No.”

  Loyalty to Hunter warned Airie she should send a refusal. This felt too clandestine. Only the possibility that the Godseeker and this priestess might seek a better solution, one that did not involve him behaving so foolishly, had her agreeing to it instead.

  The goddess had said she would need to earn her place in this world. She would not earn it by pretending to be something she was not, or by bringing death. She did not want anyone to die. But it was Hunter she feared for the most, and she would do what she could in order to protect him.

  Despite her prayers, the goddess remained silent. Speaking with a priestess, one who was willing to help, might give her the guidance she sorely needed right now.

  “Ask the Godseeker when and where we can meet.”

  …

  The city gates remained closed, although a carefully screened few were allowed to pass.

  Demons had not been idle the past few nights, and several settlements near the goddesses’ mountain had suffered heavy losses. Survivors had trickled into the city, seeking protection, and the guards at the gates were not without compassion.

  Therefore, no one paid more than cursory attention to a lone man on foot entering through the city’s gates shortly before sundown. The Demon Lord drew the hood of his oilskin slicker forward, placing his face in shadow.

  Come night, he intended to burn Freetown to the ground. Before he did that, he had to find the spawn. Once he located her and prevented her from calling the goddesses’ rain, he would set the city on fire from the inside.

  As he moved through the streets, the inconsistencies surrounding her continued to eat at him. She was female. She could summon goddess rain. If she were his as well, spawn or not, it meant she was an immortal.

  The Slayer would then have two things that belonged to him. That amulet he wore was the other. The existence of both caused the Demon Lord deep humiliation and pain.

  He had crafted that amulet himself. He had given it to a goddess out of love so she would have added protection against his kind, and in return, she had discarded both the amulet and their child.

  Now, the Slayer used his amulet to slaughter demons, which meant the Demon Lord owned the burden of those deaths. The Slayer would use his daughter against him, too, if given the chance.

  The Demon Lord gravitated toward the city center and was rewarded with bits of conversation overheard in the streets. Mortals were rallying and mounting a defense.

  The Slayer would be part of it. He would lead the Demon Lord to the spawn.

  He found the saloon where they gathered to plan their strategy by following others. He then waited across the street from the saloon in the shadows, his hat pitched over his eyes so his face could not be seen. Only two mortals would recognize him in this form—Mamna and the Slayer. Neither would expect him here.

  The sun set, and the shadows lengthened. Men came and went. The taste of their fear was what demons relished about battling mortals the most, and Freetown was thick w
ith it tonight.

  Suddenly, he straightened. A figure, tall and too slender to be a man, and wrapped to the boot tops in a long, hooded cape, slipped through a gate at the far side of the saloon and glanced furtively up and down the emptying street. She turned to her right and headed in the direction of the city’s outer wall.

  The Demon Lord could not see her face.

  But he did know that whoever she was, she was not mortal.

  …

  Hunter walked the walls of the city, staring at the night sky and waiting for demons, making certain to be seen by everyone who had turned out in defense of Freetown.

  Godseekers had spent the remainder of the day going door to door, spreading a wide net throughout the city in order to recruit as many as possible who were willing to fight.

  The numbers had been both surprising and heartening. The Godseeker, Pillar, had been correct. Word of Airie had spread, and with the Demon Slayer to fight for her, hopes had risen.

  Hunter had not made amends with Airie before he left. He had not liked the way the men in the meeting had watched her—as if she, too, might be for hire—and he had not dealt with it well. Too many things could happen to her without him or Blade there to guard her. But she had promised him she would not leave the city, and he had also asked Ruby to watch over her for him because he did not completely trust that she would be safe.

  Anticipation hummed through him. While he hated demons, and feared for Airie, he loved what fighting them did to him. He felt more alive. Invincible.

  If he killed the Demon Lord, the remainder would have no leader, and he could hunt them to extinction.

  He refused to think of what might happen if he did not win.

  “Make sure the archers and the sharpshooters take careful aim,” Hunter said to the captain of the guards. “I’d hate to be shot by accident.”

  The captain was a heavyset man, with a broad face and thick, fierce black eyebrows that met across the bridge of his nose. He was not in favor of Hunter’s plan. “The archers aren’t the ones you need to be worrying about.”