by John Corwin
"Ansel Moore, the Arcnologist." Grint spat the last word as if it were a curse. "You will stay out of this healing ward unless you're dying. You will have nothing to do with this investigation, or I will have you expelled." She leaned into my face. "Understand?"
Onion breath hit my face and nearly made my eyes water. I flinched back from the twofold horror of her face and odor and nodded. "Yes, Minister."
Grint moved her arm. "Very well. You may go."
We wasted no time fleeing the healing ward and kept running until we reached the broom closet.
"Wow." Max shivered. "I met Minister Grint two years ago and she seemed awfully nice." He plucked his broom from a rack. "Kind of grandmotherly and not such a b—"
"Maxwell!" Ambria said. "Don't you dare."
"I was going to say bossy woman." He stuck out his tongue.
"People change." I grabbed my broom and went back into the hallway. "Then again, Percival might have just upset her. He's not very pleasant either."
"True." Ambria bit her lower lip and looked down the hall. "Speaking of the investigation, I think I know where to find a complete book of lower demon spawn."
I could think of only one place. "In Moore's vault."
"Yes, the demonomicon of Emily Glass."
I fished my phone from a pocket and scrolled through the apps. "Actually, Ansel loaded that onto my phone when I first met him."
"I looked at that one," Ambria said. "It's abridged. I saw a full copy in the vault not long ago."
"I thought we weren't supposed to investigate," Max said.
I grunted. "Ansel might not be the most likeable, person, but if we can help him recover in any way, I'm for it."
Ambria patted his shoulder. "What Minister Grint doesn't know won't hurt her."
Max groaned.
We flew our brooms to Moore Keep and went in through the main entrance. A few twists and turns later, we entered a gallery of paintings documenting important historical events in Arcane history. Serpus Mandracorn had used magical brushes to paint everything in incredible detail, including a door that looked as if it actually worked. A large painting of Daelissa delivering the deathblow to Jeremiah Conroy hung near the fake door. I pulled it loose to reveal another painting hiding behind it.
Three circles intersected and inside that juxtaposition stood a tree. The image seemed to hang off the wall right in front of my eyes. I plucked it and a copy of it manifested in my hand, no larger than a pendant. Max hung the decoy painting and we went to the fake door. I pressed the symbol into a blank circle, and the painted door jumped off the canvas into something real.
I clicked the handle and the door opened into darkness. As we stepped inside, glowballs flickered on overhead, lines and lines of them stretching down aisles so long it would take hours to traverse just one by foot. I closed the door behind us, and we climbed on our brooms.
"Which way?" I asked.
Ambria set off for the G section of shelves and took a hard left. A couple hundred yards down, she stopped in front of an odd collection of statues, busts, jewelry, and other trinkets, most encased in crystalline material we'd discovered was more for our protection than the preservation of the objects within.
Max flinched and nearly fell off his broom. I drifted past the statue of a howling man and gasped. Someone had peeled the face off a monkey and animated it. Its mouth stretched open over and over again in silent screams.
"Must be the cursed section." Max guided his broom far from the monkey face.
Indeed, the section was filled with objects from Custodian investigations led by Emily Glass, the famed demon hunter. I could only imagine the terrifying stories behind many of these objects. Ambria glided a few feet down and hovered up to a higher shelf.
"Here it is." She grabbed a thick black tome inscribed with a golden eye on the front. "If there's anything to find, it'll be in here."
Max looked warily at our foreboding surroundings. "Are you sure that book isn't cursed?"
Ambria rolled her eyes. "Why would Emily curse her own book, Max?"
"I don't know." He shuddered. "Maybe something rubbed off from one of the other cursed objects here."
Ambria pshawed. "Curses aren't contagious."
"They are if they're designed to be," I reminded her. "Let's find a table not in this section."
"Amen to that." Max wasted no time speeding toward the end of the aisle and a seating area there.
Ambria set down the book and opened it to the table of contents. The first section described various demon types and attributes. The second contained names and patterns for hundreds of demons. Patterns for powerful demons were so intricate, I could barely make out the separate lines.
Ambria tilted her head and looked sideways at the writing on the page. "Is the ink moving or is it just me?"
"I thought I was just seeing things." It seemed the longer I stared at a page, the more the ink seemed to squirm and flow.
"Ooh, magical ink." Max went back to the table of contents and tapped a finger on the section titled, Lesser Demon Spawn. The pages flipped themselves to the section.
"Wow!" Ambria traced her finger on the page. "Why doesn't it flip pages when I touch it?"
"Just like a spell, you need intent," Max said
"Does it allow editing?" I asked.
Max held up the pages and looked on the inside of the cover where a red star symbol glowed. "It does, but this security charm only allows certain individuals to do that." Max turned back to the demon spawn section. "Emily probably added to it with every adventure."
Ambria tapped on a heading and the book flipped to a page detailing aspects of lesser and higher demon spawn.
In general, lesser spawn lack sentience and operate solely on instinct. Higher spawn such as hellhounds possess varying degrees of intelligence some Daemos argue equals sentience. Spawn only refers to non-humanoid demon forms which is why Daemos take such offense at being labeled demon spawn.
Lesser forms come in all varieties, from the soul-devouring crawlers, to the flesh eating scorps, to the parasitic wyrms. The higher forms tend to be more physical in nature, with the ability to telepathically communicate with their masters. They typically do not demonstrate the same hunger for consuming souls as their lower brethren.
We read the introduction then skimmed through pages and pages of different spawn. It seemed the ecosystem of such creatures was nearly as extensive as that of the animal kingdom.
I groaned and leaned back in my chair. "This will take ages."
"Maybe we could search the book," Max said.
Ambria's forehead pinched. "Isn't that what we're doing?"
"No, this is called reading." He smirked. "Books this fancy usually come with search functions."
I ran a hand across my tired eyes. "Well why didn't you mention that before?"
"It's so interesting." Max shrugged. "I got caught up in it."
"How do we search, Max?" Ambria jabbed a finger on the page. "Show me before I tweak your nose."
Max gave her a hurt look. "No need for threats. Geez." He reached toward the top margin of the page and paused. "Um, what search terms?"
Ambria tapped her chin. "Soul damage?"
I modified her terms. "Torn souls."
"Sounds good." Max tapped the top margin and the ink swirled on the page. "Search for torn souls."
The ink reassembled into several separate sentences with the search terms highlighted.
…torn souls would be the least of our worries…
"Torn souls?" The demon laughed at me…
…souls torn from their bodies…
Max touched the first one and the pages flipped to an anecdote about an encounter with a demon. The second and third headings referred to the same stories. We tried Ambria's search term as well and came back with too many results to search.
I wracked my brain for a better search term and came up with a slightly better solution. "Can you cross reference? Try spawn with soul damage."
&nb
sp; "I think so." Max submitted the request and the book returned with thirty results.
We hunted through them one-by-one until arriving at a subsection of parasitic demon wyrms called sickle wyrms. Emily nicknamed them rippers and for good reason. Most spawn parasites occupied the host body siphoning bits of soul and causing physical ailments, but this one was different.
Rippers burrow into the host through an open orifice—an ear, a nostril, the mouth—and phase into the spiritual plane to carve out a hunk of soul which it stores in a pouch. The ripper exits the body and crawls into a dark space where it will slowly consume the soul fragment. It prefers the souls of murderers and the truly wicked, but will settle for ordinary folks if pressed. Rippers must feed within twenty-four hours of summoning or their physical body will wither and die.
The next page displayed the sickening image of a ripper wyrm. It resembled a fat slimy slug. A mouth with a wide serrated lower jaw allowed it to rip through souls when it phased into ethereal form. The next page displayed diagrams and magical scans of affected hosts. Apparently, someone had unleashed a plague of the creatures during the early days of the Seraphim War and leading up to the Demon War.
"Why haven't we heard more about this Demon War?" Ambria asked.
"I've heard of it, but it happened around the same time as the Seraphim War, so most people probably never knew it happened." Max shuddered. "God, I hope we don't have another epidemic of rippers on our hands."
"The people in the healing ward weren't murderers or criminals," Ambria said. "If they're truly the victims of ripper wyrms, it's only because the little monsters couldn't find wicked souls nearby."
Max turned to the spawn introduction and ran his finger down a few paragraphs. "It says right here that lesser spawn can't manifest physically without help."
My insides twisted and churned at the thought of demonic parasites unleashed in Queens Gate and elsewhere. I might lack information, but this plague bore my father's fingerprints all over it.
Ambria touched my hand. "What's wrong, Conrad?"
"I think"—my mouth went dry with horror—"Victus plans to start another demon war."
Chapter 13
"Another demon war?" Max nearly toppled over backward in his chair. "That's insane!"
"Maybe you're jumping to conclusions," Ambria said. "Demons usually want power, right?"
I shrugged. "I don't know what demons want."
"What I mean is that I don't think Victus could get demons to help him without giving up power." She leaned her elbows on the table. "The whole point of taking over the Overworld is power, right?"
"That's all Victus cares about," Max said. "He wants to be the top dog, not some demon overlord."
"He might try to summon an army of lesser spawn," Ambria said.
"Doubt it." Max turned the page and pointed to a subsection of the demon spawn general information section. "Says here that most lesser spawn take way too much power for an Arcane to control more than one at a time. Only Daemos can do it, and even then, they can't manage more than a small force. If an Arcane loses control of a spawn, they're free in the mortal world until their body dies."
"So an Arcane could summon wyrms and just let them loose?" I said.
Max winced. "Yea, but once they're free from the binding, they're just as likely to attack the summoner as anyone else."
Ambria read another supporting sentence. "Lesser spawn are notoriously difficult to control, as one must overcome their blind instinct to consume. Each summoned spawn adds additional weight to the mind of the controller."
I held up my hands in surrender. "Fine. Maybe Victus isn't planning an infernal uprising." I sat back and tried to piece together the puzzle. "Do we agree that a ripper wyrm put those people in the healing ward?"
"There's one sure way to find out." Ambria leafed through the pages until she reached the end of the spawn introduction. "Aha!" She pressed a finger on a subsection entitled, Diagnosis. "We can use this ritual to determine if a spawn is the cause."
Max's forehead pinched into a worried V. "It says here we'd have to ink a diagram on their stomach and light it on fire!"
Ambria grimaced. "Well, if we want to know for sure, this is the way to do it."
"Essence of dill, toasted snails, fruit fly feces?" I continued listing the ingredients needed to make the ink. "We'll have to break into the storeroom to get all this stuff."
"And set a patient on fire!" Max reminded me.
Ambria pshawed. "The diagram, not the patient."
"On their stomach around their belly button." Max closed the demonomicon. "Minister Grint already told us not to interfere. If she catches us lighting fire to someone's belly button, we'll be suspended for sure."
"Then let's not get caught." I turned back to the page with the ritual and took a picture with my arcphone. "I think I know how to get the ingredients."
"Can you pick magical locks?" Max said.
I shook my head. "No, but I'll bet Kanaan can." I tapped the pendant he'd given me and willed it to contact him.
"Yes?" Kanaan's voice crackled with static.
"Kanaan, we need your help." I explained what I wanted and why.
"This is not for me to do," he replied. "Use what I have taught you, for one day you must fly free on your own."
"But we really need your help!" I waited for a response, but Kanaan cut the connection.
"Now what?" Max said.
Thankfully, I had a backup plan. "Let's visit Galfandor."
I took pictures of a few more pages from the demonomicon and we left the vault. We checked the headmaster's office first, but he wasn't there so we left campus and flew our brooms to his residence, the manor above the underground mansion.
Galfandor answered on the first knock, broom in hand. "Conrad, Maxwell, Ambria." He stepped outside and closed the door. "I suppose you're here to discuss the riots. My apologies for being absent, but I have been inundated with meetings."
"Where are you off to?" Ambria asked.
"A public debate with Xander Tiberius." He glanced down at Max. "Did you know your father planned to run for primus?"
"Absolutely not." Max bared his teeth. "I hope you kick his teeth in, Galfandor."
"I certainly don't think his policies will win him many friends on the council." Galfandor stroked his long beard. "Though the debate is public to all Arcanes, the only vote that matters is that of the council this week."
"I actually have a favor to ask," I said.
The headmaster raised an eyebrow. "Yes, what is it, Conrad?"
"My cousin, Ansel, is in the healing ward because part of his soul was ripped out."
"Percival sent me a detailed letter on the stricken souls in his ward." Galfandor frowned. "He also told me Minister Grint has taken over the investigation and forbidden him from looking into it."
"We were there when it happened." Ambria scowled. "She told us to keep our noses out of it too."
"I'm certain she has good reason," Galfandor said. "I've never known Agatha to be anything but professional and thorough."
Ambria scoffed. "I'd hardly call her patronizing tone professional. She treated Percival like an idiot."
Galfandor's bushy eyebrows rose. "Percival must have argued with her. She doesn't abide insubordination."
"Percival did protest," I admitted, "but I don't see how she can tell us what to do when it involves my cousin."
"Do you want me to talk to her?" Galfandor asked.
"Actually, we think we know the cause of the illnesses."
The headmaster removed a pocket watch from inside his robes, checked it and nodded. "I have a few minutes to listen."
"We could go to the debate and talk on the way," I said.
Galfandor shook his head. "I'm afraid it's for adults only."
Ambria planted her fists on her hips. "We're nearly adults."
I waved her off before she got started. "Sir, we think a parasitic demon spawn called a sickle wyrm or a ripper wyrm is responsible for my
cousin's condition, but we need to confirm it."
"A demon spawn?" Galfandor pursed his lips. "Agatha told me it was a physical ailment and that Percival was on the wrong track entirely."
"Percival might be unorthodox, but he's a good healer," Ambria said.
"If you don't care about ghost peppers," Max grumbled.
"We can prove it with a few ingredients from potion storage." I didn't go into further detail, hoping he might approve.
Galfandor returned to stroking his beard. He nodded. "I will speak with the minister and gain her approval, then I will—"
"She won't agree," I said. "If she doesn't believe Percival, why would she believe me?"
"You mean to sneak into the ward and conduct a demonic divination ritual?" The headmaster chuckled. "She has posted guards outside the ward, Conrad. You can't simply wander inside without approval."
"That won't be a problem," I said, ignoring the flummoxed looks from Ambria and Max. "I can't get the ingredients without your help."
Galfandor sighed. "I believe you, Conrad, and I want to help, but I must go through proper channels." He climbed on his broom. "Go inside the manor, take a left, and the first door on the right is my study. Fill out the request form you will find in the third drawer down on the left side of the desk. Set a completed form on my desk and I will look at it."
"A request form?" I couldn't believe my ears. "If you believe me, why can't you just help?"
Galfandor narrowed his eyes and put a hand on my shoulder. "Do as I say, lad." He hopped on his broom and tipped his tall pointed hat at us before zipping away into the sky.
"A request form?" Max squinted up at the headmaster's dwindling form. "What nonsense is that?"
Ambria frowned. "I think we need to find out." She marched inside and we followed her into the study. A thick oak desk squatted between book-laden shelves and ornate chairs. She opened the drawer in question to reveal a variety of glass and stone paperweights, but no forms.
Max pulled out a couple and stared at them in disbelief. "What's this, Galfandor's idea of a joke?"
"Apparently so." I pulled out the paperweights and tapped the bottom of the drawer to see if a hidden compartment held the punchline.