Before she made it more than a half-dozen steps, another woman stepped in front of her, eyes wild and bloodshot.
“Miss, you’ve been out of the village, have you seen our boy, David? Someone took him two days ago. Have you seen him? Is he safe? Is he . . . .” She lapsed into silence, looking on the verge of bursting into tears.
The name David sounded familiar to Temperance, but before she could recall where, John appeared at her elbow.
“Dangit, Olivia, your boy ain’t missing.” The mayor physically wedged himself between Temperance and the distraught woman. “He just ran off. Left you a note and everything. Now save your breath for breathing, some of us got real problems that need tending to.”
“He wouldn’t run, not my boy! Not without saying goodbye.” Now Olivia did burst into tears, the gulping sobs shaking her entire body. A portly man with a reddish beard came and laid a hand on her shoulder. She buried her face in his shirt.
John turned back to Temperance. “As you can see, things have got right busy in our little town these last few days. The Hander boy disappearing ain’t even the worst. If you would just set a moment—”
“For love of the Three, John!” the pockmarked man yelled. “You taken leave of your senses? She’s nothing but a worthless chit of a girl!”
“Shut your corn hole, Jonas!” The force of the mayor’s shout almost made Temperance jump. “Or so help me you and I are gonna have more than just words.”
The two men glowered at each other, the tension between them so thick you could almost see it in the air. Finally Jonas grumbled something and stalked off towards the orchard. John turned back to Temperance and rubbed at his neck.
“Real sorry you had to see that, Miss, but we really could use your help.”
Temperance settled a hand on her hip. “Like I said before, depends on what we’re talking about here.”
“First, I got to ask: you really a Pistol . . . what did you call it? Witch? Like the kind that hunt daemons and such?”
Oh no. “I am. Why?”
“I think we have a daemon problem.”
She should have realized this was where the conversation was headed. Belial wasn’t going to lie low, not after it thought her gone for good. No reason it wouldn’t turn to the nearest town to start up mischief again. Any damage the daemon had caused these people was on her head now.
“How many has it killed so far?” The question came out in almost a whisper. Temperance didn’t dare look the mayor in the eye, for fear he would see her guilt reflected back.
“Killed? Hold on now, ain’t nobody dead ‘round here.”
Temperance looked up in surprise. “You drove it off?”
John shook his head. “Nothing to drive, least not yet.” He scratched at his neck again. “I’m not doing a good job explaining.”
“If you haven’t been attacked, and no one’s dead, what makes you think there’s a daemon?”
“On account of the message.”
Temperance opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. After a moment, she said, “Show me.”
Chapter Four
“There it is. See what I’m talking ‘bout?”
They stood before a two-story log house, sprawling compared to the rest of the buildings in town. Fields heady with corn and lentils spread away to either side until met by lines of wild maple in the distance. Already the sun had begun its decline, and the golden light caught on their distant foliage, reflecting a wondrous mix of amber coloring.
The idyllic view was wasted on Temperance, who had eyes only for the red lettering smeared across one wall, near the main door.
She tilted her head at it, frowned, then tilted the other direction, as if that might change the message in some meaningful way.
Prepare yourself, John Cullings, for the time of your reckoning is at hand. Tonight shall you taste the bitter fruit you have planted, reap the tainted harvest of your ill-fated plans. My servant shall punish you for all your crimes, right before I drag you off to Hell.
After another moment, she asked. “What makes you think a daemon left this?”
“Why, just look at it! Threatening Hell and such. Who else but a daemon would talk like that?”
Temperance glanced to where John stood at the head of the small crowd. It seemed as if everyone in town had followed along for another peek at the crudely painted words. Turning back to the wall she pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers, a headache spreading behind her eyes like a dull haze. She gave the words a second look.
Small towns. Always the same, no matter where they were in Korvana. Always the same.
“And?”
John scratched at his arm. “And what else could it be? We all were working in the fields when it happened. Everyone’s accounted for, proper like.”
Temperance knew she should be relieved. Better a false trail than Belial preying on a helpless town. Especially one whose own hidden nature meant little or no help from the outside world. Still, she couldn’t suppress a twinge of disappointment. She had let herself hope that finding the daemon’s trail again would be that easy, even without Astor’s guidance. Instead the trail only grew colder while she stood here, chasing after wild fancies.
Thinking about Astor only frustrated her further. Their bond meant she could communicate with him if he was close, but she hadn’t even caught a whiff of his grumblings since they last parted ways. The sorcerer Lalaish had claimed to sense his familiar even across hundreds of miles, but she and Astor didn’t have that kind of relationship. If only she knew why.
“Listen, Mister Cullings,” she said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice, “It was probably just somebody having a joke at your expense. I bet if—”
She paused and stared for hard seconds at a bush next to the house. Matching the roof in height and with leaves still full of summer green, it was a variety that Temperance had never seen before. Might be one of the Cullings brought it along when they settled in Shady Hollow. That wasn’t what held her attention though.
Lower on the bush, level with Temperance’s hip, several of the leaves had turned black and curled in on themselves. She reached forward and rubbed one between her fingers. They came away black with soot.
Temperance let out a low curse, one her mother would most decidedly not have approved of. The woman with the pinched lips let out a gasp, holding a hand up to her mouth. Temperance ignored her.
Need to be certain. Don’t want to cause a panic over me jumping at nothing. She turned to the mayor. “You had any fires here recently?”
“Fires? Not near my house, it’s why I keep the yard clear. Only thing I tolerate is that hydrangea you’re staring at, on account of my wife being so attached to it. Why?”
Temperance didn’t answer, not right away. She dropped to her hands and knees, crawling around with her face pressed close to the dirt. Two yards away from the bush she found what she was looking for.
A small divot in the earth. Nothing that would be worth a second glance under other circumstances, hardly worth a notice even now. Except that it was smoking, ever so slightly.
Temperance called the mayor over. “You see the smoke coming out of the earth here?”
“Well, I’ll be.” John squatted over the hole, squinting at the tiny wisp of gray winding its way into the air. “Never seen nothing like that before. What’s it from?”
Several other townspeople crowded about to look as Temperance stood and wiped her brow. “When a daemon has been inside a host for a while, it starts leaving a trail wherever it goes. Until it changes to a new body, that’s the best way to know when one is nearby.”
“So, it is a daemon then?” The mayor turned a little pale, and several of the townsfolk chattered to themselves nervously.
“Looks like. Might be the same one I was tracking, until I lost it in the hills nearby. Goes by the name of Belial.”
“The Scourge of Farhampton?” someone in the crowd shouted, and the chatter grew even louder.
<
br /> The question caught her by surprise, though in hindsight it shouldn’t have. Belial and his Black Thorn Gang’s reign of terror through the Farhampton territory had ended nearly thirty years ago. Even remote places like Shady Hollow would have heard the story by now.
“The same. I’ve been trailing him since leaving Benson City, but after coming to blows he got the better of me.” She turned to the mayor. “Looks like my horse will have to wait. I’ll see your daemon dealt with proper.”
“You will?” John looked uncertain. “Not that I ain’t happy ‘bout that, but we don’t exactly have a lot of kos laying ‘round.”
“If the young girl does catch this daemon, the church will reward her appropriately.” The crowd cut off its chatter as the reverend spoke up. He caught and held Temperance’s gaze. “But I expect you knew that.”
“I did,” she acknowledged. “Besides, if this is Belial, his being here is my fault, on account of not catching him the first time. If you’ll see me with food and shelter while I’m here, I think we can consider us square on the matter of compensation.”
The reverend gave a solemn nod and stepped back into the crowd. John filled his place. “That settles it, then. What’d you intend to do?”
“Whatever needs doing, I suppose.”
The mayor let out a chuckle. “Good enough. What ‘bout the rest of us? How can we help?”
Temperance glanced at the crowd. Hard faces stared back at her, people used to long winters and small harvests. Several of them hefted their guns, as if she had said bandits were attacking, rather than something out of nightmares and bedtime stories. These were a proud people, used to handling all of their problems themselves. She chose her next words carefully.
“I appreciate the offer, but you all need to look to your own families first. Quicksilver can hurt a daemon, but unless you got a lot of it and a way to put it through them, chasing one away can be right difficult. Best thing all of you can do is guard your homes, stay quiet, and keep clear of any stray shots. We’ve got no reason to believe Belial is after anyone other than your mayor here.”
Temperance frowned at that last part. Really wish I knew what Belial was after here. The daemon had been downright destructive in the past, but usually with some sort of purpose behind it. This didn’t fit for it to be attacking without good reason.
A thought occurred to her. “Mayor, you said everyone was accounted for when the warning appeared. What about this Hander kid, David? Would he have any reason to want you harmed? Enough to make a pact with a daemon?”
At the question, Olivia Hander let out a wail and burst into a fresh round of sobbing. The man with the reddish beard, who must have been her husband, Cyrus, put an arm around her.
“David is a good boy. No way he would sell his soul to no daemon. ‘Sides, his note said he was on his way to Arkton, to go see the world.”
The father made a good point. If Belial had struck a bargain with the boy, it wouldn’t have bothered forging a note to cover the absence. The daemon was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one.
Besides which, evidence pointed towards Belial still having his old body. Unless its new host was already close enough to death to see the grass waving, the daemon wouldn’t be smoking after only two days.
“No offense meant, Mister, but I had to ask.” Cyrus nodded at her apology, and held his wife closer. Temperance shrugged. “I’ll get the answer straight from the daemon’s mouth when he gets here. Until then, I suggest you all return to your homes. Keep your houses quiet, and your guns close. Just in case.”
She turned back to the mayor. “Best show me around, before it gets too dark. I want to be nice and ready when our friend arrives.”
* * *
“Mayor, I have to ask. You have any idea why you would be . . . targeted this way?”
The two of them were alone now, the rest of the town gone back to their homes to prepare what defenses they had. Temperance doubted any of the townsfolk would see trouble, but it never hurt to be careful.
They had just completed a circle of the house and a tour of the surrounding fields. Temperance had turned out several places to lie in wait, and positions for lanterns so she would have more light when the time came.
While there was plenty of open space to maneuver in front of the house, she didn’t relish a fight this close to other people, especially the mayor’s children. Perhaps it would be best to send them away and only keep the mayor on hand as bait.
John shook his head. “No idea, I ain’t never met a daemon before.” He rubbed at the back of his head a moment, then said, almost too casually. “Might not be me it’s after.”
Temperance blinked. Somewhere in the back of her skull the headache started up again. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m not the only John Cullings. Boys! Come over here!”
A half-dozen children tromped and tumbled out the front door. The oldest was a young man perhaps a year or two older than Temperance, while the youngest couldn’t have been over five. They stood in a line before the mayor, as if being summoned this way were the most ordinary thing in the world.
“These here are my children. Meet John Junior, Johnnie, Johnathon, Jon, Jonn, and Baby John.”
The boys all chorused a hello, and Temperance resisted the urge to spit. “So you’re telling me you don’t know which of you Belial might be after?”
“Probably Johnnie here,” the oldest of them slapped the boy next to him on the shoulder. “He and Patrick Felts are always getting into trouble. If anyone got on the bad side of a daemon, it’s him.”
Johnnie shifted from foot to foot. “I ain’t done nothing, I swear!”
“Maybe it’s after Baby John,” one boy who looked to be about ten said. “He threw a rock at Missus Felt’s cat last week, and she looked angry enough to bite herself. Might be she sicced the daemon on him.”
“I doubt Belial is after any of you. You’re not its usual sort of victim.” Temperance had meant that to sound encouraging, but the boys just looked more nervous. Talking with folks never came easy to her. Figures something even this simple would go awry.
The mayor saved her from further embarrassment by dismissing his children with a wave of his hand. They murmured goodbyes and took off pell-mell up the front steps. She watched them go, wondering if she had ever been that carefree. Not once she started training with her grandfather, that was for true.
“You should get inside too, Mayor. No telling when Belial will put in an appearance.”
“Don’t daemons come calling at midnight?”
Temperance tried not to laugh, but a slight chuckle slipped out. “This isn’t some story. Don’t expect this creature to play by any rules, or do what you might expect. Belial hasn’t evaded capture this long by being predictable.”
“You’re the expert. I best get back to my family, then.” The mayor paused on the first step and looked at Temperance. “Thank you again, Miss. I know what you must think of . . . of our town. That you’re helping regardless, it means a great deal.”
“Thank me when the fighting’s done. As for the rest, never you mind about your town. I’ve got no great love for the Federation that I would hold it against you.” For a moment an image of Peter flashed in her mind. She pushed it away.
The mayor nodded again, then stepped into his house.
Temperance waited until the door closed, then let out her breath in a rush, shoulders slumping forward so she thought she might pitch over. The day had taken some interesting turns. She hadn’t found Astor yet, but she hadn’t been buried in a shallow grave either, and sometimes that was all one could hope for.
She sat down on the step and pulled out her guns. Disassembling them took the work of short minutes, and it with no small measure of relief she saw they had suffered minimal damage from the storm. Her cleaning kit was back with her saddlebags, but she made do with a cloth and some spare orak grease she kept on hand just for such an occasion. She hated using grease instead of proper gun oil, but
her choices were limited at the moment. There was always beef tallow, but it had a habit of going rancid, and long ago she gave up ever being able to tolerate the smell.
Her grandfather had always told her that sloppiness killed more people than bullets. He had drilled habits into her so they were as natural as breathing, proper weapon maintenance being among them. Whenever she found herself stressed or needing to clear her head, working a weapon over until it was flawless brought back her focus.
Soon she lost herself to the routine. Hands slid across the revolvers, working the oily fabric through each crack and crevice, checking over the metal to ensure no pools or bare spots. Her grandfather would still have called the job sloppy, but it was the best she was likely to manage, given the circumstances.
Even more fortunate, she soon discovered none of her ammo appeared worse for wear either, although the waterproof nature of her bandolier pouches likely accounted for that. Still, she checked each hexbullet to ensure none of the components were damp. More than gunpowder, a compromised reagent could mean a misfire or worse. It wasn’t unheard of for spells to change their forms in the most unexpected ways. Temperance preferred not to have any further surprises tonight.
At least Belial wouldn’t have access to any pits.
Satisfied at last, she looked at the house one last time, then set off to find a good hiding place. Somewhere out in the night an animal let out a lonesome howl, the sound echoing off the mountains and spreading out through the cold and unforgiving sky.
Chapter Five
Hours passed in slow silence, and Belial still had not appeared. Now the twin moons hung high overhead, swollen with the harvest wind, blotting out the stars and covering the ground in a patchwork of blue-green light. Around the farmstead the rest of the town lay shrouded in darkness, any movement within hidden behind shutters or long since surrendered to sleep.
Curse of the Daemon Beast Page 4