Curse of the Daemon Beast

by Francis James Blair

  “After the thing that did this to your boy. Unless you would rather I stay here?”

  The mayor was silent, and turned back to regard his child. Temperance took that for answer enough.

  She set off through the fields, the mayor’s quiet sorrow chasing after her like the ghosts of her past made flesh. The scene echoed too close to a time she herself stood, helpless and alone, over the broken bodies left by a daemon’s passage. The memory was raw and painful, even after all of these years.

  Pushing away thoughts of that other broken town, that broken life, she focused on her current problem: the ground in front of her. It wasn’t difficult to find the daemon’s trail again, but the dark made for treacherous terrain.

  Where’s Astor when I need him? she thought as the rows of corn gave way to trees. Tracking isn’t my area of expertise, even without it being pitch dark. Good thing this daemon beast doesn’t seem the subtle type.

  Indeed, the beast had made no attempt to hide its passage, tearing a path through the forest so destructive it must have been terrifying to behold. Only when the wolf had encountered a tree too large to be uprooted did it appear to deviate from its course, leading ever closer towards the mountains.

  Hadn’t that old man Sventa mentioned miners working a claim nearby? Perhaps Belial formed a pact with one and was using their operation to launch an attack upon the town. Except that didn’t explain why the Cullings boy had been the target, or where the beast came from.

  Grandpa would know the answer. She couldn’t stop the thought from slipping out, or the one that followed. If he had lived, likely I’d know too, instead of stumbling through the dark like a blind bear in a bramble patch.

  Had Belial encountered another daemon, the one that now possessed the wolf? She had heard of daemons using the bodies of animals before, but only in dire emergencies. It significantly reduced their intelligence and the range of their powers. Far more sensible to deal with humans, even with the hindrance of a pact.

  Shady Hollow. Belial. The daemon beast. So many questions, and not much in the way of answers. Temperance resolved to get to the bottom of everything, but first she had to find this creature and make it pay for what it did to the Cullings boy. She would deal with the rest after that.

  The treeline broke the same moment the clouds did. Temperance stumbled into a clearing, every leaf and blade of grass reflecting the light from above, surrounding her with a million tiny emeralds and sapphires cast upon the earth.

  In front of her was a cave. The tracks led inside.

  Temperance frowned, a hand resting on her hip. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? Did the beast make its den this close to the town? She wasn’t more than a half-hour’s walk from the barn, not if the moons were any indication. Besides, why would the beast have returned to its lair, when it was not even wounded?

  Something was sour.

  She drew her revolvers and advanced with careful steps. Not a hint of moonslight pierced the interior of the cave, which was more of a deep shelf built into the hill. Darkness lay inside with the consistency of old ink, and Temperance half expected to feel something solid as she stepped inside.

  A pair of glowing yellow eyes flicked open in the center of that blackness, and Temperance took an involuntary step back. The eyes blinked, and a loud snarl roiled its way through the dark, pushing Temperance back another step, and then another. Eyes and their owner moved forward, eating up the distance in a half-dozen heartbeats.

  That was no howl. I’ve heard a call like that before.

  Temperance scrambled into the clearing, and the creature in the cave sprang after her. Moonslight fell upon it, illuminating the beast’s profile as it took to the air.

  If it had been daylight, Temperance knew what she would have seen. Pale white fur, coarse and bristly. Long paws and longer claws to match. Feline mouth lined with teeth sharper than a butcher’s cleaver, with about as much experience tearing into soft flesh. A killer on four legs. A jack-cat.

  The daemon was more clever than Temperance would have thought. It had laid a false trail somewhere as it fled, and Temperance fell into the trap as easy as a newborn deer. Astor would have spotted the difference, but no sense wishing for what she didn’t have.

  She spun out of the cat’s path, revolver already arcing up. With hardly a conscious thought, the words bubbled to her lips. “Habero!”

  There weren’t many of her elemental strikers left. That daemon wolf would rue the day it ever crossed paths with Temperance Whiteoak, but until then she needed to make every shot count. Still, she could spare one to keep herself on the proper side of the earth.

  White-hot fire poured from her weapon. For a moment it illuminated the clearing, revealing the beast’s pure snowy coat. The cat hissed, a strange tremor to its voice that sent visible ripples out into the air. The fire broke before it, rushing to either side like a fork in a river. Flames left scorch marks in their wake, licking near the creature’s paws, but otherwise the large predator appeared unaffected.

  Right. Temperance cursed inwardly. jack-cats are immune to magick. Figures I’d forget a thing like that.

  She had just enough time to pull her knife before the cat was on her, jaws widened for a killing bite. The creature landed, claws raking into her arms, tearing through the fabric of her coat like it was nothing but . . . well, like it was nothing but an ordinary coat. Temperance twisted enough that the cat’s teeth met her shoulder instead of her head, and she felt the hot sting as they sank into her flesh. The knife in her hands did its own biting through the coarse fur and into the hide underneath. Everything was slick with blood. It coated her clothes, her hands, the knife, the cat’s fur, the ground at their feet, the ground rising to greet them. She crashed into it hard enough to knock the wind out of her and then knew no more.

  Chapter Seven

  The first thing Temperance saw upon opening her eyes was the jack-cat staring back at her. She sucked in her breath, stiff muscles tensing in a cascade of agony, before noticing the creature’s eyes were glassy and that their owner would never be a threat again. The pommel of her knife dug painfully into her belly, the blade buried in the creature’s neck all the way to the hilt.

  Even in death the jack-cat was intimidating. Jaws hung open right before her face, teeth sharp enough to tear through bone. A slaver of bloody spittle hung from its mouth. Temperance reached to swat it away before it fell.

  At least, she tried to. She found her arms pinned to her sides, the bulk of the dead cat draped on top of her where they had fallen. Temperance flailed in impotent frustration for a moment before forcing herself to take a breath. Then she wriggled underneath the cat’s bulk until she managed to move it to one side.

  The corpse slid to the ground, and Temperance lay beside it, panting. She wriggled her arms, and much to her delight found them to be sore but otherwise unharmed. The coat had taken the brunt of the claws, at the cost of several large patches of good leather.

  Her shoulder was another matter. The patch of blood had dried while she was unconscious, tracing a line along her neck and down her back. When she probed the wound with a finger, the pain almost made her bite her tongue. A fresh trickle of blood worked its way down her chest. She pulled a strip of linen from inside her coat and wrapped the wound as best she could, but any more detailed care would have to wait until she returned to Shady Hollow for assistance.

  Assuming they would even provide assistance. Assuming they didn’t just string her up when they saw her. Even she could see how last night hadn’t played in her favor. Mayor was likely to have choice words for her, at the least.

  Of course, she had choice ones to throw right back at him. If she got the chance.

  She climbed to her feet, muscles protesting but nothing seriously dragging her. Just over the treetops she could see the first few streaks of dawn making their appearance, letting her get a good look at last night’s final encounter. In the pale light she could now make out where the daemon’s beast’s tracks ended, mixin
g with the smaller but no-less-deadly paws of the jack-cat. If Temperance didn’t know better, she would have said the wolf took to the air, or at least the treetops. Neither seemed likely, so it must have hidden its trail some other way.

  Regardless, its trail was lost to her, at least until she found Astor. She spared a look of regret for the corpse at her feet before heading out. If she had time it might be worth making a trip back here to remove a few pieces. Jack-cat bones and claws were good reagents for any number of spells.

  For a moment she contemplated not going back to the squatter town at all, but dismissed the idea. While the daemon wolf likely wasn’t Belial, there was nothing to say they weren’t working together. Besides, something about this place, daemon included, didn’t wash right. Better to risk hanging than die wondering over the whole affair.

  There was also the matter of finding Astor. He had to be somewhere nearby.

  The path sloped downwards towards Shady Hollow, making the walk easier if not exactly enjoyable. Ahead, a billowing mist settled over much of the landscape. It clung to the hillsides and snaked between the trees, obscuring any sight of the town not hidden already. No wonder Shady Hollow had managed to evade detection by the local gentry for the past decade. Anyone who wandered this way was just as likely to lose themselves in the Maderas as come across the tiny township.

  As she walked, Temperance fingered one of the new holes in her sleeves. Her grandfather’s jacket was invaluable against bullets, but darn near useless against anything else. Worse, Martin had warned that any damage it suffered was permanent. She could put patches on her sleeves, but they would be nothing more than ordinary leather.

  Perhaps somewhere out in the wide and varied territories there lived a person with the skill to do more than just patch it. If so, she had yet to hear about them. Even Martin, the man who had raised and trained her for the last five years, found the jacket a curious enigma.

  Your grandfather acquired that coat before I met him, if you can believe it. Before his name was known to every maid and Jim-dandy from here to Messanai. Divine Three know where it came from or what he did to get it, but I reckon there’s a good story behind that ancient leather. Always was, where your grandfather was concerned.

  Mist wreathed the mayor’s house, curling tendrils reminding Temperance of the daemon beast. She still couldn’t make sense of anything happening here. Had the creature acted alone? Was Belial involved in this somehow? What did the mayor’s son have to do with any of this?

  None of the answers had been forthcoming last night. Maybe she would have better luck sorting this all out in the light of day.

  She didn’t bother knocking, just pushed her way inside. Not likely anyone in Shady Hollow even owned locks, much less used them. It had been the same in Cold Valley, although likely for different reasons. Nobody had ever wanted to risk bringing James Whiteoak’s wrath down upon them.

  Heat washed over her like a comforting blanket. She almost stopped next to the stove and stayed there until her fingers worked again, but the kitchen was empty, and the mayor wouldn’t take kindly to her standing there unannounced. Certain issues needed tending first.

  “That you again, Cyrus? Like I said the last two times, we got bigger problems right now than—you!” John Cullings stood in the doorway, muscles flexing, face red as a June rose. Temperance realized she had forgotten just how broad-chested the man was, how the muscles in his arm were thick as her head. Maybe letting herself get in close quarters hadn’t been her smartest idea.

  I suppose if I’m going to be stupid, might as well go all the way.

  “What are you trying to pull, telling us you’re some Pistol Warlock and leaving nothing but—oof!”

  This last part came out in a rush of air as Temperance’s fist sank into the mayor’s gut. John’s eyes bulged out, and he stumbled back, anything more to say bitten off for the moment. Before he regained his feet, Temperance started in on him.

  “What in Hell gave you the idea to play hero last night? Didn’t I tell you to stay inside? To keep your family safe?”

  The mayor rubbed his belly. She must have hit him harder than she thought. He looked at her, still angry, but a touch wary now besides. “You kept shooting that creature, but it wasn’t doing nothing. Thought you needed the help.”

  “Fighting a daemon isn’t the same as fighting a man. You can’t just shoot—bang, and dead. I needed to get the measure of the beast first.”

  “Still, if you hadn’t let it slip past, it never would have got my boy.”

  “No,” Temperance countered, resisting the urge to grind her teeth. “If you hadn’t let him leave the house, there would have been nothing to slip past. Lucky I remembered he was in the barn, otherwise the daemon would have killed him instead of just giving the beating of a lifetime.”

  That seemed to give the mayor pause, and some of his swagger went out of him, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. Temperance gave the mayor a moment, but not too much of one; so long as he accepted some blame, she was safe. Still, she was walking a razor’s edge. If he turned his finger back towards her later, no argument would keep her from swinging.

  Temperance cleared her throat and released her hold on the pistol she hadn’t even noticed she was gripping. “How is Johnnie?”

  The mayor shrugged. “Salina Felts is looking him over. She’s the closest we got to a physiker ‘round here. Says he’ll recover, but if that blow to the ribs he took turns sour . . . .” He shook his head, then looked up at her. “Is there nothing you can do, Miss? With your powers? Can’t you help him, somehow?”

  Now it was Temperance’s turn to shake her head. “You’re talking about sorcery. Pistol Witches are something different. Even if I did wield that kind of power, though—and I don’t—it wouldn’t help. One thing that magick can’t do is heal a broken body. Humans are just too complicated, I suppose. I wouldn’t be the first to try, and I wouldn’t be the first to fail, either.”

  John nodded, like a condemned asking for a pardon he knew wasn’t coming. He looked up, and the pain in his eyes was a physical thing. “You want to see him, maybe?”

  Temperance didn’t think that was a good idea. The boy’s mother would probably try to take her eyes out, no matter what Temperance had to say in her defense. Still, refusing the mayor right now might not be bright, either. Fortunately a rapping at the door saved her from any awkward decision.

  “Morning, John.” The pockmarked face of Jonas Mason appeared through a crack in the door. “You’ve got to do something ‘bout Cyrus, he’s banging on doors all over town. I’m eager as anyone for his boy to be found, but it ain’t gonna happen any faster by bothering us before we even sat down to breakfast.”

  He glanced at Temperance, and his grin carried a touch of nasty smugness to it. “I heard your plan didn’t work out last night. Guess that’s what happens, sending a girl to do a man’s job.”

  The mayor opened his mouth, whether to defend or condemn her Temperance didn’t want to know. She spoke over him, hoping to pull the men back to more important matters. “I still think there might be a connection with last night’s attack and the missing Hander boy. There anything between him and your son I need to know about? Any bad blood?”

  In a town this size, Temperance would eat her hat if the boys hadn’t come to blows over something. She wasn’t disappointed.

  John rubbed his chin. “Well, now you mention it, he and my boy had been at odds over Ruth for some time now. Ain’t that right, Jonas?”

  Mister Mason, Temperance was amused to see, no longer wore his smug expression. She turned back to the mayor. “Who’s Ruth?”

  “She was David Hander’s fiance. Still is, assuming we can find him.” He glanced over at Jonas, who still looked like he had taken a bite of something unpleasant. “Ain’t you the one that set up that little pairing?”

  “Yup, girl’s getting too smart for her own good. David’s an upstanding Trichast, just what Ruth needs to settle her.”

  Temperanc
e was getting a picture of what was going on. “She’s your daughter, then?”

  Jonas just glowered at her, but the mayor answered on his behalf. “Yup, that she is. Only one he’s got left after his eldest married mine. She anywhere nearby, Jonas? Might be she knows a thing or two ‘bout David up and running off.”

  “You think I didn’t ask her when the boy first went missing? I ain’t stupid, John.”

  The mayor held up his hands. “Nothing meant by it. Just thought we might know some different question to ask, is all.”

  Jonas chewed on his lip a moment, obviously conflicted. He must not have been able to think of a reason to put them off, because he nodded and shouted out the door, “Hey, Ruth, get over here!”

  A moment later a young girl appeared in the doorway. Temperance tried to hide her surprise, but didn’t do particularly well at it. Ruth was a full head shorter than she was, a mess of blonde hair peppered with the occasional streak of dark. The thick lindsey-rak brown she wore didn’t do much to hide her petite figure, almost bordering on skeletal. Her gaze darted back and forth between the two men, long eyelashes batting furiously, her mouth hanging in a perpetual O. The girl looked no more a farmer’s daughter than Temperance did.

  Temperance glanced at the two men. “When were she and David getting married?” Arranged marriages weren’t unheard of, but were much more common among the gentry. For farmers to be worrying years ahead, when one or the other was as likely to die before then, was almost laughable.

  John rubbed at his chin. “Would have been day after tomorrow, wouldn’t it, Jonas? Right after the Reverend’s usual service?”

  Suddenly the Hander’s urgency to find their son made a great deal more sense. Going back on an agreement in a small town like this would almost be worse than the actual loss of your child.

  “Go on, Ruth, tell the mayor what you told me ‘bout David the other day.” Jonas made a little motion with his fingers, like he was flicking away a crumb.