“Um, like I said before, David and I—” Ruth went silent as a scream pierced the air. John frowned and brushed past her.
“What in damnation is going on now?” he muttered, setting off in the direction of the clearing. Temperance followed close on the mayor’s heels.
Chapter Eight
Temperance could have outpaced the mayor and left him behind, but she didn’t like the idea of arriving at whatever was going on by herself. Who knew where the rest of the town stood in regards to her failure last night. Also, after her encounter with the jack-cat she wasn’t particularly eager to go racking into trouble again.
Just once, I’d like to know what it is I’m running towards. She darted through a line of maples, the mayor lurching ahead, already looking winded. Is that so much to ask?
They emerged from the trees into rows of benches. A woman stood in the middle, an iron cookpot clasped in her trembling grasp.
The mayor reached her first. “What’s happened, Penelope? What’d you see?”
“I was just setting out food, getting it ready to take to the mines,” Penelope babbled. Temperance was worried she might drop the pot and burn herself, but couldn’t figure out a way to take it from her. “I swear I ain’t done nothing.” She shook a bit more, the lid of the pot bouncing.
The mayor pried the pot from her grasp and set it on a table. “Settle down now, we believe you. What happened?”
Hands free, the woman pointed towards a table at the far end. A little whimper escaped her throat.
For the first time, Temperance noticed there was writing on it. She jumped on to a bench to see better.
In the same rough strokes as the last message, it read:
One has been punished for his crimes, and soon more shall follow. Beg for forgiveness Shady Hollow, beg that you might wash away the ill fruit you have planted before the seeds take root. In three night’s time I shall return and bring the justice of eternal damnation upon you.
Temperance reached down and ran a finger across the paint. Her finger came back slick with red. She showed it to the mayor.
“Still wet. Whoever did this is likely nearby.”
Penelope let out another whimper and dropped onto a bench, far away from any of the writing. The mayor glanced around, as if expecting a daemon to appear from underneath a table at any moment. He paused as Temperance laid a hand on his arm.
“Find what other folk you can, have them gather here. Even a daemon can be taken down with enough people.” She didn’t bother pointing out that few would live through such an encounter. One problem at a time.
“What ‘bout you?”
“I’m going to see if I can’t find the daemon’s trail.” As if on cue, a rustling came from the nearby trees. Penelope screamed in terror, and the mayor stepped forward. Temperance hauled him back and took off running. She yelled over her shoulder, “Remember what I told you! Gather the town, I’ll be back soon.”
Then she was among the trees, and the others disappeared from view.
* * *
She found several leaves still smoldering on their branches a few yards in. The unmistakable odor of brimstone hung in the air. Belial hadn’t been nearly so pungent the last time Temperance encountered it.
It must have been standing right here just a moment before Temperance arrived.
She found the trail of smoking prints and followed, eyes darting between the ground and the surrounding trees. No way she was falling for another ambush.
A brief flash of movement showed through the trees. Temperance fumbled at her bandoliers as she ran, but by the time she had a hexbullet loaded the daemon had slipped too far away.
Then it appeared again, unmistakable this time: a man, or something in the body of a man. It leapt across a dry gully, and its outstretched arms showed a line of sharp barbs tearing through the flesh. Flesh a putrid bluish color, like old cheese. She raised her gun.
“Estalia Vos!”
Even as the silver line left her revolver, Temperance knew she had fired too soon. Time slowed, and the shot stretched itself out. The daemon twisted, same trick as Belial did before, moving just enough out of the way. Then time snapped back into focus, and the spike buried itself in the trunk of a tree, melting to nothing a moment later. The daemon was out of sight again.
Well, if that didn’t confirm this was Belial up to his usual tricks, she didn’t know what would. She loaded another shot and set off after the daemon.
The forest slid past her in a dizzying blur. One moment she was leaping over a mossy log, the next through a field of lentils. Several of the plants were on fire, and Temperance tried to kick dirt on these as she ran past.
A barn lay ahead, this one much smaller than the mayor’s, and in need of a good coat of paint. Temperance skidded to a halt.
The daemon’s tracks stopped a few yards from the barn’s door.
Temperance whipped her head back and forth, certain she had missed something. Had the daemon backtracked after setting a false trail? Impossible, she had been behind it the entire time, close enough to lay silver on it. Belial could never have made it across these fields, not without leaving a blazing path for her to follow.
She squinted and studied the roof of the barn. Nothing appeared scorched, and anyway how would the daemon have gotten up there? They might be fast, but jumping several stories was a bit much, even for them. Yet she couldn’t think of anything else.
Unless it didn’t leap upwards, she realized. Not up, but forward, to the . . . .
Still cautious, certain that trouble was waiting for her, she advanced towards the barn doors. They were closed, but with a crack near one side, as if the door had bounced when it slammed shut. Like someone was in an awful hurry to hide.
Never smart to let a daemon get close enough to touch you. Temperance checked her guns once more, made sure she knew what she had loaded. She slid the door open with her foot.
The barn appeared empty at first glance. A few motes of dust spun through the early morning sunlight. The smell of straw was so pervasive Temperance had to concentrate on not sneezing. A few stalls that might hide an occupant ran in a line against one wall, but nothing waited for her out here.
She advanced towards the first stall and peeked inside. A donkey, or possibly an undersized mule, stared back at her, chewing something from a nearby trough with a contented look on its face. It stared at her with dull eyes, then went back to eating.
She moved to the next. It was empty of anything save more straw on the floor.
That only left one option. Temperance took a deep breath, cocked the hammer back on her revolver, and willed her heart to stop pounding. She had Belial cornered. This wouldn’t end without a bad fight.
She leapt forward with a bit of assistance from her jacket, knocking the door off its hinges. Landing on top, she swung her guns about, finger gripping the trigger in a white-knuckled grasp.
Took you long enough, Astor said, glancing up from his trough.
Chapter Nine
Don’t give me that look. Astor took another mouthful of oats as she stared at him, slack jawed. Would you have me pining away for you on an empty belly?
Temperance put her guns away. “What are you doing here?”
Rescuing you, clearly.
She stared at the horse, eyebrow half raised. He continued on, somewhat more defensively than before, That is, I was trying to rescue you. I found this place, got the farmer’s attention, but he wouldn’t follow me. Instead, I followed him in here, and before I knew it I was . . . stuck.
“Stuck,” Temperance repeated, her tone flat.
What did you expect me to do, kick down the door? I’m not an animal. His lips pulled back into a wide grin.
“So you’ve just been here the entire time, while I rotted away at the bottom of that crevasse. What would you have done if I had died down there?” She held up a hand to keep the horse from interrupting. “No, nevermind, I don’t want to know the answer.”
I warned you not to
go up that trail without me. Not a lot I can do about getting through tight places like that. I don’t have hands for climbing, you might recall.
“Still, I thought you would at least—”
“Now, what’s all this?” Temperance turned, and found herself staring into the wrinkled face of Sventa Jacoben. The old farmer blinked, creases around his eyes folding over each other. “Didn’t expect find you in me barn. What’s your name again, Missy? Temper-dance?”
“Temperance,” she said. “Mister Jacoben, why didn’t you tell me you had my horse?”
“Eh, you never asked, now did you?”
“I did ask! It was the first thing—” The farmer moved past her as if he wasn’t listening and began brushing Astor’s flank. The horse’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a whinny that was the purest pleasure.
Sventa turned back to her. “This your horse, you say? What were he doing wandering ‘round my fields? Not good to let a purebred like this off on his own.”
Temperance resisted the urge to grind her teeth, but as the day continued its downward spiral she was finding this more and more difficult to prevent. Instead she took her tack and bridle from the wall and put them back on Astor. The horse grumbled as she saddled him up, but otherwise allowed it with little fuss.
Sventa followed out into the yard. “You sure you want to be taking him? He’s as safe here as anyplace while you’re staying in town.”
“Thank you for watching over him, Mister Jacoben, but we must be going.”
“Call me Sven. Everyone else does.” He shrugged, and turned back towards the barn.
Astor nickered and nudged Temperance on the shoulder. Do we have to be going so soon? I didn’t even finish breakfast.
She leaned in close to the horse so that Sventa wouldn’t overhear, although the old farmer seemed engrossed in looking over some equipment hanging by the door.
“Daemon.”
Astor’s head snapped up, his whole body going taut as a rope. Belial’s here? I haven’t sensed anything since you left.
Temperance shook her head, then whispered, “Maybe. Not sure yet. I’ll tell you more about it later. For now, let’s get where we can talk.” She turned, and saw Sventa still frowning at one of his tools, something that looked like a pair of shears on a long pole.
“Now ain’t this strange. I just cleaned these here yesterday.” The old man scratched his head.
The old man’s words left an uneasy feeling in Temperance’s gut. More hunch than anything, she walked over and stood next to the farmer.
“May I see?” Sventa nodded, and Temperance leaned in for a closer look. There were smudges of black against the metal’s surface.
Suddenly she felt an utter fool. Glancing up confirmed it; there were similar smudges on the tools leading up to the loft doors.
The daemon hadn’t jumped, it had climbed where it would leave the least evidence. While Temperance wasted time in the barn below, Belial had made its escape.
There was still a chance they could pick up its scent. Astor had worked miracles from far less. She grabbed the horse’s reins. “This way.”
Sventa must have thought she was talking to him. He trotted alongside, telling her about his farm and what he grew and how likely next winter would be the worst they had seen in Shady Hollow yet. Temperance listened with half an ear, more intent on finding the daemon’s trail than learning why lentils were so much better than wheat in this climate.
Behind the barn was a flower garden, gone half-wild with neglect. She turned to Astor. “You sense anything?” Sventa gave her a curious look, but Temperance was past caring at this point. Besides, the man was not entirely there himself.
The horse sniffed the air, doing whatever it was he did in these situations. Temperance didn’t think he could actually smell daemons; he just enjoyed putting on theatrics. Still, she watched with interest, glad to have an advantage over her adversary once again.
When he shook his head, it nearly crushed her.
There’s a whiff of . . . something that I can’t put my hoof on, but not enough to get a sense of direction. You sure Belial came this way?
“Of course I’m sure! You saw the soot marks! Can you try again?” Sventa took a nervous step away from her, glancing at the bushes.
Sorry, but with all these other scents in the air, it could be ten feet away and I wouldn’t smell anything. I’m just a horse, after all. Astor gave her a long look, like he shouldn’t have to state the obvious.
The flowers. Belial had probably come this way, knowing the plants would mask its scent. She looked around for a few minutes, hoping to spot any burn marks or other signs, but it was as if the daemon had sank into the earth itself. Outsmarted once again. She was getting downright sick of that feeling.
Sventa had moved a few steps away, but hadn’t run off entirely. That was a good sign. “Mister Jacoben, I apologize for my outburst. It’s been . . . something of a morning.”
“Oh, yup, I heard ‘bout that from Cyrus Hander when he stopped by asking after his boy. I ever tell you he’s our town’s teacher?”
Temperance didn’t answer the old man. She had noticed something growing in the garden. Several somethings, in fact.
“Mister Jacoben, is this fourpenny leaf?” she asked, trailing a finger down a vine that had wrapped itself around a shovel.
Sventa shrugged. “Maybe? Flowers are me wife’s little joy, not mine. Want me to go fetch her? She could tell the names of all of ‘em, right proper.”
“No, that’s alright.” If the man went off looking for his dead wife, who knew how far he might wander.
She walked through the garden. There were claybells, and dragonsnaps, and lilies-of-the-mist. There was even a patch of beachgrass growing in one corner, though how it stayed alive without adequate salt in the soil was a mystery to her. The garden had overgrown its original plots, mixed with some local plantlife, and suffered in a few places for lack of pruning, but there was no hiding the plain truth.
This was a sorcerer’s garden. All of the plants here were reagents with some of the strongest affinities she knew. It seemed that Sventa’s wife had more than just a passing interest in cultivating flowers. Pity the woman wasn’t still alive, Temperance could have used her advice. In absence of the woman, her reagents would have to do.
“May I pick some of these?” she asked the farmer.
“Oh, sure, I don’t think me wife will mind. She ain’t been interested in her garden much of late.” Something passed along the man’s face, like a cloud over the sun. “If it’s alright with you, I best be getting back to work. Just holler if you need something.”
Temperance gathered as many petals from the lilies as she could fit into a bag, then set off across a field, Astor following along behind.
You want to tell me what that was all about? the horse asked, once they were out of earshot. Picking flowers isn’t exactly like you.
“They happen to be wonderful reagents for a spell. One I think might come in handy.”
Astor let out a little nicker. You’re talking about protection circles, aren’t you? Not much chance of that without the other reagent, and good luck finding yourself some—
“Jack-cat fur, I’m aware. Fortunately, I happen to know where to get some.”
* * *
Let me see if I’ve got this right, Astor grumbled as he picked his way through the trees. Temperance could tell he was already in a bad mood for having to move so slow, and everything she had just finished telling him wasn’t helping much. What you’re saying is that we’re fighting a daemon you’ve never heard of, hiding somewhere you can’t find, to protect a group of people that can’t even pay us for our troubles? Do I about have the measure of it?
Temperance nodded, and the horse blew out a blast of air in a huff, his lips making a loud flapping noise. It’s a good thing I found you when I did. You clearly can’t be trusted to make decisions without my guidance.
“I think I did just fine, all things c
onsidered.”
Oh? Outrun by a daemon not once, but twice. Outsmarted not once, but twice. Nevermind wasting good ammo on two separate occasions when you well know—
“Excuse me,” Temperance interrupted. “Did you and Martin trade places without my knowing? Since when have you seen fit to lecture me on how to deal with daemonspawn? We’re supposed to be partners on this little endeavor, or have you forgotten?”
Listen. Astor flicked his head back to look at her proper. We both know our business here, but I think you’ll agree that you’ve made some questionable decisions as of late. First insisting on helping that marshal, and only getting out by the purest of luck, and now this. We don’t even have any evidence Belial is involved here.
Temperance felt her hackles rise at the mention of Peter. “Everything turned out for the best last time, you might recall. Even made good coin.” Astor looked as if he was going to speak, so she continued on before he had the chance. “Anyway, we don’t know Belial isn’t involved here, either, and I doubt two daemons being in the same area is any coincidence. Maybe this place was its goal the entire time. Maybe whatever is going on with the mayor and his boy is related somehow. Unless we stick around, we’ll never know.”
She gave the horse a moment to chew that over, then added, “Besides, until you sniff out Belial’s trail, where are we going to go? Staying in town sure beats sleeping in the woods. Better food, that’s for true.”
Fine, fine. Astor drew to a halt as the jack-cat’s cave appeared through the trees. Temperance hopped down and set to sawing off the dead animal’s hair. The stuff wasn’t like orak or bear or even wolf. It resisted her blade, and cutting it was like trying to hack her way through a tree. Might have been easier to just skin the cat and take it back that way.
Astor watched the entire time, and while the horse’s expression was of bored indifference, she could practically hear the wheels turning inside his head. After a few minutes she couldn’t take the suspense and rounded on him.
“What is it?”
This Shady Hollow. I’m not sure I like you staying there, daemon or no. From what you say, these people sound on edge, and not pleased about your presence. Might be the minute you deal with this little problem of theirs, they decide it’s not the best idea to let you walk. What then?
Curse of the Daemon Beast Page 7