“Shoot the fucking thing!” he orders, then continues his own firing.
Duilio nods, the expression almost more of a tremble, then he aims, the barrel mere inches from the target’s bulbous head, and he pulls the trigger. The dark vitae that powers them bursts out, and the creature slumps, relinquishing its hold.
“Duilio!” David snaps, and the inspector looks up to see several of them gathering in front of them, but as he aims, he hears something he did not expect, “Hold your fire.”
He blinks, looking up at the Hunter then back at the cohort of seething creatures. He wonders why they are waiting. He senses movement in the far left periphery, and he turns just in time to hear the loud report. He cringes as several of the beasts are blown aside, some killed, others wounded, and then Zoe racks her shotgun again, quickly, unleashing another load of buckshot, repeating this several times as David adds to it with his carbine. Duilio finally rejoins, and within moments, their precarious situation resolves to seeming safety.
Duilio works to catch his breath, eyes still somewhat held wide, lips parted. He looks at the other two, who take little notice of him. He then stares at the bodies of the things that attacked, lying in pale lumps, leaking a contrasting dark fluid from their crumbled and rent forms. He notices that the slide on his gun is locked open, empty again, and he has no more ammunition on him. He presses the button, closing it, then puts it away.
“Decoys.”
His eyes move up to the Huntress, curiosity on his features, but she is speaking to her relative. Her goggled eyes are hidden, her voice, like theirs, slightly muffled. David nods, thinking.
“Our Demon isn’t here, is it?”
Duilio knows he is not being addressed, but he follows the conversation as though rapt in the most intense tennis match. Zoe shakes her head.
“Is that what took you so long to get back here?”
The young lady nods.
“I went pretty deep, following hints, but …” She purses her lips, gesturing with a rather casual hand toward the dead ones.
“This place is a Gateway,” David says, and when Duilio looks back, it seems the man is speaking to him, so he perks his eyebrows.
“A … gateway?”
David nods. “A semi-permanent way for them to get in. I’ll bet there’s even mention of it in our records somewhere. It also means that the sort of signs we’ve been following, that Zoe’s been seeing, well, this place would be littered with them, obscuring the real trail.”
“And these … things?” he dares to ask.
“Rats.”
“Rats?”
“Vermin of the Infernal, numerous, weak, easy to move through portals like the one here.”
“Did our Demon use this way to get to this world?”
David peers, cocking an eyebrow. “I see more of why the Malkuths chose you.”
Duilio assumes this is a compliment, but he cannot be entirely sure.
“Let’s get out of here,” the Hunter then says, turning to head back, Zoe in quick follow.
“So,” Duilio says after they are shortly on their way, beginning the exhausting trek back to the surface, “The one we hunt is not down here?”
David does not answer, but he gives a barely noticeable glance to his fellow.
“No,” Zoe says, her tone giving defiance to any further question in this regard.
“Then we …?”
“Got led on a wild-goose chase,” David says, still moving, “You got that saying in Italy?”
“Yes,” Duilio answers, weightily.
“We’ve been duped. I told you it was toying with us. It’s been leaving just enough of a trail to keep us on it but not make it too easy.”
Duilio continues moving behind the other two, his lungs burning, wishing to be home there and ready for some secure rest. He also wishes, though, that this were over. He had been nervous to confront this beast, worried for his own life, of course, but he had also been excited. He had wanted to succeed.
“Are we giving up?”
“You asked me that before,” David comments, then emits a bit of a grunt as he moves up a relatively steep area, getting over some large rocks. “Watch your step there. We’re not giving up, but we need to consider this. Just like before, we’re going to report back and see what’s the next step, but the Demon just gave us the slip, after leading us around for all this time. Don’t you wonder why?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
It has been a hectic few days.
Skothiam had flown to America to deal with things there. True, the planned trip had been short, but it had been cut even further when Lilja had notified him of what had happened back in the City. It had bothered him greatly, though he was comforted to hear her voice telling him of what had happened and that she was alright. So, he had changed his itinerary and acquired a return flight for sooner than anticipated.
Then, after the initial report and examination of the body, he had called Nicole, and now she has joined them. If that were not enough, they had shortly received the update from David regarding the hunt.
“It is related.”
Lilja glances over at Nicole, the woman still as stately and ethereal as always. She then moves her eyes to Skot, next to whom she sits in this comfortable room in the town house. Nicole had spent a good deal of her time today alone in the presence of the corpse before returning here for this ‘debriefing’.
“Are you certain?”
Nicole takes a moment to react, and Lilja wonders if the woman is somehow offended by her brother’s requested affirmation. Then, she gives a single, slow nod. Skot exhales through his nose, eyes moving aside as though in pondering, then frustration. Lilja places a hand on his right thigh, which he acknowledges by moving his own atop. She turns hers, moving her fingers to interlace with his, grasping him more intently.
He finally looks over, and she offers him an encouraging smile. He returns it, albeit weakly. When she moves her eyes back to his sister, Nicole is staring at them. Lilja blinks, blushing slightly, unsure if the woman merely waits or is somehow displeased with this display. Skot reciprocates that depthful observance.
“They have acquired a breeder,” she finally informs, as though her brother has mentally bade her to give her report.
Lilja is confused, and when she looks at Skot, she sees he has closed his eyes. He takes in a slow breath, finally opening them, looking at her.
“The Infernal are obsessed with reproduction,” he says, and she nods, recalling their conversation that alluded to such. “Their abilities in that vein are also very restricted, but just as I mentioned the legend of the Nephilim, what truth may be inferred from it is that it is possible for them to find some humans that are … compatible with them and may be used to produce progeny.”“So …,” she begins, eyes blinking to a narrower focus, brow knitting, “they mate with humans?”
He nods further, the motion still slow, as though careful to introduce acknowledgement of this reality. “This is something about which we know. This is not just conjecture. It’s rare for them to find a suitable person, but when they do-.”
“When they do,” Nicole interrupts, taking up the thread, her cadence less gentle, though her voice is not harsh, more like the trained voice of an orator or singer, “it is akin to a coup, or a potential one. This allows them to learn more of us, to more easily introduce themselves into our population. This one bypassed notice and some of the security measures because it was part human.”
“It also translates into their being able to produce more offspring,” Skot adds.
“But …,” Lilja pauses, again wrinkling her brow, “How many children can a woman produce, even if … even if it’s forced on her as often as possible.”
“It could also be a male,” Nicole intones.
“Oh.”
“It also requires members of the Infernal that are fertile, many of which are not. We are not entirely sure of their gestational periods or other such basic biological understanding. Many of them hav
e no apparent sex, some seem to be fluid of gender, or even hermaphroditic, but our chances to scientifically study them have been a bit … limited.”
She nods, slowly, taking this in, then she glances at Nicole. “Is there no way to know if the human was the mother or father?”
Skot blinks, eyes moving to his sister. This is another of Lilja’s astute questions, and not just in the asking, but of whom she asks. He marvels at the potential in her.
“I am not certain, but it feels to me as if the mother is human,” Nicole gives.
More concern and empathy etches itself on Lilja’s features, and she looks back to Skot, then down and away
“It’s horrible,” he all but whispers.
“It is unnatural,” Nicole continues, gaining both their attentions, “The progeny was no more than a few years old.”
“A few …?” Lilja retorts, then blinks rapidly, closing her lips, perhaps surprised at herself, and she turns her eyes to see Skot looking at her, giving a short, encouraging nod, so she continues, “I looked up his records of admission, and he was listed as young for university, but his age said he was sixteen.”
“That is incorrect,” Nicole flatly states, “Part of the deception. They chose an age they knew we’d find acceptable without it being overly suspicious. If he is more than three years old, I’d be very surprised.”
“But …,” and she again looks back at Skot, “How?”
“As Nicole said, ‘unnatural’.”
“So they ... bred this … child,” Lilja continues, “specifically to infiltrate the school and get the Book?”
“That seems unlikely,” Skot answers, “Finding a breeder is very rare and valuable to them, so they would keep him or her hidden, and they would also keep the offspring hidden, unleashing them for only an important task … such as this. It also seems they did not know of the Book’s being here last year.”
“But the gateway?” she posits.
“Yes. That appears as a possible set-up for trying to get the Book, but it seemed misdirected were that the intent. This city is not accidentally the site of so much supernatural activity. It’s possible that the reason for the gateway and the Book finding their ways here may be similar in nature but not interdependent.”
“But now they do know.”
They both look over to Skot’s sister.
“True,” Skot is forced to agree, then he squeezes Lilja’s hand, getting her to look at him, and he casts a more open, genuine smile on her. “Good thing we have such a capable guardian in place.”
She is stunned for a split second, then her eyes go through three rapid blinks, the edges of her lovely lips curling, and she looks down, her pale flesh beginning to flush.
“No, I …,” she tries to say, “I just … the traps, the magick.” She looks up, using her eyes to gesture to Nicole, then Skot. “That your family set up. That stopped him. I didn’t do much.”
“You were hit with the Dark Claw of Botis.”
Lilja looks at Nicole, confused, then back at Skot.
“The magick the intruder used on you.”
“Oh. Is that … is that bad? I’m okay,” she says, and Skot is again impressed, because she says the last as a statement.
“It is bad, quite powerful, and it tells us much of its wielder … and of you,” he adds, putting a light curve to his lips.
“Wh-why?”
“Most would not come through such a strike unscathed,” Nicole says, “and you are, as you say, okay.”
Lilja notes the cast of the woman’s eyes, and it seems Nicole may have used her unique talents whilst here to do more than just examine the corpse.
“The spell is not just one of a force but it is also toxic, yet you are having no residual effects,” Nicole adds, and were it not for the woman’s matter-of-fact tone, Lilja may be inclined to be worried. “As if you are possessed of not only great fortitude but perhaps even immunity.”
“What … what does that mean?”
He continues to give her that light, warm smile, and now, he adds a shrug of his shoulders.
“We’re not exactly certain, but you’re tough, that’s for sure.” He perks his eyebrows, and she grins more openly, even blushing further.
“It is fortunate,” Nicole says, but she does not give voice to something else that carries through her mind, for she wonders if it is coincidence at all that Lilja serves as Head Custodian to the collection in which the Book has found itself.
“You said they were related, though,” Lilja reminds, eyes flitting from Nicole to Skot and back.
The awkwardness spikes, for no answer proves forthcoming, the older woman merely looking back at the younger. Skot also remains silent, as though merely waiting for whether or not his sister will answer. Lilja’s spine stiffens slowly, almost imperceptibly, but the tension is finally released.
“I did,” Nicole says, and a curl touches her lips. “Skot, would you mind leaving us alone for a moment?”
Lilja is confused, but Skot does not react at all as though curious. He merely nods, then gives Lilja a very warm smile and flex of the fingers entwined with her own before smoothly rising and exiting the room. She watches him go, silently bidding him to not leave, eventually sending her eyes back to the other woman. Nicole rises, slowly, again that ethereal, almost inhuman aspect to her motions and appearance, though her smile has grown and looks genuine enough. She steps over, seemingly gliding in the long dress she wears. She sits besides Lilja, taking her hands in her own, uninvited, to be sure, but in an undeniably casual way, as though they were the best of friends. Lilja feels a squeeze, though it is nothing too intense, her hands mainly resting in those of the other woman. She fights to return that calm gaze, fights to keep too much blush rising to her flesh.
“You are very special.”
Lilja doesn’t know how to respond, so she says nothing.
“Very strong,” Nicole speaks, still settling that pleasant smile and stare upon her, which Lilja still finds uncomfortable. “Even though he gives you much praise, Skot is not even fully aware of it all.”
Lilja finally blinks, but Nicole’s eyes remain in their repose, cat-like in their calm focus.
“Thank you,” she finally says.
“Oh, you need not thank me,” Nicole replies, releasing the hold, and Lilja breathes a sigh of relief. “I am merely observing, granting nothing.”
The younger woman shifts in place, still not sure what to make of this, and though Nicole broke the physical connection, she still holds her in that observing gaze.
“It is obvious he is very fond of you. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask me – woman to woman.”
“Okay,” Lilja replies, fighting to keep the end of the word from rising up as though a question. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll let Skot know we’re done.”
Done, Lilja ponders, done with what? But she keeps such thoughts to herself.
*****
“Okay, I’ll help you, but you need to pay me, and I don’t think you have a lot of money. So, what can we trade?”
Therese looks at the guy on the other side of the desk, his smug expression causing a simmer to her anger, but she suppresses it. She wants his help. She won’t give “anything” for it, but she wants it. She’s prepared to walk away from the table at any moment, but now is not yet the time.
He wears a little smirk on his decently-fleshed lips, the edges angling up to rather sharp points within the subtle, hinting grin. His brown eyes peer at her beneath dark, thick eyebrows, the edges becoming more scant and tapering as they follow the bone. His hair is cut very short, nearly non-existent, revealing a slightly bumped top to his somewhat narrow head. His ears almost seem pointed, also longish like his face, the left pierced twice, one a black gauge of relatively small measurement, the other a silver hoop with captive bead. His complexion is olive-toned, though relatively light, his build somewhat slender. He is not a bad looking man at all, but his demeanor strikes her a
s generally creepy.
“Look, Macar. I’m not going to fuck you,” Therese bluntly states, which hardly fazes him.
She is wearing a black hoodie, zipped up all the way, her dark jeans not the usual tightness most of her choices usually display. She also wears her clunky, black boots. She knew the conversation would go this way, and hiding her thin body has done nothing to discourage him.
He parts his hands, their having been casually interlaced in his lap as he just looks at her like a salesman fully confident in closing the deal. He purses out his lower lip, eyebrows perking a bit, as though he is giving her the most eloquent rebuttal without uttering a word. It is all a sort of shrug, as though to say that there is one price, and if that is not paid, then no sale.
“I’d like your help,” she continues, forces herself to continue.
She did not want to come here at all, but when she went to her other private investigation contact last year for help, it did not pan out. It seems her plans are still risky for the more professional, less dangerous approach taken by the only other one she trusts enough with this. Macar may be a lech, but he is good at his job, has many of his own contacts and resources.
“And I can help you,” she adds.
“Oh?” He perks his eyebrows more, almost as though patronizing, as though he cannot fathom what she could do for him.
“You know I’m good with cyber-work. That’s how we met. I could work for you more, help you with other cases, even help with your network security, maybe even help you get data you aren’t supposed to have.”
“I know what you do, Therese,” he says, speaking calmly, his accent barely betraying the combined influences of his heritage and environment, “But wouldn’t it be a lot easier for you to just … give me some of what nature gave you?” He turns up the intensity of his little grin, just a touch, but enough to add to the heat of his flame.
Not only is he not a bad looking man, but he is quite charming. Therese wonders if it is general protection that he is often so smarmy and prurient, otherwise he might be seriously dangerous.
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