The Case of the Hidden Daemon

by Lucy Banks

  Rising like a vengeful goddess, Serena tossed her hair back, glaring at Reggie with open fury. Her eyes glittered, patent-leather stilettoes shining in the distant lamplight. “That’s what happens if you mess with us,” she shouted, placing her hands firmly on her hips.

  Mike groaned on the ground, hands wrapped protectively over his chest. “Why did no-one tell me he was an ex-boxer?”

  “I still box, I’ll have you know!” Reggie spluttered, wrestling with the incubus. “Now, will you get this horrible thing off me?”

  “I thought you loved all spirits?” Kester retorted with a glimmer of amusement. “After all, you’re the one who wants to let them all come into this world, willy-nilly.”

  “Spirit!” Felix called out, ignoring Kester’s comment. “Desist this nonsense. You’re fighting the wrong people!” He proceeded to try to prise the incubus from Reggie’s face, without much success.

  “Uh-oh,” Pamela suddenly hissed in Kester’s ear and pointed towards the nearest tree. “Do you see what I see?”

  Kester peered through the darkness, then flinched, heart sinking. “Oh no,” he whispered. “I know exactly what that is.”

  A low, amber glow hovered above the ground, meandering towards them with casual ease. It grew in size, forming limbs and a head, burning with greater intensity with every passing second. The others gasped. Even the incubus ceased its mad scrabbling and paused, momentarily stunned into stillness.

  “I take it this is Hrschni?” Miss Wellbeloved’s mouth hung open with obvious awe. “Gosh. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a daemon in the flesh.”

  Hrschni’s face came into sharper focus. The narrow, scarlet eyes scanned them all for what seemed like an eternity. Kester held his breath, fear blossoming in his chest like a deadly flower. If he’s angry with me, he realised, then I’m probably already dead. I suspect he could finish me off in a second.

  The daemon opened his mouth, and Kester instinctively cowered, waiting for the pain to start. However, instead of focusing his attention on Kester, Hrschni turned to the incubus and held a hand out towards him.

  “Fellow spirit,” he hissed softly. “You trouble yourself for nothing. Now, return to where you feel happiest.”

  The incubus hovered silently in mid-air, his round, black eyes locked onto the larger spirit who glowed with such authority that he eclipsed everything surrounding him. The incubus floated uncertainly towards the daemon, before drifting back to Serena. Finally, he vanished with an audible plip, leaving the air shimmering slightly in his wake.

  Hrschni bowed his head, then glided through the air towards Kester. “I take it you were not that enthusiastic about my offer?” There was a note of wry amusement in the question, combined with obvious disappointment.

  “Being trapped in a cave wasn’t the most tempting proposal I’ve ever had,” Kester replied bravely. “Nor was being forced to open spirit doors against my will.”

  Hrschni sighed as though the response pained him. “I never would have forced you.”

  “Then why drag him into the caves in the dead of night?” Ribero challenged, eyebrows bobbing violently up and down. “Why put a bag over his head, eh? Why frighten him to death with your two bully-boys here?” He gestured angrily at Reggie and Felix, who looked rather put out at the description.

  “And why get his girlfriend involved?” Miss Wellbeloved added. “You’ve caused him nothing but pain. Can’t you see that?”

  Hrschni hovered more closely to the ground with a thoughtful expression. “That was not my intention,” he said finally. “One day, I would like you all to understand our cause. Who knows? Together, we could change the world.”

  “This isn’t a revolution,” Miss Wellbeloved replied angrily. “This is terrorism. There’s a big difference.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Reggie growled. “Find out the facts before you pass judgement, you silly old woman.”

  “Reggie, that is enough!” Hrschni wheeled around, blasting the bald man with the force of his simmering aura. For a moment, the daemon looked ready to attack, but then he reared back, still glaring. “You forget yourself!”

  “Apologies,” Reggie muttered, still looking darkly in their direction.

  “We are going home,” Ribero declared finally, spine straight, gaze fixed defiantly in Hrschni’s direction. “We are getting my boy back to safety, and we will not take no for an answer. That is clear, right?”

  Hrschni closed his eyes briefly. “Very well,” he said finally. “But you know you cannot stop us, don’t you?”

  “We can if we’ve got the spirit-door opener and you haven’t,” Mike wheezed from the ground, still clutching his chest.

  “This is not the end,” Hrschni replied gracefully. “But only the beginning. Kester, we will meet again. I am confident of it.”

  The last words chilled Kester to the core. He means it, he realised, studying the daemon and seeing the steely resolve. This isn’t over.

  “And after all,” Hrschni continued as he coiled around himself like an undulating ribbon, “the main purpose has been achieved. You now know me. And I know you.”

  “You don’t know me at all,” Kester muttered, keeping his eyes to the ground.

  “I know you better than you might imagine,” Hrschni replied. He extended a thin, spectral hand and briefly touched the side of Kester’s face. It tingled across his skin, like a rush of anaesthetic. “And in time, I suspect you may understand me better.”

  Retreating abruptly, he gestured to Reggie and Felix, who were watching with open confusion. “Let’s leave,” he said softly. “Our work is done . . . for tonight, at least.”

  “But Grand Master, this seems a little—”

  “—There is nothing more to say, Felix. Sometimes, we must be gracious in defeat in order to win the battle another day. And there will be another day. Very soon.”

  The daemon bowed low to Ribero and his team and, casting one final, significant nod in Kester’s direction, disappeared into the night. Felix and Reggie, who both looked decidedly confused, grumbled under their breath before pacing slowly out of the car-park. Once they’d gone, the team released a collective sigh of relief.

  “I thought we were in trouble there,” Pamela said as she pulled her coat more tightly about herself. “Goodness me, a real daemon, right there in front of us. I’ve never seen anything like it before. And the way he was looking at Kester, not to mention you, Julio; well, it was downright peculiar.”

  “Like he knew me from somewhere before,” Ribero said, scratching his head. “It was most strange.”

  “You were very brave, Mike,” Miss Wellbeloved said as she scooped him to his feet. “A bit stupid, perhaps, but very brave, nonetheless.”

  “You could have warned me that he had a left-hook like Tyson,” Mike moaned as he clutched his face. “Seriously, I think he’s dislocated my jaw. Not to mention snapped a few ribs.”

  “You made yourself look like a bit of an idiot, didn’t you?” said Serena smugly as she sauntered down the driveway. “Luckily, I was there to protect you.”

  “You mean your lovesick spirit was,” Mike corrected as he limped after her. “I didn’t see you throwing any punches.”

  “Didn’t need to.”

  “Couldn’t, even if you tried. Your arms are like pipe-cleaners.”

  “Well, yours aren’t as muscly as you think, if your feeble punches are anything to go by.”

  Miss Wellbeloved sighed and took Kester by the arm. “Normal service resumes,” she whispered with a chuckle. “For once, I think I’m glad to hear them bickering again.”

  Kester nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  They arrived at the van, which was parked crazily over three spaces. The skid-marks on the gravel revealed just how fast they’d been driving to get here, and Kester gulped, feeling suddenly overwhe
lmed with gratitude. Thank goodness for friends like these, he realised, thinking back to everything he’d endured in the last few hours. Where would I be without them?

  Inside, Lili and Tinker were waiting anxiously, surrounded by a sea of technological contraptions. Lili waved a large, metal, funnel thing in their direction, then gestured to her headphones.

  “I recorded it all,” she announced with a stern smile. “We picked up the entire conversation from here.”

  “And I used the thermal tracking device to see where they went,” Tinker continued, looking rather flushed. “As far as I could tell, they made their way approximately fifty-five metres down the road before climbing into a car, which of course, I’ve got the registration number of—not that it’ll be much help, as I wager they’ll have hired a rental vehicle for the purposes of—”

  “—Anyone got a drink?” Mike interrupted as he squeezed himself into the van.

  Tinker pressed his lips together. “I have some water, if that’s any good at all. Well, I’ve haven’t got a lot left, but—”

  “—I meant something alcoholic,” Mike retorted as he sat on the unit, disturbing numerous pieces of important-looking paper as he did so. The others clambered in behind him until the van was stuffed to the brim with bodies.

  Ribero snorted. “Goodness me, you are thinking of the alcohol at a time like this, Mike?” He tutted loudly, then waited until Miss Wellbeloved had looked away before pulling a hip-flask from his pocket. Mike’s eyes lit up as he sidled a hand across to grab it.

  Kester rolled his eyes, then leaned back against the side of the van as Lili started the engine. He’d never felt more exhausted in his life. Visions of the evening flashed before him like movie stills: the horrible blackness of the caves, the oily tang of the sack over his head, the bitter cold of the water, and most of all, Anya’s face. I hate her, he thought with sudden passion. I hate her, because she made me love her. And that was just cruel.

  The journey back to the hotel was mostly silent, apart from the occasional muted slurp as Ribero and Mike took it in turns to sip at whatever it was inside the hip-flask. Judging by Mike’s increasingly beatific, not to mention glazed, eyes, it was something fairly strong. Pamela and Miss Wellbeloved seemed to have nodded off on each other’s shoulders, though how they managed to remain upright with the van swerving along the quiet roads, Kester had no idea.

  Finally, they arrived outside the hotel. A tired-looking doorman was still standing determinedly by the entrance even though he looked as though he might fall asleep at any moment. He nodded sleepily as they headed in, watching with bleary interest as they swept silently through the marble-floored reception area.

  Just get me to bed, Kester thought as they waited for the lift to arrive. Get me out of these soggy clothes and under a warm duvet. That’s all I ask. He just wanted to sleep, to pretend, just for a while, that he’d never been lost in a cave. That he’d never nearly drowned in the dark. That he’d never seen Hrschni’s glowing, haunting face.

  The lift finally arrived, and they clattered in. At their floor, Kester quickly hugged the others. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I know I haven’t said that yet, because I’ve been too wet and confused by all of this, but thank you, all of you. I know it would have been a very different story if you hadn’t come to rescue me.”

  “Ah, do not mention it,” Ribero mumbled, but Kester could hear the affection in his voice. They hugged briefly. “Go on, you get yourself warmed up. We don’t want you sick now, do we?”

  “Yes, and please take care,” Miss Wellbeloved added, looking concerned. “I’m glad Mike’s in the same room. I wouldn’t be happy with you being alone.”

  “And don’t go running off again,” added Serena with a yawn. “Once, I’ll forgive you for. Twice, and I’ll kick you up the backside so hard, you won’t—”

  “—Yep, good night, Serena,” Mike said firmly. “Save your moaning for tomorrow, eh?” With one last, wicked smile, he pressed the button to close the doors of the lift, then ducked out quickly, before she could think of a witty retort.

  “That girl, she never shuts up,” he concluded, then patted Kester on the shoulder. “Come on. You need to strip off, I need to get some ice on my poor face. Do you think reception will send some up?”

  “Probably.”

  “Am I getting a big bruise? I don’t want to ruin my youthful good looks, you know.”

  Kester ran the keycard down the sensor, and the door clicked open. “No, Mike. Your youthful good looks are preserved, don’t worry.”

  He made his way into the bathroom and closed the door firmly, oblivious to Mike’s chatter behind him. It was blissful to finally peel the soaking shirt from his back and slide out of his trousers. In the mirror, he could see that his skin had an alarmingly blue tinge and that his lips were so pale, they seemed to blend with the rest of his face.

  I’d better have a shower to warm up, he realised, alarmed by his own reflection. I had no idea how ill I looked.

  A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. “You alright in there?” Mike bellowed above the running water. “Not passed out or anything?”

  “I’m fine,” Kester called back, allowing the heat of the water to cascade down his body. He felt fragile as a lamb and almost numb with relief at being back in the safety of the hotel. It all felt strangely surreal, like a theatre-set with the real world hiding just behind.

  Finally, he clambered out and dried himself off, savouring the softness of the fluffy towel against his skin.

  “Mike?” he called, “could you pass me my pyjamas? I forgot to bring them in with me.”

  He waited. Silence greeted him in response.

  “Mike?” Kester opened the door and peered out. “Mike, is everything alright?” A knife of panic cut through him, and he hastily dived out into the room, fist held up in readiness, even though he was horribly aware that he wouldn’t be able to beat a fluffy kitten in a fight at present.

  Mike, to his great relief, was lying on the bed, mouth open, hand still clutching the remote control. The gentle rise and fall of his chest made Kester want to weep. I’m a complete bundle of nerves, he thought as he retrieved his pyjamas from the drawer. I’ll start jumping at my own shadow next.

  With a wry chuckle, he made his way back to the bathroom. Mike let out a grunt and rolled onto his side.

  It was only when he pulled on his pyjama trousers that Kester noticed something strange lying on the floor by the door. It was an envelope, sealed with what looked like a blob of red sealing wax. Kester froze, staring at the letter with growing dread.

  Where did that come from? he thought, rubbing his eyes, hoping that it was just his imagination. Sadly, it wasn’t. How the hell did it get in the room? It’s too bulky to have been pushed under the door.

  Trembling, he scooped it up, holding it at arm’s length. The envelope was heavy, and he could feel something inside, though he hadn’t a clue what it was.

  I don’t want to open this, Kester thought fervently. I can’t take anymore. I really can’t. However, despite the voice in his head advising him strongly against it, his fingers started to prise the envelope open of their own accord.

  To his surprise, a key fell out. Slipping through his hands, it fell to the carpet with a soft thud and lay there, shining dully in the light. He peered inside the envelope, heart beating fast, and tugged out the note inside. The paper was of a high quality, almost parchment-like in colour, and the words upon it had been written in red ink.

  When you’re ready to see the other side, he read silently, the key will guide the way.

  And that was it. No signature, no further words to give any clues about the sender or their intentions. However, Kester knew well enough who it was from, as the motif stamped on the wax seal revealed it clearly enough. The pentagram symbol of the Thelemites was immediately, sickeningly recognisable.

&nbs
p; Still clutching the note, Kester picked up his phone and called his father.

  About the Author

  Lucy has enjoyed inhabiting worlds of her own creation from a young age. While her initial creations were somewhat dubious, thankfully, her writing grew as she did. She takes particular delight in creating worlds that closely overlap reality . . . with strange, supernatural differences.

  Lucy lives in Devon with her husband and two children. She immerses herself in the wild, rural landscapes and loves seeking out hidden locations. More of a book-python than a bookworm, she devours at least one novel a week, and loves the written word so much that even her day job involves writing and editing.