K Stewart - A Devil in the Details

Full dark had fallen by the time I finished my preparations and settled my sword on my hip. I sat the squirt bottle of nastiness on the hood of the truck, then motioned for Kidd to step out into the grass. “Go ahead. Call it.”

“You… aren’t going to draw a circle or anything? To… confine it?”

“You can, if you think it’ll work.” I shrugged, the chain jingling faintly. I’ve never seen a circle confine a summoned demon, even if I did have the juice to lay one myself.

Think on that, kiddies. Once you say that name, you give up all kinds of rights. When you speak that name, that demon has permission to be here with very few controls on its behavior. Sure, it can’t hurt you unless you let it, but you also can’t just tell it to sit and stay like a good puppy. Bargains, that’s all they understand. Their language is one of negotiation, tit for tat. And if they can get a bigger tit for a smaller tat, they will.

“Just call it.”

With one last uncertain look in my direction, Kidd stepped out into the tall grass and took a deep breath. “ !”

Not a sound meant for human mouths to utter, it should have been something impossible to pronounce. For one brief shining moment, my sanity rejected the unfathomable tangle of vowels and consonants and rage and despair and greed and… It’s impossible to explain how all that can be rolled up into one word. Pray-if you’re the type that prays-you never understand it.

I tried not to listen, tried to shut out the sound, but a demonic name is something that gets under your skin, into your skull. My ears rang, and my spine tried to crawl out of my body and run away whimpering. The logical part of my mind, the part that screamed that such a thing could not be, was reduced to raving gibberish, and the name lodged there, finding a home amongst others of its kind.

I willed my heart to slow, my breathing to resume a steady cadence. Releasing my grip on my sword was a concentration of effort, one joint, one finger at a time.

With the name seared permanently into my psyche, I could roll it around and compare it to the others that resided there. No, this was not one I’d tangled with before. There was always that possibility: that a demon I’d beaten could regain enough strength to come across again. It hadn’t happened yet. I’m not looking forward to it if it ever does. Demons don’t strike me as the kind to forgive and forget.

Nothing happened at first. Kidd shot me a puzzled look, but I kept my eyes on the edges of the dark clearing. Our bad boy wanted to make an entrance. Demons always did.

Quite often, animal vision is based on movement. You can hide in plain sight of most creatures, so long as you keep very still. In the dark, humans are reduced to animals, the shades of gray and black blending into nothing, leaving us with only our most primitive instincts to guide us. And the first flicker of movement in the trees caught my attention instantly.

An old god stepped from the trees, moonlight casting dappled shadows over a stag’s haunches, though the moon should have been dark for days yet. Leaves and vines twined about the bare male chest, catching in the antlers atop a curly head. He came forward with slow, stately steps, a look of profound sadness on his aged face.

I smirked. Drawn by the feel of Mira’s magic, he’d chosen his form. It was a good show, to be sure, but if he was looking to awe and impress, he’d misread his audience.

I heard Kidd gasp when he first spotted the god-demon, and wondered what he saw. Illusion was easy, even for the weakest of demons. People were inclined to see what they wanted to see. I doubted this one had the strength to take on the stag-god’s form in truth, so Kidd most likely saw whatever his mind conjured when it thought the word “demon.”

When it got close enough, I reached in the window of my truck and flipped on the headlights. The demon drew back with a hiss, out of character with the wise and benevolent god he tried to ape, and shielded his eyes. “Rise and shine, Sparky.”

From the look on Kidd’s face, I was pretty sure he was about to collapse. I shrugged at him, armor chiming. “What, you prefer something more dignified? Into the light, I command thee, foul demon?” I picked up the squirt bottle and stepped into the circle of light.

The god-demon glared at me behind the shadow of his hands, but it would not cross that barrier between light and dark. As far as I know, the light doesn’t actually hurt them. But man, they don’t like it.

“True form now. Please.” Politeness costs nothing. Yet. To illustrate what was going to happen if it refused, I sprayed the spice mixture into the air, adding cayenne to the scents of wilderness.

The demon growled softly. “You come with threats? Who are you to command me?” The voice slid through my mind like an oil slick, oozing taint and power.

“Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name.” That joke never gets old. I slay me. “True form. Now.” I changed the squirt bottle from mist to stream. It was like setting the phasers to kill.

It growled again, but the change was made. There was no mystic transition, no light show or swirls of smoke. One moment, he was simply one thing; the next, something else. That something prowled the edge of the light on four legs, and gleaming teeth glistened with the snarl. Hackles of ebon fur bristled in irritation.

I suppose I could call it a hellhound, but it just felt so cliche. It was definitely no Scuttle. I was dealing with a higher order denizen of Hell here, one I not so affectionately dubbed a Skin-that being what I wanted to turn it into.

The bestial demons were not the most powerful when it came to manifesting on this side of the fence, but their sheer physical prowess made them more dangerous than their humanoid brethren. In the war between good and evil, they were Hell’s Abrams tanks.

“I know what you are,” the beast snarled, pacing a few yards, then back again. “Slayer. Champion. Human weakling.”

“Hey, careful. My ego’s sensitive.” Watching the thing prowl the darkness, I thought seriously about putting down the bottle. My hand itched for my sword.

The hound sniffed in my direction, muzzle wrinkling. “The wards are not yours. I smell a female. You have no power of your own, fangless pup.”

To hell with it. I dropped my hand to my katana. None of them had ever sensed Mira before, and I didn’t like it. “I can show you my fang, if you want. Now, are we going to wave our dicks at each other, or talk deal?” Tact wasn’t my strong suit.

“I am here for a bargain, yes? For that one’s soul?” The narrow muzzle sniffed toward Nelson Kidd next. “Weak, diluted… hardly worth holding on to.”

“Then you can just give it back and we’ll call it good.”

The creature barked a laugh and edged into the light. With the concealing shadows stripped away, it was even bigger than I’d thought. It resembled a cross between a hyena and a wolf, with a large square head and hulking shoulders, but the size of a pony-a large, demonic pony. “I think not.” Its muzzle rippled when it chuckled.

“Name your terms, then.” I settled on the bumper of my truck, keeping my scabbard clear and being careful not to block the headlights. These negotiations could stretch on for hours.

“My offer is the soul of Nelson Andrew Kidd.” The demon went back to pacing. “What do you offer in return?” The stakes, that was always the first thing a demon asked for. They wanted their nice, juicy, Peep-flavored souls.

“My soul. The soul of Jesse James Dawson.” I swear I saw those black ears perk up at that.

The hound actually licked its chops in anticipation. “Your name is known to us.” Wonderful. My reputation preceded me. “Accepted. Name your next term.”