Alan Campbell - Iron Angel

A twitch of movement on her Locator brought Harper to a halt. She adjusted the device before sending two full-spectrum pulses out in opposite directions. Then she changed her position and repeated the process. The needle fluctuated unevenly between both ends of the scale. “The device is still confused,” she whispered. “But I’m reading something …a local disturbance. It might be hiding in here.”

Hasp slouched over his shiftblade and looked bored. “It smells like it’s here.”

Harper altered her position, and went through the procedure one more time. Finally she halted to one side of the stairwell, and slipped a Screamer from her tool belt. The delicate skeletal globe murmured in her hand, its Mesmer crystals sensing the proximity of uncontained spiritual energy. She twisted one hemisphere of the Screamer against the other, engaging the clockwork timer.

“Eight seconds,” she said.

Hasp shrugged.

“Six seconds.” Quickly, she checked her Locator. “No change. If it’s here, then it should manifest when I trigger the Screamer.”

The door opened and Carrick strolled in. “Harper? For god’s sake, I’ve been searching the whole damn train for you. We’re pulling into the portal station now. The guests are furious. This”-he batted a fist in the direction of Hasp-“glass-wrapped bastard killed a passenger’s nephew’s pet. They’ll be discussing lawsuits as soon as they can figure out who to sue. And the mess…” He stopped when he realized her full attention was on the Screamer in her hand. “What the hell are you doing? What’s that thing? Haven’t you caught this demon yet?”

“Almost,” Harper said.

“Almost isn’t good enough,” he said. “Do you think the PRC pays you to almost do your job? You’d better find the fucking thing now, or you’re finished.”

“Two seconds,” she said.

Carrick’s temper reddened his face. “Not two seconds,” he snarled. “Now!”

“If you say so.”

The Screamer screamed. The interior of the observation car blazed with crimson luminance as furious bolts of Maze-light crackled and flashed between its glass-paneled walls. There was a sense of building atmospheric pressure, a violent snap, and then the air thickened with an earthy, rotten stench. The sphere in Harper’s hand glowed white. She dropped it, wincing-its metal frame was burning hot. Carrick stumbled backwards, shielding his eyes, and knocked over a tea table. Hasp hefted his shiftblade. Harper backed away, gagging at the dense odor, while loops of Maze-light whirled and pulsed and contracted into a bloody knot, and then vanished with a pop.

Something remained in its place.

Shorter than Hasp, but twice his bulk, the demon hunched over a stone hammer which looked heavy enough to level a mountain. It looked like a blisterman, but bigger. Grey sacs of skin covered every inch of its naked body; they were inflating and contracting like lungs. It was wheezing-but Harper could not discern a mouth or nose in its face, just pinprick eyes which stared out from the tumescent flesh. The enormous muscles on its shoulders and arms glistened and steamed with red fluids born of forced manifestation.

It turned to Hasp and said, “I am in pain. Why have you done this to me, angel?”

“Not me, soldier,” the archon replied. “I’ve no quarrel with you.” His eyes were fading to a somber grey. “You have been the victim of a clockwork incantation. Technology, these people call it.”

The demon cocked its head for a moment, as though trying to digest this unfamiliar word. The blisters on its skull puffed in and out, hissing faintly. Finally it said, “I am named Flower. I am trapped in this place. I heard noises. This is not the Forest of War.”

“You are aboard a steam locomotive bound for Coreollis,” Hasp said, “in the country of Pandemeria.”

“Those names are unfamiliar to me. What is a steam locomotive?”

“A vehicle propelled by burning the souls of old earth spirits.”

The demon nodded.

“Be wary, soldier.” Hasp indicated Harper and Carrick with a nod of his head. “These people will order me to kill you, and I am compelled to obey them. If you are slain in this world, your soul will go to Hell.”

Flower turned its pinprick eyes on Harper. “I do not wish this to happen. Send me home.”

“I can’t,” she said. “Not until we discover who summoned you. Tell us his name.”

“I do not know it.”

Carrick had retreated to the end of the carriage. The chief’s face was slack and bloodless, but he found his voice at last. “Get rid of it, Harper.”

“Hold on,” she said. “We need to know who brought it here.”

His expression soured. “What are you gabbling on about? You brought it here.”

“No,” she snapped. Why could the chief liaison officer not understand the most fundamental concepts of soul traffic? “I pulled it out of hiding, forced it to manifest. I didn’t summon it. It was already on board the train, remember?”

“Well, send it back to Hell before the passengers get a whiff of it.”

“It isn’t from Hell! We don’t know-”

“I don’t care!” Chief Carrick yelled. “I want it out of here now. It’s dangerous.” He turned to Hasp. “Kill it.”

The angel flinched and his glass armour flashed with pools of reflected aether light. His eyes suddenly darkened. The sound of clockwork came from his neck. He gave a grunt of pain, raised his shiftblade, and stepped forward.

“Wait,” Harper said. “I order you to leave it alone.”

Hasp staggered, then hesitated, his sword wavering.

“Kill it,” Carrick snarled at him. “Kill it now. That’s an order.”

Blood surged in a red web through the angel’s breastplate. The parasitic mechanism in his head chattered furiously, and then shrieked. Hasp hissed and took another step forward, eyes churning from black to red to black again. Teeth clenched, he lifted his weapon again.

“No,” Harper cried.

Carrick spat the order through his teeth, “Kill it!”

“I do not wish this,” the demon said.

The angel took a ferocious swing at the blistered creature, but Flower leapt back easily, now whirling its great stone hammer above its head.

“Stop it,” Harper yelled at Hasp. “That’s an order.”

Carrick grabbed her and clamped his hand over her mouth. “Kill it!” he yelled.

Hasp roared in pain. He brought his shiftblade back up, changing it from a sword to a heavy bone club, and then swept it down, aiming for the demon’s skull. The demon parried the blow with the shaft of its hammer. Petrified bone struck stone with a sound like a detonation. The concussion blasted half of the carriage windowpanes into shards. Bright fragments of glass exploded outwards into the night. Wind rushed in.

The demon had twisted its hammer and driven the angel’s club down, pinning it against the floor. “I do not wish this,” it said.

“Gods!” Hasp hissed. “I…don’t…” He slammed the heel of his free hand into the creature’s face, sending it hurtling backwards. Flower crashed into a cluster of chairs and a tea table, smashing them to fragments. A vase of roses fell and shattered.

“Watch the furniture!” Carrick roared. He had a manic grin on his face; his eyes shone with violent lust. “Don’t smash anything else, angel, or I’ll make you pay for it. I’ll make you suffer so badly you’ll think this is a pleasant dream.”

Harper struggled to break free of his grip, but he was too strong.

Hasp reeled, screwed up his eyes, then snapped them open again and gasped. The blood quickened and seemed to glow like molten iron inside his glass armour. Rose petals skirling around him, the angel advanced again.