Philip Athans - Realms of Mystery

I was dimly aware of the fact that I still held the box, and stumbled to my feet. I held the box high, intending to threaten to smash it unless they let me leave.

I intended to make the threat, really, but that was when the wall collapsed.

The wall had been spell-smashed and ogre-bashed, and now was crumbling of its own accord. Long cracks crawled up the remains of the masonry, and the plaster began to give way under the damage it had suffered. There was a moment of silence, then the entire west half of the building collapsed with a roar, and the night wind blew the dust into the Burrows.

Something else came in with the dust. Something tall and proud and very, very dangerous. At first I thought I recognized the form, but convinced myself I was just confused by the sudden disappearance of the wall. Then I cleared the dust from my eyes and saw that it was indeed Drusilla who glided into the room.

Indeed it was Drusilla, if Drusilla had grown another foot, had her back stiffened, and lived through several bad wars. Her clear eyes were now filled with fire, and her button nose and bee-stung lips were twisted in a snarl. Her golden locks of hair extended in all directions, as if she had just shaken hands with a lightning bolt.

Her voice was no longer quiet, but still in perfect pitch as she said, “I have come for my property. Your wards no longer protect you. Give me what is mine!”

One of the elven mages choked out the first two words of a spell. Drusilla barked out a few unhuman words and the entire assemblage was treated to the sight of an elven skeleton, standing for a moment after the flesh had been blasted off. I thought of Ampi’s warning about the Vermeers being magicians and inwardly groaned. Drusilla might be of that family after all. I noted that she was not taller, but rather floated a foot above the debris.

The disintegration of the elven mage was enough to convince most of the other guests, and the haiflings as well, to abandon the entire business. They fled through both doors and the new aperture in the wall. Drusilla was more than willing to let them go. Instead she turned to me and snarled, “Fool!”

Not the best of greetings, I must admit. I said, “We missed you for lunch. We were worried. Well, I was, anyway.”

Sparks seemed to glow from Drusila’s eyes, and flames danced from her fingertips. “If you had not bumbled so badly, I would have regained the amber box quietly. Now I must take it. Give it to me.”

I nodded and was about to hold it out. “Don’t do it!” said a nasal voice from the doorway. “You are protected from her as long as you hold it. Give it up and she will kill you.”

The small human, the collector from earlier in the day, stepped through the gap in the wall as well. Drusilla gasped and stepped backward, toward the remains of the buffet table, “Go away!” She snarled. “This isn’t for you.”

“I’m afraid it is,” said the short, balding human. “And we both know it.”

“Hold on,” I said, fed up with the smoke, noise, and danger. I held the box out. “What’s in here that’s so important?” I reached to try to pry the box open.

Drusilla screamed and flung herself at me. I had the good sense not to drop the box, but instead clutched it to my breast like a precious talisman and stood my ground. Drusilla hovered before me, her face slightly above mine. “You promised to recover it,” she said, “to give it to me. What about your promise?”

“A promise made under false pretenses is not binding,” said the small human calmly, as if he conducted all his business dealings in a ruined bar with a floating, frightening looking woman. “Don’t hide behind that.”

“You’re the one hiding, Collector,” snapped Drusilla, floating a few paces back and turning toward to the short human. “Why not show your true self?”

The small man stared at the floating woman for a moment, then gave a thin smile and nodded. “As you wish,” he said, and as he spoke the words he began to grow.

The Collector’s skin turned reddish and erupted with ridges of black. His hands and arms elongated, ending in yellowish talons. The nondescript face grew fangs, and horns sprouted from his forehead. There was a tearing noise as ebon bat wings sprouted from his back. Ridiculously, the thin glasses remained perched on his broad nose, making his eyes look like great yellowish platters.

“Look at him!” cried Drusilla, “Look at what wants the box!”

“A Baatezu!” I shouted, aware that my voice cracked as I spoke, and for the moment not caring.

“A Devil, if you please,” said the creature in the same nasal tone as before, “I don’t stand on ceremony, and its a much clearer, simpler, and concise word. And speaking of hiding, you haven’t told your minion here what was in the box, have you, Drusilla?”

The floating woman hissed and retreated a few paces. The devil pulled up the wreckage of a chair and sat down. “You see, young mortal, ‘Collector’ is not a hobby, or even much of a name. Its more ofajob description. It is my task to collect on old debts, regardless of age. This one has been outstanding for over a hundred years.”

I clutched the box to my chest and could only nod, A hundred years? Then Drusilla was more than the descendant of magicians. She was probably one of the original Vermeers herself.

“Feel the warmth of the box, mortal?” said the Collector. “That is Drusilla Vermeer’s soul. She traded it away years and years ago, but hid it before we could collect. She studied necromancy in order to keep herself alive until such a time she thought we would forget. But we,”- he pushed his glasses back up on his nose-”never forget.”

Drusilla said “He’s lying. He’s a devil. They’re evil creatures. They’ll do anything to get what they want. You know that. You know me.” As she spoke she drifted slowly to the ground. Her face, contorted with anger moments before, now smoothed itself back into pouting lips and wide, angelic eyes. “You know he’s lying. If it were not mine, why would I ask for your help? I didn’t want to get you in so much trouble. You know he’s not telling the truth.”

The fact was I did not know. I scanned my memory for every one of Miss Rodigar-Glenn’s mystoricals and nowhere did I find a situation anything like the one I now faced. Miss Rodigar-Glenn was woefully mute about the subject of devils and necromancers.

Yet it was Drusilla who made the request, and she did ask me first, regardless of her true appearance. I had promised, even if the devil was correct about the promise not being binding. Slowly, I took the amber box from my chest and held it out to her. With a shy smile she reached out for it.

“Master Tertius, no!” shouted Ampi, appearing suddenly at the hole in the wall. Despite myself, I jerked the box back away from Drusilla’s fingertips. The sound of Ampi’s voice was ingrained in my bones, and a sharp command was enough to change my mind.

Drusilla spun on her heels toward the genie and the snarl returned to her face. “What do you want, servant of the ring?”

“I want a resolution,” said Ampi calmly, and produced a small scroll. “A just resolution. Do you know what this is, Drusilla Vermeer?”

Drusilla’s face turned ash white. It seemed to me to be the natural color for her. Her hair, once golden, was bleached out as well, the ringlets looking like smoke instead. “No,” she said simply. “No.”

“May I?” said the Collector, and Ampi turned the scroll over to the devil. The infernal creature scanned the scroll quickly. “Yes, its what I thought it was. The original agreement between you, Drusilla Vermeer, and the Infernal Court. Power in exchange for your immortal soul. Power enough to destroy the rest of your family, if I remember right. And you’ve almost gotten your soul back. Not bad work, for a ghost.”