Lisa Shearin - The Trouble With Demons

Piaras indicated an open door on the other side of the kitchen. Even though neither Vegard nor I had sensed anything still among the living in the house, none of us wanted to say anything out loud. The things in Sirens hadn’t been alive, and they’d caused plenty of trouble.

Vegard and Phaelan went to check the door, and more important, what was on the other side. When they’d finished, Vegard looked back at us and nodded.

Beyond that door was a hallway in the back of the house. There were several doors leading off of it and one staircase, leading up, presumably into the main part of the house. Everything was plain and practical; it had to be the servants’ section. I’d expected Piaras to make a beeline for those stairs and Carnades’s study or bedroom. He indicated a door that led to what must have been a common room for the servants. Thankfully, there were no bodies in there. Lamps were lit, but light didn’t make it any better. There was something on the floor that I’d seen before and didn’t want to see again.

Black goo. Undead horde black goo. Along with it was a yellowish, green slime that shone in a thin trail across the room and ended at a closed door. None of us wanted to open that door, but at least one of us had to. I took one step toward it, but Vegard was there first. One hand held his battle-ax, its blade glowing blue in the dim light. His other hand reached for the doorknob. I felt a brush of cold air coming from beneath that door. I swallowed, braced myself, and nodded to Vegard.

There weren’t any demons or undead warriors on the other side of the door, though what was there was just as bad.

Stairs leading down into pitch darkness.

“Why is the spooky shit always in the basement?” Phaelan muttered.

“Piaras, are you sure?” I asked.

He nodded. “What was in this box went down those stairs.”

And it didn’t get there by itself. The demons found it, the demons had it, and now the demons had gone into the basement. And we had to follow them. No choice, no option.

“Let’s get some lights,” I said. “I want it bright as noon down there.”

Down there was packed dirt walls and nothing else. Leave it to Carnades not to have a basement full of junk. The only thing that was there was a fresh hole dug into the wall, about four feet tall. The hole was fresh; the stench was not. Vegard took a whiff and scowled.

I smelled brimstone. I felt something else.

I stood motionless and let the residuals flow over me.

It was black magic, thick and vile. It had been done here, and recently. Raising an undead horde would definitely qualify. It was fetid and dripping with raw hatred. Evil. I felt it through my clothes, crawling on my skin, slick and cloying. I immediately started breathing through my mouth to keep myself from gagging.

The glow increased on Vegard’s ax. “What is it?”

“You can’t smell it?”

“Brimstone?”

I shook my head. “Black magic.”

“You can smell it, ma’am?”

“More like sense, probably through the Saghred. I guess evil calls to evil.”

“You’re not evil.”

“Thank you, Vegard. Tell that to Carnades. Or better yet, save it for my trial.”

“There won’t be a trial.”

“You’re right,” I said, staring down into the darkness where I had to go. “If the demons don’t get me, Carnades will skip the trial and go straight to the execution.”

Vegard opened his mouth to protest and I held up a hand. “That’s his plan-that’s not what he’s going to get.”

“That’s my girl, ma’am.”

I looked at him. “Vegard, when are you going to stop calling me ‘ma’am’?”

He grinned. “When I don’t respect and admire you anymore.”

My throat went tight. “That hasn’t happened yet?”

His eyes shone with unabashed pride. “Not even close.”

I shone my lightglobe into the hole. I wasn’t worried about anything jumping out at me. Whatever had been here had gotten what they came for and was running back to the Hellgate that spawned them.

“Phaelan, you and Piaras are leaving,” I said. “Herrick, take-”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Phaelan’s dark eyes flashed in anger.

“Yes, you are and you’re taking Piaras with you.”

“I’m not going.” Piaras stepped up beside me and looked into the dark. “You need me to-”

I turned on him. “You say the Scythe went down there. It didn’t go by itself. The demons have it, and they’re taking it back to the Hellgate. If I can’t catch the little sons of bitches first, I can at least track them far enough to locate the Hellgate and report back to Mychael.”

Piaras went to the hole and leaned inside before I could stop him. “I can feel the Scythe from here. Can you?”

I squatted down beside him; the only thing I felt was stinking air. “You’re not just saying that so you can go?”

Piaras sighed. “Raine, none of us want to go down there; but yes, I can feel the Scythe. It’s like something tugging at me, like there’s a cord attached.” He pointed to the center of his chest. “Right here.”

Dammit. That was exactly what he should feel; it was a classic seeking response. I needed the kid and the determined look in his eyes told me he knew it. That Guardian nobility crap must be rubbing off on him. If we lived until the end of the day, I was going after the kid with a scrub brush.

“You’re still leaving,” I told him.

“I’m staying.”

“You’re-”

An explosion from upstairs shook the ground beneath our feet.

“That wasn’t gunpowder,” Phaelan said.

“It was magic.” Herrick was halfway to the stairs.

Enraged shouts in elven and the pounding of booted feet came from upstairs. Carnades’s guards. Lunch must be over, and guess who was home. Oh shit.

“They’re still in the front of the house,” Herrick said. Unspoken communication passed between him and Vegard. Herrick nodded grimly and bounded up the stairs.

“In the hole!” Vegard ordered. “Now! Herrick will keep them off us.”

In the hole with the brimstone, black magic, and demons.

I’d told Carnades that I’d rather go to Hell.

Me and my big mouth.

The dirt tunnel hadn’t extended far, only about thirty feet or so. That was good. The only way we’d managed to squeeze through was hunched over and scrunched up; wide shoulders need not apply. Vegard had gotten stuck twice. It had taken a lot of grunting and quick shoving, but Phaelan had gotten the big Guardian moving again. We were certainly motivated to keep moving; there were demons in front of us and possibly Carnades’s guards behind us.

We wiggled out of the demon-dug hole in the wall and into tunnels that I was more familiar with; I didn’t like them, but at least they were familiar. I shone my small lightglobe around. Nothing but a lot of dark and cold air in both directions. But on the upside, there were no demons waiting to eat us. Vegard’s lightglobe joined mine, crackling with what looked like lightning inside. Light and an incendiary device for demons. I liked it. I beefed up my own to match.

I sent my globe down the tunnel a few feet in each direction and swore silently. No demons waiting to bite our faces off, but the black blood and green ooze extended in both directions.

Phaelan saw what I saw and nodded in grudging approval. “You can’t fault the bastards’ tactics,” he whispered. “When you steal something, split up now, meet up later.”

Demons were strategic thinkers. Wonderful.

“But isn’t Hell supposed to be down?” Phaelan asked.

“We’re headed for a gate to Hell,” I reminded him, “not the actual place.” I looked at Piaras. “Which way?”