Simon Green - Daemons Are Forever

“Molly Metcalf said I might find answers here,” said Mr. Stab. They might have been discussing the weather. “Old knowledge, unavailable anywhere else. Perhaps even the means to a cure for my condition. Or at least, to ameliorate certain aspects of it.”

William considered him thoughtfully. “You chose to make yourself what you are. Have you now come to regret it?”

“You know this library better than anyone,” said Mr. Stab. “Can you help me?”

“Why should I?” William said bluntly. “After all you’ve done, why shouldn’t I delight in the prospect of your inevitable descent into Hell?”

“To save future lives?” Mr. Stab said calmly. “So that there might be no more Pennys, and no more Rafes.”

William sniffed. “I suppose there might be something here. We have books on every subject under several suns; from the unusual to the improbable, the unlikely to the downright impossible. I’m pretty sure you’re in there somewhere. It depends… on exactly what it is you want me to find.”

“I made myself what I am,” said Mr. Stab. “Everything I am and everything I have ever done… is my responsibility. But for the first time… I wish to change things.”

“That would depend on who or what you made your original deal with,” William said carefully. “Some deals can be… renegotiated. Do you wish to become human again?”

“I’ve always been human,” said Mr. Stab. “That’s the problem. I want… something else. I want to find a way to bring back my victims. All of them. To raise from the dead all the woman I have slaughtered, down the many years, and give them life again. Right back to those five poor women who made it all possible, back in that unseasonably hot autumn of 1888.”

“I’m sorry,” said William. “But it can’t be done.”

Mr. Stab surged forward impossibly quickly, a long, gleaming blade suddenly in his hand. Before William could even react, the razor-sharp edge was pressed against his throat, just above his Adam’s apple. Mr. Stab stared coldly into William’s face, his cold breath beating on William’s wide-open eyes. The blade pressed against the skin of his throat, and a single slow trickle of blood ran down his neck as the skin parted just a little under the sharp edge. William sat very still.

“That is not the answer I wanted to hear,” said Mr. Stab.

“We all have things in our life that we would wish undone,” William said carefully. He clearly wanted very much to swallow, but didn’t dare. “But sins can never be undone. Only pardoned.”

“It’s not enough,” said Mr. Stab.

“I know,” said William. He kept looking right into Mr. Stab’s unwavering gaze, unnerving as that was, because it was better than looking down at the blade at his throat. “But there’s nothing here in this library, no book or knowledge, that will let you bring the dead back to life. Only one man could ever do that, and I think we can definitely agree that you’re not him. I could help you raise the spirits of those poor unfortunate women, so you could commune with them, or raise up their bodies as zombies; but that isn’t what you want. What you need.”

Mr. Stab thought about that for a long moment, while William scarcely breathed, and then he stepped back abruptly and made his long blade disappear again. William put a hesitant hand to his throat, and breathed a little more easily as he only saw a few drops of blood on his fingertips.

“What else is there?” said Mr. Stab. He wasn’t looking anywhere in particular, and William clearly wondered if Mr. Stab was still talking to him.

“Else?” said William.

“I can’t undo what I did, can’t stop being who I am. Can’t even stop or escape through death. What does that leave?”

“There’s always atonement,” said William. “Perform enough good deeds to balance out your sins.”

Mr. Stab considered that. “Would killing in a good cause count?”

“I would say so, yes.” Mr. Stab smiled for the first time. “Good thing there’s a war on, then.” He turned and walked away. William watched him go, and then looked again at the blood on his fingertips.

Some time later I stood in the rose-coloured glow of the Sanctity with the Matriarch at my side, waiting for the others I had summoned to arrive. I didn’t know whether it was me, or the times, but Strange’s ruddy glow no longer calmed or comforted as it once had. Strange himself was very quiet. Perhaps he didn’t approve of the things I was having the family do, with the armour and power he so selflessly provided. I couldn’t allow myself to care. I had a war to win. I’d care later, if I was still alive.

Or at least I hoped I would.

“It’s never easy,” Martha said suddenly, her harsh, cold voice echoing in the great empty chamber. “Never easy, sending agents out into the field, possibly or even quite probably to their deaths. We do it because it’s necessary, for the good of the family and the world. But it never gets any easier.”

“Thanks for the thought,” I said. “But knowing that doesn’t help.”

“It will,” said Martha. “In time. I’m glad you came home, Edwin. Who could have known we’d have so much in common?”

“Eddie,” Strange said abruptly. “Sorry to intrude, but your meeting will have to wait. I’ve just been informed by the security people at the holding cells that Sebastian has been murdered.”

“What?” said the Matriarch. “That’s impossible! Not under our security!”

“What happened?” I said, cutting across the Matriarch. “Did he try to escape?”

“No,” said Strange. “He was just found dead in his cell.”

“How could this have happened?” said the Matriarch. She sounded honestly outraged. “Our security is the best in the world. It has to be.”

“Details are still coming through,” said Strange. He sounded subdued, almost distant. Not at all his usual exuberant self. I suppose a constant supply of bad news will do that. And I couldn’t help thinking that our material world must have been such a disappointment to him. I made myself concentrate on what Strange was saying. “At first the guards thought it might be suicide. Until they got inside the isolation tank, and discovered the extent of his wounds, which were…extensive. It seems he’d been cut open, from throat to crotch. But there’s no record of anyone entering the tank. No sign that anyone entered or left. The security cameras show nothing. Which I gather is supposed to be impossible.”

“Keep us updated on the investigation,” I said after a moment. “And double the number of guards at the doors of all the holding tanks.”

“That’s it?” said Martha. “Edwin, we need to go down there and see this for ourselves!”

“No we don’t,” I said. “We’d just be in the way. Let security get on with their job. They’re very good at it.”

“But…”

“They already know how impossible it is. They don’t need us looking over their shoulders. We have to concentrate on what’s really important, not let ourselves be distracted. That could be why Sebastian was killed now, to distract us on the eve of launching our attack. After all; why kill Sebastian? What could he possibly have told us?”

“The identity of the long-term traitor in the family,” said Martha. “Only one of us could have evaded our security. Someone who knew it, inside and out. But you’re right, Edwin. We can’t let ourselves be distracted from what really matters.”

One of us. Yes. I wanted it to be one of us, bad as that was. Because it could have been Molly. I didn’t want to think that, but I couldn’t stop myself. Molly could have got to Sebastian, using her magics. She wanted him dead, because of what he did to her. Or … could the thing inside her have influenced her thoughts, and had her kill him for the Loathly Ones’ own purposes?