C.E. Murphy - Demon Hunts

When it came to rest, it became Laurie Corvallis.

The monster simply disappeared, misshapen form falling into nothing, and Corvallis arched up out of the snow screaming in its wake. Coyote surged back in shock, and for a microsecond I just stood there agape and childishly infuriated. It wasn't fair. It was just not fair that this goddamned monster could shuffle off its mortal coil faster than a thought; that its very body was so much a psychic construct that it could be discarded the moment something better came along. No wonder I couldn't hold the damned thing. Even gods were more constrained by physical form than the wendigo was.

I hated it. I hated it a lot, even knowing there was a woman somewhere inside there who needed rescuing. I hated that it was so slippery and that I wasn't fast enough; I hated its need to kill to survive; I hated its cold ruthless will that let it cling to a world it should have already passed beyond.

And I hated that Laurie Corvallis, whom I didn't like very much, was going to die if I didn't get my act together. Coyote shook off shock and slammed forward again, pinning her down as I skidded across the snow to join them.

"I got her out." My voice was so low and frustrated it sounded like it came from someone else. "I almost had her out of the storm, out of the cold between. I just couldn't hold on, Coyote. I was so cold, and she fell. She fell, and…"

Corvallis opened her eyes and dropped her jaw to hiss at me from the back of her throat. I toppled over with an undignified squeak, and Coyote, holding her shoulders down, gave me a look of pure disgust. Some great healer I was, when a little demon possession freaked me out, but Corvallis's blue eyes were bloodshot red, even the pupils. Her teeth, at least, hadn't undergone a transformation, and were nice and white and even rather than being filed points.

"How far did she fall? How far did she fall, Jo? "

"I don't know! Far enough to leave her body empty!" I clapped one hand on Corvallis's head and put the other, awkwardly, at her hip. Awkward because I still had the spear and didn't want to let it go, not because I had some kind of personal space issue going on. "Raven, guide me. If I have to go back into that storm to find her, I will, but that place scares the crap out of me. I need your help. I promise lollipops."

I felt the reassuring non-weight of my spirit guide on my shoulder, his unearthly talons squeezing tight muscle. I whispered, "Don't let us freeze to death, Yote," and for what seemed like the hundredth time, closed my eyes to risk the storm.

Corvallis slapped her hand up, fingers clawed inside their mitten, and hauled me back out.

The world shifted, all signs of winter melting away. I was in a concrete jungle: skyscrapers wound with ivy reached for the stars, streams ran over the dashed lines of asphalt streets, predators prowled grassy sidewalks and lurked in alleyways while herd animals raced ahead of them, in a rush to eat, to work, to play. I thought I made a rather magnificent addition to the surroundings, in my torn jeans and oily tank-top and with a tall wooden spear in my hand. I fit right in as one of the predators. Men and women in business suits avoided me, while young punks sized me up for potential battle. I shook my spear and shooed them away so I could look around in peace.

Billboards and electronic tickers were half destroyed by wilderness, though their remnants showed news images, one of them recurring over and over: Corvallis at a news anchor's desk, internationally famous eye symbol predominant behind her. There was something not quite right about her, hard to pinpoint from the fractured images.

She was tawnier than in real life, black hair streaked with blond, warm skin tones a little more golden. There was something feline about her, and I laughed as it came to me: king of the jungle. This was pretty, ambitious Laurie Corvallis's garden, a cityscape jungle, and she was its lioness. Which was way, way more than I'd ever wanted to know about her. Still, I kind of admired it. At least she knew what she wanted.

Though in this particular case, the fact that I was here, and not in the wendigo's storm, suggested that what she wanted was help. It also suggested she had some vestige of control left, which was good for both of us. All I had to do was find her, and maybe together we'd stand a chance against the demon. "Laurie? Hey, Laurie!"

Her name echoed off ruined buildings, but she didn't appear. I pursed my lips, then took off at a run through the streets, trusting Corvallis's subconscious to take me where I needed to go. The city bent and folded and presented me with the Channel Two News building within a few dozen strides. Unsurprised, I took the stairs up two at a time, and burst into the anchor room. "Laurie?"

"I can't come out." Her voice was a whisper, bouncing around so it seemed to come from nowhere. "It'll get me if I come out."

"I'm here to stop it." I thought I sounded remarkably confident. I hoped she thought so, too. "Where are you? Can you tell me what you remember?"

"There was a storm. I was lost." She sounded about six. "Someone tried to rescue me, but then I couldn't see her anymore. The storm came up and I started to run, and I ran until I came here. But now the storm is here, too, looking for me. I think it wants to kill me."

I'd pinpointed her by the end of her explanation, though I didn't want to let her know that. Instead I came to sit on the anchor's desk, pretty sure she was under it. I wondered if she always thought of herself as a kid who hid beneath desks.

If she did, that probably explained a lot about her aggressiveness. Talk about making up for perceived inadequacies in spades. "I think you're right. The storm is trying to get to you. But I can help you fight it, if you want."

"…you can?" She looked about six as she peeked out from under the desk, all big hopeful eyes and quivering lower lip. Given a set of whiskers, she'd be the world's most pathetic kitten. Man, if I got her out of this alive I would have all the blackmail material I'd ever need to keep myself off the news.

Not that I would ever, ever use my special magic powers to such a naughty, self-involved end. Of course not. That would be wrong. And more to the point, the gift I'd tried so hard to ignore and had finally grown comfortable with would no doubt depart at the least opportune moment in retaliation for my bad behavior. Look, I never said I was a good person. Sometimes threats to my own health and happiness were the best way to keep me on the straight and narrow.

"I can," I said firmly. "That's what I do. I help people."

Corvallis squinted suspiciously over the edge of the desk. It reduced the kitten aspect and aged her considerably, which was something of a relief. I did not want to introduce six-year-olds to fighting wendigos. Or anything else, for that matter. She inched farther up the desk, frown deepening. "How?"

"How? How do I help? Messily, usually, and you don't make it any easier." Probably this was not the time to scold her. I made a face and tried again. "I'm a shaman. I deal in sicknesses that doctors don't believe exist. Right now you're sick. A demon's taken over your body. I can help you get it back."

She got to her feet, an adult again, though still with the vaguely feline air. "A demon. Like in The Omen? "

"No, that was the Anti-Christ, wasn't it? More like…" My limited knowledge of pop culture failed me entirely. "Look, don't worry what it's like. That storm we were in was…Hell." It wasn't. Or at least I didn't think it was. But it was the closest shorthand I had.

Unfortunately, it also had a connotation I hadn't quite thought through. Corvallis's voice shot up: "You mean I'm dead? "