by Norris Black
She gifted me with a full-on smile. It looked at home on her. "That's what friends are for dear," she said before turning serious again. "There's something else bothering you."
"There's lots of things bothering me. They could fill a book at this point."
"You know what I mean."
I sighed. "He brought up Lensky, Apoch did. It was in passing, but it was like a punch to the gut I wasn't expecting."
"You know what happened to them isn't your fault."
"Do I know that?" The bitterness rose up like an old friend. "I was so confident I had everything figured out, that nothing could go wrong. If I had just been a little more careful..."
"There's nothing you could've done. Lensky killed them, not you," she said sharply. "And you made sure he paid for it."
"Yeah. A day late and several dollars short. Maybe I should have that printed on the back of my business card."
We both sat quietly for a few minutes, the only sound the intermingled snores of woman and small furry beast.
Mara was the first to break the heavy silence, with a change of subject I was thankful for.
"Did the lord general have any theories on who exactly have been performing these rituals?"
"Funny you should ask." I told her about the meeting with the teen cultists, and the encounter with Raggedy Ralph.
"Is that really what you're calling him?"
"Well, 'Ralph' seems a little, I don't know, bland for a villain? And he was quite ragged after all..."
"If it makes you happy." She leaned back on the cushion, her fingers forming a steeple in front of her, lost in thought. "There's something you said that was interesting."
"Just the one thing?"
"Hush. Your new cultist friends, they said the ritual was supposed to bring about the birth of a new god."
"Yeah. And?"
"Do you know why we call the Fallen, the Last God?"
I frowned as I pondered the question. "As a matter of fact, I don't. Why do we?"
"I have absolutely no idea. And the more I think about it, the more I realize I never have. It's a name I simply know to be true, but I don't think it's a name I've ever actually learned. For that matter, how do we know it's even a god, not to mention the last one? What does that even mean? Was it the last in a succession of previous gods? If so, who were they and why don't we remember them?"
I racked my brain, but it was no use. I knew it was the corpse of the Last God that lay at the center of the Battery but had no recollection of how this information first came to me. "Its common knowledge, I guess. Everybody knows."
"Yes, but how do they know? That's the question."
"Does it mean something?"
"I’m not certain, but there's something there, I can't quite put my finger on it..." she shook her head. "A puzzle for another day. Have you given much thought as to why the leader of the Seraph paired you up with snoring beauty over there?"
"To keep an eye on me. I'm certain she has some secret orders to take me down if it turns out I was spinning tales about the level of my involvement in this mess."
"That's obvious, but not what I meant. Why her specifically? She's clearly green. I would imagine there are dozens of more veteran soldiers Apoch could've chosen. Out of all of those, he chose her. Aren't you curious as to why?"
I looked over to Dagda's sleeping form, one arm had escaped the enshrouding blanket and was now flopped out at a right angle to her body. Louie hadn't moved.
"Huh. Well I am now."
Chapter 17
"Are you sure we have to do this?" My tone was certainly not whining regardless of how it may have sounded.
"Dear Gideon, you've been walking around with a daemon in your pocket you know absolutely nothing about. A daemon I might add you have no control over."
"Isn't that what all the scribbles are for?" I asked, pointing out the intricate sigils covering the entirety of the firearm now sitting on a small table Mara had whisked in from a hidden side room. The table was about two feet in diameter and a foot high. It rested on three legs, splayed in different directions and the top of the table was covered in a series of overlapping circles ringed by symbols similar to those found on the gun.
She looked at me like I had said the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard before giving her head a shake and turning back to her preparations—which seemed to involve crushing some root that looked like a tiny dirt person into a paste using a mortar and pestle.
"Sigils only have as much power as the user can imbue in them. And since you have about the same amount of sensitivity to the wyrd as a rock does... actually less. I almost feel my connection dim a bit when you're around."
"So, you're saying..."
"That the daemon could've pulled you out of your body and carried you off to eternal torment any time it chose? Yes."
I stared at the gun like it was a live snake ready to strike at the slightest provocation.
"And you didn't think to tell me this before now?"
"You didn't tell me how it came into your possession until recently," she said archly. "How was I supposed to know you hadn't paid some rogue gunwych to place a binding of temporary transference on it."
"A binding of whatsit now?"
"Temporary transference. The gunwych forces the daemon to pledge to serve a temporary master for a set period of time. It's not done often, frankly because it's quite limited. The new owner can communicate with the daemon, relatively risk free, and request its aid, but the daemon is under no compulsion to provide that aid. If I had known you had stolen the gun from its owner—"
"I didn't steal it," I said, a little offended. "At least not on purpose." I watched the weapon in question as it sat on the table doing absolutely nothing of note. "Why did it change shape? When I first saw it, it was three times the size, not to mention a lot fancier."
"That is an excellent question and I don't think I've ever heard of something like that happening before. Which is turning out to be a bit of a habit with you, isn't it? Could you do me a favor, friend to friend? Stop bringing unheard-of impossible magical events to my door. It's starting to give me an inferiority complex."
I snorted. I've never known Mara to admit inferiority to anything. With good reason. She was the most knowledgeable wych I had ever met.
"Regardless, all the more reason to have a chat with our little gunpowder friend. There, all ready."
The small stone bowl was filled with a yellowish paste. A fruity aroma wafted from the freshly mashed root.
"Am I supposed to eat that?"
"Not unless you don't have any plans for the next three days or so."
"Oh." I sat still as she leaned forward and smeared the mixture around my eyes and onto my ear lobes. The smell of berries mixed with the scent of lavender and vanilla as Mara moved in closer to check her handiwork.
"Is this part of the ritual or are you just using me to try out some makeup techniques?"
"This will allow you to see and hear the daemon once I pry him out of his prison."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"The guardian circle will keep it contained. Just don't bump the table."
I awkwardly shuffled about a foot further back as Mara took the cushion on the far side of the small table.
"What did you say his name was again?"
"Parakas," I said hesitantly, half worrying saying his name aloud would pop him out of the pistol like the world's worst jack-in-the-box.
Mara started to chant in that language that always made my brain want to go lay down in a dark room with a cold cloth on its head. Now and then she'd speak the daemon's name, punctuating it with a flicking motion in the table's direction.
After a few moments, a form took shape in the air between us. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting, but it was certainly not what I got. You'd think I'd be used to that feeling by now.
The daemon floated in the air above the table, only a few feet in height and partially transparent, as if we were seeing a projectio
n of him. Parakas would've appeared almost human if it wasn't for the deep, verdant green of his skin and the fact that, instead of hair, his head was covered in long, twisted and thorn-encrusted branches sticking out in all directions. Here and there a leaf sprouted from a branch, fluttering in a wind that didn't exist in Mara's penthouse headquarters. He had an inhumanly narrow face with eyes the color of wet moss and when he smiled his teeth resembled nothing so much as rows of polished river stones ending in sharp, jagged edges. As surprising as all that was, it paled in comparison to his outfit. He was dressed in an immaculately fitted suit made of a cerulean blue velvet that hugged his stick-thin frame. Both of his hands rested atop a heavy oak cane resting in front of him. The sharp scent of freshly cut grass filled the room.
"What?" he asked, as I gawked at him. He checked the nails on one hand and then buffed them lightly on the wide lapel of his brilliant blue sports jacket before returning his hand to its place atop his cane. His fingernails looked like small, gnarled roots bursting forth from green ground.
"I expected you to be more..." I waved my hand helplessly in his direction. "Not green."
"Why would you ever think that?" Despite Parakas being right in front of me, his voice still sounded like it was being whispered into my ear. It was disconcerting.
"Shouldn't a gunpowder daemon be more... explodey? You know, covered in soot, maybe some fire coming out of your mouth or your eyes or something. Perhaps a little smell of sulfur or brimstone."
"I'm a little offended you profiled me in such a way." The tiny green daemon pointed his cane at the gun resting a few inches below his feet. "That is where I was trapped, not where I was born, not what I am. That doesn't define me." He swiveled in his stance, so he faced Mara, addressing her for the first time. "Haven't you taught him anything?"
Mara gave a wry smile. "I've done what I can, but you're not going to grow a garden when all you're watering is rocks."
Parakas threw back his head and laughed, the sound like hundreds of trees fluttering in a fierce wind. "Fair enough. Now, as much as I appreciate being let out to stretch my legs, I suspect this little pow wow isn't solely for the benefit of little old me."
"Why haven't you slain Gideon?" As much as I appreciated Mara's no-nonsense approach, I don't think it would've killed her to soften the question a little. At least for my benefit.
"Orders," said Parakas with a shrug. "The big boss said to get close and keep an eye on him. He was also adamant on the 'no midnight snacking' policy. Not that I would've been too inclined anyway. Have you seen his soul? I have standards you know."
I wasn't sure whether to be offended or relieved by that.
"The gunwych, Dancer, gave you these instructions?" said Mara with a frown. "But there were none of the required sigils present for that to be binding."
"No, not that guy. Dancer was a fine master for the most part. Didn't ask too much, though a little too fond of lighting things on fire for my taste. I mean the big boss. When the big boss says to do something, we daemons do it."
"That's not how any of this works," she said, shooting me an accusatory glance. I shrugged in response. "Okay then, who is this big boss?"
"Now that'd be telling," said the daemon with another grin.
"You will answer my questions," said Mara with a hint of steel in her voice. She spoke another sharp-edged word in a language I didn't understand and made another flicking motion at Parakas.
The small green man in the blue suit flinched as if in pain. He bared his river stone teeth at her. "Normally you would be correct. But the boss man overrules even your spells of binding, and I've been given pretty strict directions I have to follow. You can ask, but you'll just have to accept there are some questions that aren't going to get answered."
"Fine," said Mara as she squirmed into her cushion to get more comfortable. "Why were you told to watch Gideon?"
Parakas stroked his pointy chin with one hand while he pondered the question. "Here's what I can tell you, and I can tell you no more than this. The boss has a vested interest in keeping grumble puss here alive. There's something new in the world. It's powerful, it's violent, it's dumb and it needs to be stopped. Gideon Brown, Professional Skeptic, has an important role to play in that. As to what that role might be, well, that's above my pay grade. Maybe the boss decided he needed somebody just as dumb and violent on his side. You know, fight fire with fire."
"You know what, how about you and your boss both fuck off. I don't need any of your shit," I said.
Parakas laughed again. "It's much too late for that partner. You're already neck deep in the shit and the only way out is to swim to the other shore or choke on it as you drown."
"What is this 'new thing' you spoke about," said Mara, shooting me an angry look as she tried to get the interrogation back on track.
"I've already said what I said, and I shan't say no more," said the daemon. He tipped an imaginary hat towards Mara and then to me. "Miss, shithead. I'll be seeing you." He tapped his cane down on the invisible floor at his feet three times and on the final tap the lights went out and the sound of a wooden table splintering into a thousand toothpicks filled the room.
Chapter 18
"You poisoned me."
"I did not poison you, you just can't hold your drink," I said. Dagda had been roused from her slumber by the shattering sound of Parakas' exit. Thankfully the lights had only gone out for a moment and, when they came back on, the little daemon was gone and Mara's little table was in a lot of littler pieces with the sigil-marked revolver resting atop the wreckage unscathed. The Seraph was now sitting up on her cushion with a hand to her head. Likely suffering from one killer headache.
"Technically drinking fermented liquid could be considered a form of self-inflicted poisoning," said Mara absently as she examined what little remained of her binding table.
"See! Poisoned!" Dagda said and then winced at the loudness of her own voice. "And why is my mouth so dry."
"You're not helping," I said to Mara, before turning back to the Seraph who was busy trying to extricate herself from both blanket and a still-sleeping cat without waking the latter. "You're going to feel better after you drink some water and get some food into you."
Mara stopped her examination and started walking towards the far wall. "It'll be morning soon. I'll prepare some breakfast for us."
I immediately began to salivate at the word breakfast.
"And some whiskey?"
"No whiskey. It's too early." As she neared the wall a doorway appeared from nowhere and then vanished promptly the moment Mara walked through it.
I scowled but knew it had been a long shot anyway. Dagda had managed to relocate to another cushion leaving both blanket and a snoring Louie behind. While Mara prepared meals, I took the opportunity to update Dagda on the details of our conversation with Parakas.
"Do you do that often, consort with daemons?" she asked.
"Can we use a different word than consort? Makes it sound like I'm dancing naked under the pale moonlight with them or something. And to answer your question, no, I don't. In fact, I'm only dealing with this one because of some seriously bad luck. I'm the king of bad luck apparently"
"I don't think that's true."
"I assure you, my luck is awful."
"No, not that, about the daemon's involvement with you. You said he was given orders to watch over you, correct? Which means, he needed to get close to you. I don't think you picking up Dancer's gun was an accident. I think you were tricked into it."
I thought of how the gun had changed shape to resemble my old revolver, and how Mara commented on how unusual such behavior was and realized Dagda was onto something.
Mara reappeared carrying a tray on which rested a set of plates heaped with eggs and strips of crispy bacon as well as a pitcher of water and some glasses.
I took my plate and devoured the eggs, pushing the strips of bacon to the side. I hadn't quite regained my appetite for that yet.
"What now?" aske
d Dagda as she scraped the last bit of food off her own plate. She already seemed to be recovering from her hangover. Ah, the resiliency of youth.
"Here's what we know," I said, waving my fork about as I spoke as if I was conducting a symphony. "Some whacked out cult gets the idea they're going to call forth whatever crazy deity they've dreamed up into the real world. Nothing we haven't heard a hundred times before, but these bastards actually do it. Or at least they pulled something out. Whether it's an actual god or not is still in the undetermined pile right beside why it's so fixated on me. Regardless, whatever it is, it's mean and it can power up an awful lot of really nasty things."
"I've been thinking about that," said Mara. "The teenage cultists said fear and pain was the key to unlocking this 'new god' from wherever it was trapped. Perhaps that's why the spider constructs in the basement club and the street urchins that attacked you outside your office had been mutilated. What if it wasn't simple brutality for brutality's sake? Emotions have an energy all their own, and fear is one of the strongest. What if this creature is able to harness that energy?"
"Are you suggesting he's turning these poor wretches into, what, some kind of magic batteries with legs?"
"I wouldn't put it so crudely, but yes, I suppose I am."
I frowned as I thought it through. "What about Raggedy Ralph? He looked sickly but there were no signs he had been torn up like the other poor bastards."
"Is that what we're calling him?" Dagda's question elicited a smug smirk from Mara.
"Look, if you two want to start naming our antagonists have at it. To the point though, Ralph didn't look like he had tripped headfirst into a butcher's shop."
"He also spoke directly to you, and when injured he fled. Did any of the other creatures you encountered show any signs of self-preservation?" asked Mara.
"Now that you mention it, no."
"Which would indicate this Ralph creature is something else then. Given everything you've told me, he's likely a host, the entity's anchor in this world."
"So, if we can lay hands on this Ralph..."
