Demon Master 2 (The Demon Master Series)

by Daniel Pierce

  Enoch was very quick, and he seized on the meaning but managed to control his excitement. If he would be elsewhere, he had a chance of escape, and in the meantime, as a seasoned sadist, he knew that pleasure was, finally, not far away. With a gaze that was slightly less venomous, he surveyed the room around him, seeing it as a means to an end rather than a complete affront to his station as a scholar.

  “I do love to learn. And teach,” Enoch spat, but he was inwardly pleased. Dieter straightened his silk tie, bade him a good afternoon in perfectly urbane fashion, and departed, leaving Enoch as the king of a decaying castle crowded with the trash of decades. Gritting his teeth, he kicked at a tattered footstool and then reluctantly bent to pick it up. The sting of Elizabeth’s hand was still fresh enough to bend his considerable will. For now.

  29

  Florida: Ring

  We returned to normalcy after my outburst, and Suma left to her duties in Orlando. It was the three of us, Gyro, and some mildly bruised feelings, but that wasn’t anything new. We agreed to a detailed planning session on the deck to discuss everything I’d learned from Delphine. Risa and Wally sat cross-legged, alternately scratching Gyro’s ears as he lolled in supreme comfort between them. The wood of the dock felt unusually ridged under my bare feet, and I wiggled my toes. Risa cued in on my behavior, watching me with interest.

  “Sensitive today?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun with a slanted hand. She peered up at me, and then poked my foot with her tiny, hard finger.

  I pulled back after a mock kick at her inquisitive touch. “Cut that out. Yes, I’m a bit on edge today. I can still feel Delphine. And don’t roll your eyes, Wally, I’m serious. This is different,” I added, letting my tension leak into my voice.

  “How so?” Wally asked. She was taking me seriously, which was progress given our explosive morning.

  “She’s more powerful than when we first met, but it’s more than that. I don’t think she understands what’s happening, not after everything she revealed. She was open with me, more than just the stories about her vulnerability. It was the first time I’ve ever seen into the periphery of her relationships with other immortals.”

  Everyone, including Gyro, was listening now.

  Risa said, “Who? And what do you mean by periphery? Is it in her past or within her current contacts among the Undying?”

  “Both. Her past is, well, it’s an enormous amount of time, so the story is incredibly complex, but here’s the most important thing: She wants to help protect us from Elizabeth. I really believe that’s the simple truth.” I took a spot next to Wally and folded my legs under me. “We need to start thinking about Delphine in two ways. We must consider her as an ally who is capable of more than just seduction. She’s made of sterner stuff than I had first thought.”

  “Obviously.” Wally was emphatic. “She survived a long time in a hard world. She is tough, yes, and she must have talents that keep her safe.”

  “Her talents are not purely defensive, right?” Risa asked. “I mean, it seems obvious that she must be able to protect herself somehow that doesn’t involve sex. Correct?”

  Risa was right; Delphine didn’t have the luxury of luring every enemy into her bed. The capricious nature of the world would never allow for such planning. “Exactly,” I began. “Last night I learned about the mechanics of her immortality and how she protects herself. The truth is even more bizarre than anything we’ve ever seen. Wally, remember how confused we were by those warlocks, the first ones that we ran across?”

  Wally’s gaze lost focus as she recalled details of that particular fight. It had been up close, violent, and it ended with very human blood on our hands for the first time.

  “Oh, they were bad, black inside. I was glad to see them die. I did not understand how they always knew where we were.” She finished with a shrug, and Risa did the same. Dealing with warlocks was disquieting; they were almost always plotting something cruel simply for the sake of harming others. I had not hesitated one second in putting the blade to a warlock since we truly understood how repugnant they generally were.

  “Delphine has lived in New Orleans for two centuries, and now I know why she feels safe there. She hired a builder, a craftsman of some sort who calls himself The Carpenter.”

  “Ominous name. What did he build?” Risa asked.

  “I’ll try to explain it as best I can, but it’s going to sound bizarre, even for us. He was ordered by Delphine to create some form of protection for her. And he did, a thing of magic I assume, that exists to this day and has killed on her behalf at least twice.”

  “What did this man make?” Wally demanded.

  “First, I’m not convinced he was just a man. I think it’s safe to say he was a warlock or some sort of magic user. Secondly, he took stones, ordinary rocks, and made them magnets for emotion, I think. Whatever the nature of these unassuming hunks of rock, they’re scattered throughout a floor that covers Delphine’s bedchamber. It’s a circle with her bed raised in the middle, ensconced in a room that is over thirty feet across. There are two entrances, and only men can hope to survive, even for a moment, as the floor is fatal to women.”

  “What? Seriously?” Risa was agog.

  Wally’s mouth hung open, too. I’d been right; this was the strangest thing in our experience.

  “Even Delphine doesn’t know why women are killed outright. I suspect, like us, she knows the Undying, but not as much about the science of magic. But what happens to men in her bedroom is well beyond our understanding. The maker of her defenses imbued these stones, or the wood, I don’t know if there is a difference—but with every step you take towards the center of the room, the very worst of your fears, your dreams, your shame all come home to you. A wave of shame and remorse crashes over you, and it is apparently savage enough that most men are reduced to weeping children in a matter of seconds.”

  Wally asked, “How does the floor speak?”

  “It’s like a whisper or a murmur. It starts when you enter the room, voices you might not recognize, and then, with each step, the memories get more vivid, and the voices become more . . . probing, more insistent. They mine your deepest secrets and turn them against you like knives that cut your heart out while you weep.”

  “Jesus. That’s diabolical,” Risa said, shaking her head. “Who doesn’t have regrets? No one would be immune to that type of onslaught. It reeks of magic; it’s far too subtle to be a tool of the Undying. They’ve usually got really shitty impulse control.”

  “Unless it was Elizabeth’s house. She plans far ahead,” Wally said, cognizant of Elizabeth’s penchant for delayed evil.

  “That explains some of why Delphine lives in New Orleans, but not all. That house can only defend her against threats that she sees from a distance. What about sudden attacks?” Risa asked.

  I remembered Delphine’s words form the night before. Pain had followed her over the years, and it had struck home many times. What she endured as a matter of course would have killed most people. Being a succubus was a decided disadvantage in the blood arena of the Undying.

  “They can hurt, and even kill. Delphine has lost an ocean of blood over the path of her life. I was—well, she lived through some of the worst events in history; not even her extensive avoidance of conflict left her unmarked. But she always persevered, even with Elizabeth at her heels. It seems that Delphine has been under surveillance for the entirety of her life. And worse, she’s known of it. Can you imagine, not being able to take a free breath?” I shook my head in wonder. It was an oppressive way to live. “I learned that very few immortals make it past their first century. They can starve to death or get caught in a war and killed in a number of ways. There are natural disasters beyond their control or slavery under a stronger Undying. There are threats on every front, so to live as long as Elizabeth or Delphine, there has to be intellect, fortitude, and a dollop of luck along the way.”

  “I am still sort of mad at her, but not because you find her admirabl
e. I just don’t like new things,” Wally grumped. She was a creature of habit.

  “She isn’t new, Blondie, she’s been around forever,” I said.

  Wally wrinkled her nose at that.

  “I see your point, but I wish that we could get over that resistance to her. She’s ballsy, and she hates Elizabeth in a way we can never know. Elizabeth has killed, I don’t know, dozens of Delphine’s lovers, friends, and employees over the years. It’s a tradition, one paid in blood. Don’t you think that we need to harness that?” I looked to Wally for agreement; I really needed her onboard with this new direction.

  “Okayyyy. I will not let her borrow my car or my shoes, but we can get along,” Wally groused, but in a playful voice that said we were moving forward with this new tactic.

  Risa stood up and brushed off, asking in a quiet voice, “You never said what Delphine told you that convinced you to regard her as an ally.”

  “Yes I did. It was the blood and the threats and murder. All of it, but I think I knew we needed Delphine when I realized that all of this was happening to her at the hands of her own mother. And mind you, this mother wants us all dead. Do you think we should let that be?” I asked softly. I needed accord from my partners, and I needed it badly. We had to be unified.

  “Her own mother,” Risa said ruefully. “That is a long time to be cruel.” There was a spark of anger in her voice.

  “I think we should talk to Delphine and find out where to kill Elizabeth. I do not want it to happen in my house,” Wally said.

  I barked a laugh. “And why not?”

  “Because I do not want that bitch ruining my furniture,” Wally said, beautiful with her anger, and we all went inside, a team once more.

  30

  New Orleans: Elizabeth

  “Joseph, water, if you please,” Elizabeth directed in a firm tone.

  He handed her a glass with a straw, which she took without looking back. Tied to a chair in front of her was a frail, old man with coal black skin. Wire bindings bit deep into his ankles and wrists, and a single strand of thin copper braid lashed his neck backwards at an uncomfortable angle. Despite his condition, and having been fetched several sharp blows to the mouth, he glared at Elizabeth with an indomitable set to his jaw. A swollen eye wept tears, but the other burned with hatred as he spat the straw onto the floor of the sumptuous hotel suite. Elizabeth shook her head slightly in amazement, as if failing to comprehend why the man would refuse to answer such simple questions.

  She leaned slightly forward as if conferring a secret to a cherished friend. “Now, Peter, I’ve asked you here as a courtesy, but I simply cannot grasp why you’re choosing to be so difficult. A few minor questions, perhaps a drawing or two, and we could complete our business and get on with our respective days. Am I being unreasonable?” She stood, smoothing her skirt and walking to the window where late afternoon sun poured onto the carpet in a soft, golden rectangle. “Joseph, if you would be so kind as to repeat my request, using exactly the inflection that Enoch wrote down—”

  “I will not help you, demon,” Peter spat. “You will rot before I give you license to tame a ghoul. It is unnatural and a violation of the ways of the gods. You are too poisonous to be trusted with such a thing.” He concluded this condemnation with a slouching motion, as if making peace with his end. It was the right thing to do, considering the atmosphere in the room.

  Elizabeth approached him again and told Joseph, “Free his right hand. Then bring me that charcoal and parchment.” She stared into Peter’s eyes with a feral gleam as a shudder ran involuntarily through his chest. His death was close, very close now, and like an animal on the run, he could sense its approach. Joseph wrested one hand free of the wires and let his arm dangle, but Peter could take no action due to the cramps and numbness from his captivity.

  Elizabeth placed a stick of charcoal in his weak grip and said earnestly, “Thank you for speaking English, Peter. I so distrust translations of any type. I cannot yet fully trust my pets, and to remove them from their assigned cages merely to—supervise your doodles, that would not be an effective use of my time. Not on such a lovely day, don’t you agree?” She smiled brightly at him as she levered the parchment pad under his hand. “Joseph, for posterity, if you please.”

  “We are now recording, ma’am,” Joseph reported, holding a phone aloft to capture what would be the complete capitulation of a man who had been, only hours earlier, a feared practitioner of African blood magic. Now he was a corpse waiting to be created at the hand of a perfectly depraved killer. Elizabeth smirked and began to move the pad in a series of non-sequential motions. A moan of fear and resignation escaped Peter’s bloodied lips, as the image of a sinuous, malignant serpent began to take shape. The Negwenya, mused Joseph. The snake was a parasitic rune capable of causing madness, death, and even a pitiable spiral into self-mutilation. Placed on the skin, the drawing would adhere, crossing from two dimensions to three, and inhabit the unlucky recipient as it quickly established dominion over nerves, flesh, and bone. It was coiled on the page, but somehow seemed to recognize Joseph as a potential host. He stepped back involuntarily, cognizant of the short distance between him and the thing on the paper.

  Elizabeth furrowed her brow as she critiqued the smudges forming before her. “And to clarify, Peter, I can already control a ghoul; I have other purposes for this bit of folk art.”

  Peter bucked against the bonds that held him, but his arm only swung down like a flesh pendulum, free of his control or intent. Elizabeth gave a critical frown at the unfinished drawing, and, in a series of bold, decisive strokes, began to augment and add depth and detail to the serpent, finishing the complicated rendering from memory.

  “You knew this thing, all along?” Peter gasped, looking at his bonds, tasting the blood in his mouth and seeing, for the first time, just who was crouching before him in her silk suit and flawless makeup. “Bitch. Eater. Demoness!” His voice was a soft hiss at the truth before him.

  Elizabeth stood, admiring her work, and set the parchment on the table with a satisfied pat. “There, complete and ready for use, should it be necessary.” At Dieter’s questioning look, she deigned to explain. “Of course, I’m familiar with the creation of such unpleasant runes, but I needed the video to make certain that none of our houseguests think me too civilized for more invasive punishments.”

  Joseph smiled deferentially, his face frozen behind a mask of complete obedience. Elizabeth’s taste for inflicting pain was limitless, and he reminded himself to never forget that fact.

  She picked up her clutch and began to stride to the door, but before she touched the handle, she paused, as if remembering a funny quip. “Joseph, it occurred to me that a man of Peter’s standing in his community might know a great deal of young women. The type of women who might find an official doctor’s visit to be a bit too noticeable for their citizenship status, yes? Do you understand?” She waved warmly at Peter and stepped through the wide door without another glance.

  Joseph did understand, clearly, and he sat in front of the captive with purpose. Act as if she is watching, at all times. Because she is.

  “Ahh, Peter,” Joseph began, moribund at the task before him but determined to obey his mistress, “I find myself forced to ask you a few questions about the . . . community of which you are such an integral part.” He finished this sentence with an apologetic wag of his head, as if the entire unpleasant afternoon was something he wished they could avoid, but even as he did so, he picked up small pliers that had been resting on the nightstand nearby, sitting them daintily on Peter’s knee. He clapped his hands on his thighs, indicating he was ready to start, and leaned close to Peter, whose face had gone ashen under his formerly magnificently burnished skin. “I’d like you to tell me who provides medical care for the women who are working here under the radar. And—this is the most important point, Peter,” he warned. “I need to know where those women go for pregnancies, if they eschew hospitals and the prying eyes of the immigration aut
horities.”

  Peter flailed his arm once, but Joseph caught it in an iron grip and dislocated the elbow with an incremental bend, the soft pop of the bursa echoing in the room like a precursor to an avalanche. Gasping, Peter opened his mouth to scream, but Joseph darted the pliers, which appeared in his hand with a lightning speed, and caught his tongue, placing a tiny amount of pressure that drew a drop of blood which smeared like a flower petal underfoot.

  “I know,” Joseph began in a conspiratorial voice, “it feels like betrayal. But it isn’t, you see, because she already knows. She has always known, just as you understand, here and now, that this can only end in one fashion. So, I ask one more time, where can I find these women?” As he finished the question, Joseph removed the pliers and folded his arms in a pose of silent attention.

  Peter, sobbing through his tears, folded inward, and in a voice of utter defeat, began to speak.

  31

  Florida: Ring

  “Well, this is unexpected.” I looked at Kevin’s long form standing on our porch, holding a basketball under one arm and looking a bit uncomfortable.

  Wally pulled at my shoulder and said, “Come in, come in, Father!”

  Her excitement died on the vine when Delphine stepped around him and said, “Love to. Is it too early for wine, Waleska?” Now Kevin’s twisted grin was explained as he waved Delphine ahead in a solidly continental display of gallantry.