by Sara Clancy
Footsteps thundered down the hall and she turned just in time to see Delilah lunge around the corner of the doorway. Marigold screamed, grabbed the damaged door and swung it closed. Delilah threw her weight against the thin wood to keep it open and slipped her arm through the gap, a kitchen knife in her hand. It was a long, thick blade and she slashed it wildly within the limited space. With a strength that rivalled Marigold’s own, she pushed at the door. Every shove forced Marigold back. The thin plastic of her flip flops twisted around her feet and made it harder to regain the ground she lost. Shoving her shoulder against the door, Marigold risked loosening her hold to rake the hunk of glass across Delilah’s forearm. She pushed hard enough that the jagged edge cut through the layers of cloth that protected Marigold’s hand and dug into her palm. Blood spurted from Delilah. She screamed and ripped her arm back. Marigold used the moment to force the door shut. She reached for the lock.
Her hand found only empty air. She had completely forgotten that she had busted the lock and, in the struggle, the twisted hunks of metal had fallen away to leave a hole in the wood about the size of her palm. The knife threaded through the gap and licked across Marigold’s knuckles. She dropped to her knees but refused to remove her weight from the door. The chest of drawers was a short distance away. It looked heavy and sturdy, perhaps too much for her to pull it closer without releasing the door.
Delilah incessantly hit the door and stabbed the knife through the hole. Marigold stretched out, straining until she could hook her foot around the bottom leg of the chest. It groaned as she pulled it closer, inch by painful inch. Delilah screamed in rage as she threw herself with renewed force. The blade dug into the wood. It hacked off pieces, gouging at the hole to make a larger gap. Marigold flung herself across the short distance that remained, grabbed the legs of the chest, and dragged it in front of the now opening door. She scrambled over the floor and threw herself at the drawers. The floorboards peeled and items toppled down onto her as it began to move. Oils sloshed down over her and splashed across the floor. A candle soon followed and the tiny flame struck the puddle before it died. With a crackling hiss, the oil ignited. Marigold crushed her shoulder against the chest of drawers and forced it against the door with a resounding boom. She hurled herself to the side and patted herself down even though she knew the fire hadn’t spread to her. The oil mixed with the water that still clung to her skin and she couldn’t get either off of her.
Delilah howled as she battered the door. The wood splintered and cracked under the assault. It wouldn’t hold. She had to find it, how Delilah had been able to transfer the demon. This was her only chance. If she didn’t get it now, Delilah would destroy it and her only chance to gain the upper hand would be gone. She tore open the drawers of the cabinet and searched through the paperwork within. Some of the sheets were crisp and new, others tainted with time, but each had a title scribbled in one of the corners. Her skin crawled as Delilah began to slowly trail the knife over the broken wood.
“What do you think you can do in there, child?” she purred over the scraping. “Be a good girl. Let me in.”
Marigold looked up to see Delilah’s eye pressed against the gap. Within her gaze, Marigold saw rage and simmering contempt. But there was something else. The eye flicked down to the papers in Marigold’s hands and that was when she could place it. Fear. There was only the tiniest fleck of fear within Delilah’s eyes but it was definitely there.
“What are you doing?”
Marigold looked away and took to rifling through the items again. Delilah shrieked and slammed the door with more force than before. Bloody threats poured from her mouth, detailed and gruesome, and Marigold tried not to listen. Where was it? Where was it? Each sheet of paper had spells and incantations. The ink on some had broken with time and no two looked to be written by the same hand. She flicked from one title to another, relying on the hastily-written titles as her guide. Where was it? Where was it?
The door cracked and a huge hunk stripped away. Delilah reached her thin frame through the gap and drove the blade down. The tip slashed open Marigold’s cheek and dug into the drawers. Marigold gave up on the chest and ran to the next table. Her hands were shaking, her lungs were on fire. She wasn’t going to find it in time.
“Maggie!”
She whirled around to the familiar voice and called out to Louis. The gap in the door was empty.
“Louis! She has a knife!”
***
Louis leapt the few final steps to the landing and glanced around. Hunks of wood littered the hallway and he spotted one door torn in half. But the floor was empty. His ribs ached and he knew a few of his fingers were broken. Still, he gripped the statue he had found as tightly as he could as he edged further onto the floor. Only the faintest of light trickled in through the windows to turn the pitch black landscape into shades of deep grey.
He was completely exposed so he didn’t try to hide, “Maggie?”
“She’s out there!” The terrified scream croaked out from behind the broken door.
“Okay,” he swallowed thickly and held his weapon at the ready. The crack in his glasses created a blind spot directly in front of him. “Stay there. I’ll come to you.”
“No. You have to get out. Just go, Louis!”
There was a new desperation within her words that broke something within him.
“We are both getting out of here,” he said as he neared the hallway.
The rows of doors offered a dozen places for someone to wait for him to venture too close. Having a living person hunting him was something he wasn’t used to and it cut through the layers of confidence he had garnished over the years. He didn’t know what to do. What he could bring himself to do.
A floorboard groaned. The sound echoed and made it impossible to tell where it had originated from. He froze and held his breath, straining to catch the faintest sound of movement. One of the doors burst open and a flash of a blade caught the faint light. Delilah’s enraged scream streaked past him and he heard the knife clash against the stone of the statue. By the time he looked up she was gone. Four doors were open on the other side of the hallway, each one offering only darkness and silence.
“Louis?”
“I’m okay,” the words didn’t come out as strong as he had intended. “Stay there.”
Footsteps thundered towards him again and he turned to the sound in time to see the blade. It slashed over him and left a burning trail along his arm. He pulled back and swung the statue but only found empty air. She disappeared again. Adrenaline took the edge of the pain off but he found it harder to keep his grip on the statue. In the silence, he heard each drop of blood that fell to the floor.
Louis ran the last few steps to the broken door and kept his back to the few that were still closed. He peeked in and his blood became ice. A fire burned near the door. It spread out in tendrils across the floorboards and spewed thick smoke into the air. But despite how it grew, none of its light reached the hallway.
“Maggie.” He didn’t know why he whispered it but he didn’t try and correct it.
Her face drifted into the gap but his relief was short-lived. She was beaten and bruised and her matted hair hung in clumps around her. Blood speckled her skin and his stomach dropped when he caught sight of the damage to her wrists. Thick shackles still hung from them, the metal coaxing more blood to ooze free.
“Louis,” she breathed his name but didn’t venture closer.
He forced a smile that he hoped showed more confidence than he felt. “You still pronounce that wrong.”
She rewarded him with a weak smile. “You need to get out of here.”
“No.”
“Just go, I don’t want you to die.”
“I’m planning on both of us getting out of this alive,” he said. “Ma is getting help. It’s working, it wouldn’t have let me go otherwise.”
A solid force struck him in the chest and threw him against the door. The aged wood couldn’t stand against the forc
e and splintered into shards. He thumped against the floor until he hit something metal. Squinting through the pain, he glanced up to see a black mass fill the doorway. He surged to his feet and pressed a hand against his pocket to feel the gris-gris within.
“I had never dared hope that this could come to pass.” His eyes shifted to watch Delilah slip around the shadow figure. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
There was a candle in one of her hands and a knife in the other. A faint glow swept over the room, glistening off of the metal that filled the space. Bone cutters and racks, branding irons and whips. Every item that had once been used to break a slave was positioned with reverence amongst a variety of new items. The distinctive scent of disinfectant hung in the air. Childhood fear exploded within him, adding and thriving until he stood more as a living embodiment of terror than a man.
“You killed the man in the tomb.”
She looked at him as if he was simple. “Yes. And a few others. The demon likes a sacrifice every now and then.”
“But it wasn’t with you,” he whispered on a tremble. “You didn’t have to.”
“No, but you can never be too careful. Besides, what’s the point of having a demon at your command if you let it wither away?”
“Command?”
Her smile grew as she cast an adoring gaze over the shadow figure. “I like to think of him as a pet. Only a few of my relatives were ever strong enough to hold it. Perhaps the others were too meek.”
“Or they weren’t insane,” he gasped. “You can’t tame a demon. It can’t be controlled.”
“And yet I am its Master.”
“No, you’re just holding a lead. And it will break it. What do you think it’s going to do to you then?”
“I’ve treated it well. It won’t hurt me.”
“Delilah–”
“Do not address me as if we are equals.”
The creature swelled, consuming the space, but still, Louis couldn’t stop himself, “You can’t be this stupid.”
Chapter 20
Marigold dumped the contents of another drawer onto the ground and shuffled through the papers. A particular page caught her eyes. She reread the title and pulled it from the stack. A quick glance over the slight description and relief flooded her. Deliver A Demon. This had to be it. The paper was solid against her fingers but she couldn’t believe it was real. Louis’ scream cut through her stupor and she snapped her head up. Her certainty shattered. What if this wasn’t enough?
Delilah appeared in the gap again, eyes blazing and a demented smile twisting her lips. For a moment, she only stared at Marigold, her smile never wavering. It hit Marigold that she couldn’t hear Louis anymore. Images flashed in her mind and tears stung her eyes. She wanted to call out to him, to assure herself that the scream she heard wasn’t his last breath, but the words wouldn’t come out. The fire still crackled by the door and made shadows dance across Delilah’s demented grin.
“What have you found there, child?”
Marigold leapt up and yanked another drawer free. It brimmed with a thousand loose sheets of paper and she dumped them all onto the flames. Thick black smoke billowed into the air and created a barrier between them. Choking on the smoke, she threw another heap of paper onto the pile. The fire greedily ate them and she kicked at the embers to spread the flames.
Delilah shrieked in the mounting smoke, but it was impossible to see her anymore. When Marigold was sure that the fire wouldn’t burn itself out, she peered through the smoke to read what she needed. The spell mostly entailed a symbol, a sacrifice of blood, and an incantation. It grew harder to read anything as the smoke continued to grow. Her eyes watered as the air itself began to burn. Delilah’s scream grew unhinged and was only broken with the sound of crushing wood. Marigold searched the nearest desk for something to write with, barely able to see a few feet in front of her. Finally, she found a stick of chalk and pulled the desk slightly from the wall, just enough for her to be able to duck down behind it.
On her hands and knees, she brought the paper within an inch of her face and began to trace the symbols onto the floorboards. The fire rumbled and Delilah wailed like an injured beast. Marigold froze when she noticed that the sound of splitting wood had fallen silent.
She’s in the room. It was impossible to keep from coughing but she tried to smother the sound as best could. The chalk rasped over the wood. Her hand shook as she hurried to complete the symbol.
Blood. I need blood. The thought rattled in her head and she looked around, desperate for something she could cut herself with. It wouldn’t work without blood. I need blood.
The desk above her rattled violently and Marigold pressed against the ground. She held her breath and pressed the shackle chain against the floor as Delilah called for her. The older woman was unaware that Marigold was within arm’s reach. She couldn’t risk making a sound. Couldn’t risk choking on the fumes. The desk rattled again. Items toppled down and smacked against her spine.
Blood. I need blood. With no other thought, she ripped the strips of cloth from her hands, jammed the side of her palm into her mouth, and bit down on the wounds that littered her skin. Pain exploded through her arm as a sharp copper taste gushed over her tongue. She pressed the wound against the places that the sheet indicated. As she smeared the last position a sharp growl rolled through the room, coming from everywhere at once. Delilah fell silent for a heartbeat before she began her tirade once more.
Marigold could hear the knife slash across the table and wall. “You think you can send it after me? You think this will save you? I am going to butcher you!”
***
The air hit Louis like a riptide, hard enough that the retreating force dragged him a few feet across the floor. His shoulder was quite possibly dislocated but he still reached out and latched onto the first thing he found to keep from being pulled any further. The shadow figure loomed over him but no longer moved. Instead, it swirled like ink in water, neither approaching nor retreating. Simply waiting.
Smoke crept across the ceiling, its scent pouring thickly down his throat. He sputtered and gagged as the flames began to creep into view. Slowly the demon turned as if looking over his shoulder.
“Maggie.”
It released a deafening howl. Louis clamped his hands over his ears and felt blood begin to trickle against his palm. The world around him rippled like water as the demon hurled through the doorway.
“Maggie!”
Smoke was thick in his lungs as he lurched to his feet and hobbled to the door. The fire had rolled out from the room across the hall and spewed across the roof. The heat was unbearable and the hair on his arms began to singe. It was painful to open his eyes, impossible to take a full breath. He lumbered forward and crawled over the burning table.
“Maggie!” he heaved, voice cracking.
Glowing yellow flames licked out of the rolling black smoke. Shielding his face with one arm didn’t lessen the searing pain. Delilah lunged from the flames, hair wild and clothing burned. He barely managed to dodge the knife as he latched onto her and they both toppled to the floor. The older woman straddled him, slashing wildly. His strength meant nothing when his shoulder made it difficult to even move. He could barely keep the blade from digging into his flesh.
“Finish it, Maggie!” he bellowed.
Her words, soft and forced, echoed around the room. A flaming table hurdled across the room and smashed against the wall above him. Delilah flinched and it was enough for him to hurl the woman off. He barely got his feet under himself when Delilah came for him again. Marigold screamed. Her words failed. With Delilah’s wrists tight in his grasp, he risked a glance over his shoulder.
The demon swirled over Marigold’s huddled form. It seemed to crush her without ever touching her. She clawed at her temples and writhed against the floor. What was it showing her? What images was it forcing into her head?
“Maggie, it’s not real. Whatever it shows you isn’t real!” The fire w
as growing, surrounding them all. He turned his attention back to Delilah. “We’re all going to die here if you don’t stop this.”
“Then let her die,” Delilah cackled.
Marigold’s voice came again and Delilah went wild with fury. She lunged and thrashed, his shoulder and broken fingers unable to keep up with the relentless movement. Wrenching her arm free, she slashed the knife across his chest. He staggered back as the ceiling released a low groan. The beams bowed as the fire danced across the surface. The groan grew louder, strained and crackling, and Louis threw himself at Delilah. Together they staggered back just as the beams snapped and a chunk of the ceiling collapsed in. The smoke curled. The flames hungrily lapped at the new addition and reared up with renewed force. Each breath scorched his throat and boiled his lungs.
“Louis!”
He heard Marigold call for him but wasn’t able to respond. She called for him again, her voice clear in the unbearable heat. Blindly he moved towards her voice. He tried to return her call but each attempt just provoked a coughing fit. Shielding his eyes he plunged further into the room.
A hand latched onto his wrist and he pulled himself back. His eyes widened when he saw Marigold. Within the same moment, her voice called to him from somewhere deeper in the flames. They both heard it. He clasped her hand tightly, but before they could run, she dragged him down onto his knees. The smoke didn’t pool this low to the floor, but the heat still made it excruciating to breathe. She led the way, crawling in the opposite direction from her disembodied voice. It was torture to put any weight on his shoulder or hand, both injuries sustained on the same side, but he forced himself to keep pace with her.
The voice called to him again, begged and pleaded for him to come back. Not to leave. It sounded so much like Marigold that it twisted his gut to ignore its frantic pleas. When they reached the table that blocked the door, the voice changed to his own. It beckoned for Marigold but she refused to even glance towards it.
