Demon Slayer

by R W Thorn

  Jack had no choice but to lean on Lennox as they made their way to the Ducati. Both of his legs were damaged now. The original wound had not miraculously healed, and the lingering pain and weakness caused by the demon spawn meant Jack couldn’t move very fast.

  Yet his determination remained undiminished. Jack set his jaw and willed himself to place one foot in front of the other.

  As Lennox started to understand the extent of Jack’s injuries, her normally playful demeanor turned into worry.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. Given that Jack was leaning much of his weight on her, the answer was obvious. So she rephrased her question. “Do you need to rest? Or go to the hospital or something? Get that leg seen to?”

  Despite his pain, despite the way that his legs were shaking, Jack couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. After her recent experience with her demon taking over, she was worried about him.

  “What would I tell them? That an amorphous glob of demonic secretion wrapped its vile form around my leg and started to drain my strength?” Jack’s lips curled into a half-smile. “How long do you think it’d take before they started talking about ‘psychological evaluation’?” Then he regained his normal gruff seriousness. “This weakness will pass. The tar man has to be stopped. I’ll be fine.”

  Lennox looked dubious, but she accepted him at his word. Together, they made their way to Lennox’s bike and climbed on.

  Jack and Lennox once again rode along one of the major arterial routes that kept the New Sanctum traffic flowing. But the mood was quite different from what it had been when they first started out.

  Lennox still rode fast, but she no longer reveled in the speed and danger. Jack didn’t know if the suppressant had taken the edge off her normal glee or if she was simply reflecting on how close she had come to letting her demon take control for good.

  Amelia had lapsed into silence again to recover the energy she had expended. And as for Jack, he was also more than usually introspective. Things had changed, and he knew it. No longer could he discount Lennox’s flirtation as being without meaning. It was real.

  Nor was the interest only one way. The pain Jack felt when it seemed Lennox might be lost had been akin to that he experienced when Amelia died. He cared for the wild woman much more than he would if she was just his partner.

  All this time, he’d avoided admitting his feelings to himself.

  With a sigh, he dismissed his thoughts. There would be time enough for such considerations later, when the tar man had been dealt with. Now it was time to enjoy the wind in his face, to breathe the cool night air, and to gather his strength for the coming confrontation.

  On impulse, Jack hooked his worn, purple sneakers beneath the passenger foot pegs. These ones were solid, fixed in place. They did not fold upwards at the pressure he put on them. Then he let go of Lennox’s waist and leaned back as far as he could with his arms flung out wide and his trenchcoat billowing out behind like a superhero’s cape.

  He sensed Lennox ease off the throttle for just a moment. Perhaps she was trying to see if he was okay. Without looking at her, he gave a thumbs-up, and she immediately cranked it back up again.

  Jack found himself buoyed by the air pressure generated by the speed. It was surprisingly relaxing. Jack stared at the featureless black of the night broken only by the dim glow of the moon shining through the clouds. He was aware of the cars and occasional trucks that were sharing the road, aware of them because of the growls and echoes they made as he and Lennox passed by.

  The wind buffeted him, so he shut his eyes and just breathed.

  Lennox gunned the engine and the Ducati’s front wheel left the ground. Dimly, Jack knew she was doing it for his benefit, perhaps to scare him a little. And perhaps to try to recapture some of her joy. But he just felt more peaceful than he had been in ages.

  It felt like he was floating on a cloud, like he was flying all by himself. He could feel the headlights of other traffic passing over him and then away, like searchlights in the night, and wondered what the drivers must think of the bum riding like this in the dark.

  Jack breathed deeply, relaxing even more. He thought about unhooking his feet just to see what might happen, and couldn’t help but think he might continue to float in the air if he did. But he wasn’t so far gone into madness to try. Jack knew he would simply crash to the road and bounce and clatter and scrape to a halt. He knew it would hurt. And he knew he would survive to live with that pain.

  So instead, he just relaxed and enjoyed the sensation of speed and strange comfort for as long as he could.

  A Scream in the Darkness

  Madame Brigette’s Arcane Emporium was in East Omen, one of the oldest suburbs of New Sanctum. The streets there were narrow and mostly empty, and the buildings had a pre-Gothic feel to them. They were made of stone and concrete columns, but the gargoyles and grotesques weren’t as prevalent as they were in other parts of the city.

  Jack and Lennox pulled up a little way from the Emporium. Blocky and square, the building sat brooding in its own space, given room by open alleyways to the left and right. The Emporium itself had a light on in the window and the cheerful neon sign advertising its name. Despite the late hour, it was still open.

  The tar man wasn’t in sight. Nor did Jack see any evidence of the man’s motorbike anywhere.

  “Where is he?” Jack grumbled under his breath, grimly aware that the tar man might have been lying. He might have sent Jack and Lennox to the Emporium to get them out of the way as he attacked another part of the city.

  The thought made Jack’s stomach clench into a cold knot of dread. If proven true, he and Lennox would have no easy way to find him.

  Lennox didn’t answer Jack’s question, but he hadn’t expected her to do so. The visor of her helmet was open, and Jack could hear her clearly. She was staring at the Emporium with a puzzled expression.

  “There’s something…” she began. Then, “I see it!” Lennox exclaimed. She turned to Jack. “The shop is protected. I can sense demon magic around it. There are glyphs embedded into the ground.”

  Jack had to grin. He’d known Madame Brigette for a long time and wasn’t surprised. “Are they active?” he asked.

  Lennox shook her head. “No. They’re not active. I’m not sure what they’re meant to do, exactly, but there’s power in them. And they have the scent of age to them.” There was enough light cast by the street lamps for Jack to see her expression clearly. She gave him a teasing half-smile. “Kinda like you,” she said playfully.

  Jack just grunted. Usually, Lennox would take that as a sign to stay focused on the task at hand. But this time, she took her teasing a step further. She reached toward him and ruffled his hair. “It’s not a bad thing, you know,” she said. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Although it might help if you washed your hair every now and again.”

  Jack couldn’t help it. He returned a rueful grin. But before he could figure out what to say in response, a terrified, blood-curdling scream interrupted the quiet stillness of the night.

  Jack uttered a curse and lurched off Lennox’s bike. The scream told him all he needed to know: the tar man was indeed there. Jack’s spawn-scalded leg had recovered at least part of its usual strength. He managed to hobble toward the Emporium.

  “Stay here!” he shouted at Lennox, who had taken the time to kick the Ducati’s stand into place and remove her helmet.

  “Why?” Lennox demanded.

  A single glance at her face told Jack she understood his intent but wasn’t in any mood to be shielded. He understood that she wanted to prove herself after what happened at the restaurant. And this was personal to her as well. Twice now, they had fought the tar man and the spawn he had conjured. She had felt the sting of their touch and smelled the stench of their attack.

  But more than that, this mission was hers as well. Lennox wanted to learn who murdered Samuel and stole the Daemonicon just as much as Jack did. Possibly even more, for her relationship with Samuel had always b
een friendlier than Jack’s.

  She did not want to sit out this new confrontation.

  Jack nearly blurted out the true answer. Because I need you to be safe. Safe from the attack, and safe from the demon blood in her veins. Instead, he tried to find a reason that made more sense.

  “Because it’s a trap,” he said. “The tar man has been here for too long. He has had more than enough time to conjure as many demon spawn as he thinks he will need.”

  His words failed to convince her.

  “So?” Lennox replied. “That’s all the more reason for us both to go. You’ve run out of holy water. You don’t have your gun. Are you going to fight the tar man and whatever foul spawn he has brought into existence with just your knives?”

  Jack had no time or desire to argue. He just needed her to do as he said. “If need be!” he said, his tone full of irritation. “If I have no weapons other than my knives, then neither do you! Your magic won’t work against the demon spawn. Of the two of us, I am the more likely to survive such a trap! You’re too important to risk!”

  Jack bit down on his words and looked away. He hadn’t meant to say the last part. He felt a little embarrassed.

  “I need you to stay out here, outside the trap,” Jack muttered, almost to himself. “In case the tar man gets away from me again.”

  He looked back to Lennox, expecting more arguments. But Lennox’s expression wasn’t set against him any more. Her head was tilted to an angle as she considered his words, and a quiet smile twisted the corners of her lips. She seemed surprisingly calm. Accepting, almost.

  She nodded. “You’re the boss,” Lennox said. “I’ll stay here, and do whatever I need to if the tar man gets past you. But look after yourself. After all this is done, you are required to come back to me.” She put a peculiar emphasis on the word ‘required’. Somehow, she had given it a suggestion of ownership, and Jack understood that things really had changed between them.

  Strangely, the thought didn’t upset him. Instead, he felt surprisingly buoyed by it, and knew that Amelia would be both full of approval and laughing at him at the same time, if she had the energy to make her presence known.

  With an unfamiliar half-grin twisting his lips, he resolutely turned away and stalked toward Madame Brigette’s Arcane Emporium.

  Emporium

  As Jack approached the building, another scream rang out, a woman’s voice filled with agony and terror. Yet there was a harsh defiance in it as well, as if the screamer wanted the world to know that she hadn’t given up. Not by a long way.

  Once more, the demon blood in Jack’s veins started to sing its song of fury and hate. This was the type of thing that called to him. An innocent suffering distress at the hands of something vile and demonic. The demon in his blood could have led to Jack becoming just another minion of evil. Instead, it gave a dimension of power to his rage that few could match.

  With his jaw clenched in hate, Jack limped determinedly toward the Emporium’s front door even though he knew it to be a trap.

  The door was solid wood, but there were sidelight windows beside it. Jack paused and peered through to a cluttered, colorful little shop that brought to mind an image of witches and voodoo practitioners.

  There were candles everywhere, on the floor, on the shelves, and on stands of various sizes. Many of them were burning cheerfully. Close to the door, Jack could see displays showcasing a medley of new-age products. Crystals, aromatherapy oils, and books shared space with sculpted dragons and wands and little trees made of bent wire and colorful stones. The kind of things normal humans interested in spirituality and metaphysical topics might be drawn to.

  From past visits, Jack knew that Madame Brigette also stocked true relics of power. Spell books. Talismans and amulets that resonated with demon magic. Bones and skulls from Hell creatures. Tomes of lore that could help those with demon blood in their veins realize their potential. And potions designed to cure every ill, whether imaginary or real.

  But now, Jack could see none of these legitimate items of the occult. If they were still there, they were hidden beneath a foul, undulating mass of demon spawn.

  Like those in the restaurant, these had fused together to form a single, cohesive whole. It was like the entire back part of the Emporium had been coated in thick black tar that writhed and flowed.

  Nor was that the worst of it. Jack could also see Madame Brigette herself. A tall, elegant woman now in her forties, Madame Brigette was of Caribbean descent and still wore dreadlocks and bright, floral dresses to prove it. On normal days, she displayed a kind of feisty benevolence to all those who entered her store. She would treat all comers with the same open hospitality no matter their blood, but woe betide any who disrespected her or her wares.

  When Jack first mentioned her, Lennox had feigned jealousy. Jack admitted to himself that there might be enough in their history to justify that. If he hadn’t been seeing Amelia at the time, Jack might have seen more of Madame Brigette.

  His anger increased a notch when he saw her. She was glued to the ceiling, face-down, by tongues made from demon spawn. Ropes of vile spawn flesh were wrapped around her ankles and wrists with a thicker cable about her waist, so the red-and-yellow dress she wore looked like it came with an inky-black belt and cuffs.

  Even through the sidelight window, Jack could see that the demon spawn ropes were hurting her. Her normally-attracted face had become twisted into a grimace of pain, and the skin on her hands had turned an unhealthy shade of gray.

  As Jack watched, the pain became too much for her, and Madame Brigette let out a wail of agony.

  Beneath her, slouching in a wooden chair that remained magically free from the taint of the demon spawn, the tar man casually read one of her books. He looked like a man waiting for his appointment at a dentist’s office or, because of his unkempt appearance, a budgeting service. He swung a little on the chair, rocking back and forth onto its back legs.

  The tar man looked bored, as if he was reading not out of interest, but just to pass the time. And he showed no concern whatsoever for Madame Brigette.

  Jack gritted his teeth in unexpressed rage. He understood the tar man to be waiting for him, and was more than happy to bring that wait to an end. Jack knew his knives were no match for the unified mass of spawn coating Madame Brigette’s stock, but as for the tar man himself?

  Even with demon blood in their veins, men could be killed.

  Jack drew a deep breath. He felt his heart hammering in his chest. The rage had built up in his skull to the point where everything he saw was tainted with red. He gripped the handles of his blades and drew them both from their sheaths.

  Then Jack took half a step back and flung himself at the door, hitting it just below the doorknob with the heel of a purple sneaker.

  The door splintered open. Jack didn’t want to give the tar man a chance to react, so he used his momentum to charge across the front part of the store as fast as his damaged legs would take him. With a primal roar of pure hate tearing the skin from his throat, Jack launched himself at the tar man with both of his blades aiming for the man’s heart.

  It should have been enough. The tar man had barely a moment to react. He should have been able to do no more than look up with an expression of shock on his face before both of Jack’s knives carved into his chest.

  But again, the tar man proved nimble. And Jack’s attack wasn’t unexpected.

  The tar man did look up, but his expression was a long way from shock. He was grinning, his white teeth seeming to glow in the darkness of the tar on his face. As Jack launched, the tar man kicked the floor a little harder than he had done before. Instead of balancing on the chair’s back legs for a moment, he passed beyond that point of balance and fell backward.

  It was a cunning move. Jack couldn’t halt his momentum. He flew through the air like a comic-book hero with his trenchcoat acting like a cape. But his target had dropped down beneath him. As Jack passed through the air where the tar man had been, the v
ile man kicked up with his feet, connecting solidly with Jack’s midriff.

  Jack let out an explosion of breath. The tar man’s kick propelled him further than he intended to go. He sailed through the air in an uncontrolled way and experienced a moment of horror as he understood what the tar man had done. He tried to twist, tried to turn, but he crashed head first into the spawn-covered wall.

  Madame Brigette said nothing, but she gave Jack a look filled with pain and disappointment.

  The smell of sulfur and rot filled Jack’s sinuses and made him want to gag. He would be humiliated if he were in any less danger. But already, the blanket of demon spawn he’d landed against was starting to bend and twist as it shifted to mire him in its loathsome substance. It felt sticky and clinging, and it burned Jack’s face and hands where it touched his skin.

  The tar man laughed as if he had witnessed the world’s greatest joke.

  Jack gritted his teeth against the pain and twisted with all his strength, letting out a guttural roar as he did.

  It was nearly enough. Jack managed to wrench himself partly away from the wall, but he had no leverage to get clear of the demon spawn. One arm and his torso remained free, but his legs were still stuck. He was effectively sitting on the floor with his back glued to the wall. Nevertheless, his success buoyed him. He still held onto his knives, and should be able to work his way out of the mess.

  Except that the tar man now stood looming over him. Grinning down at him with an expression of pure malice.

  “Good to see you again,” he said, his voice just as oily and wet as usual. “I was starting to get bored.” At the same time, the tar man kicked out with his boot, catching Jack a terrific blow on the side of his head.