Damoren

by Seth Skorkowsky

  No one in the rumbling van seemed amused.

  In the hour before leaving, Matt had only enough time to clean the bronze shells. Reloading in a car was tricky. Clay had never let him reload Dämoren, but Matt had spent many hours loading silver .45’s in the backseat.

  Once measured, he poured the powder into an empty casing, then inserted it into the hand press with a silver bullet. He only had a dozen of Dämoren’s slugs left. Hopefully, he’d get a chance to cast more soon. Matt gripped the ornate press in both hands and squeezed until the bullet was fully seated.

  Luc’s deep voice rumbled from the back seat. “Seems wasteful to shoot silver bullets for practicing.”

  Matt slipped the round into a belt loop. “That’s all she’ll fire. She won’t shoot lead. So if I want to practice with her, I have to use silver.”

  “Won’t shoot?” Luc asked. “It jams?”

  “No. She just won’t fire.” He measured the powder for the next round. “Pull the trigger, nothing happens. Never tried lead, myself, but Clay warned how picky she was. Won’t even shoot if it’s mixed alloy.”

  Anya’s blue eyes lit. “So she can choose not to shoot?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Luc laughed. “Your gun is most definitely a woman.”

  Matt grinned. “Won’t argue with that.”

  “You need to hurry that up,” Malcolm said, watching Matt through the driver’s rear-view. “Any police or passerby on the road see that, they’re going to pull us over. It won’t be hard for them to find all the other weapons.”

  “I doubt any officer would even recognize a century old hand press.” Matt squeezed the bullet into place.

  “You can’t say that they won’t,” Malcolm chided. “You can risk that on your own. But you have five knights you’re endangering. Now hurry up.”

  Matt swallowed his anger and continued working in silence.

  Outside, steep hills gave way to rolling fields. An hour later they rose up into sharp, mountains. Snow capped the distant jagged peaks. On their fourth hour, they came to the Spanish border. Expecting something similar to what he’d encountered in the States, Matt sat astonished as the van crossed over without even having to stop.

  Dark clouds greeted them in Spain, threatening rain. After an hour or so, Malcolm exited the highway and headed up into the winding roads. The lingering tension in the van swelled with each passing mile, though no one mentioned it. Kazuo strummed two fingers on his thigh, looked at his watch, then out the window. A minute later, he did it again. Luc stared out his side, his elbow on the windowsill and fist below his chin. His thick, curled fingers kneaded in succession. Through the rear-view, Matt could see Malcolm’s eyes repeatedly glance to the GPS screen, watching the countdown until their destination. Susumu seemed unaffected by the foreboding dread. The samurai calmly sat in the front passenger seat, hands on his lap, watching the road as if nothing important waited at the end.

  Matt leaned over to Anya, peering intently at brown images of pages on her tablet. “What are you looking at?”

  She brushed a lock of hair from her ear. “I’ve been working on the symbols we’ve found, trying to find them in any of the old texts.”

  “Any luck?”

  Anya shrugged. “Very little.” She tilted the screen to where he could see it. A faded black picture resembling three circles joined by a swooping line against a dun background dominated the screen. A column of smaller images ran down the right side. Matt recognized them as photos from the gruesome murder scenes. “I’ve found maybe a third of the symbols, but can’t tell you what most of those mean.”

  “Well, what can you tell?”

  “It’s definitely a summoning.” She paused. “You can understand all languages. Can’t you read it?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand the words as much as I can understand voices. I can hear their intention. Can speak it the same way. I just can’t read it.”

  She frowned. “That’s disappointing.”

  “Sorry.”

  She cocked her head quizzically. “So does that mean you can hear lies?”

  “Not any better than anyone else, I guess.”

  “But if you hear their intention and not their words...” Her brow raised, finishing the question.

  “It’s not really like that. I understand what they are intending me to hear. For example, let’s say you spoke...Greek.”

  “I can.”

  “Oh. Well, do you speak Russian?”

  She nodded.

  “All right. What’s a language you can’t speak at all?”

  Anya pursed her lips, seeming to think for a moment. “Mandarin.”

  “Okay. So let’s say you read a little book on Mandarin, then went to China and tried to speak it. However you don’t know enough to fully express yourself and what little you do know, you’re mispronouncing so bad that no one can understand you.”

  “But you could?”

  “Exactly. Even if what they’re speaking is so poor, that no one can understand a word they’re saying, I can understand them.”

  “Can you understand dogs or horses,” Luc asked, his deep voice grinding behind him like a tectonic plate.

  “Well...sort of,” Matt said, turning. “I mean I can understand the emotions they project. They don’t really communicate in words, so I don’t hear the words, but I get a feeling.”

  “Babies?” he asked.

  “Infants, no, but once they begin using words and beginning to think with more tangible ideas, then yes. When a little child is trying to speak, and no one has any idea what they’re saying, I understand it just fine.”

  The black man smiled. White teeth, save a missing one near the corner. “You should have been a psychologist. Get rich talking to people’s babies and dogs.”

  Matt laughed. “If demon hunting doesn’t work out, I’ll think about it.”

  They continued up the sinuous road. Occasional droplets struck the glass then rippled back along the side windows like wind-blown tears.

  “Anya,” Malcolm said. “How are we looking?”

  She tapped her screen, and the image changed to the map with the farm house. She zoomed out until a cluster of white-ringed red dots appeared along the snaking road. “Three kilometers.”

  “Everyone get ready.”

  Bags shuffled. Matt passed packs back over the seat behind him. Zippers whirred and Velcro tore open, as the hunters prepared in the tight confines.

  “Sorry,” Matt said, nearly jabbing Anya as he wiggled into his gray Kevlar vest. He had to lean forward, almost putting his head between his knees to get it on. The van bumped suddenly and Matt’s head smacked into the back of Malcolm’s seat.

  They turned onto a narrow drive, walled in by bushy trees. A dirt path led off to the left and Malcolm steered the van off and turned it around before pulling to a stop.

  Matt gripped the door handle and pulled. The sliding door squeaked back, and he swung out. Gravel crunched beneath his feet. A moist breeze rushed down the road, channeled through the canyon of trees. He circled around to where Malcolm was already opening the rear door and helped unload the larger bags. Luc and Kazuo stood nearby, their eyes scanning the area.

  Matt pulled on Dämoren’s rig and ammo belt. He sort of wished he had a jacket to cover everything, but his last one had been left in a Canadian dumpster filled with blood and holes. He pulled the thin metal chain around his neck and looked at the little box of white plastic hanging off the end. The LED was green. Right now, hundreds of miles away, the Valducans watched a red dot with his name outside the farm. He hooked the radio they’d given him onto his belt and pushed the clear bud into his ear.

  After checking that everything was in place, Matt drew the Ingram out from his bag, loaded a magazine of silver hollow points, and racked one in.

  Susumu stepped around the van wearing a golden yellow band across his forehead, Shi no Kaze over his shoulder. He eyed Matt’s bulletproof vest. “Are you expecting a gunfi
ght?”

  “I’m not sure what to expect,” Matt said in Japanese, slinging the machinegun over his arm. “But I want to be ready for it.”

  “I have never seen a demon shoot a gun. Do you think one of us will shoot you?”

  “There might not be as many guns where you come from, but I’ve seen an ifrit with a shotgun, and a vampire with twin pistols like in some bad action movie. Demons might favor teeth and claws, but if they possess someone who knows how to shoot, they know how to shoot. And they’ll never forget.”

  Matt reached into the van and removed a water bottle he’d picked up when they’d stopped for fuel. He took the flat pricker from his pocket and clicked it against his finger. He squeezed five fat, red drops into the bottle, screwed the lid and shook it to a dim pink.

  “You ready?” Malcolm asked, stepping around the van. Three tight stands of jagged seashell hung from his neck, ending in a crescent-shaped bone. The oiled wood grip of a sawed-off protruded sideways from a holster at his back. His gaze tensely moved to the bottle in Matt’s hand.

  “Almost.” Matt removed the shaker of powder from his belt and started sprinkling a ring circling the van.

  “What are you doing?” Kazuo asked. His katana hung from one side of his belt. A holstered Colt on the other.

  “It’s a ward,” he answered. “Don’t want anything getting into our ride out of here.”

  “What’s in it?” Malcolm demanded, blocking his path.

  “Everything I can think of.”

  “Such as?”

  Matt’s ground his teeth. “Silver, acacia, shit demons don’t like.”

  Malcolm snorted. “You know that doesn’t work, right? Wouldn’t a demon-hunter know that?”

  “It does work. I’ve seen it.”

  “When?” Anya stepped closer, hand on Baroovda’s grip.

  “Yokai,” Matt answered. “Wendigos.”

  “Wendigos,” Malcolm said, his lips curling into a nasty smile. “You know a lot about those, don’t you?”

  Matt’s hand tightened around the shaker, fighting back the urge to smash it into the hunter’s face. Five knights. Allan’s not here to stop them.

  “If that worked, don’t you think we’d already be doing it?” Malcolm asked.

  Matt didn’t answer.

  “A demon has to either touch or be pierced by those for them to work,” Malcolm continued. “They could just step over that.”

  “Maybe,” Matt said “But you forgot the secret ingredient.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Matt glanced to Kazuo, then back at Malcolm. “Faith.”

  Malcolm’s arrogant smile melted.

  “So does anyone have a problem with me doing this?” Matt asked.

  No one answered.

  Finally, Luc said, “I don’t.”

  Sighing, Malcolm stepped aside and motioned Matt to continue.

  Thanks, asshole. Matt finished the circle and snapped the shaker lid closed. A cold raindrop hit his ear. He turned to the hunters. “Ready.”

  Keeping to the tree line they followed the little road over a low hill. A white van rested along the side of the path ahead, its doors gaping wide. Matt checked the water bottle. Nothing. Cautiously, they approached, weapons drawn.

  Luc and Kazuo circled around the far side, peeking through the windows. The passenger door glass was gone, reduced to little glistening cubes. A bullet hole curled outward from the open door. Nylon bags and bits of smashed electronics littered the area. Matt crept closer and looked inside. More debris. Yellow foam bulged from parallel slashes deep in the upholstery, like claw-trails. Empty brass shells lay on the floor and seat. Matt leaned in closer. Three dark spots of dried blood stained the beige carpet.

  “They must have gotten Selene,” Anya said.

  “Who’s that?” Matt asked.

  “Anthony’s student. She probably stayed here to protect the vehicle.”

  “I didn’t see her name on the video.”

  “She didn’t have a tracker.” Anya shook her head regretfully. “We only gave them to the knights with holy blades. She would have stayed here and monitored the camera feeds as backup.”

  “Feeds?”

  “Knights place cameras before raids,” Malcolm said, sifting through the broken electronics. “Apprentices relay anything they see to the team, in case they miss something.”

  “Why aren’t we doing that?” Matt asked.

  “Turgen said no students.”

  “How many other students were there? Maybe one escaped.”

  “Just Selene,” Malcolm answered. “And we can assume she didn’t escape.” He shook his head. “Computers are gone. The cameras have internal memory. Maybe we can find them.”

  Kazuo motioned to the road. Chunks of safety glass lay scattered about. “The vehicle was here when they took her. They moved it after.”

  Luc knelt beside the broken glass. In the air, he traced a little trail of cubes smeared down a tire groove worn into the dirt road. “They drove away. They must have moved the van to make room.”

  Malcolm nodded off to the right. “Then let’s look at what they left behind.”

  They slipped between the trees and climbed over a rusty pipe fence. A brown barn stood across the field, nearly blocking out the farmhouse behind it. The sun peeked on the horizon, shining beneath the dark clouds above. In two hours it would be dark.

  “Look there.” Susumu pointed his bladed staff toward a dingy green cattle feeder. A hay bale rested inside the metal bars, bulging over the top like some giant grass cupcake. A small black tube, the size of a flashlight rested atop hay, aimed at the buildings.

  “Looks like one of our cameras,” Malcolm said.

  Swinging wide, they approached the little camera. A plastic antenna jutted straight out the back. From its angle it could see the entire barn and a quarter of the house.

  Malcolm reached up and plucked it off the bale. “Keep your eyes out for any more of them.”

  They continued toward the house, attempting to follow the path the hunters had taken the night before. Luc spotted another camera near the barn, its plastic crab-like legs wrapped around a fencepost.

  They circled the building until it opened up into a wide gravel area. A tiny white car sat off to one side. Five fresh, bloodied corpses lay scattered around the open area. Severed limbs lay beside some of them, many also sported deep gashes, showing bone and spilt organs. It smelled of blood and that acrid stink of guts that always reminded Matt of his mother’s body. Two of them were naked. Black flies scuttled across their bare skin.

  Kazuo knelt and picked up a spent ammo casing. Matt counted several more sprinkled across the white gravel.

  More bodies lay on the other side of the house and two more beside a stone well house. Nine in all. None were the missing knights.

  Inside the barn they discovered four mutilated corpses piled on the floor. Their withered eyes and shriveled skin didn’t look like any of the others. Two were children, the youngest no more than six. All wore pajamas or minimal clothes. Deep bites and missing scoops of flesh pitted their thighs, and torsos.

  “The demons killed these,” Matt said. “Bled them out. Ate part of them.”

  Luc nodded. “They must have lived here. Do you know what did it?”

  He shook his head. “Never seen bodies drained and eaten. Usually one or the other, but if there’s multiple breeds maybe they all took a piece.”

  “Maybe.”

  Anya and Kazuo found another two bled and gnawed bodies in a nearby shed.

  The door to the house was unlocked. The overpowering stench of death hit them like a wall. Covering his nose and mouth with one hand, Matt shook a line of gray powder across the threshold before he entered. The drained corpse of a black-moustached man lay in the first room, his throat torn out. Hideous bites covered the left side of his chest, exposing the ribs beneath. Then the next room, a body of a teenage girl slumped in a cushioned chair, her face half-eaten. Brown, dried blood stai
ned her baby blue shirt. She wore nothing else.

  Up three steps they found what had once been a wide living area with a red brick fireplace. Toppled furniture rested against the walls, blocking the windows. Burned candles of various sizes and color blanketed every surface. Bloody symbols and designs covered the white walls. In the middle of the floor, five naked corpses were laid, arms and legs splayed out. Carved designs and mutilations decorated their skin. Broken shards of metal and wood jutted grotesquely from their bodies. Joined only by the toes, they formed a ring, leaving a star-shaped opening between their open legs.

  The overpowering stink of burned rot hung so thick Matt could taste it. Suddenly hating the effectiveness of Luiza’s medicine, he covered his nose.

  “My God,” Malcolm uttered.

  Luc shook his head. “God is not in this place.”

  They were all there. The scarecrow-looking Ramón, his nose no more than a triangular hole. Blood-stained teeth grinned out from where his lips should have been. Natuche’s slender long braids spilled out from atop a smashed and faceless head. The romance cover guy, Anthony, split cock to throat, peeled open like a dissected frog. Matt recognized Daniel and Yev from their photos. Yev, the man who had carried Tom’s sword when Tom was maimed. Now jagged slivers of blade protruded from his hands like nails. A bent and broken hilt jutted from his belly. Their skin that had faced inside the open star was burned away from the soles of their feet up to their mutilated genitals. Whatever had done it hadn’t affected the pink flesh beneath, only the skin. Unlike the rest of the floor around them, the tile inside the star was clean. Pristine.

  Luc stood above Anthony, staring down, his lips tight. He swallowed and looked away. Malcolm shut his eyes and mumbled what sounded like a prayer.

  Averting his gaze from the blood-drenched bodies, Matt circled the room. “These symbols, they’re different.”

  Anya wiped her eyes and studied the gruesome writing across the plaster. “You’re right.”

  “Any idea what it means?”

  She shook her head. “It’s obviously a summoning, like the others, but more...more elaborate.”

  Malcolm circled the swirling script painted between each of the dead knight’s heads, forming two rings of writing. “Don’t know what this says, but I can tell you what it is.” He pointed to a row of larger symbols, partially smudged. “That’s its name. They weren’t just calling a certain type of demon, they called a specific one.”