Damoren

by Seth Skorkowsky

  In truth, the peony flower does repulse the Demon, as does cold iron and amethysts.

  4:Succubi feed through carnal intercourse, sapping the energies of their victims through the deed of Demoniality; a term invented by John Caramuel in his Fundamental Theology. While victims can recover in time, repeated attacks over a series of nights frequently results in death. Any victim who tastes of a Succubi’s milk or Incubi’s seed is damned and becomes a vessel which the Demon may possess at their whim.

  Many victims do not understand their attacks, as they are beguiled by the most diabolical illusion. Under the influence of this illusion brought on by the Demon, they fancy that they attend nightly revels, dances, or vigils, where they then partake in carnal intercourse with the Demon, though in truth their bodies are not transferred to those places.

  5: A most marvelous and incomprehensible fact: Carnal intercourse between mankind and these Demons on occasion has given birth to human beings. While oft the child is malformed and disfigured, it is not unknown for a child of true quality to spring from this most unholy union. Children thus begotten are naturally tall, very hardy and bold, proud, and also wicked. These Cambions are a most wretched of creatures, for they have never known existence without damnation. Instead of seeking salvation, they yearn for the total and complete damnation of the world.

  Many men have been accused of being Cambions, though most are in fact merely wicked individuals. There are two cases in which the accusations were in fact truthful.

  Firstly, the infamous Pope John XII, who invoked pagan gods and hosted foul, incestuous orgies in the Church’s sacred halls after his pontification was in truth the child of an Incubus.

  Secondly, Marco Barugnano, the Italian lord whose demonic cult was discovered and destroyed by Valducan Knights in 1628, was in actuality a Cambion who very nearly summoned a black Demonic Goddess.

  Sir Isidore Vidal, 1765

  Translated by Sir Aaron Mulwray, 1884

  Chapter Ten

  “Alexander, my old friend,” said a pudgy man opening the museum’s tall wooden door. The man’s pinched face and long nose gave him a raccoon-like appearance, if raccoons wore suits.

  “Louis.” Turgen stepped inside and gave Louis a small hug. “It has been too long. I came as soon as I could.” He turned. “These are the people I told you about. Doctor Malcolm Romero, Allan Havlock, Anya Jeliazkova , Ben Varghese, and Matthew Hollis.” Turgen gestured to the pudgy man. “This is my friend, Louis Perrin.”

  Matt smiled, nodding to the museum owner. His formal attire made him stand straighter than normal. Matt’s history in antiques had required him to wear a blazer before. Urban camouflage as Clay had called it, but this full charcoal suit and lead-colored tie they had picked up on the way into Limoges made Matt feel even more...trustworthy. That was the idea. Matt and the other hunters all played the parts of professional security investigators, hired by Turgen.

  “Please,” Louis said, twisting his hands. “Come inside.”

  Matt followed the others up the short steps and through the arched doorway. From the outside, the Vedorme-Perrin Museum appeared as an old stone church with high stained glass windows and a slender bell tower all surrounded by a low wrought-iron fence. Matt hadn’t expected the stylish, modern interior of sleek concrete and steel interlaced with gray medieval stonework.

  “The police left a few hours ago,” Louis explained, leading them past an empty ticket counter.

  “Has the guard been found?” Turgen asked, his cane tapping on the polished floor.

  Louis shook his head. “Not yet. They advised we change our locks and any pass codes Henri may have known.”

  “Of course.”

  “We suspect the burglar was somewhere inside until closing. Possibly a supply closet. We found no sign of forced entry.” Louis led them through a hallway past a small room filled with suits of armor behind glass. They turned into a wide room, the former chapel. The spaces between the old stone columns were walled, creating several alcove galleries, each filled with glass cases of art and antiquity. Matt’s gaze fluttered between various paintings and cases, wishing he could stop to inspect them.

  After turning at a bronze statue of a Napoleonic rider, they entered a large round chamber. A colorful mural of Christ peering down from the clouds covered the inside of the low dome three floors above. Two large rooms broke off to either side, while a smaller door led to a hallway ahead, barely visible through the gaps in a large, art deco sculpture of three dancing women that dominated the center of the room.

  “The burglar made it to about here when André spotted him.” Louis gestured to the hall ahead. “André yelled out to the man and pressed the alarm button at his belt. The burglar rushed him,” Louis thrust his arms forward to emphasize the movement, “with a speed I cannot describe. It was like...a TGV train, just a blur.”

  Vampire? Matt thought.

  “He grabbed André and threw him against the wall. Broke his arm and several ribs. By that time the security doors were closing. The burglar made it into this room before the door shut, but the ones to the wings had both closed by the time he reached them.” Louis gestured to the large chambers to either side.

  “And then you said the thief began punching the security door?” Turgen asked.

  “Yes.” Louis nodded quickly. “He began striking it like a madman. Then Henri arrived.” He pointed to the balconies above. “He ordered the burglar to stop, or so it appeared on the surveillance video. The man stopped, then ran.” Louis turned, pointing back the way they had come. “He charged up the stairs, up to the third floor, where it grabbed Henri, threw him to the floor, then picked him up like he weighed nothing, and jumped through a leaded window.”

  The museum owner shook his head. “That window is thirteen meters to the ground. No body. The only blood found matched Henri’s blood from the floor. I’ve never heard anything like this, Alex,” Louis said to Turgen. “You said you can help.”

  Turgen set a hand on Louis’s shoulder. “Yes, my friend. The people I brought are the very best for this. Now tell me, which room was the thief trying to enter?”

  Louis led them through the domed gallery to the entrance to the western side room. Polished silver tracks ran along the top and bottom of the doorway. Lit glass cases covered both walls and ran up the center of the room beyond.

  “As I explained on the phone,” Louis said, approaching a glossy black keypad beside the doorway. “While you can’t see it in the surveillance video, the damage is quite amazing.” He removed a key from his pocket and inserted it above the keypad, then punched a six digit code with a series of electronic beeps.

  A massive door slid out from the wall, following the silver tracks. Enormous and clear, it glided shut, sealing off the adjoining room with a heavy click.

  Matt’s gaze moved to a cluster of white cracks spider-webbing out from impact sites in one of its wide, glass panels.

  He stepped closer.

  The damage looked like someone had taken an automatic rifle to it, but as he studied it, Matt made out the distinct impression of a fist in at least three of the breaks.

  “Christ,” Allan whispered.

  Matt nodded. He’d seen a vampire punch through an oak door once like it was nothing. But even then, peppering an inch-thick sheet of bulletproof glass was a feat only the strongest could do.

  Turgen drew a long breath, regarding the damage. “And you didn’t show this to the police?”

  “No. You said that...I shouldn’t...”

  “Good,” Turgen said warmly. “Now, first I would like to see this video of yours. Meanwhile, may my people inspect this room and hopefully locate whatever this thief was after?”

  Louis swallowed, then nodded.

  “Very good. If you could also provide Doctor Romero with keys to the cases and disable their alarms for us, they may work while we discuss...business.”

  Matt stood by while Louis keyed the code into the alarm, and the huge door rolled open, nesting itse
lf into the wall. Louis then handed a small ring of keys to Malcolm, advising him on which ones to use, then left with Turgen.

  “Now,” Malcolm said, once they were gone. “Let’s find what it was after.”

  The hunters entered the room. It stretched about fifty feet deep and thirty wide. White lights shone down from the rafters high above. When the building had been a church, it was shaped like a cross with the dome at the heart. This room formed the cross’s left arm.

  Matt and Allan headed to the left side, while Malcolm took the right. Ben and Anya inspected the tall case running up the middle. No one knew exactly what they were looking for, possibly something with the symbols they’d found, maybe even an actual holy weapon. Demons obviously wanted something in here, and that made finding it first that much more important.

  The artifacts inside were an odd sampling of antiques from various parts of the world. One featured Native American artifacts: arrowheads, buckskin clothing, stone tools and clubs, even a headdress. Another contained several pieces of Chinese relics and art, though no jade masks. Most items had little teal signs, explaining their contents in French, Italian, and English. Some were only French. Some had no sign at all.

  “What is this exhibit?” Matt asked.

  “World treasures found by French explorers,” Allan said, peering through a case’s glass top.

  Matt frowned. “Just everything here seems so...random. Like those two statues out there from different eras, different themes.”

  “Most of the good exhibits go to the more affluent museums,” Allan explained. “Private ones like this rely mostly on displaying smaller, personal collections. Master Turgen works with many museums like this one, loaning out many of the Valducans’ pieces. A lot of lost or unknown weapons and books end up in these museums, so he maintains close relations. Curators form a rather elaborate circle, and he’s well respected.”

  Matt glanced back to see Malcolm walking slowly along the other cases, his right hand open and gliding along the glass. His eyes were closed. “What’s he doing?”

  “Mal?” Allan asked, looking across. “He’s feeling for a holy weapon.”

  Matt watched as Malcolm slowly circled the room. When he lifted his hand, moving from a side wall to a display along the back, Matt noticed an orange and blue tattoo on the inside of Malcolm’s right palm, very similar to the eye tattoo on his other hand, the one he’d held up when checking to see if Matt had possessed Allan. The same one he’d used to ward back the walking corpse in Spain. “So is that what he does for the Valducans,” he whispered. “Finds holy weapons?”

  Allan nodded. “He was a Librarian for a few years before being reassigned. To his credit, he’s located three in five years.”

  Malcolm continued his slow search around the room, stopping periodically for a few moments before continuing on. He’d made it almost all the way around when his hand seemed to jump slightly. He stopped, circling his palm slowly above the glass.

  “Find something?” Ben asked.

  “I’m...not sure,” Malcolm said. “Many of these have...energies. Deaths. Sadness. But this...”

  Matt leaned to see an elaborately carved pick or axe inside the case beneath Malcolm’s circling hand. The lights above glinted off the slender blade of black stone, lashed sideways into the club-like handle. It laid beside several primitive items: grass mats, and carved stone jewelry. Matt remembered reading the small collection as artifacts found on a New Zealand expedition, though none of the items themselves were labeled in English.

  Keys jingled and Malcolm unlocked the case and lowered the brass-hinged front pane. He slid his hand inside and held it just above the strange weapon. “This is it.” He turned, his smile broad and proud. “It’s a holy weapon.”

  “This is outstanding,” Ben beamed. “A real blessing we located it before they could steal it.”

  Malcolm wrapped his fingers around the twisted wood grip and carefully, almost reverently, drew it from the case. “It is.”

  “What is it?” Matt asked, peering closer.

  “It’s a Maori adze,” Malcolm said. “A...toki poutangata, I believe. It’s a ceremonial weapon. Though I’ve never seen one with an obsidian blade.”

  Allan reached up, his hand almost touching the sacred treasure. “Amazing. I wonder how old it is.”

  Ben’s brow rose. “Old enough the binding looks like it might break. Be careful. We don’t wish to destroy the relic for our enemies.”

  “Once it tastes its first kill that will mend.” Allan said, lowering his hand. “Ibenus was the same.”

  “Then we should take it,” Ben said “Maybe it will bond with Mikhail since our other orphans have not.”

  It won’t work, Matt thought, remembering the boy’s journal. He’s already spoken for. “Other orphans?” he asked.

  “The holy weapons that no one wields,” Anya said. “We protect them until they find an owner. Sometimes, Master Turgen loans one to a museum to see if anyone bonds to it. A...recruitment tool, if you will.”

  “Wait,” Matt said. “We have other weapons in museums right now?”

  “Not now,” Allan answered. “We gathered them all back once the thefts started.”

  “So they’re at the house?”

  Anya snorted. “Probably. Turgen and Schmidt hide them from most of us, in case we’re corrupted.”

  Malcolm’s eyes flashed angrily up from the holy weapon. “That’s enough.” He lowered the toki poutangata cradling it in his other hand, the one with the red eye tattooed inside, its ruby iris peeking just below the half-closed lid. “I’ll tell Master Turgen of this. He’ll decide what we should do.”

  “Either purchase it from the owner or...liberate it from captivity,” Ben said, a slight smile to his voice.

  “It’ll be difficult, but we could counterfeit it,” Allan said.

  “Possible.” Malcolm shrugged. “Not as easy now that Daniel is gone.”

  “There’s another option,” Anya muttered, almost to herself. “We could leave it here.”

  Eight puzzled eyes turned toward the Romanian.

  “Excuse me?” Ben asked.

  She licked her lips. “We could leave it here. Fit it with a miniature tracker, then wait for them to return.”

  “And let them take it?” Allan asked, his voice rising. “They’ll destroy it.”

  “Maybe not immediately. There were three weeks between Hungary and when the weapons were destroyed in Plevin. Same with Mexico.”

  “And they were destroyed the same night in Spain,” Malcolm said. “We can’t take that chance.”

  “But that was a full moon. They had five weapons then, not one. At none of the sites was just one weapon destroyed. And police reports confirm the other murders occurred during a time window in which there was a full moon. The next one is three weeks away. It’s also a lunar eclipse.”

  “She’s right,” Allan said thoughtfully. “We had hypothesized that the other ceremonies were during full moons, and, sadly, the last incident confirmed that.”

  “If the demons took it we could find where they go,” Anya said. “Find them, and kill them.”

  Allan nodded.

  “No,” Ben said, standing tall. “I am sworn to protect God’s weapons. I cannot give it to God’s enemy.”

  “I agree,” Matt said. “If we did bait them, I’d rather it be with a copy.”

  “They’d know if it was a copy,” Anya said. “Those only fool humans. Our records show that. The demons know this weapon is here. They will come back for it.”

  “Then why bother making a copy?”

  “The owner,” Ben said. “If we simply stole it, then that would reflect badly on the museum, which would come back on Master Turgen.”

  Malcolm regarded the hunters. “I could never give it to them. But...Anya has a good idea with the tracker.”

  Ben’s eyes narrowed.

  Malcolm shook his head. “I’d rather die than let them have it. But whether Master Turgen offers the owner
money, or we make a forgery in its place, that will take time. Weeks for a forgery. The fiends could return tonight, and I want to be here when they do. We can’t let them get this weapon, but a tracker is a good contingency in case we fail.”

  “So we’re using it as bait?” Matt said.

  “Only until we can get it safely home,” Malcolm said defensively. “We know they’ll be back. We won’t have to go find them. Don’t have to guess their moves. And if we can get one of their worshipers, we can make them tell us where the rest of them are.”

  #

  Thunder boomed, rattling cases and trembling the walls. Matt felt it, even inside the small windowless security room nestled in the museum’s third floor. Matt watched as Luc passed through one of the eight screens before him, two rows of four. The huge, black hunter patrolled through the second floor; his light blue security uniform seemed natural for him, except for the ancient iron mace at his hip, ruining the disguise. A plastic bottle of pink fluid rested on the table beneath the screens. Beside it, Matt’s half-drunk paper cup of coffee, its temperature only slightly higher than the chilly room’s.

  “One-fifteen, check in,” Malcolm’s voice blurted in Matt’s ear bud. “Ben?”

  “Here.”

  “Luc?”

  “Here,” Luc growled through his radio.

  “Anya?”

  “Nothing on the second floor.”

  “Kazuo?”

  “I am here.”

  “Matt, you asleep up there?” Malcolm asked.

  Matt thumbed the microphone at his shoulder. “Here. Nothing on camera.” He released the transmit button and added, “Asshole.” The cameras already fed into Malcolm, Jean, and Anya’s computers, making Matt’s job to sit and watch them just a pointless excuse to keep him out of the way.

  “All right,” Malcolm said. “Check in again at one-thirty.”

  It was the third night since the attempted robbery, and so far nothing had happened. Turgen had liked Malcolm and Anya’s idea and had persuaded Louis to allow Turgen’s ‘security team’ to manage the museum for two weeks, the same amount of time they estimated it would take to construct a perfect counterfeit for the holy toki poutangata. Matt didn’t know how Turgen managed the agreement, but after witnessing a few whispered conversations with Ben, the Valducans’ accountant, he suspected it was a hefty donation, either money or artifacts.