Damoren

by Seth Skorkowsky

  Matt slapped his thigh, an important piece of the puzzle clicking into place. “I remember reading that. I thought Zita’s story sounded familiar.”

  “So why didn’t Anya delete it?” Luiza asked.

  “Because the name is misspelled,” Allan said. “Either Sir Vidal wrote it wrong, or the Librarian who translated it, or even whoever then transcribed it into the database. Whichever it was, Anya didn’t find it. I searched the rest of the records and found no other mention of a Barugnano. No knight’s journal reports, nothing. Just this one note. But that was enough to get me digging deeper. There was a lunar eclipse over Tuscany in July of that year.”

  “Same month the Inquisitors found Marco murdered,” Matt said.

  Allan nodded. “Additionally, two knights were killed about that time. No record how it happened, but one sacred weapon was catalogued in the Valducan orphan inventory the following month, and another was inherited by Sir Ignacio Perdomo, after his master’s funeral. No mention how he died. Bit odd.”

  “What about weapons?” Malcolm asked. “Any vanish or destroyed in the preceding months?”

  Allan made a face and clicked his keyboard. “Let me check.”

  Malcolm turned to the others. “Did you see the news on the missing bus?”

  “Yeah,” Matt said, a slight pang that Malcolm had mentioned it first. “Twenty-eight people vanish the night before a demonic ceremony?”

  Malcolm nodded. “San Pettiro wasn’t exactly on its route, but close enough.”

  Luc steered the car around a tight bend. “If they did kidnap them, we can stop the ceremony if we find them first. Take away their sacrifice.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Luiza added. “Buy us enough time to the next eclipse if nothing else.”

  “We’d have to find them first,” Malcolm said. “I’d rather take care of Anya and this cult of hers and put an end to it.”

  Luc eyed him through the rearview. “But if we don’t get that option...”

  “I agree,” Malcolm said. “If we get the chance to free them, we will, but delaying these bastards means they’ll only do it again. We need to end this, not prolong it.”

  Luc’s eyes remained on Malcolm until the road drew them away.

  Matt guessed the question in the enormous hunter’s gaze. Would Malcolm sacrifice twenty-eight innocent people if it meant killing Marco Barugnani‘s cult? Matt could guess the answer, too. Yes.

  He’d watched the way Malcolm had killed those people back at the mine. No remorse. Matt understood the idea. It was Clay’s only lesson that Matt had never accepted. Kill some to save many. How many innocent people would die if the demons summoned whatever dark mother they served? Hundreds? Thousands? Cold and honest math, but seeing the worlds as simple numbers wasn’t human.

  Clay’s humanity once led him to save two people from a house fire while a vampire escaped. By the time he’d tracked it down, it had killed nine victims, two of which were children. Something in him broke that night. Died. Matt wondered what horror had killed Malcolm’s humanity.

  “Interesting,” Allan said.

  “What?” Matt asked, hoping for uplifting news.

  “The Order’s log of holy weapons shows no changes between 1628 and 1629.”

  Malcolm frowned. “Anya could have deleted the records. Hidden the discrepancy.”

  “Possible,” Allan said. “But I checked them ten years each way. No weapons were lost in that period. I doubt she could have hidden it so well over such a spread. You have to remember, the Order only had twenty weapons at the time, twenty-one at the end. Losing any would have been difficult to hide.”

  Malcolm ran a hand across his stubbled chin and upper lip, his gaze set on some distant thing only he could see. “Theories?”

  Allan shrugged weakly. “Either they sacrificed weapons that were not under the Order’s care or they didn’t sacrifice any at all.”

  Malcolm nodded, still staring at the invisible thing. “The Order’s knights stopped the ceremony. Four hundred years later they try it again, this time set on destroying us first. Retaliation.” He turned to Allan, then Matt. “Preemptive. They did it to draw us out. Kill us before we could stop them.”

  “Then if sacrificing the weapons isn’t necessary for a summoning,” Matt said. “What’s to prevent them from breaking them now?”

  “Let’s just hope they haven’t,” Luc said.

  #

  It was after 2:00 when they reached San Pettiro. The bright sun beat down on the tiny village, bleaching the stucco and stone walls in shades of yellow and white. The town consisted of no more than fifty buildings, most two-story, nestled at the foot of a steep hill. Atop it, an enormous orange-roofed villa stood, looking out over the valley of vineyards and farmland.

  Matt checked the blood compass in his lap as Luc guided the car down the narrow road into the village. A disappointed weight settled in his chest at seeing the still-pink water. No. They have to be here.

  A few locals walked the streets, or sat at one of two outside cafes. No one seemed particularly interested as the hunters’ car rolled past. A good sign. Matt searched their faces for Anya or any of the others from the old photograph. Unsuccessful, he scanned the old buildings for more signs of Marco Barugnani‘s demon cult, finding none.

  Malcolm leaned over Luc’s shoulder. “Try to get us closer to the castle. Maybe we’ll get a hit on Matt’s compass.” He pointed to a cobbled street snaking behind the shops toward the hill. “There.”

  Luc steered the sedan around the bend, working up the hill. Matt watched the bottle, praying for a bead.

  After passing a few tiny buildings precariously perched along the slope, they came to a metal gate blocking a manicured road leading further up to the villa. A blue sign with white writing stood beside the closed entrance.

  “Castello di Pettiro,” Allan read aloud. “Opening next spring.”

  Matt peered through the iron bars, up the cypress-lined path to the near-hidden villa. “Too far for the compass to pick anything up. Don’t suppose they’d mind letting us in for a closer look?”

  Luiza snorted. “I doubt it.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  She motioned to a blocky white camera mounted on the gate. “They’ve got eyes on the door.”

  Malcolm grumbled. “Keep driving. Don’t want to draw attention.”

  Luc let off the brake and continued up the winding road along the hillside, eventually leading them back down to the town.

  “We need to know if they’re inside that place,” Malcolm said, bending to get a better view of the castle above.

  “We could wait until nightfall,” Luiza offered. “Sneak right up there.”

  He shook his head. “We don’t have time to wait.”

  They crossed through a tiny plaza, a small stone obelisk at its heart, capped with a bronze bust of a man. A pair of dark-haired boys on bicycles rode down the road toward them. They stared at the hunters’ car and Matt met their eyes as they passed.

  Nothing to worry about, just kids checking out the tourists. But the tingle at the back of his neck wasn’t quelled. “Whatever we do.” He turned. The riders continued on at their normal pace. “We need to do it soon. Driving through town over and over looks suspicious.”

  “Good point,” Malcolm said. “Find a good place to stop. Out of the way, but with an exit.”

  Luc followed the curving street to the edge of the village, finally pulling the sedan into a tiny lot between an old church and another building. He steered it around and parked, facing an exit.

  Matt peered around, seeing no one. “Looks good.”

  Malcolm nodded. “All right. Matt, I want you to make a fresh compass. No. Two. You say they’re good for a hundred yards out in the open. What’s the range to see through that castle’s walls?”

  Matt pursed his lips. Back in the States, a thick wall was brick, maybe cinderblock. He’d never dealt with an actual castle before. “Fifty, at most. Thirty to be sure.”

&nb
sp; “Then that’s how close we’ll have to be,” Malcolm said.

  “You want us to go up to that place,” Allan asked. “Right now? In the middle of the day?”

  “No. Matt and I will do it. The rest of you just lay low here.”

  Matt opened his laptop bag with Dämoren and the Ingram inside, and removed the plastic pricker from a small, zippered pocket, and started refreshing the compasses.

  “Seriously, Mal,” Allan said, shaking his head. “Let’s wait until nightfall.”

  “I agree,” Luc echoed.

  Malcolm smiled reassuringly. “We’ll be fine.”

  “We can surveil it for a few hours,” Allan said. “Then send you two in after dark.”

  “Surveil what?” Malcolm asked. “It’s a big house with few exterior windows. We’re not just going to see an ifrit strolling around. Everything they’ve done so far has been too careful for them to make a mistake now. Besides, few windows means less chance of anyone seeing us approach.”

  Matt screwed the cap back onto the refreshed blood compass. “I agree. Clay and I used to do this type of thing all the time.” He reached over and took the compass bottle resting beside Allan and Malcolm.

  “This isn’t just some house,” Luiza said. “You need to be careful.”

  “We will be.” Matt handed the second compass to Malcolm, who then offered it to Luiza.

  “Keep an eye on this,” Malcolm said. “You see anything, call us and get out of here.”

  Luiza took the bottle. Worry tinged her eyes.

  Matt opened the car’s door and stepped out. A warm breeze rustled his hair as he adjusted Dämoren’s bag over his shoulder.

  “Ready?” Malcolm asked, coming out behind him. He carried the case with Hounacier inside. He slipped on a pair of dark aviator glasses.

  Matt checked the compass and nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Together they made their way out of the lot, past a trio of narrow shops crammed inside a building before following the narrow asphalt road out. Beads of sweat dotted Matt’s brow and he found himself envying Malcolm’s fedora. Keeping the castle in sight, they circled the hill around. Trees lined the road along a fence line, but the slope itself lay mostly exposed.

  The sound of tires rumbled from the road ahead.

  “Car,” Malcolm said, lowering his head so the hat shielded his face.

  Matt turned away and made as if scratching his temple as a faded red coupe came into view. It cruised past them, spinning leaves in its wake. He glanced back as it rounded a bend, then disappeared behind the trees.

  A half-mile later they came to a junction in the barbed wire fence paralleling the road. Straight-trunked trees followed its path, cutting along the back of the property. Smaller trees with tiny round leaves dotted the slope, hiding the castle from view. Malcolm checked that the road was clear and pulled two of the rusty barbed wire strands apart to create a long gap. Matt squeezed through, then took the gritty wires and held them for Malcolm to follow.

  They hurried along the fence line until the road was out of view, and then made their way up the rocky hill toward the castle.

  Sweat ran down the back of Matt’s neck, his shirt clinging against his back. The foliage opened up about sixty feet behind a rain-silvered wooden shed. The castle’s stone walls loomed another hundred feet beyond it. Matt checked the compass but the bottle was unchanged. He and Malcolm hurried up through the open span, keeping low and using the shed as cover.

  Malcolm reached the tiny building first. Holding up a hand for Matt to stop, he pressed his ear to the planked wall. He shook his head and motioned Matt to follow.

  Crouched, Matt clutched the heavy satchel and ran up the grassy slope to the shed. He pressed his back to the wall and checked the compass again. Still pink.

  Cautiously, Matt straightened up and peeked through a dusty window. Various tools and boxes lined the shed’s cluttered walls. A rust-colored tractor, at least fifty years old, sat in the middle facing the wide door.

  Malcolm peered around the corner toward the villa. “Check this out,” he whispered.

  Matt scooted behind to see. A huge stone barn or carriage house stood off to one side of the castle. A man with a brown cap leaned against one side of the closed green doors, sheltered in a wedge of shade from the sun. A blued rifle hung from the crook of his arm. Further past the barn, two rows of cars sat parked in a small paved lot, circled by slender cypress.

  “Interesting,” Matt said.

  “You recognize any of those cars from the mine?” Malcolm asked.

  “No, never got a good look at them. I thought they flew down, anyway.”

  “Someone would have needed to drive their guns down. Also, the demons that can’t or won’t change to human form. Unless they had a marked body down here waiting for them, they’d have to be driven.”

  Matt nodded. “True. So what’s in the barn?”

  Malcolm didn’t answer right away. Eventually he said, “Something they either don’t want or can’t put inside the castle.”

  “Tour bus? Bet it’s big enough to hold one in there.”

  “Just what I was thinking.” Malcolm withdrew his head to the safety behind the shed.

  “So what now?” Matt asked, creeping back from the edge.

  “You got a hit on that compass yet?”

  “No.”

  “Then we move closer until we do. We need to be sure this isn’t some mafia gang bootlegging olive oil or something.”

  Matt let out a long sigh. It was like dealing with Clay, cautions to the point of obsessive. Matt couldn’t argue because all the circumstantial evidence in the world still wasn’t proof. He hadn’t realized just how many of Clay’s infuriating habits he’d forgotten over the years. They’d have gotten along well, he thought. If they didn’t kill each other.

  Malcolm peeked around the edge again, then moved to the other side of the shed to look from there. “Getting closer to the castle won’t work. Guard will see us, but I think we can move closer to the barn.”

  “That’s where the guard is,” Matt said flatly. He crawled up and peered around to where Malcolm was looking.

  “Yeah, but if we follow that line of hedge we can move around to the back side.” Malcolm set his case in the grass and eased the brass latches open. Hounacier, sheathed in its wooden scabbard, lie inside, strapped down with black Velcro. Malcolm’s sawed-off rested beside it, as well as a dozen shells, color-coded to denote their contents.

  Matt eyed the low strip of shrubs. It wasn’t much cover and bushes didn’t offer any protection from bullets if the guard spotted them. “Let me do it.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll do it,” Matt said. “Two of us only doubles our chances of being seen.”

  “Then I’ll do it,” Malcolm whispered. “I’m the senior knight.”

  “I’m not Valducan,” Matt said and dashed into a crouched run before Malcolm could continue the argument. Almost crawling, he dove behind the strip of dense green hedge. The bushes were too thick to see through. He looked back to where Malcolm waited behind the shed, his lips pressed into an unhappy line.

  Malcolm peeked around to see the barn and signaled Matt it was safe.

  Careful not to crunch any leaves or lift his back too high, Matt followed the line thirty or so feet until it ended at a stone-paved gap. The hedgerow continued ten feet across on the other side.

  Slowly, Matt peeked around the corner. The guard still leaned against the wall, not fifty feet away, the glazed look of boredom on his face.

  Matt wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow, took a long breath, then scuttled across to the bushes on the other side. His foot caught a hook-shaped twig, rustling the bush. Fuck!

  Pressing himself down, he turned back to Malcolm. The knight checked, then shook his hand side to side, telling him to wait. Matt rolled his head, hoping to see under the hedge, but couldn’t.

  Footsteps approached slowly.

  Matt slid his hand into the bag, finding the In
gram’s cold metal handle. He’d have to be fast.

  The footsteps stopped, maybe twenty feet away.

  Matt tightened his jaw. Why did he stop? Can he see me? Is my foot visible? He suppressed the instinct to draw the gun up. He imagined rifle rounds blasting through the shrubs any moment.

  A grunt, then the footsteps moved away.

  Several long seconds passed before Matt turned back to Malcolm.

  Crouched, holding his sawed-off and machete, Malcolm peeked around the corner again. He bobbed a finger, signaling Matt to go on. Letting out the breath, Matt licked his lips then continued down the hedgerow.

  He reached the end and looked around the edge. The gray stone barn loomed just a few yards away. He was far enough around the side that the sentry couldn’t see him. The compass was still pink. Feeling brave, he leaned out further, searching the grounds for other people. Seeing none, he emerged from the hedge and hurried to the barn.

  He crouched beside the wall, behind a rose bush the size of a recliner. From his angle he could still see Malcolm watching him. Matt checked the compass again.

  A red bead pressed against the bottle’s wall, pointed toward the building beside him. An exalted surge washed over him. Bingo.

  Matt lifted the bottle for Malcolm to see, then gave a thumbs up. Malcolm returned the signal.

  Now that they had their confirmation it was time to get the hell out of there. Matt eyed the hedgerow, readying to make the dash, then hesitated. What was inside the barn? What were they protecting? He’s assumed the tour bus but didn’t know that for certain.

  “It’s got to be important for them to be guarding it,” he imagined Clay saying. “Knowing what it is gives you the advantage.”

  Cursing the old man’s training, Matt eyed the giant building. No windows on this side. Careful to remain quiet, Matt made his way around to the back of the barn. A pair of giant green doors, identical to the front, faced out the rear. A thick steel chain looped through the iron ring handles, secured with a sturdy-looking padlock.