Hounacier (Valducan Book 2)

by Seth Skorkowsky

"All right," Malcolm said. "Thanks." He made his way past the ornate furniture toward the dark, double doors in the back of the shop. Something banged, followed by a metallic clatter.

  "Damn it," Tasha cursed as Malcolm entered the hall. Four claw-footed chairs rested outside an open door.

  Peeking into the windowless storeroom, Malcolm spotted Tasha atop a stepladder, heaving a box onto a shelf. "Need some help?"

  She turned. A curly wisp hung across her face. "Sure thing, Desperado." Tasha nodded to a wide chandelier of swirled white and purple glass hanging behind her. "Daddy wants me to pull this thing down, but I need to make room to move it first."

  "Desperado?"

  Tasha brushed the hair back. "Guitar case. Really?"

  He frowned. "What's wrong with it?"

  "Do I really need to tell you?"

  Sighing, Malcolm slid Hounacier's case beside the door. He moved an oaken pillar to one corner so he and Tasha could carry a narrow table out into the hall.

  #

  "Careful," she said as Malcolm unhooked the chandelier from a thick ring set in the ceiling.

  "Got it?" Malcolm grunted, lowering it.

  "Yeah."

  Still bearing the brunt of the weight, Malcolm stepped down the ladder as she guided it onto a thick, foam pad atop a dolly.

  "Slowly." Tasha adjusted a heavy blanket beneath the fragile arms. "Slowly. There."

  Malcolm let out a breath, flexing his arm a couple times to return the feeling.

  "Don't get worn out just yet," she said. "We still got put it up in the showroom."

  "I'm fine."

  She stood up. "Thanks for the help. I'll owe you dinner tonight."

  "That's all right." He needed to start on the gris-gris, maybe even spend a few hours with Duplessis' files.

  Her lip twitched. "Well, maybe another night then."

  She's asking you out, you idiot. With his tattoos, Malcolm could detect poisons, go without sleep for days, and even smell three times better than any human. But none of Hounacier's blessings could help him talk with a woman. "No…I mean…I'd love to do dinner tonight. But the first one's on me."

  Her almond eyes narrowed. "First one? Little presumptuous."

  "No…no. I meant I wanted to take you out."

  "So it's a date?"

  Malcolm's face grew hot. "Well, it's a dinner. Give us a chance to catch up?"

  Tasha's lips pursed into an amused smile. "Okay. I'll let you buy me dinner. But one condition…"

  "What's that?"

  She motioned to Hounacier's case against the wall. "That stays at home."

  A cold weight fell in Malcolm's stomach. "I can't do that. Hounacier has to come with me."

  She sniffed, amusement vanishing from her face. "I see."

  "It's just…there's no one I can trust her with." He thought of Ulises and Maggie. Hounacier had killed their chance for happiness. It wasn't coincidence that most Valducans never married. They already were.

  "What about Daddy? You don't trust him?"

  "I do. It's just…" He balled his fist, searching for the words. "Someone killed Ulises. What if they come after me? What if I left Hounacier with Jim, and they come after her? They'd kill him. It's too much of a risk."

  Tasha swallowed. "All right." She looked back at the case. "But you're not carrying that ugly thing with us. Deal?"

  He chuckled. "Deal."

  "Perfect." She nodded toward the chandelier. "Let's finish this."

  Taking the front, Tasha pulled the awkward dolly, mostly steering as Malcolm pushed. One of the wheels wobbled, making it pull to one side. Together, they guided it though the hall and out into the showroom as Mister Alpuente repeatedly warned them not to bump into anything.

  "Here we go," Tasha said, stopping beside a life-size carved lion. A sturdy steel ring hung from a beam above.

  "I'll grab the ladder."

  The bell above the front door tinkled as Malcolm carried the stepladder in from the back. The scarab at his wrist crawled around to the other side. Something growled. Pulse quickening, Malcolm looked up to a spikey-haired man in the doorway, eyes wide, lips peeling away from lengthening teeth. The growling hiss deepened.

  Malcolm froze. It was like when a demon saw his warding palm but more powerful. The man's dark eyes turned bright yellow, transfixed on the obsidian mask. His cheeks and jawbone shifted beneath the skin, lengthening his face and his ears slid higher up his head. The ladder clattered to the floor.

  The stranger's head snapped toward him. His skin rippled in pimpling waves. Werebeast.

  "Tasha!" Malcolm yelled. "Move!" He ran to the storeroom, popped the latches on Hounacier's case, and flung it open, spilling Paula's bags across the floor. He tore Hounacier from her straps and charged back to the showroom.

  The front door stood open. The demon-man was running across the street, knocking pedestrians aside. Squeezing the wooden sheath, Malcolm chased after him.

  He dashed through the traffic. Tires squealed. A car horn blared. The man's head was barely visible, bobbing though the crowd. He turned at Conti Street beside the giant courthouse building. Malcolm raced after him.

  Malcolm turned the corner in time to see the man vault the black fence encircling the courthouse lawn, clearing the iron spikes. "Son of a bitch," Malcolm spat, stopping.

  The demon's speed was incredible. Onlookers stopped to watch, their eyes cold, curious. Some pointed. A teenage girl tracked the man with her pink-cased phone. He sprinted across the manicured grass then leaped over the other side.

  Malcolm clenched his jaw, watching him disappear behind a row of parked trucks. A demon now knew he was here. It knew of the mask in Alpuente's shop. Neither he nor Tasha's family was safe until it was dead. Malcolm just had to find it first.

  Chapter Six

  "You know," Tasha said, sipping her wine, "when you said you were taking me out, I expected something a little less fancy."

  Waiters in matching vests glided though the restaurant, their accents perfect as they recited Italian entrees. Soft music played from unseen speakers, audible only during those few moments when every conversation took a simultaneous pause.

  "I'm full of surprises," Malcolm said. "What were you expecting? Greasy burgers and beer?"

  She shrugged. "Something like that."

  "We'll do that next time then."

  "There you go, talking like this is going to happen again." She smiled then quickly covered it with another sip of wine. "Though I admit the tie does help your case."

  Unconsciously, Malcolm tugged the silk tie. Most of the other well-dressed diners wore suit jackets. He stood out. That was never good. Though he suspected the disapproving glances were more aimed at the black, tubular bag resting beside him. Mister Alpuente had lent the oxygen tank bag as long as he needed it. It wasn't large enough to fit a sawed-off as well but big enough that Malcolm had to wrap Hounacier's sheath in a hotel towel so the machete wouldn't be as obvious inside the black nylon.

  "Still," Tasha continued, "you should have told me we were coming here. I'd have worn something nicer."

  "Ruin the surprise." He gestured his wine glass toward her striped lilac dress. Honey-colored stones sparkled from her matching pendant and earrings. "Don't worry about it. You look great." The fact Tasha had spent so much effort making herself up when expecting a greasy spoon told him a lot. Maybe she wasn't as over their former relationship as he'd thought.

  A waiter arrived, refilled their glasses, and took their orders.

  After he left, Tasha reached for her wine but stopped. Her finger tapped the narrow stem. "Mal…that man at the shop. Was he…?"

  Malcolm rested his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers. It was inevitable. He was surprised it had taken this long before one of them broached the demon at the shop. They both had questions, but asking them would spoil the evening. "I have an idea."

  "What?"

  "I say that until our dinner is through, we forget about Ulises' murder and what happened today. We
just pretend that we are simply old friends catching up. What do you say?"

  Tasha nodded, apprehension melting with a warm smile. "I think I can agree to that."

  "Good." He picked up his glass. "Last time we spoke, you were finishing up school. Marketing, I remember."

  "Yeah." She sniffed. "Moved to Atlanta. Got a buying job at a retail chain. Got engaged."

  An unexpected tinge of jealousy tugged at Malcolm's chest. "Engaged?"

  Tasha shrugged. "Not anymore, obviously. It just didn't…work out."

  Malcolm nodded understandingly, feeling a bit guilty in his relief.

  "Then Pawpaw got sick, so I moved back two years ago."

  "You still play?" he asked.

  "Some." Tasha smiled. "A couple friends have a band. They ask me to jam with them every few weeks or so. Not as much since Jeff had his daughter, but enough to feed the need. Other than that, I just work at the shop, do a little volunteer work with some of the elderly. Bring food, help around the house, that type of thing." She drew a long breath. "And what about you, Mal? What have you been up to the last four years?"

  "Oh, you know," he said. "Working."

  She cocked her head, telling him he wouldn't get off so easy.

  "Europe, mostly. Spent a little time in India, South Korea. We have a wind farm down in Chile, so I had a few weeks down there."

  "And what exactly do you do?"

  He ran a thumb back and forth across the white tablecloth. "Acquisitions. I verify the authenticity of holy weapons."

  "And what makes one authentic?"

  Malcolm suppressed his trepidation. Why shouldn't she know? She saw a demon. Still, it felt wrong to discuss it. "A holy weapon is possessed by an angel," he said finally.

  Tasha's golden eyes flickered down to where Hounacier rested beneath the table. "An angel?"

  "Well…angelic being would be more accurate. They're what gives weapons their power."

  "So they're loa?"

  He shook his head. "No. Loa are different. Think of them as…cousins."

  She nodded then sipped her wine. "And you verify if weapons are mounted by these spirits?"

  "Yes." He rolled over his right palm, showing the tattooed eye. "This can sense them. It's how I knew what the mask in your shop was. Some of the people in my…company research different reports and records, trying to locate holy weapons. Once they find one they suspect to be real, they send me to authenticate it."

  "So how many of these mounted weapons are there?" she asked.

  Malcolm's jaw twitched at the question. "Forty," he said, counting the suspected one in China. It was easier than saying the full truth.

  "I thought there would be more than that."

  "There were. A lot more. Something happened last year. Many of the weapons were destroyed, and a lot of good people died. We're still recovering from it all."

  "Oh."

  The waiter arrived with their food, offering a much appreciated distraction. Malcolm enjoyed a particularly good duck marsala while he and Tasha talked of lighter things, people they knew, places they'd gone, and memories of older times. Malcolm made a point not to mention any of the more sinister aspects to his travels, which still left him with plenty of stories. It was by far the nicest meal they'd ever shared together, including when they went to the wedding of their friends, James and Keisha, who were now living in New Jersey and divorced, according to Tasha. Of course, when Malcolm and she had dated, his income had been next to nothing. Finishing his doctorate while spending his free time apprenticing under Ulises didn't pay. So their dates were always pretty simple.

  Tasha had told him once that he'd been her first love. She wasn't his, but she was his greatest. They'd had two wonderful years together, then Malcolm had been recruited into the Valducans. Everything changed. Five years later, they're sitting, enjoying a meal they once could have only dreamed of sharing.

  "Would you care to see a dessert menu?" the waiter asked, gathering their plates.

  Tasha gave Malcolm an unsure look.

  "Please," Malcolm said.

  They split an enormous ice cream and brownie concoction drizzled in raspberry cream. Malcolm wondered how exactly one person was supposed to eat it by themselves. Trepidation rose as he watched the rich dessert whittle away. Once they were done, the agreement was over. Questions would be asked, and the moment of light happiness would die.

  "Okay." Tasha scooped a melting wedge of ice cream into her spoon. "I can tell you're waiting for it."

  "What?"

  She motioned to the bowl between them. "You stopped eating."

  "Just taking a break."

  Tasha pointedly glanced at the spoon still in Malcolm's hand. "You're stalling it."

  "No I'm not," he lied. Malcolm set the spoon down and sighed. "I take it you're ready?"

  She nodded. "That man at the shop. What was that?"

  "That was a demon," Malcolm said plainly. "Werewolf, I think. Probably didn't know about the mask—at least not until it saw it. I doubt it would have just strolled in otherwise."

  "A werewolf?" She sat back a little more, posture straightening.

  He nodded.

  Not really looking, Tasha stabbed the last dollop of ice cream with her spoon, scooting it around the bowl. "It's strange. This morning, if you'd told me werewolves were real, I wouldn't have entirely believed you. I believed in demons, possessions. How couldn't I? But actual monsters?" She shook her head. "You and Ulises, even Daddy. You all told me about them. I just…"

  "I know," Malcolm said.

  "How many?" Tasha met his eyes. "How many demons have you killed?"

  Malcolm rubbed his chin. He scanned the nearby tables, making sure no one was listening. "Sixty-three."

  Tasha blinked. "Wow. That many?"

  "A third were from that incident I told you about. The demons got together and attacked us. They had this cult of demon worshipers and were trying to summon a goddess. To get us out of the way, they hunted us down."

  "You think that might be linked to Ulises?"

  "Possible. There's also a guy he was working with. Former familiar to multiple demons. He might have done it to serve a potential master."

  "What is a familiar, exactly?" she asked.

  Malcolm finished the last of his wine. "A demon can mark a victim's soul. Usually a bite, but there's other ways, depending on the breed. Once marked, a demon can possess that person whenever they want. Time, distance, doesn't matter. But until it takes them over, they can lead seemingly normal lives. Some breeds, though, can do more than that. They can put a bit more of themselves into a victim, making them slaves. Killing the demon will free the souls they marked, but familiars…" He shook his head. "They're never the same afterward."

  Tasha's lips pursed, like maybe she still didn't fully believe him. Finally, "That werewolf… Will it come back?"

  "I don't know," Malcolm said. "It won't get in the front door. Not as long as the mask is there. The bars over the windows will keep it out, but the upper floor windows…" He shook his head.

  "It can get up there?"

  "Easily. Keeping wolfsbane around, even dried, will help, but it's no guarantee."

  Tasha rubbed her fingers nervously. "What do I do? Buy silver bullets?"

  "Those will just kill the host. The demonic spirit will simply move to another body whose soul it marked. Besides, you can't really buy silver bullets. But, um…" Malcolm winked. "I got connections." He smiled.

  It didn't help. She reached for her glass then stopped, seeming to decide against it.

  Malcolm set his hand on hers, calming her fidgeting. "Just hang tight. You've got one of the best demon hunters in the world on your side." He squeezed it lightly. "I won't let it hurt you."

  #

  "The plan was that I'd come pay my respects, take care of any affairs," Malcolm said as they strolled the cracked sidewalk back to apartment. "But with the nature of the murder and the obsidian mask, he's heading up now." A warm breeze coursed lazily down th
e nighttime streets, washing away the sticky air.

  "Because of the mask?"

  Malcolm nodded. "There's a demon inside of it."

  "It's alive?"

  He nodded again. "A ghoul. That's what gives it the power to ward back demon-marked. As far as we know, it's the only one in the world."

  "Does Daddy know?"

  "Yes. Ulises had told him but never said where he got it."

  Tasha turned to him. "Is it safe?"

  "No," Malcolm said flatly. "But…it did keep the demon out. But if anyone stole it or put it on…"

  Her face darkened. "What if it broke?"

  Malcolm shrugged. "I suppose its essence would escape, searching for a host."

  Tasha's eyes widened, a question forming on her lips.

  "It can't mount you by force," he said, placing a hand on her arm. "Don't worry."

  "Are you sure?"

  "They have to be invited or summoned," he said. "Only after they have a body can they mark unwilling victims."

  "Oh," she said with a relieved smile.

  They continued down the sidewalk. Malcolm hadn't mentioned that the number of former demon-bound in the city might give the ghoul spirit several willing hosts. Though if she already knew the loa's affinity for mounting them at will, which she likely did, Tasha might figure it out.

  Glancing back as they turned onto her street, Malcolm noticed a pair of men walking half a block behind them. One was short and wiry with a squarish face. The other was tall and broad, his cornrows visible as they passed under a streetlamp. Hadn't he seen them outside the restaurant? Were they following them? Paranoia itched along the back of his neck, but Malcolm didn't turn for a second look. If they were following him, they'd know they were made.

  "What'd you say his name was?' Tasha asked.

  "Who?" Malcolm asked, his line of thought broken.

  "The man coming up from South America."

  "Matt Hollis."

  "And he's like your partner?"

  Malcolm strained a look at a parked pickup truck's back window, hoping to see the two men in the reflection, but couldn't make anything out. "Yeah. I'm the senior knight though. It'll take him a few days to get up here. It's a long drive."

  "He's driving?"