Echoes of Demons (The Memoirs of Abel Mondragon Book 2)

by Chase Erwin

  There was something cooking, I could tell, but what in particular eluded me. There was the sound of a fire crackling in the parlor to our right, but beyond that, not a sign of anyone else.

  Ricken turned to the left, where there was a registration desk with no one behind it. He cleared his throat.

  “Anyone here?” he asked.

  A man poked his head out through a doorway behind the desk. “Yes, gentlemen,” he said as he approached the desk, straightening his collar. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, with his jet-black hair graying slightly at the sides. He looked fatherly, if not warmly so. “What can I do for you?”

  “We have a reservation for dinner and a room tonight, under the name of Col,” Ricken said.

  “Ah, yes,” the man said, as he fumbled through stacks of paper and ledgers. He was looking for something, a registration book, perhaps? “Uh, uhm, I believe everything is in order. Were you hoping to dine at once?”

  “If possible,” Ricken said. As the man continued to search through the menagerie of papers and cubbies in the office, Ricken added, “Are you new here? Where is Mrs. Porterhouse? I made the reservations with her a few days ago.”

  “She was called away suddenly,” the man behind the desk said. “Not to worry – I am here to offer you the best possible service.” He held up a silver key. “Here is the key to your room. Room B.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the key. “Which way to the dining room?”

  “Ah, the dining room is not quite ready for you yet. If you would be kind enough to wait in the parlor, I will lead you to the dining room momentarily.”

  “Certainly,” I said. I led Ricken to the parlor.

  “That man seems odd to me,” Ricken said. “He didn’t seem to know what he was looking for back there.”

  “Perhaps it’s Mrs. Porterhouse’s son,” I suggested. “He said she was called away, maybe he’s just filling in?”

  “Perhaps,” Ricken muttered thoughtfully, looking at the cases still in his hands. “He didn’t even offer to take these up to our room.”

  “Well, we’re able-bodied men,” I said, “we can do it ourselves. Think it’s upstairs?”

  “Likely so,” Ricken said. “And no, let’s just leave them here. We can pick them back up after dinner.”

  We left the bags by the hallway door and sat in the parlor for about 15 minutes, continuing to talk about Ricken’s childhood. He was technically a foreigner, having been born on Selenea, north of Londolad, but his father moved the family to Sinanju just after Ricken turned three.

  They moved again, to Galek, when Ricken was six, after the Great Earthquake. His father lost his left leg when their house collapsed. The manufacturing plant his mother worked at was destroyed and she got a supervisory job at Galek’s Sandport, overseeing tariffs and customs for the millions of gold in goods crossing into Londolad from the other side of the massive sand seas.

  The man who had given us the room key cleared his throat again as he appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is served, gentlemen, if you will follow me.”

  We followed our host as he led us towards the back of the house, into a small but cozy dining area. A large oak table, covered with a gray tablecloth, was lit softly with two long white candles. There were two plates of salad and two bowls of steaming soup waiting for us.

  We seated ourselves as the host crossed to the sideboard, picking up a carafe of red wine. He began to pour some out into the crystal goblets at our places.

  “Did you want wine?” Ricken held up a hand to stop the man, looking towards me.

  “I hadn’t even thought about it, actually,” I said.

  “Compliments of the house,” said our host. His smile seemed out of place with the rest of his features. It was slightly unsettling. “To make up for your late meal.”

  “Well…” Ricken said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Do please enjoy your stay with us, and drink up,” the man urged. “I’m sure it will be a memorable one.” After topping up both goblets, he set the carafe down at our table, and exited without another word.

  Ricken sniffed the wine, swirling it around in the glass with a tender motion. “Well, I’m no sommelier, but it certainly smells good.”

  “I’ve only ever had champagne,” I said. “I have only that to compare it to.”

  “Ooh, la la,” Ricken said with a wink, holding up his glass. “To us?”

  “To us,” I echoed, raising my glass. We clinked them together and enjoyed a long drink.

  We chatted more as we tucked into the salad and soup. I talked about my parents; he spoke of his. He talked about his older sister, who had moved back to Selenea three years ago. When I tried to talk about Antareus, I began to tear up. I dabbed at my eyes with my table napkin and reached for my wine glass.

  “Don’t.” It was Antareus. I couldn’t see him, but his ghostly whisper chilled me to the bone. “Don’t.”

  It was the only word he said. I didn’t understand. Maybe he meant, don’t shed any more tears for him? Don’t ruin this date by being sad?

  I shrugged it off and finished the wine in my glass before changing the subject.

  Our discussion was more interesting than the food. The salad seemed hastily thrown together, and the soup was uninspiring at best. It’s always hard to impress a chef, but even without the background and training, I was certain even an everyday customer would not be impressed. I hoped the steak course would bring more satisfaction.

  Sadly, it did not. Since our host failed to ask how we liked our meat cooked, we were served two nearly raw steaks, blood running freely around the plate.

  Bloody steak… I remembered… I remembered feeding on someone back at the lair… a male horned fae. I had attacked him while under the influence of the Ravens’ potions, and fed on his flesh…

  I closed my eyes tightly for a few moments, willing myself to let the memory fade.

  Ricken didn’t notice. He, too, was having difficulty eating his meal. He pushed a small piece of potato around on the plate.

  “This is… patently different than the experience I had been promised,” Ricken said, stifling a yawn.

  I sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” Ricken said, running a fingertip absently around his empty wine glass. “I really would like to know what happened with Mrs. Porterhouse… because I’m sure she’d like to know my expectations certainly haven’t been met.

  I leaned back in my chair. I suddenly let out a big yawn, covering my mouth. “Gosh,” I said. “That trip tired me out more than I thought.”

  “Me too,” Ricken said. “Shall we just cut our losses with this meal and…” he yawned… “go to bed?”

  I nodded. My eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. We each placed our napkins over the dining table, exited into the hallway, and stumbled our way towards the staircase. Climbing each step felt like climbing a tremendous mountain.

  We finally made our way up to the second floor and trudged to the door with a curlicued ‘B’ painted on it. I fumbled in my pocket for the room key, produced it, and put it in the latch.

  “Damn,” I muttered the second the door opened. “I just realized we left our cases downstairs.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ricken said. “I’m too tired to care. I just want that bed over there.”

  We entered the room, closing and locking the door behind us. The room was dark except for a single oil lantern flickering to the side of one of the twin beds.

  “Let’s push them together. I want to sleep beside you,” I said.

  “’Kay,” Ricken said with a yawn. We got on opposite sides of the two beds and pushed them together before flopping onto the mattresses. We inched ourselves together.

  “I’m so sleepy,” I said.

  “Me too. Let’s sleep.”

  “G’night… yawn… Ricken.”

  “Good…” he was already snoring before he could even say the word night.

  I fell asleep seconds later.

&
nbsp; 9. Collateral Damage

  I awoke to the feeling of freezing cold air hitting my face. I opened my eyes and blinked several times until my vision came into focus.

  The bedroom window was open, a chilly night breeze blowing the linen curtains nearly sideways towards me.

  I don’t remember opening that window. I guess Ricken did.

  I got up from the bed and quickly shut the window. Shivering, I turned around.

  Ricken was nowhere to be seen. The bed was empty. In fact, both beds were apart, as if we had not even entered the room.

  “Good morning, young Abel,” said a man’s voice at the corner of the room nearest the door, startling me.

  The voice sounded familiar, yet elusive. “I know you,” I said instinctively.

  “Indeed you do,” said the voice. It was thick and authoritative. The figure reached to the bedside table and turned up the flame of the lantern.

  An orange light revealed the man was wearing a dark gray cloak. He wore glasses that prevented me from seeing his eyes, but he wore a wide, unsettling grin, showing me all his teeth.

  “Allow me to re-introduce myself, Abel. My name… is Dr. Kane.”

  Panic struck me like a punch in the face. The name triggered a mental flood – more recovered memories, more images dead people, more visions of blood… all with him at my side, watching, relishing every second.

  “You!” I gasped. “You can’t be here. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming!”

  “Oh, I assure you, this is very real, and I am very much here.”

  “What did you do with Ricken?”

  “I haven’t done anything with Ricken… yet,” he said, making sure to exaggerate the word yet. My breathing became quicker, more panicked.

  I yelled for Ricken as I rushed for the door. Kane raised his hand and flourished it in front of him.

  An ear-splitting howl deafened me; it felt like a knife being plunged right into my brain. I yelled and sank to my knees. The blaring noise went on for what seemed like an eternity. I looked up at Kane pleadingly, until he waved his hand again, and the noise ceased.

  “It would be very unwise of you to scream like that again,” Kane said calmly, rising from his chair. “Primarily because no one will hear you, and furthermore, because I hate when you act like a petulant child in that manner.”

  “I don’t understand,” I gasped. “How did you get into our room? Where is Ricken?”

  “We don’t have time for such nonsense questions!” Kane’s shout startled me again. I began to shake. He looked down at me, quaking before his feet, and his face softened a bit. “Oh, how can I deny my little boy like that? Fine. I suppose I have time for one little story.”

  He knelt to the floor, lifting my chin up with his fingers. I could smell his breath, his sickly-sweet breath, as he spoke.

  “Look into my eyes, and you’ll see everything you want to know.”

  Tearfully, I looked up into his eyes. His glasses appeared to reflect a bright orange flame. As I gazed into the lenses, he began to replay his actions step by step.

  “May I help you?” said Mrs. Porterhouse as she opened the front door. She was plump, portly even. She wouldn’t go very far.

  “I certainly hope so. Could you provide me with pen and some paper?”

  She hesitated. “Certainly. One moment, please. Wait right here.” She shut the door behind her.

  Slowly… carefully… so she doesn’t hear the latch.

  Not a sound… not a sound… Follow her.

  “’Ere! I thought I told you to wait out—”

  SNAP. The rotund matron falls to the floor. Hrm. For such a fat neck, it sure broke easily.

  There are sounds from the kitchen. Slowly… slowly…

  Butcher’s knives right by the door. How convenient.

  Cook is boiling something, chopping carrots into a pot. Humming an awful tune so loudly he cannot hear the approach.

  Cook sharpened those knives beautifully. The blade sinks into his skin with ease; slits his throat with not even a jagged bit of flesh. A very clean cut.

  The back door to the kitchen opens as Cook bleeds out at my feet. An underling, awaiting orders.

  “Send one upstairs to search for any more. In addition to Cook, there’s one in the hall, but you’ll need help. She’s… hefty.”

  The underling nods and rushes past to collect the matron.

  A quick sojourn into the cloakroom. One man’s suit. And just my size. Perfect.

  As I put it on, there is the sound of muffled yells coming from the staircase. An underling has a young man at his side, bound and gagged with bed linen.

  The man is begging for mercy, offering money. Pitiful creature. His yells of pain as I grip his throat… and crush his voice box… so soothing. So satiating. He is dead within mere moments.

  “Take his body and bring it… along with the others.”

  As the underling obeys my command, I am left to examine the office area. There isn’t much time to waste. I gaze upon my reflection in a dressing room mirror. A quick incantation and… voila. A new face.

  Just as the guests arrive. There’s my boy! And his… companion.

  Where’s the key, where’s the key? Aha. Here you go… young Abel.

  Back to the kitchen… ignoring the pool of blood… Wine cellar, wine cellar… Here we are. Vintage port. Slip the sleeping dust inside, swirl it about… a little more in that goulash Cook was bubbling… That should do…

  Drink up, boys…

  The vision ended. The flames in his glasses died down, but the orange glow around the lenses remained. I still could not see into his eyes.

  “You disgust me,” I muttered. “I hate you.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Kane waved the comment away like he was waving away an insect. “You just think you do.”

  “What did you do with Ricken?!”

  “He’s right where you left him.”

  “I didn’t leave him! You took me from him!”

  “Semantics,” Kane sighed, bored. He polished his precisely manicured nails against the fabric of his cloak, just under the gold embroidered emblem of a raven’s head. “I transported you to an alternate plane, so we could have this little chat.”

  “How did you know we would be here?” I was trying to stall for time, so I could figure out how to escape. “Do you have a spy tailing me or something?”

  Kane chuckled. It was an oily, demonstrative laugh. “Of course I have spies. What would I be without my network of informants and underlings? But why would I have a spy gathering information on you, when the perfect informant is right here before me?”

  I shook my head. “What?” The warm tingle of an impending surge of wild magic began its familiar warning.

  “Hm. I wiped more of your memory than I realized,” Kane said. “Very well. I shall explain. When you were first with me, when you were stolen from me… I told you that I would always be a part of you. I see everything you see, young Abel. I hear everything you hear, know everything you think.”

  “So you heard Ricken’s plans for our night out,” I said, the weight of his words compounding my stress. The pulsing sensation of magic snaked up my legs.

  “Yes,” Kane confirmed. “The more I heard of him, and then of course, the more I saw of him through your eyes, the more I understand your attraction. He is quite charismatic. Ohh, you know, had things been different, I might have allowed you to take him with you, sort of like the pet of my pet.” His grin returned, more offensive and off-putting than ever.

  My jaw set. The beating of my heart matched the pulsing of energy building throughout my body.

  “But as it stands, you have to leave him and come back with me now. He has to go.”

  “Go? Go where.”

  “He has to die.” Kane looked at me, his grin now gone, the words dripping off his mouth. “Just one of several more. That group you were rooming with after you were stolen? Yes, they’ve been on our rosters for some time; they were always marked for d
eath. Ricken too. They all have the potential for collateral damage should they be left alive much longer.”

  I tried the only recourse I thought I had left.

  “Please, I beg of you,” I said. I crawled sycophantically to his feet. “Ricken is a good person. He doesn’t deserve it. Please, spare him.”

  Kane chuckled and stroked my hair. I tried as best as I could not to recoil instantly from his touch.