by Lil Hamilton
Detective Hanson stood in front of a house and watched as we pulled up. The broad shouldered detective looked like he should be a line-backer; brawn and brains. Quite the catch for the ladies if not for his horrid face, which looked like he been beaten with a frying pan as baby; a large angular nose, broken more than once, with a broad jaw line, broad cheek bones and bushy eyebrows. Back when I first met him, the eyebrows were in control, but age seemed to increase eyebrow density as if to compensate for his receding hair line. Oddly enough, it was one reason I liked him; I could trust an ugly face as it didn’t impose anything on me. When we exited the car he gave me a nod and I noted the drawn look in his eyes and the grim line of his lips. He had not liked what he had seen. Probably meant I wouldn’t. It occurred to me I’d known him longer than anyone else he likely knew outside of family. For me, mortals were in constant flux, ever changing their state of existence. A fascinating way to experience existence, but one I could never truly understand. After all, there was a whole decade that I really did absolutely nothing and if a human did that, it would be totally pathological.
“Who’s the friend?” Hanson asked. He gave Lan a look of appraisal and calculation. Total cop look down pat. When I got that look it always made me feel guilty, like maybe I had done something wrong. I had expected something more hostile, but one glance at Lan demonstrated he was dampening his demon attributes. It wouldn’t fool the detective since Inter dealt with all races all the time. He knew what a demon looked like.
“This is Lan. It’s probably short for some horridly long demonish name. He’s one of my out sourced consultants,” I said, lying smoothly, but slipping in a Beckoning spell of influence into my tone to ease the detective’s natural distrust.
“I assume he has something to do with the notification we heard of guests within the city?” Hanson stated. Not a man fooled easily. Sometimes I thought the more I tried to influence the more he saw the truth, as though his mind resisted any easy answers. Some humans were like that and Hanson had not reached his station, dealing with other species so well, by being easily influenced. They had training to help create a natural shielding. It was by no means strong but certainly made me more comfortable around him. As far as I could tell some humans had minor psychic abilities they simply were not aware of and some like Hanson had secure mental shields without learning anything. For all I knew, Inter tested their applicants just for such things and if they scored well they made it in.
I sighed. “Of course. You know how it is. Ambassadors and all that.”
“Oh, I understand. But he’s not touching the crime scene. Your consultant can stay outside.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right, he’s used to that.”
Lan crossed his arms and leaned against the car. He looked immoveable and patient. At least he didn’t argue, but then when it came to human concerns he didn’t feel the need to interfere. Demons may use the border realm as a playground, but they were less vested in it than the fae were and therefore couldn’t care less about humanity.
Hanson led me into the house stopping at the entrance way. We had worked together long enough for him to know my pattern. The first thing I looked for were wards or shields, if there had been, how they had been broken. I stretched my senses out, letting my aura unfold, its demon nature spreading outward, touching and exploring. I encountered the oily residue of witch spells. Intact wards of protection and strong shields triggered to black witches and vampires. Also a simple ward to warn of unfriendlies. “There are witch wards here. Not broken. Either bypassed or they let the intruder in.”
As I continued walking Hanson led me to the crime scene in the living room. Before I reached the arched entrance I felt it and inwardly I profusely cursed. Being raised in the Courts I let no reaction show in my expression or demeanor. The best poker face around. How anyone couldn’t feel that sharp tear in the fabric of reality was beyond me.
I stepped through the arch and at first my mind did not fully grasp what I saw, maybe only that the room was red. The forensic team was collecting evidence and their squishy movements made me look at the floor. Not a red carpet but, blood saturated into the carpet. The entire carpet. Then the details of red soaked or speckled furniture, long brush strokes of arching sprays of blood on the walls began to filter into my brain completing the imagine into a whole. Oh, I noticed the blood. All that blood. It was the globs that made my stomach roll and I swallowed hard. Because that is all that remained of the former occupants, tiny globs and some severed pieces. It gave me a momentary flashback to a battlefield. I had seen enough battlefields and gore in my time to not want to see it again.
I took several rapid steps away from the room until I hit a wall, still locked on the blood in the carpet and unable to block out the sound shoes made when they stepped on it. I controlled my breathing and wrestled with my stomach. “A demon did this,” I said, my voice sounding hollow. I let the horror of it filter into the part of my mind segmented to feel it without distracting me and smoothed my features into fae calmness.
“You’re sure?” he asked with no inflection.
“Very. You can’t hide a demon scent from me; I know a room marked by it. There were at least seven witches who lived here. I get a sense of their energy. Your coven might even be able to identify them if they have been charged before. There signature will be in their spellwork and I’m sure they have enough parepehenia about to show which coven they came from. If not just some other mundane means of identification.”
“Seven? Well, shit,” he said looking into the room, likely wondering how he was going to identify seven globs. “And the demon? One of your consultants?”
I shook my head and jerked my eyes to his and away from the scene. He was giving me a sharp, careful look that suggested not only did he know demons were in town but that I knew them. He wanted me in on the call because he thought I knew something not because he didn’t know it was a demon. I would be insulted, but really, I kept a crap load from him and he knew it. Funny, because even if I knew I wouldn’t say. Frankly, they really should find out that on their own. Make them work for it so they feel better when they figured it out. “No. This demon didn’t break in. He could have, no wards would hold for his earthly nature, but the wards were intact. This demon was called in. Either they called a demon they couldn’t control and this is the result or someone else bound a demon and sent it to kill them. Considering the area, known for its greys, and the lack of a binding circle I would say you’re looking at a coven conflict here. Such a surprise.”
He cursed profusely. I was tempted to remind him of his blood pressure. I didn’t know if it was high, but generally with his occupation it was a safe bet to say it was way up there. Very stereotypical of him.
Seriously the covens were as bad as gangs. In fact, they were. In other cities they pretty much hooked up and contracted to mundane gangs. It was hardly rare to see murder cases as a result. To this extent was rare. Very few covens would mess with binding a demon, not when there were so very many other options available. They did tend to use magic, rather than say, a gun. Witch code of honour or some such thing. I think it was a reputation thing. To show you could kill or harm with magic a great show of strength than brute force. Usually making it look like any accident was also just common sense. This was sending a pretty big message.
“We don’t see many bound demons these days. Against the Accords.”
I snorted. “Yeah, like the Accords mean anything to a black coven. And they bind minor demons all the fricken time. I know, as well as any demon, that bindings still occur. Still, you‘ll need to get a hold of the Accords rep for whatever flavour of witches the victims were. Then notify the Accords demon rep so they can track the bound demon and get him released from his slavery.”
“I agree it happens. I have been around long enough to have seen it happen. Usually lesser demons though. What makes you think this is not a demon in a rage?”
“Well, a lesser demon wouldn’t be affected by this border re
alm as to have a rage like this. And a High Demon in the rage wouldn’t be controlled enough to target just this house and just these witches. There would be a trail of destruction down the block at least. Plus you keep track of all the majors in the city. How long they have been here and what they are up to. There are no unaccounted for demons that I’m aware of. And my demon consultants are not hunting a rogue.”
Hanson scratched his neck, looking at the scene with hooded eyes. I’m not sure whether he believed me or not. He knew I worked the Accords and held the fae to them, but he couldn’t discount my demon heritage. Demons will lie to protect their own. He would take it as it was and get his witches to double check once the scene was cleared. “I don’t suppose you could give us a way to know which demon or who bound it.”
Oh, I could, but I wouldn’t. “You may use me as a consult to decipher magic, as I’m in fae relations. When it comes to demonology, who is missing from the realm, you need to talk to one of their representatives. Technically, even this was not a call for me, since you knew it was a demon before I walked in the door. I‘m not their rep.”
Humans set up the bureaucracy and therefore could not complain when we played that game.
“Do you have any idea how long that takes? They don’t live here and I can’t simply call there. The process we use takes forever. Their rep changes every few years as it is. If this is a bound demon, there will be more killings.”
“Of that, my friend, you can be sure. Likely every night. A black coven will be using it to cull out the competition for sure, but also blood scarifies can fuel some of their greater works. I can ask my consultants to talk to someone in the Hells to get what you need to know of the demon. But your best bet really is to find out everything you can about the witches, who they associate with and who their enemies are. That will lead you to who would want them dead. If you come up with anything I can help narrow this list down. I have contacts within the covens, but then so do your witches so you might as well let them do their thing.”
“I’m sure you do have contacts with them, Ray. Just as sure as I know you’re holding back something. We will follow that lead, among others.”
“If by among others you mean me, then don’t be so absurd. As if I associate with witches who call demons.”
“Then it is coincidence this demon delegate is here? Perhaps they didn’t tell you they were after a rogue. Or are here to release a bound demon. They may have pertinent information. You know that I can bring them in and find out, which will hinder them. It is better if they share their information willingly. Remember they have no diplomatic immunity.”
“Trust that I would inform you of any rogue demon and if they were hunting one down. I most definitely would not need Hunters to tell you there was a rogue demon in the city. Have I not always? Never mind, don‘t answer that. The last one was before your time. You can look it up if you want. Compare the damage. Then you will know what you are looking at here doesn’t match that level of destruction at all. Nevertheless, I and the Demon Hunters will be able to help you with a bound demon. Call us when you find it. It would be pointless to bring them in and racist as well. Just because they are in town, legally by the way, doesn’t mean they know anything pertinent to your case. You can‘t bring them in just because they are demons and you know it. When you have anything we can talk about corroboration then. And I will see what I can do.”
Hanson rubbed his neck more, one of his signs he was stressed or tired. “I’m not racist, Ray. Christ. I’m tempted to go Humanist though.”
Humanists were an anti-fae, anti-demon and anti-anything not purely human. Since humanity had a huge history hating anything they defined as ‘other’ it was hardly surprising this hate group sprung up. Since they had supporters who were cops any high profile case instantly got leaked and was precisely the reason I had to handle any such fae situation without Inter. Hanson damn well knew it, but he certainly didn’t want to blame humanity for my lack of dealing with Inter. Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.
“We’re on the same side, Hanson. You and me, trying to keep the peace,” I said, smiling slowly.
Well, sort of. If the fae could be said to have a side other than their own. Or morality. At least I was demon enough to have emotions and a sense of honor. As such, I was the best they were going to get.
“I know that. How you keep the peace though, I suspect, is not the way I do. I trust you, Ray. You may be contrary with a sort of flux between disinterest and compassion, but I know you well enough to know your fae face when I see it and who you are beneath it.”
I shrugged. It was true that I tended to put on the fae persona as needed and that was usually when dealing with fae concerns and the fae themselves. For humans I down played that and for friends it was non-existent. Honestly, I had a lot more facial tells than most Seelie did, but then I didn’t have thousands of years of mental manipulation under my belt and just as many practicing emotional repression. Humans though thought I was pretty damn stoic when I was playing the diplomat role, which made me feel all professional like. “I’m a diplomat. Or so it says on my pay stub.”
“When I ask for your assistance, I’m not asking a diplomat. I’m asking perhaps the only fae I’ve met that gives a damn about the true occupants of this world and is willing to stand up for them.”
I lifted a brow. That statement was sort of ironic since I fought damn hard for my role on the earthly plane to escape the screwed up mind games of the Queen, not because I gave a damn about humanity. For the first decade I holed up in the District and ignored all the Other races making a space for themselves in Haven, with the Queen’s blessing according to the truce agreements. Live and let live was my policy, or not, as long as they left my people alone and since the District was isolated that was not much of an issue. Turns out that my people just can’t let things be. They just had to co-mingle which meant I had to run interference. That meant I made connection and attachments. There was a sort a balance, a give and take between all the races. Anyone who upset that, who took advantage of those who were weaker and thrived in control and destruction, screwed it all up. Like my lovely Queen. I took issue with that sort, which gave my detective friend the impression I was the friend of humanity. I was just a friend of the underdog. He happened to deal with the underdogs of humanity all the time. The people who got kicked by fate one too many times.
“Very true. I hate bullying. Makes me want to kick the crap out of the bullies.”
“This business needs to be handled quickly and quietly. Do what you can to help.”
“I will. I have information on many of the blacker witches and only they would call a demon like this.”
“Thanks, Ray.”
“Anytime. If you have any suspect files just drop them off at the office. Or better yet, I‘ll whip you up a list of the most likely blacks known to call demons and email it to your coven.”
As I walked with him to the car I asked the customary questions about his ex-wife and kids and he in turn asked me about Chera. Both of us disconnecting from the details of the crime scene with the mundane facts of ordinary life. With a casual wave I got behind the wheel again with Lan at my side. Only then did my tense muscles relax slightly.
I looked at Lan and he raised his eyebrows.
“I think I need to scrub my eyeballs. That scene is burned into them.”
I was several blocks away when Lan said, “Are you going to tell me what is upsetting you?”
I flicked him a look. “Blood. Gore. Just trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. That crime scene was brutal. Usually they are when it’s a supernatural crime. Except the fae, of course, those can be very clean kills. Thing is I don’t believe in coincidences. It would be stupid to think this is one. And you’re going to agree. I don’t even want to tell you. That was a demon killing.”
“And?”
He was smart enough to know I was not accusing him or my brother. A few days in the border realm wasn’t going to throw anyone off t
he edge. He also wasn’t going to jump to the conclusion it was a High Demon killing until I said so, but I just didn’t want to, because the fact was, this made the situation far worse.
“A High Demon, Lan. And all roads lead to Lily. The vampires targeted her for bait, but they would never have been able to find her home without a witch to locate the place. Lily has perfected her wards of concealment. If Vincent doesn’t have her, then there it’s a damned strong possibility the black witches for hire broke the deal and dealt with their own, once they knew what Lily was and had done. I know witches burned through her wards, so factually, hired or not, they were there. We suspect slavers are in town and she was likely on the menu. We know Warren was working with some half-breed in the Gutters, on some side job of a whore house, along with whatever black coven hired him to harvest people. The harvesters or the black coven have been active in the Gutters which pissed off some grey coven gangs in Midtown Flats. Coincidently, a High Demon gets bound and sent to slaughter a coven in Midtown Flats. Gang related. Have you talked to this cousin of mine recently?”
“Eadon? Not recently, no. He would be of no help at this point.”
I thinned my lips keeping my eyes fixed on the road. “Well, then I expect you should give him a ring. That massacre, of witches I might as well add, was from a summoned demon.”
“That doesn’t mean it is Eadon. He is young and as far as I know, has never been summoned, which means no one here has learned his true name. If he has not been Named they could not bind him to such a task, in which case calling him would be one fast way to get killed.”
