The Demon Hunt

by Kris Greene

  Angelique demanded answers and so did Dutch, though he wasn’t sure he wanted them aired in public. What he had planned could have been considered treason if it ever got out. The letting of one secret could very well have led to the letting of others and Dutch wasn’t quite ready for that. He had to find Asha before Angelique’s people did and silenced her.

  “Goddess, what happened in here?” Lisa stepped through what was left of the enchanted mirror that had once been the entrance to Dutch’s office. Her sister, Lane, followed closely behind her. Each had a wolf spider perched on her shoulder, one of an overcast gray and one almost transparent. The spiders were familiars, conduits between the witches and their magic.

  Dutch dislodged a large piece of glass from his desk and pointed it at Lisa. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m having a terrible morning and looking for someone to vent my frustrations on.”

  “Forgive my common sister, my king.” Lane executed a half bow.

  Dutch waved her off. “I’ll let you kiss up later. Right now I need information. What did you find out?”

  “It looks like Ground Zero down there,” Lisa said with a tinge of sorrow in her voice. “Sanctuary was little more than a pile of rubble with wild magic flowing everywhere. Angelique’s best people were out there to do damage control, but even they had a hard time keeping everything contained to the immediate area. Anyone with a nose could tell the pieces of rotted flesh that were strewn around belonged to Stalkers.”

  “And the rumors of the goblins coming topside?” he asked, not sure he really wanted the answer.

  Lisa looked to her sister Lane, who picked up the tale. “Had to be, because there was barely anything left of the human and demon carcasses we found and most of them were missing their hearts. If those things have decided to come out of their caves and dance up here, then it’s safe to say we’ve got a serious problem.”

  Dutch placed his head in his hands and cursed under his breath. Since he’d first arrived on the shores of New York, the tunnels below the city had been inhabited by goblins. They mostly kept to their mountains under the zoo, but once in a great while they would prey on the unfortunate who were foolish enough to take shelter in New York’s vast tunnel system. They cared little for what went on topside and that suited everyone just fine. For them to come aboveground in full force and level the oldest building in the city, the situation must be graver than he’d thought. Dutch had seen firsthand the brutality of the goblins when they ravaged a kingdom, and if Orden had designs on the city then the End of Days was surely upon them.

  “And Asha?” Dutch questioned.

  Lane shrugged. “She was definitely there, because traces of her magic are all over the place, but there was no sign of her. Do you think the goblins got her?”

  “I fear it’s far worse than that,” Dutch said, a wicked plan forming in his head. “What I am about to share with you must never leave this room, do you understand?”

  “Of course, my king,” they said in unison.

  Dutch paused dramatically. “I have reason to believe that our sister has broken the circle.”

  “What?” Lisa asked in shock.

  “No way, man. Asha is as loyal to the circle as any,” Lane insisted.

  “I felt the same way when the evidence was presented to me, but in light of what happened last night I can no longer turn a blind eye to the God’s truth,” Dutch said in a pained tone. “Last night, something powerful was handed over to the order, and they chose to safeguard it against the sorcerers, who had been planning to use it to conquer the world. Retrieving the item was the secret mission Asha was on last night.”

  Lisa’s eyes watered, but no tears fell. “Not Asha. She’s one of us.”

  Dutch came from around his desk and stood between the sisters. He placed a calming hand on Lisa’s cheek, but spoke to Lane. “One of us, but not of the blood.” Asha’s mother had been a Voundon priestess who had murdered Asha’s warlock father when he revealed that he wanted nothing to do with her or the child growing inside her. Asha’s mixed blood and the crime her mother had committed had followed her like a dark shadow all her life. The coven had adopted her, but they had never really accepted her until Dutch welcomed her into the Black Court and made her part of the Hunt.

  “For years we’ve all turned a blind eye to the impurity of her blood and I fear our love for our sister has come back to haunt us,” Dutch continued. “We all know how powerful Asha is on her own, so I shudder to think of what she would be capable of if she possessed an item of such power and if she turned to the sorcerers to strengthen her position. It could very well mean the end of the entire circle of magicians, because we would surely all be slaves again if they come into power.” Dutch let his eyes water up for effect.

  “I’d die before becoming a slave,” Lane said defiantly.

  “As would we all, but I fear we won’t have much of a choice if Asha takes the item to them. She must be dealt with,” Dutch told the sisters.

  “What are you saying?” Lisa looked at him in shock.

  Dutch’s eyes were cold. “I think you know what I’m saying. Asha must be brought to justice for her treachery.”

  “But it’s Asha. She’s part of the Hunt.” Lisa said, disbelieving.

  Dutch inhaled slowly and as he did Lisa felt the breath being sucked from her. “Traitors have no place in the circle and especially not in the Black Court.”

  “Enough!” Lane called her magic, but held off on attacking Dutch. She knew that she was no match for the Black King, but she wouldn’t let him kill her sister. Thankfully Dutch released his hold on Lisa and she collapsed.

  Dutch leaned against his desk and spoke sternly to the sisters. “Not even personal feelings must come before the well-being of the coven. Asha has betrayed us and must be punished. As members of the Hunt you are bound by duty and honor to dispatch justice when a crime against us is committed. To not uphold these responsibilities would mean to fall out of favor with your king. Is this your decision?”

  Lisa and Lane exchanged knowing glances. Asha had been like a sister to them, but Dutch was their king. If they refused him then they would both be dead within seconds, if they were lucky. “No, my king,” Lane answered for them.

  “Good.” He nodded. “I know it’s a hard thing that I ask of you, but your loyalty will not go unrewarded. Destroy Asha and bring me the item she was sent for and I will make you my Mistresses of the Hunt.”

  This got both their attention. To be Mistress of the Hunt was one of the highest honors bestowed upon a witch or warlock. It was the king and queen who ruled the covens, but it was the Hunt that held the real power. As highly coveted as the Mistress of the Hunt position was, it was coming at a heavy price.

  “Your will be done, my king,” Lane finally said before helping her sister to her feet. “We’ll find Asha and this thing you’re looking for. What is it?”

  Dutch smiled. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

  As soon as Lisa and Lane had left his office, Dutch picked up the phone. He knew that the two girls were very skilled at what they did, but there were no guarantees that they could pull off what he’d asked of them and Dutch couldn’t leave anything to chance. The Nimrod resurfacing right in his backyard was both a blessing and a curse. Dutch had tasted the power of the relic many years ago, but it had come at a price, a price that he had avoided paying for many years. It might be time for him to pay that debt. If he wanted to guard his secrets, he had to make sure he had plans within plans.

  The phone rang four times before a female voice finally came on the line. “M.T.C., how may I direct your call?”

  Angelique sat in the high chair in her personal study pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. For hours she had been watching closed-circuit video, poring over reports of the last few nights’ events, and she was still no closer to finding out what had happened to her students.

  At the request of the high brothers of Sanctuary she had sent her most skilled healer, Sulin, to
deal with some unknown injury to a high-ranking member of their order. It should have been a simple assignment, but something had gone wrong. The Great House was attacked and her students were caught in the crossfire. Now Sulin and most likely Lucy were dead, and Angelique had no one to blame but herself.

  She had felt the disturbance when it first hit the city, but she’d ignored it as some passing anomaly. In a city like New York there was always one catastrophe or another plaguing its inhabitants, and she didn’t see any reason to pay this one any more attention than she did the others. To Angelique, matters outside of coven business were no concern of hers. Unlike Dutch, Angelique had no desire to engage in the petty power struggles of the supernatural. It was her separatist thinking that caused her to miss the writing on the wall and because of it two of her students had been made to suffer.

  Thinking of her counterpart, the Black King, made her blood boil. She couldn’t yet prove it, but she knew that if she dug deep enough she would find Dutch’s prints all over the mystery of her missing students. She knew that Dutch sometimes operated outside the laws that governed the covens, but she’d never expected him to stoop to order the assassination of one of her students. Still, she couldn’t deny the fact that there were heavy traces of blood magic all over the crime scene and Asha was the only one skilled and powerful enough at it to leave such heavy traces. If Asha was found to have had a hand in the murder of her students, she would die and her king would follow her into the afterlife shortly thereafter.

  Sulin’s death represented a great loss to the coven, but it was Lucy’s misfortune that struck a personal chord with Angelique. Lucy was by far the most rebellious and troublesome of her students, but also the most promising. Lucy’s natural ability for spell casting was remarkable and with the proper training she would have one day made an excellent successor to Angelique. Angelique had promised Lucy’s mother, Wanda, as much before she died. She had promised the former queen that she would watch over her daughter if anything ever happened to her, a promise she had failed to keep. The thought of her girls being gone brought tears to Angelique’s eyes.

  “Sister, forgive me,” Angelique said, running her finger over the photo of her and Wanda as teenagers that she kept on her desk.

  “Is everything all right, Mistress?” Marsha asked, startling Angelique. She was a thin, pale girl with mouse-brown hair that she kept cut in a bob. She wasn’t much in the way of a spell-caster, but she was a gifted scientist and fanatically loyal to Angelique.

  Angelique wiped the tears away with the back of her white robe. “I told you that I wasn’t to be disturbed!” She shot to her feet.

  Marsha shrank back. “I’m sorry, Mistress, but you said that I should let you know if there was a change in the familiar’s condition.”

  “Is he awake?” Angelique asked in anticipation of finally getting some answers as to the whereabouts or conditions of her students.

  “No, but he’s started bleeding off magic.” By this she meant excess magic was rolling off the rodent like heat waves.

  Angelique’s eyes registered shock. “What?”

  “It started about fifteen minutes ago and has been slowly draining ever since,” Marsha explained.

  “You keep that familiar alive until we can find out if Lucy still lives or not,” Angelique ordered.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Marsha assured her.

  “You’ll do more than that if you value your life. Now go back to your work.” Angelique sat down and went back to her reading, but Marsha didn’t move. “Is there something else?”

  “Yes, Mistress. As you instructed I had some people watch the Triple Six. The two Huntresses, Lisa and Lane, took a meeting with Dutch and then rushed off somewhere. We had a tail on them, but she lost them on the Cross Bronx.”

  This got Angelique thinking. “Now why would Dutch be meeting with his Hunt at this hour of the morning, unless he’s trying to hide something?”

  “Or silence someone,” Marsha offered.

  Lisa and Lane didn’t say a word until they were out of the Triple Six and several blocks away. They knew that Dutch had eyes and ears everywhere and they didn’t need anyone eavesdropping on what they were about to discuss.

  “I don’t like this,” Lisa said, breaking the silence.

  “Me neither,” Lane agreed. “I can’t believe Asha has turned on us.”

  Lisa looked at Lane in shock. “You’re buying that cow dung Dutch was shoveling in there?”

  Lane thought about it. “Don’t you? Come on, Lisa, you’ve seen how Asha has been acting lately.”

  “She’s not the only one that’s been acting strange. For the last few nights it seems like everyone in the city has been on edge about something. It’s obviously tied into whatever Dutch is busting his brain trying to find,” Lisa replied.

  “Listen, I don’t care if it’s a mystic disturbance, drug-induced rage, or swine flu; if you break the laws of the coven, then the Hunt is sent for you. It’s our job, remember?”

  “Some freaking job,” Lisa mumbled.

  “Look, if you want you can go in there and tell Dutch to piss off, but I’m inclined to live a little longer. I know your feelings are all caught up in this, but look at the bigger picture, sis. If we bring in Asha, then we command the Hunt. Most witches don’t get that kind of power until they’re at least twice our ages, if ever. I say it’s too big to pass on.”

  “But she’s one of us,” Lisa said weakly.

  Lane took her by the shoulders and turned her so that they were eye to eye. “But not of the blood. I can’t do this without you, sister. Are you in or out?”

  Lisa kept her eyes glued to the floor. “I’m in,” she said shamefully.

  “Good. Now let’s get started. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover if we wanna catch up with Asha before she realizes we’re on to her and fries us.”

  “Could you spare some change, young ladies?” an old man asked as he came stumbling out of the alley. His clothes were tattered and he smelled like stale urine on a summer day.

  “Get a job, degenerate.” Lane pushed past the old man.

  Lisa reached into her pocket and handed him some crumpled bills. “Don’t spend it all at the liquor store.”

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” The old man waved as the witch walked away.

  He stared at the bills in his hand and closed his fist around them. When he opened his hand again several butterflies fluttered from it. “Soon the ugly duckling will discover the swan hiding beneath,” he said before disappearing back into the alley.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “The prisoner has been secured,” Morgan said as he entered the workshop, where everyone was gathered around the table. Jackson followed closely behind. He was no longer scowling, but the pain was still in his eyes.

  They had locked Gilchrest in one of the cells they had on the lower levels for the rare occasions that they took captives. Morgan looked over at Asha, who was tending to Azuma. The familiar kept giving him dirty looks. He wanted to say something to the girl, but thought better of it and joined the rest of the group around the worktable.

  “It has been almost four hundred years since I last saw this thing, and never like this,” Jonas said, examining the tattoo on Gabriel’s forearm, careful not to touch it. Even without making contact he could feel the malevolent energy pulsating from the tattoo.

  An icy finger of power slithered up Gabriel’s arm. He rubbed it, but couldn’t seem to generate any heat. “The Bishop doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

  “I wouldn’t expect him to, since he blames what happened on me.”

  Rogue gave him a quizzical look. “What gives with that, Jonas? We all know the story of the Seven-Day Siege, and the legends say it was Titus who betrayed the Bishop.”

  “Yes, but it was me who opened the window of opportunity.” Jonas walked over to the corner and retrieved a lead box. He placed the box on the table and motioned for everyone to gather around. “If we are going to trust each other, t
here can be no secrets among us,” he said, wiping away a film of dust. Along the edges and on the lid of the box there was an inscription in a language that was familiar to none of them except Jonas, as it was the language of his people.

  Gabriel moved closer to inspect the box. As with the Nimrod, the letters swelled and became legible to him. “Only the worthy shall ever behold the strands of fate and not be driven to madness. What does that mean?” He looked to Jonas.

  “It was a saying among my people, when I still had a people.” With a wave of his hand Jonas undid the lock and the lid sprang open. From it he pulled a small spindle that was crisscrossed with threads of every shade, from richest gold to darkest night.

  Rogue’s eyes widened as his heightened sight showed him the truth of what he was seeing. “The Strands of Time.”

  “Not quite. Only an interpretation.” Jonas ran his finger delicately down one of the stands. The movement caused flakes of stardust to fall to the table. “These strands represent what has passed, what is, and sometimes what may be, though I have no control over any. They were the responsibility of my order until Belthon’s soldiers wiped us out and destroyed the magic. This,” he said, cradling the spindle tenderly, “is all that is left.”

  To everyone’s surprise, Finnious walked over to Jonas and touched his arm. “What happened?”

  “Foolish pride.” Jonas strummed the strands, sending a mist of sparkling dust into the air. As they looked on, images began to form in the mist. “I am the last surviving member of the Medusan, a race of creatures who were chosen by the fates to accurately record the passage of time.” Jonas picked up a screwdriver off the work bench and tossed it into the air. The screwdriver flipped end over end before eventually slowing to a crawl, guided by Jonas’s outstretched hand.

  “You can control time?” Rogue asked curiously.