by Hickory Mack
She was pretty sure Sam was more along the lines of the ‘fighting with brute strength’ type, rather than the ‘turn the Earth itself against her’ type. Something he verified by chasing her rather than attempting to grind her to dust with his magic. Which was exactly why this plan would work.
She spared a glance back as she ran, already starting to feel the burn in her muscles. Damn, she needed to run more often. Samuel was right behind her, his face contorted with rage. Good.
There were only a handful of demons in their tiny town in the western backwater reaches of what used to be Alaska. Most of the non-humans living there were lesser demons, barely worth the time it took for Elsie to investigate them and find out why they were there. She kept a catalogue of every magical creature in the area, demon and otherwise.
Usually, they did what they could to blend in, as they were typically there to avoid detection in the first place. Providence was one of a handful of places left unmolested by the demon Lords in the South. They were too small of a population and too far away from regular civilization to be bothered with. The majority of demons who came were transient, only staying a few months before moving on their way.
Samuel was a full-time resident and had arrived shortly after Elsie. He’d been there for the entire three years she had lived in Providence Village. The folder containing his file was relatively slim, considering what he was.
Sam kept to a daily routine. He had a coffee and a bagel every morning at the café before going to his job as an accountant, and he did a great job maintaining his vegetarian diet. Most demons were completely vegan, with the exception of snacking on the odd weaker demon here or there, and human flesh when they thought they could get away with it.
Elsie dictated a strict set of rules they had to adhere to in order to be allowed to stay in her town. Just like the demons, she was there to avoid a specific group of people, and so far, it was working. They hadn’t figured out where she was, and that was how she liked it.
A quiet town with no demonic activity was summarily ignored, and she’d kept it that way for three years. Until several weeks ago, when Mrs. Gracey’s elderly black cat went missing. That cat rarely left Mrs. Gracey’s front porch, where he could be found sunbathing every day. Elsie had tracked him down, only to find what remained of him. A couple of fractured, hollowed out bones in Sam’s backyard.
She’d watched him closely after that. Like she didn’t have anything better to do, with her full-time job as a meditation and self-defense instructor, as well as painting commissions she was weeks behind on already.
Samuel hadn’t appeared to be behaving any differently. Usually, when a demon living a flesh-free lifestyle took and consumed a life, there were obvious changes—aggression from the influx of power, a pungent scent in their sweat, dilated pupils—but he exhibited none of them.
Though she continued watching him, Elsie had let it go. She had no tangible evidence other than the location where the cat’s body was found. There hadn’t been any further incidents in a month. Until this morning.
A young child was reported missing. She’d gone to school that morning but hadn’t come home. The news had only reached Elsie an hour ago, and after a short bit of investigating, she’d discovered that Samuel hadn’t gone to work. She found that whenever a demon was involved, there were no coincidences.
Her feet pounded the pavement. Elsie rushed past the single screen theater and skidded into a turn, taking her into the alley between the town’s only theater and the family-run café next door. Behind the two, blocking off the alley, was the back wall of the old fire station.
A dead end.
Samuel was hot on her tail—she could almost feel his moist, stanky demon breath on the back of her neck. He let out a squeal of excitement when he saw where they were, and she grinned. Sam thought she’d made a mistake. He thought he was going to win. He thought wrong.
Elsie kept running right up the wall, kicking off and doing a backflip then spinning so she landed behind him, facing his back. A puddle on the ground reflected a dim, flickering light above them, and Samuel’s eyes glittered when he turned to face her. She held out her hand, and the silver charm from her bracelet responded. In seconds, the impossibly heavy charm in the shape of a spear became the real thing.
“We had a deal, Sam. You could stay here so long as you didn’t call attention to yourself. What the hell were you thinking?” Elsie demanded, unable to keep the anger out of her voice. His beady eyes narrowed, but he looked away.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Huntress,” he grunted, his words muddled and distorted by his tusks.
“Don’t you? I tracked her right to your house. If she’s still alive and you tell me where she is, I’ll give you a painless death. If you choose otherwise, well, let’s just say I’m not opposed to a good evisceration.” She slid the spear into an offensive position, the tip following him as he swayed side to side. “You’ve pissed me off, pig. This stunt of yours is going to lead them straight to us.”
“Maybe to you. I’ll leave you nice and trussed up for them. By the time they find what’s left of you, I’ll be long gone.” While they were talking, Sam’s fingernails were hardening, sharpening into weapons. His round, human-shaped ears now protruded, wiry hairs sticking out from within, and his human feet had shrunk into hard cloven points.
“I’m giving you one last chance, Sam, and only because I actually kind of liked you until now. Where is the girl?” Elsie asked again.
“Why do you even care? You’re no longer a member of the Hunter Clans. We both know you have no legitimate reason to come after me.”
Elsie’s brows knitted together; she hadn’t told anybody in this town that she’d ever been associated with the Clans. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one doing her homework around here. She’d have to add checking his house for information on her to her list of things to do, and by the sound of people shouting in the direction of his house, she’d have to mess with time a bit to do this right. Elsie frowned in irritation. Time manipulation wasn’t her greatest talent.
Fae blood was tricky that way. There was no guarantee the child of a powerful fae would be as strong as her parents, and Elsie was only half. Her fae blood gave her physical strength, but it hadn’t given her much of a boost with magic. That came from her mother’s side.
“If the kid is still alive, I can alter her memory, make it look like she wandered off and got lost. We’ll call it a nearly tragic accident, frightening enough to warn young children away from the woods, but not enough to attract their attention. Where. Is. She?” Samuel leaned forward with a grin as though to tell her a secret, his glittering eyes holding hers, and Elsie gritted her teeth.
“I ate her, and I have not one single regret. The beastie was tender and so delicious. When we’re done here, I’m going to go finish sucking the marrow from her bones,” Sam said, his grin widening while he talked. Elsie’s heart dropped with his confirmation. The child was dead. She’d been too late to save this one. She looked down in disappointment, then back at him just in time. He charged forward, his meaty hands curled into claws, swinging at her face.
In the second before he’d moved she’d seen his muscles bunch together, his weight shift, the quick glance of his eyes. All clear warnings, telegraphing his next move. He thought he was being clever and sneaky, but she was ready for him.
Elsie jabbed at him with her spear. Sam had the strength, but she had the range. He danced out of her way, cursing and spitting at her feet. Once he was out of reach, Elsie gripped the shaft of her weapon in both hands and gave it a twist, shoving alchemy magic into it.
The spear widened, the shaft rounding out into a wickedly spiked club. It wasn’t as long as the spear, but she could put a lot more weight behind her swings. That feature alone easily made it her favorite weapon for when some dung heap of a demon had pissed her the fuck off. She rarely broke it out for lesser demons, but Sam had successfully crossed the line.
Seeing his cha
nce while the weapon was changing, he charged again. Elsie raised a knee and hit him in the gut, but she wasn’t able to avoid his claws. They raked across her forearm, tearing through her thin jacket and taking three even slices out of her skin.
“Damn it,” Elsie hissed. It had been far too long since she’d sharpened her reaction time by fighting demons. She’d gotten slow. She certainly hadn’t missed the sting of poison eating away at her flesh. It was a fun little feature of some demons’ claws.
Blood soaked her sleeve below the slashes in the fabric. It was early August, and the mosquitos had just hatched. She couldn’t afford to lose her jacket just then; the little fuckers loved her. Elsie growled with irritation and brought the club down, flinching back as Sam threw another punch.
Boars were notoriously tough—the thick-skinned bastards—but even though she was off her game, Elsie had the advantage. The club connected at the same time as his fist with the side of her head, and she felt his bone shatter. He’d given her a glancing blow, but it was still enough to make her momentarily see stars.
The squeal he let out was so loud it might as well have been a scream. Elsie swayed where she stood, but she shook it off faster than he did. Taking advantage of the second of relief his pain provided to get her head on straight, she stood over him, ready for her next attack.
“You filthy little bruja!” he grunted, and Elsie swung again. He was smart enough to dodge out of the way this time, and she was smart enough to know that his injury wasn’t enough to count him out.
She smirked at the rage in his eyes. He wasn’t even good at insults. Why did men always go for the obvious? Little? He wasn’t wrong; she was only five foot four. Her Latina heritage did not include a lot of “tall” in the genetic makeup. She considered it a fact, not an insult.
Bruja made her smirk grow into a smile. He had no idea.
Elsie twirled the club in her hand, skipped a step forward, and swung. Sam tried to move out of the way, but he ended up slipping in the puddle she’d successfully avoided. It wasn’t as easy to keep his balance on cloven feet. He went down, and she smashed her spikes into his shoulder. Another bone shattered, and Samuel squealed in pain. She hit him again, breaking his knee, then straightened, looking down at the boar with a sneer.
“Kneel,” she demanded. Her weapon had started to glow with the bright silvery-blue light of ethereal magic.
“What? I can’t—”
“I said, kneel.”
Elsie used her alchemy once more. The shaft of her club lengthened, the spikes flowing together, and it became a spear, though a bit different than before. The pointy end wasn’t quite as long. Samuel looked up at it, his beady eyes widening in fear, then the blade of a scythe slid into existence and he lost all color in his face. Her weapon could take any shape she could imagine, but only one form would do what she needed.
“No…” he whispered.
“Oh, yes. You’ve been lax, stupid cerdo, to not have realized it sooner,” she scoffed. As Elsie spoke the words in the ancient language that would bind him, a circle of runes the same color as the glow tracing the edge of her blade surrounded Samuel.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’ll leave town, and you won’t have to be afraid of the hunters coming. I won’t kill any more kids, I swear,” Samuel tried. Elsie frowned. She hated it when they begged, when their entire demeanor changed the second they realized they’d lost and what kind of creature they were facing.
“You’ve misunderstood. I’m not afraid of the hunters; I just despise them. They’re annoying as fuck,” she said, swinging her scythe not at Samuel, not yet, but into the air above his head. The atmosphere sizzled with her power, and she ripped open a hole into another dimension.
A stiff, hot breeze came through along with a purple glow and the distinct coppery scent of blood. The scent was overwhelming, even for her. She couldn’t imagine what it was doing to the demon’s heightened senses. Elsie fixed Sam with a smile. This was one of her favorite hell dimensions.
“Please, you don’t have to do this. I didn’t know you were a reaper!”
Runes lit along the edge of her blade in that same silvery blue of the ethereal, and Elsie’s pale lavender eyes lit from within, taking on an inhuman shine to match.
“Samuel Appleton of the Southwestern Boar Tribe, I find you guilty of taking the life of an innocent and disturbing the peace of my town. The price of this crime is your life and your soul. I sentence you to an eternity in the hell dimension of my choosing, to be carried out immediately,” Elsie decreed.
She didn’t give him the chance to beg any further; she didn’t want to hear any more excuses or lies. The blade and the spear changed positions, becoming a war scythe with a long, wickedly sharp pick, rather than the classic reaper shape of lore. Elsie hefted the scythe in one hand and moved smoothly forward. It sliced through the air in a graceful arc, severing the pig’s head with a single blow.
It hit the ground with a wet slap, and his body slumped over. Her magic transformed him, showing the world what he really was behind what remained of his glamour. Samuel was a stinking, horrible boar demon with greasy, wiry hair covering his body. His knees had twisted around the opposite direction into the hocks of a pig, and his tusks grew even further, accentuating what he was.
Elsie twirled her scythe around and let it collapse into itself, using more alchemy to condense it, forcing its atoms into compliance, creating a charm with intense density. She clipped it back onto her bracelet and waved her hand across the air in front of her, closing the portal into the hell dimension and trapping Sam’s soul on the other side. She personally knew some of the demons there. They’d make sure Sam had a great time during his stay.
A stiff breeze reminded her of the holes in her jacket, and Elsie frowned once again, inspecting it. Maybe she could get one of the local biddies to fix it for her. If she could get the blood out first. She slipped the raven mask off her face and tied it at her hip, one hand gripping her necklace before taking it off to glare at the figure of her mother, a woman of many names.
Some called her the Lady of Shadows, the White Lady, or the Lady of Night. All called her Santa Muerte, the Lady of Death. Elsie had known her as Santisima, or simply, Mama.
Elsie’s mother had been a powerful bruja in her youth. Sanctified, revered, and worshipped for her vast magical abilities until she ascended by the will of her followers. As a goddess, she was Death. She was the mother of all reapers, and Elsie was her final daughter.
She’d never met her father—some asshole fae king with a thing for dangerous witches. When he’d tried to kill her mother, he’d attempted to kill Death. Of course, Santa Muerte wasn’t the only creature with dominion over the dead, but she was among the most powerful and the most beloved.
Santisima had not been afraid for her own safety. She could handle most of the fae, even if he was a king, but she couldn’t fight him and keep Elsie safe at the same time. So, to her great sadness, she’d sent her last daughter to be raised for a time by the hunters, temporarily sealing her ethereal powers.
Elsie touched the dark markings at her throat. The seal had been temporary, but the markings were permanent. Before her mother returned and released the ethereal within her, she’d only been able to work with her light moon magic, completely ignoring the dark moon magic that came from her father.
Most magical creatures and witches used magic associated with one or two of the elements. One of the three moons, the Earth, fire and water, even air. A rare few took their power from the sun itself. Then there were the ethereal, all the powerful beings that the other monsters of the world were afraid of. They were the reapers, the hellhounds, and the shadow walkers, among other things. There were shades, too. Creatures so strong even the reapers had trouble with them.
Her mother had been incensed when she’d returned, dressed in black robes of protection, to find that instead of protecting her as they’d promised, the hunters had turned Elsie into one of them. They’d been at the mercy of an enra
ged goddess, who then took Elsie back.
She’d spent six years in training with her mother, learning how to use her ethereal magic. Becoming familiar with other dimensions was still something that gave Elsie great joy. Santisima had literally opened entire worlds for her to explore.
She gripped the Staff of Sanaia in her hand, feeling slightly guilty. She hadn’t given the weapon as much thought as she should while hiding out in the human town. She rarely used it at all.
“You will need it when the time comes,” Santisima had said cryptically, refusing to explain herself. “You will understand when you need to understand. I need you to promise me you will continue your training. Keep yourself safe and avoid those who would do you harm. You are important to this world, Elspeth.”
Elsie wasn’t entirely sure what her mother had been talking about but decided it had something to do with the hunters. Leaving the Hunter Clan wasn’t something one did lightly. Most did not survive the attempt to run, and Elsie knew that better than most.
It wasn’t long after that conversation that Santisima had disappeared again, this time leaving Elsie completely alone.
That was the year she’d turned twenty-seven. Three years had already passed since she’d last seen her mother, with no word or whispered rumors of where the Lady of Death might be. Elsie held her mother’s image over her arm, showing the figure her wounds. She firmly believed that wherever she was, Santisima was watching over her as she always had.
“You didn’t protect me!” She swung the necklace around in several circles, then looked again at the corpse she still had to clean up. She hated dealing with this kind of crap. She’d rather be snuggled up on her couch, eating junk food and reading a book. Elsie pouted her bottom lip then sucked it back in and spun on the spot, leaving the nasty beastie where he lay.
Somebody would report what had happened here, and those irritating hunters would arrive soon enough to investigate the missing child and the car she’d blown up. Things like that didn’t happen in small towns like this, especially not on the same day. They’d have to come, and when they did, they could deal with the corpse.
