Demoneater

by Royce Buckingham

  The islands passed beneath him, dotting the Puget Sound all the way from Seattle’s Elliot Bay to the Strait of Juan de Fuca and beyond, to the vast Pacific Ocean in the distance. His wings stretched wide as he danced, carefree. He began to embrace his newfound freedom and forget his commitment to his Keeper, and like a koi wandering into a much, much larger pond, Flappy began to grow.

  The Demoneater could smell them whenever they were near, wherever they gathered in great numbers, like the little beer demons in the waterfront tavern, or the big elementals that left obvious signs of their passing, such as the huge crack that had eluded it and escaped underground. The Demoneater knew it could not burrow fast enough to chase the fleeing creature . . . yet. It would need to grow better limbs for digging first.

  Seattle seemed a plentiful hunting ground, though. Indeed, the quirky city’s hidden demons were part of its charm, its beauty, its tastiness. Some had already proven delicious, it thought, smacking its twitching, wet lips. And the next time the Troll moved, it would be tasty too.

  For now, though, there was the flowered trailer it had been following for hundreds of miles. The trailer smelled heavily of chaos. The female human seemed to tend to it and care for the demons inside, but she would not put up much resistance, the Demoneater decided. She flitted about admiring them, gathering the pretty ones like wildflowers. She didn’t seem to be a fighter.

  The Demoneater squeezed one long, spiny arm tight like a python as it mused about its future meals, eliciting an anguished squeak from the wide-eyed playground demon that it held down firmly on the schoolyard grass. Its sharp spines punctured the helpless creature in dozens of places.

  With the children in class, the Demoneater had caught the bouncy little demon lurking alone beneath the jungle gym, happily waiting for the children to return for recess so it could spark them to delighted, giggly disorder. No more. The friendly demon was already leaking green chaos from its many wounds, and by the time the kids came back it would be completely devoured.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE KEEPER AND THE COLLECTOR

  Nat walked through a curtain of multicolored beads of all shapes and sizes. The hanging strands writhed out of the way to let him pass. He stepped into the main room and stopped, amazed that it was impossibly bigger than the exterior of the trailer. The walls were covered in improvised murals, graffiti, and sketches, all in perpetual motion. As Nat’s eyes passed a piece, it morphed into something else. The sketches moved and shifted, drawing themselves. The room’s furniture was painted on the walls and floors.

  “Have a seat,” Lilli offered.

  Nat had already decided to trust her, so he leaned backward, and, miraculously, found himself sitting on a chair in the painting.

  “Where did you get all this?” he asked.

  “I see them out in the world and I collect them. I’m drawn to them.” A sketch behind her drew her portrait, which moved with her like a shadow. “They’re drawn to me too. When I find beauty in cities that is fleeting or unstable, I offer to bring it here and give it a home, a place to survive so that it’s not lost. This is more than a decade of my work.”

  “It’s chaos,” Nat said. “I see it too, but you don’t handle it the way I do.”

  “I’m a collector. Aren’t you?”

  “I suppose. Yes. But I see things differently. And I call myself a Keeper.”

  “You make it sound like a chore.”

  “It is.”

  “We should work on that,” she suggested. “Ugly thoughts, ugly karma. Why don’t you try thinking of something pretty?”

  Nat stared at her, and her aura changed to a blushing pink.

  “Something else, silly. Something deep in your heart. You can project it on the ever-changing art pieces. They reflect the thoughts of those who contemplate them. They’ll help you spill it out.”

  Nat tried, digging down for his feelings. The colors shifted suddenly, flickered and whined.

  “Happy thoughts,” Lilli instructed.

  Nat worked at it, reaching into his emotions. He hadn’t dug around in his heart for a while, and it was hard. The colors blurred, turned ugly. A painful screech filled the room as a horrible scene materialized around him—water up to his neck and vague figures drowning. He stood, but the water rose with him. He tried to swim but couldn’t. He was sinking. He heard screams.

  The colors wailed in agony.

  “Whoa! You’re hurting them,” Lilli cried.

  Zoot appeared and stabbed the long prong of his trident into Nat’s foot.

  “Oww!” Nat let go of his feelings suddenly, blanking his mind. He hopped on one leg, holding his foot as the injured colors flooded away from him and flocked to Lilli for comfort. When he looked, his foot bore no scar; it had only been an illusion.

  Zoot retreated quickly, positioning himself between Nat and the visual demons, holding the trident defensively in case Nat tried to express his feelings again.

  “I’m so sorry,” Nat said.

  “Have you sought therapy for that?” Lilli frowned, waving Zoot back. “I’ve never seen them do anything like this. It’s legitimately disturbing.”

  “I should go,” Nat said, and he headed for the door.

  Lilli softened. “Hey, no worries, huh?” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “So you have issues. I’m sure there’s a bright side. We just have to look for it.”

  “This is really great in here,” Nat said. “It’s so peaceful. But I have to tell you, out there the world can be an ugly and harsh place.”

  “The world can be beautiful and gentle,” she countered.

  “Bad things happen.”

  “Good things happen.”

  Nat sighed. “You know,” he said, giving up the debate, “you might be just what I need.”

  Nat walked home, his head spinning. The day before he’d thought he’d sensed a kindred spirit. He’d felt Lilli’s ability. But she wasn’t like him. They were similar in some ways, yes, but very different in others. She saw demons like he did, but she was an art collector whereas he was a zookeeper. She didn’t feel the weight of the world. She was free. She went where she pleased. She didn’t even see the dark side of chaos. He’d never considered the possibility that others with the ability to see chaotic creatures might use it so differently. Dhaliwahl had made it seem that there was only one use for the sight—to watch for trouble, to protect mankind and demons from one another like a grim referee. Lilli didn’t concern herself with such heavy matters. She was more like a happy kid gathering shells on the beach. She’d shown him that there was more than one way for someone like him to live, and the world was not as black and white as Dhaliwahl had made it seem. Nat began to wonder what other secrets his East Indian mentor might have kept from him.

  CHAPTER 13

  MASSACRE

  The Demoneater watched Nathaniel go, curious. The boy had been at the Troll site too, it noted, and he smelled strongly of demons.

  It turned its attention to the trailer, immediate hunger overcoming its curiosity. Always hungry. The trailer contained many demons. No major demons, but a smorgasbord of smaller entities. The girl that tended them was locking the door and leaving. The Demoneater had picked up her trail in San Francisco, where it saw her pull an entire mural from a railroad car simply by beckoning with her hand. She’d tucked it into her smock and taken it back to the living trailer. The Demoneater had been cruising the train yards feasting on random expressions of joy and angst thrown up by wandering gangs of teens, and so it felt cheated and decided that the girl owed it a hearty meal. Following her to Seattle had been no easy feat and required a change in form, but the accompanying change in scenery had proven interesting and appetizing. Like San Francisco, Seattle still bred the sort of variety and spontaneity upon which it fed.

  It slithered to the bus, reared up beside the locked folding door, and smashed a claw through the full-length window. Broken glass tumbled over the creature’s hard exoskeleton as it rooted around inside for the latch mechan
ism. The door snapped open, and, seconds later, the Demoneater was inside and moving quickly down the hallway.

  They fled before it, the loud living images and bright, colorful sounds in the hall retreating to the living room for safety. It didn’t matter. The Demoneater skittered after them and burst into the room, extending a sharp, straw-shaped beak like a monstrous mosquito and stabbing it into the molten colors, slurping the demons up as though they were a fleeing fruit smoothie. They screamed as they died, but even their sounds couldn’t escape. The Demoneater sucked those down too.

  It gorged freely. The girl wasn’t around to try to stop it. She had been useful, though. She carried the smell of many demons, and her scent had led right to them.

  Later that evening, Sandy hustled up onto Nat’s porch, eager and industrious. She juggled three different daily papers, her laptop safely at home. The door swung open to let her in, and she marched down the hall to the study, where Richie sat trying to coax Pernicious down from the chandelier, where the little demon was launching wads of spit at the unwary walking beneath him.

  “Where’s Nat?” Sandy asked.

  “Went for a walk,” Richie said.

  “A walk?” Sandy crinkled up her nose. “Where?”

  “I dunno.” Richie shrugged. “I’m not his mom.”

  When Nat walked in minutes later, Sandy had her newspapers spread out across the coffee table and floor.

  “Where were you?” she blurted out.

  “I went for a walk.”

  “Where?”

  “What are you, my mom?” Nat said defensively as a glob of spittle splattered on his head.

  Richie snickered, and Sandy threw the Seattle Times on the table. The front page photo showed the police officer they’d talked to the night before posing in front of the Fremont Troll’s exposed butt like a victorious boxer celebrating over a fallen opponent.

  “That should be us on the front page,” Richie complained. “We caught it. We should have gotten the five grand too.”

  “A Keeper doesn’t call attention to the demons he’s protecting,” Nat grumbled. “Now everyone’s talking about the backward Troll.”

  “Yeah, they’re calling it the Fremont Fanny.” Richie laughed. “Bet that investigator guy would love to write our story.”

  “We are not a story,” Nat insisted.

  “I ordered us a pizza,” Sandy interrupted.

  Richie pumped his fist. “Yes!”

  “Vegetarian.”

  “Noooo! That’s such a tease—like you get promised a kiss but it’s from your sister.”

  Nat glanced about nervously at the mention of kissing.

  “I figured we’ll need something to eat while we strategize,” Sandy said.

  “I don’t recall calling for a strategy session,” Nat said.

  “You said yourself that Charr and Wedge are still out there,” Sandy argued. “By the way, how did you know the Troll would go back to its hole?”

  “I dunno. I just remember reading somewhere that Trolls freeze in the sun. It felt right.”

  “We risked our lives. I think we ought to base our tactics on something more logical than a feeling.”

  “These are not our tactics,” Nat said. “This is my burden. If you two don’t like the way I do things, you don’t have to help me. And Richie, if you’re going to be a Keeper, you’ve got to understand there are no rewards here, no newspaper photos, and no interviews with strange men.”

  “You’re not my dad,” Richie said.

  “My house, my rules,” Nat shot back.

  Sandy began to flip through the Demonkeeper Journal. “That’s not what the Journal says. Just a moment, I’ll find it.”

  “Give me that!” Nat snatched it from her.

  “I thought you wanted me to read it for you.”

  “Not so you could use it against me!” Nat snapped, exasperated.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Sandy said, suspicious. “You’ve been acting strange ever since . . . ”

  Just then, a knock echoed down the hall from the front door. “I’ll get it,” Nat said, happy for an excuse not to answer her question.

  “It’s probably Channel Five looking to interview the great Troll slayers,” Richie called after him.

  “It’s probably the police tracking us down to ask how we put the thing in backward,” Nat mumbled.

  But when Nat opened the door, it wasn’t the police or the news. It was Lilli, and she was in tears.

  “They’re gone,” she sobbed.

  “Who?” Nat asked.

  “All of them.”

  Lilli’s trailer rose like a lonely black box on the shoreline of Lake Union, silhouetted against the moonlit water. Nat, Richie, and Sandy approached it with Lilli hovering behind them.

  “I can’t go in,” Lilli whispered. “It’s too awful.”

  Nat motioned for her to stay put and slunk toward the converted bus. Richie followed. When Nat hesitated at the smashed window, Richie pushed past him and gave the folding door a vicious kick.

  Wham!

  The bus door bent inward, sliding partially open. A waft of air hit Nat in the face. The rich incense scent from earlier no longer drifted out. Instead, the lukewarm gust smelled like something Nat couldn’t quite place.

  “Take it easy, would you?” Nat warned Richie as his apprentice craned his neck to look in. “It might still be dangerous.”

  “It is dark in there,” Richie said, unwilling to actually stick his head inside.

  Nat looked over Richie’s shoulder. Neither breathed.

  Click!

  A flash of light slashed through the darkness. The boys jumped and whirled around.

  “Sandy!” Nat barked.

  Sandy stood behind them with a flashlight. “What?” she said as she shined it into the trailer.

  Clean white walls greeted Sandy’s glowing beam. Nat stared, slack-jawed. The amazing colors and sounds were gone. So was the furniture. So were the rooms. The interior of the trailer had shrunk to a single space and was, by all appearances, a bare, empty bus.

  Nat suddenly recognized the scent, or, more accurately, the lack of any. The bus smelled sterile. All the scents had disappeared too.

  Sandy stepped inside, puzzled. “Soooo, what’s so awful?”

  “Like she said,” Nat whispered, climbing carefully inside, “everything she had is gone.”

  “Stolen?”

  “No,” Nat said.

  “And why are you whispering?” Sandy said. “There’s nothing here.”

  Richie hopped up the steps and into the trailer, relaxed now. “Dude, I gotta say, and I have some experience with this, it looks like her stuff was stolen.”

  “Nobody could transport what she had.” Nat frowned.

  “How do you know what she had?” Sandy shot back.

  “I need to ask Lilli some questions,” Nat said quickly, and he hurried off the bus.

  Lilli waited outside, devastated. She looked as though she might simply go limp and collapse at any moment. Nat took her by the shoulders.

  “Where were you when this happened?” he asked.

  “Zoot and I went down to Pike Place Market for the day,” she sobbed.

  “Could they be hiding? Playing a big joke on you? Pernicious does it to me all the time.”

  Sandy and Richie hurried over to listen in.

  “No, no, no.” Lilli shook her head, flinging tears left and right like a wet dog.

  “Did you leave the door open? Maybe they escaped.”

  “No. They wanted to be here. It’s more horrible than that. Listen, I can’t explain it. I just feel it.”

  Sandy frowned. “There’s something she’s not telling you, Nat.”

  “Like what?” Nat said.

  “I don’t know,” Sandy answered, “but there seem to be a few secrets flying around between you two.” She glared alternately at Nat and Lilli.

  “She’s a Keeper, Sandy,” Nat said abruptly.

  “What?!”

&
nbsp; “She kept her demons in the trailer. Harmless visual and audio manifestations, mostly, but lots of them. They’ve disappeared.”

  “When did you learn all this?”

  “I just, uhhh . . . I felt it. You know, like we Keepers do.” Nat turned to Lilli, avoiding Sandy’s stare. “Tell me what you think happened. I can’t help you if you don’t.”

  “Yes, you can,” Lilli said, staring off, her previously lively eyes as colorless and vacant as her dead trailer.

  “How?” Nat said.

  “I’m gonna need a place to crash.”

  CHAPTER 14

  OVERNIGHT GUEST

  Sandy stood rigid on the front porch, and Nat leaned uncomfortably in the doorway. Lilli stood behind Nat, inside the foyer, waiting for him to come inside.

  “Nat,” Sandy said, “in the world of bad ideas, this is definitely in the top ten.”

  “What is?”

  “Having her stay overnight.”

  “I’m helping out a friend.”

  “You’re harboring some vagabond Keeper you barely know who just lost all her demons.” Sandy shook her head. “Listen to me. I sound like I’ve lost all my marbles.”

  “Yes, you do,” Nat agreed. “Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Early,” Sandy promised.

  Nat waved the door closed.

  CLUNK!

  He turned to find Lilli waiting for him. Suddenly, they were alone. Nat caught himself staring at her.

  “I’m sorry all your friends are gone,” he said. Lilli winced, and Nat knew immediately that he’d said exactly the wrong thing. “But I’ll be your friend,” he offered quickly.

  “Thanks,” Lilli mumbled, and she looked around. She could see Nat’s demons—the living rug that tripped unsuspecting guests, the tippy walking table, the crystal chandelier that tinkled big-band songs from the ballroom where it had hung fifty years earlier.

  Nat saw that she wasn’t ready to talk and led her down the hall.

  Zoot trundled along behind her, glancing about. As Lilli and Nat walked off, the East Indian tripping rug curled beneath him, catching one of his oversized feet. He toppled forward, and his round body rolled across the foyer.