“Couldn’t your grandmother do something?” asks Houston. “Maybe set up a patrol or something?”
“What? You mean set up a guard for him so he doesn’t get himself killed?” I ask.
“Why not?”
“I thought your grandmother was dead?” asks Eric.
“She is.”
“I don’t understand what Houston means, then.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re getting ahead of ourselves.” I shake my head. “And don’t we have enough to worry about without having Nanna babysit a Traveler in Hell?”
“I’m just trying to help the guy out.”
“Von Felser is not our problem, Houston.”
“I feel bad for this guy. His dad blows himself up when he’s a kid. I got ten dollars says his mom threw him out and just disowned him. And now the only parent he knows is probably going to get himself killed.”
“Houston, we have enough issues.”
“Nancy, I was almost the same age when I lost my mom. I know what that feels like.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but are you too having a conversation without me?”
“Eric, I apologize,” I say.
“No, no. My apologies. I’ve wasted your time.” Eric stands up as if to leave. “I do regret any problems I may have caused you.”
“Where you going?” asks Houston.
“Eric, please. Everything is fine. We’re just so accustomed to communicating that way because of Anastasia. She’s one of my shop employees but she isn’t a witch so we have to be careful what we say around her.”
Eric sits back down and smiles. “Thank you. I’ve been a bit bent as of late ever since Gregor told me the nature of his trial. I’m not my best now.”
“I guess now is a good time to tell you. My mother and grandmother do communicate with Houston and me from across the Veil. They are both actively involved in an investigation we’re assisting the Archmage with. It isn’t anything you’ll be involved in as part of your work-study. But they are both…very well meaning. And vocal. So you should know ahead of time about them.”
“That’s…that’s incredible. No, on the contrary. I would welcome an opportunity to speak with them should they chose to address me.”
“We also recently contract with a cleaning service. They’ll be a brownie in three days a week for cleaning and a gremlin helping with overnight stock.”
“I’m familiar with the fae. There is an entire troop of fae who work at the Nexus.”
“I also have a…servitor.”
“I’m unfamiliar with that term.”
“A servitor is a demon that has been bound to the service of a warlock.”
“Bound? As in…enslaved you mean?”
“Enslaved is a harsh word, Eric.”
“Think of it more like a committed relationship,” quips Houston.
“You! Not helping,” I say to him.
“Well, you know your business. Does it…live with you? Do you keep it locked in the basement or something? Some incantation I’ll need to learn to protect myself from it?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. He lives with his parents.”
“His parents? Demon parents? Well, I suppose baby demons come from somewhere.”
“No, no. His parents aren’t demons. The demon is in their son’s body so…”
“Possessed? Oh, can’t you just unpossess him, then?”
“I technically could but the body is already dead so it would just leave a corpse and this is not sounding any better is it?”
“Oh, it’s fine. I trust as a Rank Two Warlock you know your business.” Eric nods and looks around the room. “So, well then, does this mean I’m still under consideration?”
I look at Houston. He nods in approval. “When can you start?”
Devil in a Blue(ish) Dress
September 12th
“I will break your face,” I hear Houston say as soon as Anastasia leaves the shop.
“No harm done, mate,” replies Eric. “She’s checking me out. Not the other way around.”
“I will break your face.”
I stay out of it. Houston won’t really hit him. And Eric knows Houston won’t hit him. And we all know that Eric has no interest in Anastasia and is only being polite to her. So I let the boys sort out their machismo issues without interjecting.
Eric is now officially my exchange student. He started two days ago. First time he called Anastasia “luv” I thought she would faint. I reminded Anastasia before she left the shop today that she needs to use proper lifting methods, particularly if she is going to start wearing short skirts to work in an effort to impress Eric. I didn’t think it was possible for her to turn so many different shades of red, both on her face and in her aura. But she has fixed her sights on Eric, and while Eric isn’t interested in her that hasn’t stopped Houston from being the over-protective “big brother.”
I haven’t really had much chance to do more than just get him settled in and go over the basics of the shop. He’s staying with his friend in New York City and travels to the shop for work. Which would be a helluva daily commute for a normal person, but for a Traveler it is a one minute incantation. I let him plant a Traveler’s Mark in the storage room, under the condition that he needs to let me know before he teleports to the spot so we can make sure Anastasia isn’t in there. Because the very last thing I need right now is for him to teleport on top of Anastasia.
“So where do blokes go to get drinks and find girls you won’t want to punch me in the face about?”
“Sebastian’s in Philly, but a lot of psions hang out there so the girls will know what you’re thinking.”
“Bollocks. Nancy can’t teach me that Iron Wall spell fast enough.”
“There’s the Night Owl in Glassboro. Place is a dive with crap cover bands, but cheap beer and lots of college girls.”
“Now you’re talking, mate.”
“I have a better idea,” I say as I come out of my office. “Why don’t the three of us have a nice, quiet dinner at the guild’s private club? Chance to get to know each other a little better.”
“But I already live with you,” says Houston with a false look of disgust. “I’ve even seen you in your nightie. I think I already know you pretty well.”
“Pictures, mate, or it didn’t happen.”
“You have not worked for me long enough yet to start with that nonsense,” I say to Eric.
“Wait, so there is some point then that I get to see you in a nightie?”
Houston pats him on the shoulder. “Give it about three weeks. That’s how long it took me.”
“You know what? Nevermind. No dinner.” I turn to go back in my office.
“Wait, wait, wait,” says Houston as he rushes toward me and grabs my shoulders. “I’m just messing with ya. Don’t starve me. I’m still a growing boy.”
I just shake my head. “Fine, gods forbid I starve you. You’re practically wasting away as it is. Let’s get the shop closed up and head over to the club.”
* * *
“Private…guild…club?” says Houston as he takes a deep breath.
“Nice, quiet dinner you said?” says Eric as he eyes expand and he mouth gapes open.
“Welcome to the Hellsmouth, boys,” I say as I activate the Third Eye incantation for my own amusement.
It is hard to describe the Hellsmouth. All of the furniture is carved directly out of the black infernal rock that makes up the pocket dimension, and it is polished to a mirror shine. The green light of hellfire lamps bounce off of all of the reflective surfaces. The entire club is an inverted step-pyramid layout. The first level is the dining area. Corridors off the dining area lead to the kitchens and private conference rooms. Go down the steps to the second level and you have the bar where people congregate for drinks and conversation. The third level is the entertainment center, complete with a dance floor, bands, and…entertainers. The lowest level is where the demonic employees live and is generally off-limits to guests.
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The acoustics in the Hellsmouth are such that you can’t really hear what is going on from one floor to the next, which is a good thing because tonight’s band is Doublespeak and their high-pitched vocals and pounding bass give me headaches.
The Hellsmouth is the result of one of those kinds of accidents you decide to make the most of since you can’t return things to what they were. About a century ago, rogue witches managed to summon a balor, one of the most powerful of the infernal denizens. Unfortunately, the ability to summon something doesn’t always include the ability to control it. It took fifteen Demonologists to finally trap the balor in one of the guild hall’s sub-basements. During the banishment ritual, someone sneezed and it caused an arcane backlash that pulled a small piece of one of the infernal planes onto the material plane. The good news was that the balor was banished, but the bad news is that the guild was left with this little pocket dimension in the sub-basement.
So in a leap of logic that would never make sense to mundanes, the pocket dimension was turned into a private bar.
Archmage Lawrence always explained the story that, after months of research and contemplation, the guild decided that it would be safer to simply maintain the pocket dimension than to try to send it back. Personally, I think the people in the ritual just took one look at Vashenala and said “Screw it. Let her stay.”
“Madame Nancy! It has been too long,” says Vashenala as she glides across the room to greet us. She’s wearing a peekaboo turquoise and silver dress. Her voluminous black hair is pinned up with elaborate silver haircombs. A turquoise-studded silver choker accentuates her neck. Vashenala is a Rank Five Jorōgumo, a type of spider demon. As Nanna explained it, if succubi are the demonic equivalent of harlots, the Jorōgumo are demonic courtesans.
It is a surprisingly important distinction in demonology.
“Lady Vash,” I reply as she gives me a kiss on the cheek.
She looks over Houston and Eric and licks her lips. “You seem to have done very well for yourself, Madame Nancy,” she says as she tilts her head toward me while looking at them.
“I should have brought along my servitor as well. I might actually have made you jealous.”
“Naughty, naughty. Teasing me like that.”
“Lady Vash, this is my apprentice, Houston.”
“Good evening, darling,” she says as she places one hand on his chest while leaning in to kiss his cheek.
“Hi…er…hi,” he stampers.
“And this is Eric. He’s a Transmutation exchange student from London.”
“Are you enjoying America, Eric?” she asks as she gives him a kiss.
“More and more as the hours pass,” he replies.
“Are you here for drinks, dinner, or entertainment?”
“Dinner. Only dinner,” I reply.
“You disappoint me yet again.” Vash pouts playfully and then wraps arms around both Houston and Eric’s waists. “Allow me to escort you to a table?”
The boys nod rapidly. Both of their auras are practically on fire. I chuckle.
“I swear you two act like you’ve never seen a woman before,” I say after Vash leaves us alone at our table.
“I can honestly say I’ve never seen a woman quite like her before,” says Eric before leaning toward Houston. “Be honest with me. Is that some illusion or are her breasts really that gravity-defying?”
“That’s no illusion, man,” says Houston as he cranes his neck to watch her walk around the club. “She could serve drinks off of those things.”
“Boys, your female boss is sitting right here.”
“Our female boss who brought us here!” says Houston. “Why am I just finding out about this place now?”
“Because witches of Rank Four and Five can’t get in here without an escort,” I reply. “For your own protection.”
A shirtless incubus comes over to the table to offer us menus, recite the evening’s specials, and take our drink orders.
“I’m telling Lee,” says Houston telepathically.
“Telling Lee what?” I reply. Houston tilts his head toward the waiter and rolls his eyes.
“What’s a Bloody Doppleganger?” asks Eric.
“You don’t want a Bloody Doppleganger,” I reply.
“Why not.”
“Because it has actual doppleganger blood in it.”
“Right then. No Bloody Doppleganger.”
“Might I suggest the Lady Long Legs?” says the waiter.
“Since my lady boss is close enough to slap me, I’ll forgo what I’m thinking and just say ‘yes’.”
“You are a quick learner,” I say. “Just bring me a Brimstone. What do you want, Houston?”
“I’ll have what Eric’s having.”
“I’ll be right back with your drinks and to take your dinner orders.”
“So, let me see if I understand,” says Houston after we order dinner. “We’re actually in a pocket dimension right now? We’re not on the material plane? And all these employees here are demons? And they are all, like, normal employees of the guild?”
“Lady Vash and a few of the others were actually residents of this area when it got pulled out of the outer planes. Once everyone realized what had happened, Vash negotiated the contract terms with the guild’s leadership. Most of the others were demons rounded up by Justicars and deemed low-risk so they were offered employment instead of banishment.”
“What do you mean ‘rounded up by Justicars’?” asks Eric.
“Demons are always trying to get into the material world,” says Houston. “Sometimes they are summoned here by witches. Sometimes they find a tear in the Veil and sneak through. Sometimes you end up with situations like Lee where the something just goes wrong. It’s like illegal immigration, you know? They aren’t all evil. Some just want a better life where they don’t have to worry about more powerful demons trying to eat their souls.”
“They do that?” asks Eric.
Houston nods. “Yeah, that’s sort of the cheap way to evolve into a more powerful demon quickly.”
That’s not cricket, mate.”
“Yeah, well, one of the jobs of the Justicars is to track down rogue demons and determine the best course of action for dealing with them. If they are considered a low-risk, then they might get offered a chance to remain on the material plane under supervision.”
“After work tomorrow, we’ll go over the general metaphysics of the outer planes and how demons feed,” I say. “Just because all of them aren’t evil doesn’t mean you shouldn’t assume that any particular demon is not evil. Particularly considering your mentor’s upcoming trial.” Eric’s mentor, Gregor Von Felser, is currently preparing for his Rank Two Traveler trials. His plan is to teleport to the river Styx. The whole point of Eric seeking an exchange student placement with a Demonologist was to help gather information on what to expect. Fortunately, Eric has no intention of accompanying his mentor on the Trial, and is actually hoping I’ll figure a way to talk him out of it.
“So is that what they do to mortals? Eat our souls?” asks Eric.
“Some do,” I reply. “All of them have the ability to, but most don’t go that far. The majority prefer to feed off of the energies generated by their specific vices. Of course, the generation of such energies can have its own problems.” I notice Eric’s eyes wandering over to Lady Vash. “You don’t want any of that.”
“Oh yes I do. She wouldn’t kill me, would she?”
“She’s contractually obligated to not do any permanent harm.”
“Wait, permanent harm?” asks Houston.
“There have been times where gentlemen have required emergency room treatment from the venom.”
“What?” I get in stereo from the boys.
“You boys have a homework assignment. When we leave here I want you to look up information on the spider genus Phoneutria.”
“Spiders give me the creeps,” says Houston as he reflexively scratches his arm.
“Then you ch
ose the wrong school of study,” I reply. “There are at least two dozen demonic types that have some sort of a spider form.” I notice Eric trying to get his phone to work. “You can’t get a signal in here. Pocket dimension.”
“Does she turn into a big spider or something like that?” asks Eric as he puts the phone away.
“She’s only Rank Five, so she doesn’t have full shapeshifting capabilities yet.”
“But eventually?”
“Eventually.”
“So where does Lady Vash fall on the scale of demons?” asks Houston.
“Jorōgumo are physically more powerful than succubi, but lack a lot of the spellcasting ability of a naga.”
“Being able to turn into a giant spider monster is fairly powerful I would say,” says Eric.
The waiter returns with our drinks and takes our orders. Eric decides to try the broiled marrowfish after I assure him it is just a fish native to the Styx and not a sentient fish demon. I order the Crème de Vollug. Vollugs are fist-sized shellfish found in the frozen waters of the Kokytos River. They have a texture similar to chicken and but a tangy citrus flavor. And the blush cream sauce the Chef Xangrubfrumdar serves it with is to die for. Well, not literally die. But…
“Can I just get a cheeseburger or something that isn’t quite so…exotic?” asks Houston.
“Where is your sense of adventure?” I tease him.
“Does all the food here come from the Outer Planes?”
“Most of it. Try the Hurran Bark Stir Fry. It’s really good.”
“An excellent choice,” encourages the waiter.
“What is Hurran Bark.”
“Hurran is a native carnivorous plant that grows on the banks of the Phlegethon,” says the waiter. “The bark has a texture similar to venison with a nutty flavor.”
“And it is high in protein and no fat!” I add.
“And it’s a carnivorous plant,” says Houston.
“Come on, mate. Live a little,” says Eric.
“Fine. Fine. I’ll try that.” Houston shakes his head. “How can bark have a texture like flesh? Or, you know, nevermind. I don’t want to know.”
Archmage Lawrence walks into the Hellsmouth. I almost don’t recognize him out of his ceremonial robes. I’ve seen him in normal clothing before, but even then it was business suits. He’s wearing blue jeans and pale-blue polo shirt and carrying a small, wrapped box.
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