Black City Demon

by Richard A. Knaak

  Claryce remained quiet for another moment, then said, “Barnaby’s son keeps popping up in all this. Do you think we should try to talk with him again?”

  “That was on my mind, too. The sooner better than later.” I looked at the time. “Dunning won’t let us in for a few hours still. I’ll wait until an hour before, then call Barnaby to meet us there. This time, we’ll get some honest answers out of Joseph even if I have to break every finger he has.”

  “God!” Her eyes widened. “You hate him that much?”

  I stuffed the old clipping in a coat pocket. “If Joseph’d had his way, he’d have become something nearly as foul as our friend Dr. Bond—sorry, Dr. Holmes.”

  “It seems so impossible when I talk with Barnaby. He’s such a sweet old man.”

  “Now.” I didn’t elaborate. I suddenly found myself thinking of Barnaby’s covered companion. I pulled out my pocket watch. It was still early, but I decided it was already much too late. “Maybe I’ll just give Barnaby a call right now.”

  “You’re worried about something else now.”

  “Just taking a precaution . . . I hope.” I picked up the phone. “Operator.”

  Fortunately, I had a different operator. This one connected me with Barnaby’s number without questions about my own.

  No one answered. After nearly two dozen rings, I hung up. Barnaby’d had more than enough time to return home. I also knew him as a light sleeper, which meant he hadn’t snored his way through my call.

  I looked at the watch again, then plucked up the telephone. This time, I didn’t need a number. I knew the operator would have it herself. “Give me Dunning.”

  Naturally, the operator didn’t correct me on the name. Claryce and I stared at one another as I waited for someone at the mental facility to answer.

  Finally. “This is the Chicago State Hospital. How can I help you?”

  “I know it’s early, but I’d like to arrange a visit to one of your patients.” I gave her Joseph’s name and waited.

  And waited.

  “I’m sorry, sir. The gentleman is no longer a patient here. His next of kin took custody earlier this morning. I understand there was a family emergency and they needed to leave on an early train—”

  I hung up. “Barnaby’s taken his son out of Dunning.”

  “Why would he do that? Are they certain it was actually him?”

  “They seemed satisfied, and it makes some sense to me. When Barnaby dropped off the Packard, he had a friend in another car, someone I couldn’t make out.” I had one idea, however fantastic it seemed, but I didn’t mention my notion just yet. It meant aspects I’d never thought possible.

  She grabbed her purse, which she’d set on the table earlier. “Where do we go? Barnaby’s?”

  I debated. “Let me try him one more time.”

  This time, I just let it ring and ring and ring. On what I counted as the thirty-third, lo and behold, someone answered.

  “The shadow is waxing and waning, waning and waxing.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Hello, Joseph.”

  “Our knight in dulled armor, our flying ace in the hole . . .”

  I hated madmen . . . but especially Joseph. “Were you expecting me to call? Did you want to tell me something . . . maybe in coherent sentences for a change?”

  “Shadows, shadows, everywhere, beasts of all sorts, murderous and dragon, and all hail the emperor of them all! He holds the card. . . .”

  The more I listened, the more I thought I heard hints of information. The only trouble was, I didn’t have time to decipher which parts were significant.

  At that moment, there was a muffled sound on the other end. Another voice murmured something to Joseph.

  Then, “Hello, Nick.”

  “Just what’re you up to, Barnaby? Why didn’t you mention this little thing when we met during the night?”

  “I was afraid you’d not be happy with it.”

  “You were pretty much right. What the hell are you thinking, taking Joseph out in the world again?”

  After hesitating, he replied, “This is . . . this is the first time in six years that I’ve seen some hint of my son again. I couldn’t let it just rest. They’ve taken care of him at Dunning, but managed little else. I thought maybe I’d have a better chance now. I could have my son back.”

  “This is Joseph we’re talking about. We don’t want Joseph like he was, remember, Barnaby?”

  “I know, I know. I’m working toward that! I truly think that he’ll be much better this time!”

  I was beginning to think insanity ran in the family. Still, this at least gave me a chance to properly and privately question Joseph in depth. “Are you two alone there?”

  “Yes. I thought I had Joseph . . . secure . . . but I was wrong. He’s standing very quietly now.”

  “Where’s your friend?”

  “Gone.” His answer came just a little too quickly, almost as if he’d known I’d ask and wanted to get the subject out of the way as soon as he could.

  I decided to save that subject for when I saw Barnaby. “We’re coming over. I want you to be very careful until then. I’ve learned a lot about our friend Bond. Mudgett wasn’t his only other alias. He once went by the name of H. H. Holmes. You know that name.”

  “The Beast of Chicago?” The horror in his voice was genuine.

  “Will you be okay?” I pressed.

  “I have safeguards.”

  “We’re leaving now. Keep everything secure.”

  I hung up without waiting for the answer. “You heard?”

  Claryce nodded. “How dangerous is it that he’s got Joseph with him?”

  “I don’t know about Joseph himself, since he seems to be eager to speak to me lately. I’m more concerned with Holmes’s interest in him. I want to get to Barnaby before Holmes finds out he’s no longer in Dunning. Holmes might not like that.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  We took the Packard. There was no sign of anything strange in the neighborhood as we drove off, but I kept an eye out just in case. I wasn’t just concerned about my own problems, but the bootlegger war was encroaching. The heavyset doctor who lived nearby did not so secret work for the North Siders, especially Hymie Weiss, perhaps the only man Capone was actually scared of. Moran might be “Bugs,” but Weiss—no Jew but a Catholic Pole named Henry Wojciechowski, according to Cortez—was a violent killer. Just a week ago, I’d seen two thugs bring a third to the doctor’s home a couple of blocks down. Before this, the doctor’d always gone to them. If that kept up, I’d have to do something I doubted I’d like.

  I turned the corner. “We’re going to pass Adams near Berghoff’s. I want Fetch with us.”

  “I thought you might want to do that.”

  There was little traffic, so even despite the weather, we made good time to West Adams. Berghoff’s was closed, but there’d be trash from the restaurant, and where there was leftover food, there’d be vermin . . . and Fetch.

  As we neared, I remembered something. “Fetch won’t be alone. He’s taken in a refugee from Feirie.”

  “A Wyld?”

  “Technically. I’ve let it go for now, but keep watch. If anything moves toward you that isn’t Fetch or me, shoot it.”

  She slipped her hand into the purse. “That risky?”

  “That risky.”

  The alley was quiet. That didn’t mean anything. Whether stalking a rat or a piece of corned beef, Fetch could remain as silent as the night.

  I’d told Claryce to stay by the Packard, but she’d decided she preferred backing me up. I ignored the dragon’s laughter at the princess protecting the knight.

  There seemed no reason to be stealthy. “Fetch.”

  There was a slight movement from the area of the trash. He slipped into sight. “Master Nicholas. I was not expecting ye.”

  “We’re going for a ride. I’ll explain on the way.”

  “As ye say.”

  I glanced around. “Where’s your friend?
”

  He turned his muzzle back to the trash. The Wyld revealed itself.

  “He been behaving?”

  “Yes, Master Nicholas! Most assuredly. All’s copacetic!”

  “See that it stays that way.” I turned without bothering to see if Fetch followed.

  Claryce kept her eyes behind me. When her expression softened, I knew Fetch was right behind me.

  We hadn’t used much time veering to Berghoff’s, and traffic continued to be light as we neared Barnaby’s neighborhood. I slowed as we came within two blocks.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Taking no chances. Fetch, you smell anything?”

  “Nothing!”

  So far, so good. “You know where Barnaby lives. Take the backyard route.”

  “Yes, Master Nicholas!”

  As he started to move, I added, “Don’t take any foolish chances if you see anything.”

  “I won’t take no wooden nickels, not me! I swear!” With that, Fetch abandoned the Packard. I knew he’d reach Barnaby’s before we did.

  “Did he really just say that?” Claryce murmured with a smile.

  “He rarely misses an opportunity, how very, very, very remote. I know. I’ve hoped.”

  The light moment passed as I turned onto Barnaby’s street. All looked peaceful. The neighborhood was less cared for than where I made my base, but still a good one. Barnaby’d lived here since he and his Emma got married. Joseph’d been born and raised here, just like any normal kid.

  Of course, Joseph’d also begun his plotting here, too.

  I pulled over. “You want to stay here?”

  “What do you think?”

  “All right. Hopefully, all’s just fine and we can untwist Joseph’s answers into something coherent.”

  I made note of the fact that we weren’t all that far from Des’s house. I still didn’t know if his past had any ties to what was happening, but maybe I’d have a chance to ask Barnaby a few questions about that while I was at it.

  There was nothing about Barnaby’s home that drew attention. Like the house I used, it was a Queen Anne, but of a light brown shade. The lawn was well-kept, and hedges of red roses lined the house itself. I remembered that Emma’d always loved roses. Out of love of her, Barnaby’d kept the hedges well-trimmed all these years.

  “It’s . . . lovely,” Claryce commented, clearly surprised.

  “Not the place you expect a sinister genius like Joseph to come from, eh?”

  “Nick!”

  Okay, it probably hadn’t been her thought, but I’d contemplated the notion a time or two when I’d visited for one reason or another. Even taking Barnaby’s dabbling in the arts into account, Joseph’d lived a decent life. There’d been no reason but his own darkness for the deeds to which he’d turned.

  The Runabout was parked on the side of the house. I decided to just walk up to the front door and knock. Sometimes, just doing the ordinary thing worked find.

  And, of course, no one answered.

  Claryce looked around. “We’re alone.”

  I didn’t have to ask what she meant. Instead, after a brief try of the knob, I leaned into the door and shoved it in. It wasn’t that Barnaby had a weak door; I had the dragon’s strength to draw upon.

  I was already reaching for Her Lady’s gift as I entered. Behind me, I heard the click of Claryce’s Smith & Wesson.

  In front of us lay a scene of destruction.

  “Dear God . . . Nick . . . did Joseph do this?”

  I finished drawing the sword. “Joseph was never the overly physical type. Even in his current state, I doubt this is something he could’ve caused.”

  What I didn’t add was that I was afraid we’d come across a scene identical to what’d happened to the Nilssons. A chill coursed through me that not even all the fire the dragon’d breathed on Chicago fifty-odd years ago could’ve burned away.

  We made our way past overturned chairs, a small, shattered table, and a series of bookcases that’d been shoved around as if someone had expected to find treasure behind them. Scores of books, some of them incredibly old, lay scattered and torn. I recognized three in old Latin script, but otherwise had to ignore the damage as I searched for Barnaby and his son. If for some reason this was Joseph’s doing, I didn’t care what his father would think. I’d lay out Joseph cold if I could, and if I couldn’t, Her Lady’s gift was welcome to him.

  Speaking of Barnaby’s Emma, in one corner lay a small framed picture. The glass cover had shattered from the picture’s fall from the wall behind it, but I could still make out a handsome young woman with German braids. Joseph had definitely taken after his mother, though I realized only then that his eyes—his once-penetrating eyes—favored his father’s.

  We went into the kitchen, where someone’d ripped open the Kelvinator and strewn all the food inside around. There wasn’t much of a smell from the herring on the tile floor, so this’d happened very, very recently. That only backed up the thought that we might still find someone lurking in the house.

  Claryce reached the stairs ahead of me. I moved quickly to cut her off. If we only faced a couple of cheap hoods, I’d have the utmost faith in her ability to bring them at bay. Unfortunately, I couldn’t imagine that it’d just been thugs who’d overwhelmed Barnaby. As he’d hinted, he’d kept a few safeguards in place.

  Too bad whatever had led this assault’d had more power.

  I set one foot down on the first step. When the wood began to quietly creak, I knew our odds of reaching the upstairs this way without giving warning that we were ascending were nil. If there was someone or something waiting for us, speed was of the essence.

  I measured the stairway’s width, then peered back at Claryce.

  Nodding, she stepped back. Smart woman; she knew I needed to get upstairs fast without making any noise. That meant some help was required.

  Eye can give you wings to fly, fly high in the sky, above all else, above all lesser things. . . .

  Just get me up the stairs. A good jump is all I need.

  As you like.

  I was surprised by his quick acquiescence, but couldn’t take the time to wonder if it meant much. I felt the bones in my legs simultaneously crack and reform, the knee joint shift back. Behind me, Claryce gasped despite having prepared herself for some transformation. Seeing my legs suddenly bent backward must have been different than she’d expected.

  I leapt up the stairs, landing with ease at the top. As I did, I swept Her Lady’s gift by me in case something was waiting for me. The Feirie blade met no resistance, though.

  As my legs reverted to normal, Claryce, moving as quietly as she could, came running up after me. She kept her gaze on my face, though I could tell she wanted to look down at my legs to see if they might shift form again.

  “Never more than necessary,” I whispered. “Nothing he gives is free. He adds it all up, waiting.”

  The dragon said nothing, but I sensed an odd satisfaction that—I had to assume—had to do with me even needing the momentary transformation.

  Claryce, meanwhile, gave me a nod, then, with a slight wave of the revolver, asked which direction. There were four bedrooms on the second floor, one behind us, two ahead on the left, and the last on the far right. The door of the farthest on the left was ajar, but otherwise there was no sign of the type of chaos we’d seen below.

  The obvious choice was to go to the open door. At least, I was sure that was what someone wanted us to do. If they themselves had departed, they’d done so leaving something behind for anyone—and very likely me specifically—foolish enough to investigate.

  I turned to the bedroom nearest us. I almost touched the knob, then decided to tap it with the point of the sword. If there was a spell on the knob, best to let Her Lady’s gift take the brunt.

  Nothing happened. I carefully opened the door.

  I heard Claryce’s intake of breath and couldn’t really blame her. I’d never been upstairs in Barnaby’s house, but had assumed that i
t was like any other. One bedroom for the couple—maybe two depending on circumstances—and the rest for whatever children they had. If there was a room left over, either the wife or the husband would likely use it for a study or guest room.

  But this . . . this was a child’s room. For a girl.

  Barnaby’d clearly kept the room up, but there were telltale signs of age, especially a photograph of another house next to which a man who looked like a much younger—and better-looking—version of Barnaby stood. It was Barnaby and yet it wasn’t.

  And in his arms he held an infant. I had to assume it was a girl. The girl.

  “You think you know someone,” I muttered. “Man’s got more mysteries than me, and that’s saying something.”

  “You didn’t know he had a daughter?”

  “I don’t know what he has.” Whatever the story, I could see no reason to remain.

  After shutting the door, I headed toward the next bedroom. My gaze shifted to the room with the open door. I knew it had to be a trap, but wondered whether we’d have a choice to ignore it. If the other rooms proved of no interest, we’d have to enter.

  I repeated the same technique with the knob and got the same results. Inside, Claryce and I only found a simple room with a bed, a dresser, and an empty closet. The only clue to its use was a slight indentation in the sheets on the bed.

  “This’s where Joseph slept . . . at least for the few hours since Barnaby’d brought him home.”

  “That’s odd,” she remarked.

  “What is?”

  “The girl’s room. It was well cared for. Lovingly. For years from the looks of it. Why not the same for his own son’s room? Barnaby clearly loves him.”

  She had a point, but then, she’d also not met Joseph when he’d been of his own mind. “Look around. Barnaby’s expunged everything about Joseph’s past. It’s not something you want Joseph remembering, trust me. Looks like Barnaby was hoping to start out fresh with his son . . . more the fool him.”

  “Nick . . .”

  We stepped out of the room, and I shut the door behind us. We now had only two left, including the one ajar. I supposed for Barnaby’s sake I should’ve gone straight to it. Even if it was a trap, he might be at the center of it.