Black City Demon

by Richard A. Knaak

  Two cops stepped aside from the nearest body as we entered. One nodded to Cortez.

  “Got a meat wagon on the way?”

  “Yeah. Two.” The politeness of the first officer was noticeably lacking with this one.

  Cortez gestured to the street. “Wait for them in your car.”

  They left without a word, the young cop following. Cortez and I walked to one of the bodies in the center. The hood stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

  How lovely a scene . . . the dragon commented. But such a waste of good flesh . . . such a shame. . . .

  I fought back any sign of my disgust with his clear longing for a snack from the corpses.

  “You see anything like this in your business?” Cortez asked. “You know, sacrifices and all that spooky stuff?”

  “Exactly what do you think I see in my business, detective? I help clear people’s minds of any fear that there might be a ghost in their house, that’s all.”

  “You really make a living doing that?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he bent down to the dead hood. There were two bullet holes in the chest. If one followed the line from the body to the shattered store window, it would’ve made sense that he’d been shot by the cops.

  A well-worn revolver lay by his side. Cortez plucked out a handkerchief and gingerly picked up the weapon. He sniffed the barrel, then set the piece down.

  “Don’t suppose they really need the fingerprints,” he muttered as he stood, “but some things get to be a habit, you know? Been fascinated by fingerprints since I was a kid. You around here when the Jennings case took place? Thomas Jennings? About, oh, dozen or so years ago?”

  “Don’t know it.” I only half paid attention to his ramblings. I was noting something on the body that, with the bullet holes, made me see this scene in an entirely new light.

  “It was fingerprints that did him in, you know? He tried to fight it, but they proved he did it! First big case like that. I think that’s what really made me want to join the force. Fingerprints! You ever been fingerprinted, Nick Medea?”

  “No.” When I’d first heard about the technique, I’d made certain to avoid any situation where I’d end up fingerprinted. That didn’t mean I hadn’t come close. Some of Cortez’s predecessors had taken too much interest in me at times.

  “No,” he repeated. “Never got a shot off, this one.” The detective stared at the body. “Didn’t bleed too much, either.” He looked up, then surveyed the rest of the interior. “Not much blood anywhere besides the stiff by the door.”

  That was one of the things I’d been noticing. So far, though, he hadn’t seen the other clue. Even if he did, I didn’t think he’d be able to make anything of it.

  At least, I hoped not.

  “Do you really need me here, Cortez? Not much I can add to what you’re saying.”

  “No. Thought you might.” He waved toward the door. “Yeah, you’re free to leave, Bo! Just let me know if you hear anything from or about our friend Bond, okay?”

  “You’ll be the first I call.”

  He chuckled, then, no longer paying attention to me, bent down to inspect another body. As I left, I caught sight of him looking at the right side of the throat.

  Exactly where I’d noticed the other clue. A tiny prick on the throat. I’d been able to see two other bodies well enough to spot the same mark on them.

  And even though I’d not seen my own throat at the time, I knew that these would’ve matched it.

  Fetch was waiting for me in the Packard. He was very silent as I entered. I knew why. “Relax. You did good back there.”

  “Thank ye, Master Nicholas.”

  I started up the Packard, then tried again with him. “Did you notice anything strange after we separated?”

  “I smelled . . . something.”

  His tone was such that I had to glance at him. “What does that mean?”

  Fetch’s ears flattened. “It . . . makes no sense. I’m balled up about it. . . .”

  “Just tell me.”

  He sniffed. “I’d almost swear . . . it seemed . . . it smelled a bit like ye!”

  “Explain.”

  “I cannot. It is ye and it isn’t ye! It . . . it also smelled like Feirie! And . . . it also smelled human!”

  “I am human.”

  The dragon took offense. We are not . . . entirely . . .

  “I know, I know,” Fetch continued, almost whining. “I did not even want to say something. . . .”

  “Where did you smell this?”

  “All over, but especially above.”

  I frowned. “‘Above’? You mean above the stores?”

  “Aye.”

  There was nothing above the store. I’d looked. “That’s it?”

  “Yes, Master Nicholas.”

  We drove on in silence for some time; then, I made a sudden turn.

  “Are we not going back to Mistress Claryce?”

  “Yeah, but first I need to go somewhere I don’t want her to be.”

  He stifled a growl. “Ye are heading to the Gate, aren’t ye?”

  The dragon hissed. Ever the fool running in . . . just what started this whole thing between us, oh noble saint. . . .

  “Quiet,” I muttered. To Fetch, I replied, “Yes. To the Gate. It’s time she and I had a better talk about just what she thinks she’s doing . . . and why she’s not going to do it or else.”

  “Ye are going to make an ultimatum of Her Lady?” This time, Fetch did growl. “She’s a real bearcat, that one, Master Nicholas! Ye certain ye want to dare that?”

  “No,” I replied as we headed toward Lake Michigan. “But I’ve got to do it nevertheless.”

  When I’d fought Oberon long ago and in the process unleashed the dragon on Chicago in what humans knew as the Great Fire and what Feirie called the Night the Dragon Breathed, one of the lingering troubles had been the Gate sealing itself just off the shore of Lake Michigan. No longer would the portal gradually shift ever westward, as it had for all the sixteen centuries before.

  I drove to the Municipal Pier, the closest location to where the Gate stood. I parked and then started toward the icy, yet still-choppy waters.

  Fetch leapt out.

  “You can stay here,” I told him.

  “Nay. I’ll be going with ye. Ye be a real hard-boiled one, Master Nicholas, but ye need someone to watch your back there.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Leave him here . . . we do not need the mutt. . . .

  Instead of answering the dragon, I eyed the lake. The weather as it was, there was no one else around. That hardly mattered. Such was the Gate that no one would see what happened next. Instead, for them the weather would shift and a fog or clouds would obscure the truth.

  I drew the sword. The ice on the lake cracked and crunched and swiftly began to reshape itself. A column rose into the air and arched out over the lake.

  In the column, a path formed.

  I stepped onto the path, then thought, Open the way.

  As I started walking, stars formed ahead. They swirled, then coalesced into a towering, ethereal arch.

  The Gate . . . or rather, its least glorious incarnation. If I’d needed to, I could’ve summoned its full glory, but that might’ve risked discovery. For my journey into Feirie, this was sufficient.

  I maybe took a dozen steps . . . and then ankle-high dark green grass rose beneath my feet and huge, twisted oaks formed around me.

  Fetch growled. I pointed the sword tip toward the trees on our right. The blade flared. It’d already begun glowing the moment we entered Feirie, but now it blazed bright.

  “Step out. I won’t ask again.”

  Instead of something slipping from behind the huge trunks, part of one trunk peeled away. A thing of rough wood with long, sharp fingers resembling small branches peered down at us. It had a crown of “hair” consisting of foliage. I couldn’t see any eyes, but I could see the broad, jagged mouth in which I knew there’d be thorny, pointy teeth capable of rending
flesh. Its body was broad and boxy, and the bent legs ended in lengthy toes resembling clawed roots.

  Legends to the contrary, wood nymphs weren’t very pretty.

  They were also lethal. Often, the female aspects of Feirie were worse than the males. More so now that Her Lady was fully in charge.

  Such pretty wood . . . let us see how readily she burns. . . .

  His suggestion was tempting, but I passed. I’d had no bouts of fury lately, and I suspected it was because I’d tried not to rely on him any more than necessary. I’d figured out at last that these bouts weren’t exactly accidental. No, the dragon had been testing me, trying to find that moment when he could take total control now and forever. Like Fetch, his power’d increased with the wake’s wild growth.

  I hadn’t said anything, and I’d blocked off those thoughts from him, but I suspected he knew I was on to him. That was the way it was between us, an eternal war for dominance with moments of tentative alliance when others tried to do us in.

  And sometimes, even those dangers weren’t enough to keep him from trying to betray me.

  “Tell your mistress to not play games. She knows I’m here. Let’s not waste time.”

  To my surprise, the dryad laughed. It was a particularly feminine laugh . . . and a familiar one that made Fetch growl and even the dragon hiss.

  The wood nymph melted into Her Lady.

  I waited for the Court to form, but there was only the queen of Feirie. She brushed a long lock of hair from her gloriously ivory skin and gave me that smile.

  Her darling Gatekeeper . . . such a pleasant surprise. . . .

  What was surprising was this peculiar encounter. Her Lady’d rarely met me outside of her Court. She liked to show off her power.

  Burn her . . . my constant companion suggested.

  “He doesn’t trust this fine greeting,” I told her, not needing to bother to tell her who I meant. “For once, I’m inclined to believe him. I suspect you’ve ordered your subjects far from here. Am I right?”

  She no longer stood in front of me, but rather on my left. On my very near left.

  Dear, dear Gatekeeper . . . so untrusting. . . . Why would I have anything but the greatest gratitude toward you? You have given me my kingdom. . . .

  That wasn’t exactly the conversation I’d just started, but that was the way with those of Feirie. They ever sought to manipulate matters in their favor, especially if they were trying to evade.

  “Yes, Oberon is dead, but Lysander isn’t. Still, this isn’t entirely about Lysander, is it? He’s a threat, but also a bit of distraction, right? You’ve been playing a dangerous game, haven’t you?”

  Feirie is all games . . . she replied without ever moving her full lips. They remained inviting, of course. And Feirie is all serious. Very serious games, Gatekeeper . . . humans excel at such, too, you know. The Beast, he plays a strong, manipulative game worthy of the Court. . . .

  I kept my ground even though she leaned perilously close. Her Lady was inherently magic, and that magic included her power of seduction. She hadn’t succeeded with me thus far, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “You seem to know the Beast well,” I returned. Some more things were making sense. Kravayik hadn’t known the entire truth. He’d been sent to stop a threat against Feirie, not realizing that the threat had also come from Feirie. “That must’ve been troubling, discovering you’d been outfoxed by a lowly human.”

  Suddenly, she stood against one of the oaks farther to my right. She still wore that look of enticement, but I’d had sixteen hundred years to decipher her, and while she was still very much an enigma, I had figured out a couple of her tendencies. After Oberon’s initial exile, Her Lady’d prided herself on being able to control all situations and foresee the treacheries of men.

  But once again, she’d been outwitted.

  The lives of many humans have come and gone since your servitude, Her darling Gatekeeper, so many lifetimes, so many deathtimes . . . never in that time have you seen Feirie in all her glory. . . .

  “Never been interested.” It was true. To me, Feirie’d always been a threat and a burden.

  Now she hovered over me again, but nearer to Fetch. He snarled and, without hesitation, transformed.

  The once-faithful one . . . Her Lady cooed into my ear. Her darling Gatekeeper gathers around him Her once-most trusted servants . . . such a loyalty is so very hard to nurture either here or in the human realm. . . .

  “Have a care, Master Nicholas,” Fetch growled, his voice deeper and more menacing than I’d heard it since we’d first met. “This isn’t jake in the least!”

  For once, she turned her attention away from me to him. Oh, sweet Fetch, so wild, so free . . . once . . . You could be my favored again. . . .

  “Thank ye for offering again, but I’m still rather keen on staying where I am. A bit more . . . pleasant.”

  Her attention immediately reverted to me. Her long, smooth fingers grazed my neck before I could stop her.

  We all underestimate the Beast . . . she went on. You have not seen Feirie. You should see Feirie. . . .

  A wind swirled around us.

  “Have a care, Master Nicholas!” Fetch repeated furiously.

  Too late. The wind pulled both Her Lady and me into the air. Fetch snatched at me and for a moment caught my foot. A shift in the wind—intentional, no doubt—shook him off.

  Eye can save us! Let me out! Let me out!

  Rage filled me, a rage at Her Lady for attempting this kidnapping. The rage became uncontrollable . . . and the dragon took command.

  Or rather, he attempted to take command.

  Something went terribly wrong. I felt my face stretch and my limbs twist. Pain in my back became a pair of vestigial wings that struggled to spread.

  We were caught between our two selves, our minds sharing equally yet unable to do anything because our body couldn’t accept a command from either of us.

  Torn free from her magical grasp by our efforts, we spiraled helplessly. As we did, I caught glimpses of Feirie.

  Or what was left of it.

  I’d always understood that the magical realm itself consisted of endless forest bordered by towering mountains. Not once had I ever had any inclination to know more. There was an adage among those who knew of Feirie that to probe its secrets, even those of its very existence, was to risk being seduced by its sinister beauty.

  And to be seduced was to become its eternal slave.

  But now . . . now I wished I’d taken a better glance at some point in all these centuries. I knew that what I kept glimpsing as we plummeted couldn’t be normal, not even for a fluid place such as Feirie.

  Far on the horizon, the endless forest ended. Just like that. It was as if I’d beheld the mythical edge of the world in the mortal realm. While that wasn’t possible there, here, where Feirie was magic, such an edge could exist . . . but shouldn’t have.

  And now, as we continued to drop toward the ground at an alarming rate, I understood what she’d wanted me to see. Of course, Her Lady couldn’t just tell me what was happening; she’d had to use typical Feirie manipulation. Never mind that from what I saw, she clearly needed my help.

  Not that I could do much. Whatever Holmes’d started, it was literally tearing Feirie apart. The magic that was Feirie was being drawn into the Gate and into whatever spell he’d begun.

  Then, all concern I had for Feirie vanished as we watched the ground rush up to our face. It was not going to be a soft landing. We both knew it was going to be very, very painful.

  And it was.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Shall we see what limitations there are?”

  I screamed. . . . Only my scream came out in a different voice. A female voice.

  “Now, now,” murmured the speaker. “It can’t be that low. You should be able to muster a little more strength . . . even summon a little power?”

  All I could do was scream again in that same feminine voice.

  A sigh escap
ed my unseen tormentor. The sigh was followed by a horrible increase in my agony.

  “No. Not much better.”

  A face came at me out of the darkness.

  Holmes. The Beast.

  He had an almost clinical detachment in his expression, which made his appearance all the more monstrous. I could not only see the evil that was him, but I could feel it as well.

  “Well . . . he was right after all. You are all he promised.”

  There was something different. This wasn’t some memory, as I realized the previous moment’d been. This was now.

  “The pound of flesh was worth it, then, I suppose,” Holmes muttered almost distastefully.

  His mustached face grew distorted as it filled my vision. He smiled at me.

  I tried to lunge at him. I couldn’t even tell if I moved at all, but suddenly his face receded.

  Holmes chuckled. “Impressive. You’ll last better than the others. You will enable me to succeed at last—”

  From behind the Beast arose whispers, warning whispers. I couldn’t understand the warning, but still sensed that they were trying to alert me to something about Holmes.

  Instead of being disturbed by the warnings, he just laughed again. “Ah, you’ve woken them up. Almost forgot they were still there. Well, this should put an end to their whimpering.”

  His hand reached out of the darkness toward me.

  Nick . . .

  I knew that voice. I knew it so well.

  Nick . . . please!

  Claryce?

  Nick . . . Georgius . . . listen to me. . . .

  Holmes lost his good humor. “Now that’s not a nice thing to do. . . .”

  He stretched his hand closer—

  Nick!

  A sharp pain struck me in the heart. The dragon hissed as he shared my agony.

  Nick!

  The pain repeated.

  Holmes’s face vanished. The darkness scattered—

  With a gasp, I tried to rise.

  “I have him!” said Fetch from somewhere. Strong hands seized me by the shoulders.

  I suddenly felt very, very cold.

  Eye will . . . warm . . . us . . . the dragon said from what seemed far, far away.