Black City Demon

by Richard A. Knaak

  I tried to rise and failed.

  “Fetch! I can’t see them. Have they gone?”

  “I smell them closing, Mistress Claryce! We have to move him from here.”

  “But where? We can’t reach the car. What about the north side?”

  “Let me look.” I heard a soft padding of feet, Fetch trotting off.

  “Claryce . . .” My own voice startled me. I sounded more like the dragon than myself.

  “Nick! You should’ve never driven off on your own! What were you thinking . . . and where’d you just come from?”

  I blinked, but still couldn’t see. “Where are we?”

  “In one of the empty stores. Fetch followed your trail once we arrived here, but he kept going in circles once we reached this spot!”

  So Fetch hadn’t been able to locate Holmes’s otherworldly realm. He’d done better than I would’ve expected, but without the access Joseph’d provided me, he’d been stuck where he was, the trail just ending in front of him.

  Then, I remembered the other situation. “I wanted to warn you about Holmes’s torpedoes. How’d you notice them?”

  “I can’t say,” Claryce muttered. “Something made the skin on my back crawl. I glanced back just in time. They were circling the block and trying to catch us by surprise, but one got too close. He started to draw, but I had the revolver out already.” She paused. “That’s one less, so I think no more than four.”

  She tried to sound detached, but I could hear the stress in her voice. It’d been one thing to shoot at monsters, another to actually kill a man. To her credit, the hand that touched mine was steady, though.

  My vision returned. As she’d said, we were in one of the empty stores. I saw through my own eyes, not those of the dragon, so my view was as limited as that of Claryce or Fetch. I tried to summon the dragon’s gaze, but couldn’t even locate him in my mind. There’d been very few times in my life when I’d felt as if I were alone in my head.

  “Great sense of timing,” I muttered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Instead of answering, I looked around. To my relief, at least Her Lady’s gift had come back with me. I grabbed it and, in a scene that would no doubt’ve left the queen of Feirie aghast, used the glorious magical sword as a cane to help push me to my feet.

  “Claryce.” I took a deep breath. “Claryce . . . I’m going to draw them off. Fetch’ll help me. The moment we succeed, I need you to get to your car and drive off.”

  “Don’t even talk nonsense like that!” She held up the Smith & Wesson. “I’m not afraid to use this again. The only one I think is a real danger is that pale one. One of the twins, I mean.”

  “He’s bad, but Holmes is a thousand times worse. We’ve got to get you out of here before he notices.”

  “You found him? Where is he?”

  “Here. And above. And in Feirie.”

  She helped me stabilize my footing. “I don’t understand a thing you just said.”

  “Welcome to my world. You’re still thinking in normal mortal terms. Even I still do that despite everything I’ve confronted over the centuries. Just know that Holmes and everything he’s created is here with us, but we just can’t see it. It’s reaching a critical point, but I need you out of here. It’s the best—”

  A gun fired. The glass window to our right shattered.

  Fetch came trotting back. “I smell one in the back. Nothing else.” He growled at the ruined window. “I cannot say yet if the Vyr has any more scent than his master, though.”

  I caught the elven word. “The what?”

  “Vyr. ’Tis a word of the Feirie folk. Means ‘the hollow.’”

  “Why would you call him that?”

  He took a sniff of the air, then answered, “’Tis nothing special I know, Master Nicholas. ’Tis only his appearance. It struck a chord before, but I didn’t think it through. Thought him just another pug-ugly torpedo. They’ve got some awful-looking goons in both big mobs.”

  “Can these Vyr pop from place to place? Magically?”

  “I cannot say. If they’re from Feirie, could be.”

  I couldn’t worry about more potential Wyld until I’d gotten Claryce out of here. “Fetch, I need you to help me distract them long enough for Claryce to escape—”

  “I’ll do no such thing! Don’t even think of it!”

  “Claryce, think about it—”

  She folded her arms, her hand gripping the revolver tight. “I have.”

  Another shot further ruined the one window. I had a suspicion that Holmes’s goons were trying to manipulate where they wanted us to go. By pushing us from the one window, they limited our view of the outside world to less than half what it’d been before.

  “Why do they call these Vyr ‘hollow’?” Claryce asked Fetch without warning.

  Fetch’s brow furrowed, and one ear tilted up. “I cannot say, Mistress Claryce. None from my pack had had any experience with a Vyr. They were things in stories told to young pups!”

  “Just try to stay away from him,” I commented, quickly surveying every direction. There were two doors, one of which was near enough to another huge window to not be useful for whatever trick the hoods intended.

  “I’ll stay just far enough to get a good shot. I’m not leaving you, Nick. We’ve had this discussion before, and you know how it’ll end.”

  I considered knocking her out and having Fetch carry her off, but that was too risky. Claryce wouldn’t have any hope of defending herself if anything went awry.

  She took the decision away by moving to a corner wall that gave her a view of both directions where there were windows. Fetch looked at me for guidance, but, receiving none, hurried after her. I could see where his loyalties lay.

  You always have me. . . .

  “Thanks a lot,” I remarked, for once actually feeling a little relieved at this acknowledgement of his presence. I held up the sword, hoping that it would give me a hint as to how to get back to Holmes’s sanctum. Unfortunately, it barely glowed at all now, which made me wonder about Fetch’s description of the Schrecks. I didn’t quite see them as these Vyr that Fetch’d spoken about, but they had some similarities. I wondered if they were some creation of Holmes’s. They certainly looked like something he’d have thought of.

  Then, something occurred to me. I eyed Fetch and thought about what I’d learned concerning Barnaby’s supposedly good friend. Not everything was always what it seemed, especially where magic was involved.

  Sword leveled toward his back, I walked silently up behind Fetch. I knew I might be wrong and actually hoped I was. If this wasn’t Fetch, I had to act quickly and decisively.

  “Fetch, how’d you get back to Claryce? Weren’t you going after Kravayik?”

  He hadn’t turned yet, so he didn’t see the point at his neck. Claryce did see it, however. Before she could react, I shook my head.

  Inside, the dragon suddenly stirred. Smell that! He must be slain! Slay him swiftly! Do not let him act!

  I almost acted, so vehement was he. Fetch looked back and stared wide-eyed at the threat I presented.

  “Kravayik, he was gone already! I raced right back! I swear I am being square with you! I’m no fakeloo artist!”

  If anything could’ve convinced me this was Fetch it was his tortured use of human slang. I lowered the sword, satisfied.

  My big mistake.

  He must’ve popped right in at the same moment. Neither Claryce nor Fetch had given any notice of the threat suddenly behind me.

  The arm that wrapped around my throat ended in pale flesh that I’d seen before. The Schreck tugged me back from the others. Claryce reached for me, but I knew it was already too late. I could feel the air ripple as the pale figure magically transported us away.

  But in what had to be a surprise for my adversary, what initially was our vanishing from the store became a return barely a breath later . . . albeit a few yards away from where we’d stood. More to the point, we were accompanied by none other than
Joseph.

  “I found it,” he said to me in his childlike voice even as I struggled with Holmes’ servant. “It was wrong, but I found it.”

  As Joseph reached to me, Fetch—fully transformed into his original Feirie form—snarled and fell upon the Schreck. Fetch managed to tear Holmes’s creature from me just as Joseph took my wrist.

  The world changed, becoming Holmes’s twisted reflection of the exposition era. Then, it shifted again, returning us to the interior of the Murder Castle.

  To a part I’d not seen yet.

  To a part where the body of an elf stood strapped by black silver in the midst of the chamber. His expression was slack, and it was clear that he was dead. Still, a quick shift to the dragon’s gaze revealed that energies pulsated through the corpse from one part of the string to the other.

  This wasn’t the same elf I’d seen earlier. This one was even more elegantly dressed and clearly had been of a much higher status. In fact, from what I knew of Feirie’s caste system, especially the oak pins at each shoulder, this elf’d been among the highest of the elite.

  I could see why she’d taken a shine to him. Even among the Feirie folk, he looked like he’d been a charmer. His features remind me of Valentino, but even the Great Lover couldn’t compare in the end.

  Of course, Valentino could at least lay claim to still being alive.

  The same couldn’t be said for Her Lady’s Lysander, evidently.

  CHAPTER 25

  “I knew it was wrong,” Joseph commented. “I remembered it should be different. See? He’s all wrong!”

  I had no idea what he was talking about and really didn’t care at the moment. I was trying to figure Lysander’s exact purpose. He was positioned differently from the previous pair. Lysander looked as if he were not just a key component, but the key component.

  Of course.

  Whatever else he’d done, in the end, Holmes’d still had to deal with the fact that he’d been born human. That meant that he hadn’t any true link to Feirie. Without such a link, he couldn’t draw upon Feirie as he seemed to be doing.

  Lysander apparently provided that link in a way the other Feirie folk hadn’t.

  I was beginning to see the arrangement Holmes’d desired and how long he’d worked on every aspect of it. I was also beginning to see the horrible course he’d set on to make it work. Each and every horrific murder, each monstrous torture, had all been to perfect this mad design.

  The clipping we’d come across concerning Holmes’s capture and execution had offhandedly mentioned the destruction of his sanctum by fire months earlier. Who caused it had never been discovered, but some believed Holmes’d done it to cover his crimes. That was partially true, I realized, but hardly encompassed the truth. With what he’d drawn through his torture and slaughter of both humans and Feirie folk, the Beast had eradicated the mortal shell. The true sanctum lay hidden in a world of its own, accessible only by a select few involved in its creation . . . like Joseph, apparently.

  Then, I thought of what Joseph’d just said. “How’s it wrong?”

  “It’s wrong!” he answered unhelpfully. “All wrong!”

  As I watched, he walked up to the body and started trying to work on the string rising from Lysander’s left hand.

  Lysander opened his eyes.

  They stared sightlessly at him, then me. Sightlessly, because although they looked our ways, they did so with an odd filminess to them.

  I felt a chill run down my spine. There was something else in the room.

  Joseph grinned at me. “Run.”

  His order, spoken so softly, caught me off guard. I recalled too slowly that the last time he’d spoken like this was when Claudette’d used him to give her a voice.

  Then, Joseph’s grin widened more, and in a deeper voice he said, “Gatekeeper . . .”

  Lysander. I couldn’t swear that with all certainty, but it had to be.

  Joseph’s expression looked befuddled. “Mustn’t touch.”

  His hands pulled away from his work. He let out a scowl and tried to bring them up again.

  The dead eyes stared down at him again . . . and Joseph went flying across the chamber. He collided against a wall and fell into a crumpled heap. I heard a groan escape him, which surprised me.

  I’ll admit, I stared in disbelief. I could see the tremendous agony that the array had surely caused Lysander. I could imagine wanting to scream constantly as power pulsed along the black silver strings.

  And yet . . . Lysander had evidently willingly accepted all that. He’d wanted to become part of Holmes’s horrific display.

  Joseph’d noticed something wrong with the arrangement. I’d have liked to know what, but I wasn’t given a chance. A shadow swept over the room, a shadow that settled on the corpse.

  “Gatekeeper,” the body abruptly croaked. “Surely you are not surprised? Surely you understand death has different meanings in Feirie and this mud wallow!”

  “Yeah, but I’ve forgotten to just what depths of depravity Feirie folk were willing to dive.”

  Despite his condition, Lysander laughed. It was a rough, painful sound. “Do not underestimate the levels to which a human can descend. He has been the master, not me. . . .”

  “I stand corrected.” I kept Her Lady’s gift ready. Lysander hadn’t done anything to attack me, which I found intriguing. He’d been quick to deal with Joseph, but not so much me.

  All the while, I also continued to think of what I could do for Claryce and Fetch. Unfortunately, there was nothing at this point but to try to stop the madness.

  You have me! Unleash me! Eye can tear this place apart. . . .

  You don’t remember last time too well, do you? I was certain that Holmes had strengthened things since we’d escaped before. There was also the consideration that Lysander appeared unconcerned about the possibility of the dragon’s entrance. As one of Her Lady’s most trusted, he’d have understood very well how simply I could let that happen. Yet, I was almost willing to swear that he hoped I would take that path.

  Give me just a touch of you, I ordered my constant companion. No more . . . for both our sakes.

  Eye will do that . . . and trust you are not more foolish than usual. . . .

  I ignored his jibe as I felt his presence grow in me. Tilting the sword away, I concentrated.

  My other hand transformed, the fingers becoming long, scaled digits ending in razor-sharp claws. Simultaneously, my legs bent back and I felt my face start to extend outward. Long, wicked teeth spread through my mouth. I was very grateful at that moment that Claryce wasn’t with me.

  Lysander’s expression didn’t change, but I sensed the array stir. Just as I’d thought, he’d hoped for me to fully release the dragon.

  I thought I saw everything now. The pinprick wounds from the daggers had indeed drawn from some bit of essence from both of us. While only one of us could exist at one time, we were still forever blended together. Holmes had somehow come to realize that by using that essence, he could magnify his efforts where the Gate was concerned. With Lysander to give him a hold in Feirie and us to give him that for the portal, Holmes had all he needed to begin his final efforts.

  I let the dragon recede. He did so reluctantly, naturally.

  There was a flicker of frustration in the elf’s eyes.

  “Not what you hoped?” I asked as I moved in with Her Lady’s gift. “Fully summoning the dragon would enable you pair to better draw from us, isn’t that so? That’s what Holmes and you wanted when we were taken last time. You wanted the dragon to keep raging long enough to take all you needed.”

  “We have all we need to take what we desire.” Lysander managed to tilt his head toward me. Considering the black silver coursing through him, I imagined it was quite painful. He didn’t seem to care, though. “And we now have enough of what we desire that we can take what else we require.”

  The array flared.

  I started to change without either of us wanting to do so. The agony that acco
mpanied it was enough to make me drop the sword and fall to our knees . . . or where the knees would’ve been if not for their having shifted in forming the dragon’s hind legs.

  Eye can save us! he started raging. Let me flow out! Let me flow out!

  I’d come to trust the dragon only a handful of times in all the centuries since we were bound together. I supposed he might’ve believed what he said even now, but I was certain that Lysander still hoped we’d give in and finish the transformation ourselves. We had to be drawing valuable power from them, power they were willing to expend in order to gain so much more.

  Somehow, I managed to grab hold of Her Lady’s gift again. It was hard to grasp, what with a hand that continued to fight between being human and dragon. Still, regaining the weapon gave me some support.

  It also gave me a moment to think. There’d been more than one reason that they’d had to wait so long to accomplish what they wanted. Something’d happened—I had to conclude Kravayik and Claudette—to force Holmes’s flight in the first place. However, that’d left Lysander behind. Lysander, who’d kept the spellwork in place while they waited. He in this torturous state and Holmes in the grave. Waiting until all factors came together.

  Waiting for the Frost Moon’s wake to perfectly touch everywhere they needed Holmes to reach.

  I forced a laugh in order to shake up Lysander. It worked. I saw his eyes flash with more life than I’d thought them capable of.

  “All that . . . that suffering. All because . . . until now . . . the Frost Moons haven’t touched everywhere you needed. You had to endure all . . . all this torture . . . waiting . . . wondering if the next one would . . . would reach. The previous one . . . what maybe a decade or so ago? . . . The last one enabled Holmes to reach out to Joseph, didn’t . . . didn’t it? Holmes brought him back to you . . . to not only calculate when the next Frost Moon would rise . . . but also where its wake would touch.”

  “The shadow spreads differently with each wake. We could afford to be patient, though . . . he in the ground and I . . . What is a human generation or two to one who has lived millennia?”

  I didn’t like that he was sounding stronger as I grew weaker. “And when . . . when did Titania realize you’d betrayed her plot?”