Along Came a Demon

by Linda Welch

“It would be better if we do not discuss it farther.” Royal smiled thinly. “Change the subject, you are good at that.”

  In other circumstances, I would take umbrage at the remark, but I swallowed and obeyed.

  We walked to the arched opening and the set of stone steps going up. They rose steeply; the bluish illumination came from brighter blue light at the top. I looked back. “What is this place?”

  “It is Morte Tescien, my ancestral home.” He took my hand and led me up the steps.

  I watched where I put my feet. “When you say home, do you mean like in house?”

  “Yes, Tiff.”

  “So what’s down there, the basement?”

  “Part of it. An area not in use at the moment.”

  Good grief! “Just how big is this place?”

  “Think White House.”

  Two more steps, and it clicked. His brother called him Ryel. Morte Tescien. Ryel Morte Tescien. Royal Mortensen. “You changed your name.”

  “No. I’m Royal Eric Mortensen, born and raised in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. But I was also born Ryel, of House Morte Tescien.”

  A square passage stretched away from the top of the steps. The size, wide as it was high, with floor, walls and ceiling lined in glossy, glowing cobalt-blue tiles, gave it a crazy three-dimensional effect. It seemed to go on forever; I couldn’t see where it ended. Royal’s fingers twined with mine and we walked on.

  The first right angle came upon us suddenly. I might have walked into the facing wall if not for his hand guiding me. The floor gradually sloped until I felt the pressure of walking uphill in my calves and ankles.

  “We are in the maintenance levels,” he said. “Everything required for the smooth running of the House is tucked away down here. It feels empty. I think they are distancing themselves from what happened below.”

  Another staircase, another passageway with silvery, polished metal doors, some open, others closed. I glimpsed small square rooms lined with metal shelves on which square and rectangular cartons sat in stacks, objects wrapped in murky plastic, tin cans. Furniture with missing legs, or arms, or chipped woodwork filled another room. We passed what were obviously clerical offices.

  “Whoa!” I said in a low voice when we were safely past. “Computers? Phones?”

  Royal gave me a so? look.

  I brought my brows together. “But your … those guys downstairs … the clothes and swords … I thought you were, well, medieval.”

  Alert, he kept his eyes ahead. “It’s an affectation, Tiff. We are a modern society.”

  “Oh. Is demon technology like ours, then? Do you have all the good junk; cell phones and Blue Ray and electronic games?” I thought of an appliance I consider indispensable. “And microwave ovens; do you have microwaves?”

  “Demon? You call us demons?”

  Uh oh. I watched my feet pace the smooth ceramic tiles. “Well, it’s the pointy teeth and glittering eyes, you see.”

  I kept my head down, but rolled my eyes up to see his face. I expected I had at least irritated him, at most insulted him, but he tilted his chin up and let out a laugh. Grinning, he met my eyes. “Then it’s as well I don’t have pointed teeth.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay.” He shook his head. “Men with pointed teeth can be nothing else but demons.” And he chortled again.

  “They’re only a tiny bit pointed,” I said defensively. “It’s not like your guys have fangs.”

  Another rising stair, then we passed three arched openings which looked in on one enormous kitchen. The appliances looked state of the art, and they filled the perimeter of the room. Next came two big pantries, a room stuffed with huge freezers, another room equipped with washing machines, tumble dryers and sinks.

  We took a left to a blank-walled passage. A question came into my mind. “How did you know where to find me?”

  His fingers tightened on mine. “A hunch, or call it deductive reasoning. You called Mike, and the line went dead before he could say a word. We looked for you. I found your phone on the ground near the apartment block, but I took it before Mike saw. We split up and I went to your house. Your car was still outside. It looked bad.”

  He looked at me. “I believe in you, Tiff. I read up on your cases. You’re the real thing, you are no quack. You said Charlie Geary identified me, but I did not kill him. I knew you would not accuse me out of spite.”

  “You did, did you?”

  His smile was gentle. “You are a stubborn, hot-headed, argumentative woman, but you are a good woman. You would not falsely accuse an innocent man. You and Charlie gave me the identity of the killer.”

  “And you thought maybe he took me?”

  His smile dropped away. “Thank the Lady I was right.”

  “Guess I should be glad Mike didn’t stow you in lockup and throw away the key.”

  “He returned my gun and badge when we got back to the precinct.”

  Although I was joking about Mike putting him in a cell, the truth was a letdown. I mean, I didn’t want Royal arrested and thrown in jail and I didn’t reckon Mike would go that far anyway, maybe put him on paid leave, but he waited till I left the PD and acted like nothing happened in Granby! “I wasn’t sure he believed me, but I thought he would at least go through the formalities.”

  My feelings must have been apparent. “Be realistic, Tiff. Your word against mine? Did you really think he would lock me up while he looked for proof?”

  “Yes. No. But he one-hundred-percent ignored what I told him. If he did that with every case I worked for him, there’d - “

  “Mike is a clever and intuitive man. Perhaps he has a little latent psychic ability himself. He gets a feeling about the people you give him. He did not get the same feeling about me.”

  He could be right. Perhaps Mike’s intuition told him to listen to me the second time I marched in his office and said he had to. He threw me out the first time. I went back six months later and gave him information I shouldn’t know on a murder victim, and this time he heard me out. My input placed a murderer behind bars, but still, it was a leap of faith on Mike’s part if ever there was one.

  I was so tired, and all those glowing blue tiles made my head ache, and Royal walked so fast. I tried to keep up so he didn’t have to haul me along, but as we took another turn and he led me to yet another stairwell, I stumbled.

  Before I knew what was happening, he bent, put one arm around my back, the other beneath my knees, and whisked me up in his arms.

  I let out a tiny, surprised shriek. I had never been gathered up and held to a man’s chest before. I flung my arms around his neck and held on tight, my cheek on his silken hair. He strode up the steps with me tightly hugged to him. Being held closely and carefully felt really nice, so I decided not to object. After a minute I let go one of my hands and laid my palm on his chest, on skin as smooth and silken as his hair. I thought I’d stay there for a while. Maybe a week or two.

  Royal paced the floor with a stride so smooth we seemed to float. “Don’t be frightened, Tiff. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Not the reason my fingers couldn’t stop exploring his chest.

  He went on, his tone deepening, “You shouldn’t be here. I should have protected you.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “It was my fault. I knew the danger you were in; I should have been with you. I will not leave your side again, Tiff.”

  Aw, I thought, then rethought. My voice rose. “Now just one minute—”

  He touched my lips with his index finger. “Not so loud,” he cautioned.

  Okay, I would save it till later, because if he meant that literally and thought he could be with me every minute of the day, voices would be raised. I didn’t need a watchdog.

  We were in a high-ceilinged passage, the ceiling a deep blood-red, the walls covered in red flocked wallpaper, the floor carpeted in a flowing red and black design. “Why do we have to be quiet? I thought they couldn’t touch us for an hour.”


  He spoke softly in my ear. “Our hour is almost up. We must take care now. If they know where we are, they will converge, hoping our time runs out.”

  Anxiety crawled a slimy trail through my gut. I couldn’t go back to that basement.

  When we stepped inside a large room, it looked as if the demons had already converged. An impression of high ceilings, huge windows letting in swathes of sunlight, the sparkle of gilt and crystal, space and airiness, railed galleries up high, but mostly I saw demons, watching us with glimmering eyes. Some of them wore tights and tunics and I recognized the demons from the cavern below among them. Others wore modern clothing you see on Americans walking the streets of Clarion. All were male, and I wondered if they kept their women hidden away, or if the room was strictly a male domain.

  “Put me down,” I said in Royal’s ear. I wanted my feet on the ground and control over my movements.

  He took no notice, and I did not dare make a scene.

  I saw Caesar at the back of the room, looking at me with hard sapphire eyes. I couldn’t suppress a shudder. Royal’s arms tightened on me.

  “Hold on, Tiff,” he said.

  We didn’t go at full demon speed, but we definitely moved. The room became a whirl of glass, flesh and metal, jewel tone colors and glittering eyes. I closed my eyes, unable to cope with a feeling of disorientation and the beginnings of nausea. Thankfully, we slowed and came to a stop before I destroyed the romance of being passionately held to a man’s naked chest by throwing up all over him.

  We were in another passageway. He set me down. I clung to him as I looked ahead. I saw nothing but blank stone walls and a dark arch.

  I looked back. Demons crowded the passage. Motionless, expressionless, they watched us.

  And he opened up his wings and flew us out of there.

  Just kidding.

  We stepped through a door, and I didn’t realize how hard my nails dug in Royal’s back till they started to hurt. He lowered me to my feet.

  Clarion’s Montague Square surrounded us now. No trace of the Otherworld. I got free of his arm and turned to look back at a plain wood door in an otherwise blank brick wall. I couldn’t recall seeing it before.

  Two women toting shopping bags walked up from behind us. They passed, and both looked back at Royal over their shoulders. Eyeing me, he buttoned up his jacket.

  I checked my watch. Seven-fifteen. Two and a half hours, to be abducted, tortured, and watch Royal cut off his brother’s head. Oh, and I mustn’t forget that included just short of an hour getting out of Morte Tescien.

  Royal gently turned me in the other direction. “Hold onto me. We’re going to Clarion Regional.”

  “With what are obviously rope burns and abrasions? I don’t think so. I’ll doctor it at home.”

  His mouth set stubbornly. I started walking.

  “Tiff, where are we going?” he asked at my back.

  “To find Lawrence.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  A half-hour later and Gorge’s Antique Emporium would have been locked up for the night. We walked in to find Gorge amid antique furniture and display cabinets, chatting to two customers as he wrote them a receipt. He glanced up, smiled, looked back at his customers; then the tan leached from his face as his brain registered exactly who came in his shop.

  So demons blanched. I was gathering so much information for Lynn.

  Paler with each passing second, he chatted with his clients in a stilted way as he walked them to the door. He shut it, flipped the sign and pulled down the blind to let prospective customers know he had closed the shop.

  He turned to us and clasped his hands at his waist as he looked at Royal. I don’t think he even noticed me. He dropped his hands to his sides and bowed over, held the pose a few seconds, and straightened up. “My Lord?”

  My Lord?

  Royal got right to the point. “Do you know the whereabouts of Lawrence Marchant?”

  “Lawrence Marchant?” Gorge asked, not at all convincingly.

  I took the paper from my pocket, unfolded it and held it up. “I found receipts and evaluations for furniture you sold to Lindy. And you were their friend. Lawrence even drew a picture of you.”

  I held my breath. Gorge continued to stare. He stiffened when Royal walked up to him, and clenched his fists, arms straight at his sides. I tensed. Would he attack Royal? If I ignored his alien features, he looked like a prosperous merchant in his dark-green three-piece suit and leather wing-tipped brogues, but he was a demon, and perhaps a match for Royal in speed and strength.

  Royal stopped several paces from Gorge and very slowly swiveled to turn his back on the shorter demon. With one hand, he lifted his long copper-gold hair away from the nape of his neck to reveal a tiny tattoo of a golden creature bordered with black right on his hairline.

  Gorge’s shoulders sagged and he relaxed. “Thank the Lady!”

  Just who was this Lady everyone liked to thank?

  Royal shook his hair back, covering the tat. Gorge gestured to the back of the shop. “This way, my Lord. I kept the boy safe, praying someone from your House would find us.”

  “Does he know?” Royal asked Gorge.

  “That everything in his life has changed?” George nodded confirmation.

  I was definitely out of the loop - what the hell just happened? Who was the Lady and was a House more than only a big old home? If I were not mistaken, both had capital letters. Royal turned back to me and I looked askance, but he ignored my expression. He looked different, as if he had gained height, and he held himself stiffly erect. He looked … well … he looked lordly, if there is such a word. Regal, maybe?

  Regal Royal? I mused as Gorge went to the back of the shop, wending through the clutter to where a long burgundy velvet curtain hung on the wall. He pulled the curtain aside to reveal a wooden door, opened it on a staircase and gestured us through.

  But Royal put his hands on my shoulders, effectively keeping me in place. “I think you should wait here. I do not know how Lawrence will react and the fewer converging on him the better.”

  A little boy who saw his mother die, whisked away from everything and everyone he knew. Now complete strangers were poised to tell him something extraordinary. I could see the sense in what Royal said. “Okay.”

  Royal gestured for Gorge to lead the way and followed him up the steps.

  I sank on a convenient brocade-padded bench and listened to the tick of Gorge’s clocks. I like the soft tock of the mantle clock in my bedroom, it lulls me, but listening to the dozen or more in the shop all day long would get on my nerves. I would be gritting my teeth in no time at all. I almost fell off the bench when every one of them chimed the hour.

  I looked at the thick curtain, wondering what happened in Gorge’s apartment, and marveled I trusted two demons with the safety of a little boy. I had an issue with trust, one amongst many. I counted on someone once but it ended badly, and since then had distanced myself so I couldn’t make the same mistake. Yet I trusted Royal, I knew that by the staggering relief I experienced when he appeared in Morte Tescien, though he turned out to be Kien in disguise. I knew it when Royal carried me from the cavern. Having faith in another person was something of a novelty.

  When did my perception change? When did I see him as a man, not an alien creature with evil intentions; as an honest cop, not a creature posing as one? As someone on whom I could rely?

  I couldn’t pinpoint the moment. Perhaps it was as far back as the first night in my bedroom, when he cupped my face in gentle hands and kissed me.

  I waited.

  Royal came down the stairs so silently I didn’t notice him till he spoke. He sat beside me on the bench.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “More or less. He understands what’s happened, and what is to come.”

  I sagged tiredly. “I don’t, Royal. Was Gorge at Lindy’s apartment when she died? What has he to do with all this? Is Lawrence really safe now?”

  Several heartbea
ts of silence, followed by, “You were right: Gorge and Lindy were friends. He went to see her the day she died. He heard her cry out and found her in the bathroom. She was dying, Tiff. Gorge tried to bring her back by forcing some of his energy into her, but it did not work.”

  “You can … what do you mean, put his energy in her?”

  “A tiny bit of psychic energy.” He smiled a small sad smile. “It’s a demon thing. If you look closely at Gorge you will see lines on his face which were not there a week ago.”

  I didn’t ask for a scientific explanation - I see dead people; I don’t need justification for every mystical ability or event.

  “You know I can sense other Gelpha, it’s an innate ability all of us possess. Gorge - “

  “You’re called Gelpha?” I said, feeling dumb. Of course they have a name, and it’s not demon.

  “Yes. And although you haven’t asked, our world is Bel-Athaer. You will find mention of it in your ancient lore.”

  “I don’t recall the name.”

  He gave me an amused smile. “Have you never heard of the Land Beneath the Waves?”

  I gawped at him. “You’re elves?”

  He hiccupped a laugh. “You confuse Celtic lore with fairy tales. Ancient Druids knew of The Land Beneath the Waves, or the Otherworld. The waves they spoke of were aetheric, an alternate plane coexisting with theirs.”

  He didn’t give me time to think that over. “Although we had not met, Gorge knew I was in Clarion, but not the position I hold. If he had, he would have come to me. He brought Lawrence here, then sensed Caesar and his partner Phaid. He went back to Lindy’s apartment and cleared out all traces of Lawrence and brought away photos of his mother, so the boy could have them. He waited till night and went to every tenant, and made them forget Lawrence.” He met my eyes. “I know that must gall you, but it was necessary.” His gaze drifted away. “Not knowing what else to do, Gorge planned to take Lawrence to Berne, Switzerland, where he has another shop. Lawrence would pose as his son.”

  “But why? Why not take Lawrence to the authorities? Why were they after the boy? Why did they kill all those children?”