by J E McDonald
By the time he closed the door and locked the truck, Moe stood beside him, an expectant expression on his face. Roman jerked his head at the forest around them. “Circle the perimeter. Make sure there’s nothing hiding out in the woods.”
Without a word, the demon was off, invisible against the trees and bushes but making a branch sway every now and again when they brushed against his transparent body. Moe wouldn’t come close to the house now unless he called for him.
Knife in one hand, Roman took a straight path to the house, following the driveway. The closer he got, the more his scar burned. Definitely fire demons. But would he find anything else? Anyone else? Sometimes he could save the humans the demons used as sacrifices. Sometimes he couldn’t.
As soon as the little brown house was in sight, he edged off to the side, behind a birch tree to observe. There weren’t any cars out front, but there was a garage to the side, its door closed. The house wasn’t in good shape, another bad sign. Peeling paint, shutters hanging off their hinges, a huge tear in the screen of the storm door large enough for a child to fit through.
Nothing moved outside, and he couldn’t see anything through the windows this far away. Slowly, he stalked closer, then walked around the outside, checking if he could see anything through the darkened windows. Another bad sign.
He strode up the front steps and opened the squeaky screen door. A distinct skittering noise coming from inside had him pulling out his other blade. The door unlatched, he pushed it open with his shoulder.
Sulfur filled his nostrils, but the place wasn’t as bad off as he predicted. Too many of the rural houses he’d been called to reeked of death before he even stepped inside. This one looked slightly lived in, with a couch and a TV. He reached for the light switch on the door and was surprised to find it worked. Dim light spilled into the space through a dusty glass shade. The windows had actual curtains instead of being blackened with demon or human blood.
Another wave of fatigue washed through him, and he pushed it away. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of feeling tired right now. Inhaling to keep his heart steady, Roman stood still and listened, waiting for some sound to tell him which way to go. The skittering resumed, this time from right beneath him, like it came out of the floor. As quietly as he could, he stalked through the living room and down a short hallway, needing to clear the ground floor first. He kept his senses alert. One bedroom had things a bedroom should: a bed, dresser, and bookcase, everything untidy but not disgusting. Then he checked the bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary there. He allowed the skittering noises beneath his feet to lead him to the kitchen.
It looked functional, with a coffee maker and microwave both plugged in. A stack of dirty dishes leaned toward the sink, no cockroaches yet, and two wooden chairs flanked a scuffed table. How long ago had a human lived here? It didn’t feel like it had been that long. The door to the basement stood ajar. Roman crept across the room, wincing at the unavoidable squeaks in the floor.
More skittering came from below. He took the first step downward into the dark, keeping his awareness open to what was behind him, just in case he’d missed something. Down and down he went, until his feet finally hit the dirt of the floor with a thud. The scar on his wrist screamed the danger at him, the aching pulse hard to ignore.
He surveyed the small space. It looked like it had once been a finished basement, but the concrete floor had been demolished, exposing the dirt below. All the furniture had been stacked around the outer edge. A nest. They were making a nest—like the day he found Moe. The scent of rotting meat wafted over to him. He looked to the source, a mound of dead animals in the corner.
Movement to his side caught his eye. He stayed perfectly still, waiting to see who was there and what they’d do. More movement from behind him, then to the other side. There was more than one demon in this place.
A scratching sound above him made him look up. The red, beady eyes of a fire demon stared back at him. It had crimson skin, blistered, its knobby horns prominent on the top of his head. It hissed, then stretched its neck forward to give him a sniff. Another string of hissing left its lips, the inflection varying.
It was young, but not so young that it didn’t know demon speak. Not an untainted soul, then. Demons might be born without the rot of their kind, but it didn’t take long before they were corrupted. Moe was the only newborn he’d found.
“How’s the soul doing?” Roman regarded the snarl on its face.
The demon tipped its head to the side and hissed again. It couldn’t speak English. More demons circled behind him, clicking their claws against the ceiling and walls. The demon in front of him dropped down to the ground, its knees up beside its ears like it was about to play leap frog.
Roman flexed his fingers on the hilts of his knives. “If you leave this plane, I won’t follow.”
It hissed again, then pounced.
Spinning out of the way, Roman tried not to get touched. The demon missed, its body creating a waft of air beside him. The others all lunged toward him at the same time. Too many, all about the same age and skill level. They must have come from another nest because this one looked new, way too clean for the amount of demons present.
They reached for his chest, intent on taking what was left of his soul. Roman slashed before they could touch him. Heads flew one way, their bodies dropping to the floor. No matter how many he felled, they kept coming. He kicked one to the side, his knife sliding through tissue and bone in another. Hesitation meant death. He didn’t want to become their evening meal. His elbow connected, hard with a head, his knife following a second later. He didn’t leave himself time to think, just react.
Finally, the barrage slowed. Bodies and the sludge of demon blood littered the dirt floor. The one who’d approached him first still lived. Crouched in the center of the room, it hissed, its face fixed in a snarl.
“Is that the last of you?” Roman asked, waiting to see if he’d missed anyone. The pain in his wrist wasn’t as strong as when he’d first arrived. His muscles throbbed with exertion more than usual, his lungs labored for deeper breaths.
With a half-scream, half-hiss, it launched itself toward the wall, then came at him from the side. Clever. Roman stepped back a second too late. Its claws dug through the material of his jeans, slicing three gouges in his thigh.
He spun back toward the demon, catching his blade on its throat. One slice and the head went flying. Roman remained still for a moment, making sure there was no movement around him. All was quiet, and the incessant burning in his wrist began to fade.
Splattered with demon blood, he trudged up the steps, his thigh on fire from the fresh cuts. He wanted to return to the bedroom and find out about whoever had been living here. He wasn’t sure if he was more disturbed than not that there weren’t humans on the property. The chance they were possessed by an air demon and gallivanting around was high.
There was no mail on the kitchen table. No pictures on the wall to identify who lived here. While the pain ebbed from his wrist, his thigh continued to scorch. He stopped in the one bedroom, his eyes scanning everything. Papers littered the top of the dresser, and he strode past the bookshelf filled with classic novels to take a closer look. The closet was full of men’s clothing.
Reaching the dresser, he realized it wasn’t only papers, but also photographs. Roman picked one up. It was of a woman, taken from a distance, but the face and most of the body had been scratched off, making her unidentifiable. Besides it being disturbing as hell, there was something about the photo that put him on edge. He dropped it and picked up another. This one was taken at a different location, but it was the same person, same curvy body type even though the face had been scratched out.
Dread tingled at the center of his chest as he picked up more, examining them for something recognizable, a landmark or something else that could place where this woman lived.
“Fuck,” he whispered, picking up one on the bottom, fear spearing through him the like of which he
hadn’t felt in the basement. The face in this photograph had been scratched out like the others, but it was taken in front of an antique store, the name Relics clearly visible on the storefront window—taken from the same vantage point he’d been watching her from the other day.
These were all of Aubrey.
A clammy sensation ran down his spine and limbs. The person who lived here, the one with a demon nest in his basement, had been watching Aubrey.
Frantically, he searched through everything else on the dresser, looking for answers. He found two light and power notices for the property, with the name Jonathan Livingston on the envelopes. Then another bill, this one for a private investigation firm out of Langport called Highlander Security Company. Again, the bill had been made out to Mr. Livingston. Had the PI firm been the ones to take the pictures of Aubrey, or the person who lived in this house?
Shoving the two bills in his back pockets, he exited the house as fast as possible. He needed to get back to Aubrey and make sure she was okay.
Then never let her out of his sight again.
But he couldn’t leave without finishing the job or there was a chance others would come and use the nest. Hurrying back to his truck, he cleaned his blades before sheathing them, then grabbed the gas can. With the amount of houses he’d burned down due to an infestation, he could probably be labeled an arsonist.
Urgency made his movements jerky. He made sure to cover each decapitated body in the basement with gas, then poured the rest throughout the house. Moe knew better than to come inside while he completed this part of the job, and his scar didn’t itch telling him the demon was close at hand. Taking the barbecue lighter out of his pocket, he lit the gas in the doorway and watched as the flames licked their way inside.
For the last step, he took off his blades, then his clothes and gloves, tossing the blood-soaked garments into the flames. Standing in his underwear with nothing but knives in his hands, he made sure the whole house caught, then backed away from the heat of the blaze.
Once back at the truck, he put on a clean shirt, leaving his pants off to deal with the wound on his thigh. He wanted to get back to Aubrey as fast as possible, but leaving the wounds open to infection would be a mistake. Pouring hydrogen peroxide on the jagged cuts, he turned his head when an indistinct sound whispered behind him.
Moe was there, but not alone. His body and hair vibrated in the way only demons did, entrancing rabbits, frogs, and a couple of birds along with him. A squirrel ran up and down his back, then chittered in excitement. The light purple color of Moe’s skin meant no dangers nearby, no threats.
Blinking, Roman turned away. “What did you find?”
“Many things. Yes. Many eyes in the night. Yes.” Moe jumped up to hang on the door. The squirrel fell to the ground, but hopped up on the demon again in the next instant. Moe’s body still vibrated in a slight rhythm.
“What kind of eyes?”
“Furry ones. Many lollipops. Yes.” Moe patted his stomach.
Roman finished wrapping his thigh in gauze. “Release them. We can’t take them along.”
“But snacks. Yes?” Moe asked in a plaintive tone.
He shook his head, then pulled on clean jeans. Usually he didn’t care about Moe eating wild animals, but after seeing the beginnings of the nest in the basement and all the dead animals in the corner, it made him twitchy. Slowly, he ran a hand over Moe’s wrinkly head and the demon leaned into the stroke.
Was Moe’s soul a little bit dimmer than it had been the last time he’d touched him? Roman couldn’t tell. If there was a difference, it was so minimal as to be nonexistent, the sensation of a light sting the same as it had been for years.
Relieved, Roman pulled on his gloves, and Moe jumped down from the door. The animals scattered as soon as he stopped his vibrations. They both climbed inside the cab, and Roman started the engine, his eyes on the fire in front of him.
The house was fully aflame now, the heat coming toward them in waves. He noted that the surrounding trees were far enough from the blaze to not catch fire. He took his phone out of his jacket pocket laying on the seat and texted the church before he made a three-point turn to head home. It’s done. Ban on the property required. A cleanup crew would come tomorrow and double-check that everything was destroyed, then the church would make sure no one built here again.
“All finished for the night? Yes?” Moe asked from beside him.
“One more stop,” he replied, his eyes on the road as he edged over the speed limit. They needed to get back to Wickwood as soon as possible. Every part of him needed to make sure Aubrey was okay.
An hour into the return trip, Moe slunk down to the floor and curled himself into a circle to sleep. Roman reached behind the seat and grabbed a blanket, covering the demon up so he could stay warm and undisturbed.
It was nearly one in the morning by the time Wickwood came into sight. He drove through town, taking note of how few cars were on the roads this late at night. Stopping down the street, he parked where he could see Aubrey’s house. Her car was in the driveway, but that didn’t mean she was safe. Moe perked up, crawling from underneath the blanket to sit on the seat.
“Make sure she’s at home. Make sure she’s okay,” he said quietly.
“Yes. Yes,” Moe whispered back. “Moe will be the eyes and ears of the operation.” Barely making a sound, he slunk out of the vehicle.
With each passing second, Roman became more tense, wondering what was taking the demon so long. Ten minutes later, Moe returned, hopping in the seat and shutting the door.
“What did you find?” Roman asked, his eyes still on the house.
“There was a furry lollipop inside. Very mean. Yes. Very hissy at Moe.”
His hands clenched on the steering wheel. “What of Aubrey?”
“The Orphan Karle sleeps with a small snore. Yes. Best take her out now while she is unaware. Yes.”
Roman’s hands clenched on the steering wheel. “We’re not going to take her out. We’re going to protect her. Do you understand Moe? We need to keep her safe.”
“But the prophecy—”
“Fuck the prophecy,” Roman bit out and hated himself for the way Moe shrank away from him, his skin darkening to a purplish brown. Roman gentled his tone. “The prophecy doesn’t matter. We’re here to protect her. That’s all that matters. Understand?”
“No. Moe does not understand, but Moe will do as Ro asks. Yes.” On a huff of breath, the demon returned to the floor, covering himself with the blanket. The demon’s heavy snore filled the truck a second later.
He envied the little guy for being able to fall asleep that fast. Too many memories kept Roman up at night. Crossing his arms over his chest, he settled back into the seat, prepared to watch the house all night, to make sure no one broke in and that his scar wouldn’t burn from having demons nearby.
After an hour, the truck’s windshield fogged up, letters appearing out of nowhere right in front of his eyes.
Killer.
Roman blew out a slow breath, leaving the word there until it faded from sight. He didn’t need a ghost to remind him of all the demons he’d killed over the past decade and the orders he’d followed in the military. Those were burned into his soul. He waited, wondering which of his other flaws the ghost would point out next, but no more words materialized.
His eyes never left Aubrey’s place. He’d wanted to give her space, to leave Wickwood and never look back. Instead he was camped out a half block away from where she slept. The time might not be right for him to leave the city, but he’d make sure to stay as far away from Aubrey Karle as he could while still keeping her safe.
20
With her heart numb and her limbs heavy, Aubrey forced herself to go to the store Monday morning, when all she wanted to do was stay in bed with the covers over her head. The task of opening the store had become an undertaking of mammoth proportions. She couldn’t even bother to dress businesslike, instead wearing a T-shirt and yoga pants. She did
n’t care if anyone thought it was unprofessional—one of the great things about being her own boss.
After having so many emotional moments yesterday, her body didn’t want to function. She was exhausted. She’d slept like shit. She couldn’t stop thinking about Roman and blaming herself for the events at her house. Everything had gone to hell because of her. Bone-deep sadness made her body sluggish.
Roman could see souls. The unnerving thought had her wondering what hers looked like. Did he like seeing souls? Maybe not, since he always wore gloves. It could be like Stella sensing people’s energy—she blocked it instead of taking it into herself. The gloves must be a barrier like one of Stella’s spells.
But he’d taken off his gloves to touch her face, to kiss her. Maybe that meant he liked seeing hers. Despite everything, the thought made her stomach flutter.
And maybe she should stop thinking about everything that had happened yesterday because he wasn’t coming back. He’d walked away from her and wouldn’t return. Aubrey breathed through another bout of misguided panic. She’d been doing the same thing since yesterday, but it did little to ease the ache thrumming through her. It didn’t make sense to take what happened so hard, but she couldn’t snap out of the gloom.
Releasing a disheartened sigh, she parked her car in the back of Relics and let herself in through the back door.
No sooner had she set her messenger bag on the front counter, than the surface fogged up.
Brother.
She stared at the word and blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, moving away from the counter to the front door. She wasn’t in the mood to play guessing games today.
She’d known Stella and Lucas had stuck around the house yesterday because of her, to make sure she was okay. But she hadn’t had the energy to pretend she was all right and had mostly stayed in her room. At supper time, she’d shared the pizza they’d ordered but hadn’t stayed to watch the movie they had lined up, even when Lucas had brought his labradoodle, Thor, to hang out. Aubrey was glad her friend had it in her to forgive what Roman had done, but she couldn’t get past it. And from the look on his face, neither could Lucas.
