The Hag

by Erik Henry Vick

  “No need for such formalities between us, Nicole—or is it Nicky? You’ve done well.” He flashed a wide smile at her. “Call me Chaz.”

  The demoness smiled, stretching her lips between the two golden tusks that grew from her lower jaw and extended past her lips. Her skin was a silvery shimmer—like liquid mercury—and she had beautiful malachite eyes. Black wisps made up the insubstantial wings sprouting from her back, but Chaz thought her most attractive feature was the extra pair of arms. A touch smaller than the arms sprouting from her shoulders, the secondary arms seemed…dainty. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to assume,” she said. “And I prefer Nicole.”

  “Yes,” Chaz crooned. “I don’t see any need for formality between us. Tell me, Nicole, have you taken a mate in this realm?”

  Nicole’s smile stretched, and she blinked at him like a young schoolgirl at her first real love. “Why, Chaz, I think you’re flirting with me.”

  Chaz beamed back at her and set the HK 417 back in its crate before offering her his arm. “Shall we find surroundings that are…more conducive to our…needs?”

  Nicole wrinkled her nose at him and winked. “Before our first date? The very idea!” Chaz’s smile faded, but before it disappeared, Nicole chuckled low in her throat and nestled close to him, pressing her breasts into the thick muscles of his arms. “Don’t give up so easily, Chaz. It takes all the fun out of playing hard to get.” She growled deep in her throat, and her vermillion tongue snaked out from between her lips. She licked his neck over his carotid artery, and Chaz shivered.

  “Definitely no need for formalities,” he whispered in a husky voice.

  “I should say not,” she crooned in his ear. “Otherwise, the evening might not be as fun.”

  8

  By the time Toby and Shannon reached the car, Mike had the trunk lid open and was holding out a paintball gun for each of them. Toby skidded around the back corner of the vehicle, grabbed his weapon, and twisted to face the two demons advancing toward them. Shannon took her gun, staring wide-eyed at Mike. He bent over the trunk and pulled out both a tactical shotgun and his own paintball gun. “I take it both that innocuous-looking fellow who just appeared out of thin air and the old man are demons?”

  “Yes,” said Toby. “Old man is hungry. The innocuous-looking one, as you call him, is a giant purple flyer who seems to have just been passing by and dropped in for a quick bite.”

  “Had to bring two of them, didn’t you? One demon doesn’t satisfy you anymore, does it?”

  Toby grunted. “Keep your groups tight, we don’t want to put any civilians to sleep. If you use full auto, keep it to one-second bursts, the accuracy goes all to hell after that.”

  “Why don’t we just run?” Shannon asked with a tremor in her voice.

  “Because the big one can fly.”

  “As fast as a car?”

  Toby ignored the question and advanced to the edge of the grass, bringing the paintball gun up as he went. He targeted the closer of the two demons—the big purple demon who had dropped out of the sky—and squeezed off a single shot. The paintball arched toward him and exploded on the demon’s left shoulder.

  The demon turned his head and sniffed, then wrinkled his nose and flapped his wings without taking flight. He tilted his head to the side and glared at Toby through eyes that glowed with dark blue light.

  The older demon charged forward, dropping forward to run with a quadrupedal gait, hands curled into fists protected by bone-like pads across the front knuckles. His skin was a pale cream color and stretched tight over his frame, giving the impression that it would rip if he bent his joints too far. He was a weird—he had a tiny extra arm that hung from his chest, a nub of a tail, and his legs terminated in broad yellow hooves.

  Toby swiveled at the hip, flicked the switch that enabled automatic fire, and sent a short burst at the oncoming demon. As he did so, the massive purple beast narrowed his eyes and watched. Three paintballs arced from the barrel of Toby’s gun and splattered across the cream-colored demon’s head and shoulders.

  Intent on sating his hunger, engrossed in bringing his prey down, the old demon ignored the exothermic chemical reaction and the resultant chloroform gas. The big purple monster, however, didn’t. He turned to face the cream demon and flapped his massive wings a few times, creating a stiff breeze.

  Mike came up on the other side of the car and dropped the shotgun at his feet. Shannon came to the other side of Toby and snapped a shot at the purple demon.

  The purple demon growled deep in his throat and flapped his wings again.

  “What’s he doing?” asked Mike.

  “It’s strange…” Toby shifted his aim to the wing of the demon and fired a long burst of paintballs at him. The beast made a peculiar noise—a cross between a frustrated dog’s whine and the scream of someone dying in a chemical fire—and flapped his wings hard enough that his feet came off the ground.

  “Is he‍—‍”

  “He’s blowing the gas away with his wings!” shouted Toby.

  Mike aimed at the advancing pale-skinned demon and fired a short burst. The flying beast again twisted toward the other fiend and sent a breeze flowing past the old one, carrying the chloroform away.

  “We can’t keep letting him do that!” said Shannon.

  The cream-colored demon was almost on top of them, and Toby took a step away from Shannon. “I’m going to open up on the old guy, when I say, both of you open up on the other one.” Toby shifted his aim to the older demon and fired a one-second burst, then another. The purple demon flapped his wings, and Toby shouted, “Now!”

  Mike and Shannon both fired at the winged demon, Mike, in short, controlled bursts, and Shannon just holding the trigger back spraying the area around the demon’s feet.

  The demon squawked and turned to clear the area in front of him. As he did, Toby fired three short bursts at the oncoming demon. The older beast made no noises—other than the pounding of his hooves and hands on the grass—he still didn’t seem to notice the danger from the paintballs.

  “Avoid the paintballs, you fool!” snapped the winged demon.

  “No, keep ignoring them,” said Mike.

  “Keep firing at the grape,” said Toby. “Keep him busy.”

  The big demon’s azure gaze snapped to Toby, and he sneered. “Are you the hunter?” He shifted his head toward Mike and Shannon. “Are you the ones who murdered Herlequin?”

  The library doors opened with a squeak, and Connie Parsons stepped out. “What’s going on out here?” Her eyes widened as she saw Toby, Shannon, and Mike standing there pointing paintball guns at the demons—who looked human to her. “What are you three doing?”

  “Everything’s okay, Ms. Parsons!” called Shannon. “Go back inside, please.”

  “Forget her! Keep firing!”

  The old demon skidded to a halt and peered over his shoulder. He swung his head pendulously between the librarian and Shannon, his nostrils quivering as he sniffed the air. With a grunt, he turned and thundered toward the librarian.

  “Mike!” shouted Toby. “Pull out the stops!”

  Mike tossed the paintball gun on the hood of the car, stooped, and scooped up the tactical shotgun. He advanced, bumping a round into the chamber, then leveled the scattergun at the big purple demon and fired. The slug took the fiend in his gut, and he doubled over in midair, screaming with rage and pain. He dropped to the ground, still doubled over, hands around his middle.

  “Shan, with me!” Toby sprinted away from the car, moving at an angle to change his line of fire and avoid the librarian. Shannon followed, a look of determination spreading across her face.

  Toby slid to a stop on one knee, raised the paintball gun, and took careful aim. He fired two quick, single shots and grimaced as the second shot went wide, striking the sidewalk near the librarian.

  With a shriek like a malfunctioning jet engine, the big purple demon whirled with his wings extended to create a gust of wind. He hopped in the air, f
lapped his wings, and swooped at Mike. After two quick blasts with the shotgun, Mike dove to the side, missing being eviscerated by the talons on the demon’s feet by a breath and a prayer. The demon skidded in the grass, digging furrows with his claws.

  “Need help here!”

  Toby waved Shannon ahead. “Stay on the old bastard, I’ll help Mike.” He peeled away, paintball gun spitting a stream of chloroform-balls at the purple demon’s back.

  “What do I do?” shouted Shannon.

  “Keep shooting it!” snapped Toby over his shoulder. He continued throwing unrelenting fire at the demon’s back and wings, and the beast spun to face him with a roar. “Get clear, Mike!”

  “I will crush you!” the winged demon screeched. “All of you!”

  Toby darted behind an evergreen, stopped, whirled around, and ran back out the same side from which he’d entered. The demon’s gaze had gone to the other side of the evergreen, and Toby had a moment to fire at him unobserved.

  Mike picked himself up and took a moment to transfer shotgun shells from his front pocket to the loading tube. With that accomplished, he raised the shotgun and fired—this time at the demon’s wings. Slugs three-quarters of an inch in diameter punched holes through the leathery skin of the demon’s wings, and with each one, the demon screeched at ear-splitting volume.

  The big demon sprinted and flapped his wings, leaping into the air with his last step. He gained altitude, darting glances at Mike as he beat his wings with fury.

  Toby shifted his attention to the older demon and shouted, “Mike! Shannon needs help!”

  Backed into the corner where the building made an L shape, the demon stood before her, menacing her. Shannon had lost her paintball gun and had both hands up in front of her face.

  “Do your thing, Shan!” shouted Mike.

  Toby shook his head but didn’t waste his breath shouting that with the demon looking straight at her, her thing wouldn’t help. He sprinted to close the distance, and when he was close enough, he pulled the trigger and held it, firing a stream of paintballs at the demon’s back, trying to keep the paintballs from straying too far off target.

  The cream-colored demon stepped back, tilting his head in confusion. He turned in a half-circle and spotted Toby. Without another glance at Shannon, he left her standing in the corner, dropped to all fours, and charged Toby.

  With the thing coming straight at him, Toby flipped the selector switch to semiauto, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger three times. The rounds slammed into the demon’s face, one impacting his cheekbone under his left eye, another smashing into his lips, and the third hitting him in the forehead. The demon shrieked and shifted to a bipedal gait, reaching for Toby with his arms.

  Toby jinked to the side and fired point-blank as the demon raced by him. The ancient imp staggered a step, and then turned like a drunken sailor, his eyes glassy, and his mouth hanging open.

  Mike shot him in the back, the shotgun’s report booming in the early evening air. The demon staggered forward a step, then fell face down in the grass. “Where’s the other one, Toby? The flyer?”

  Toby spun in a circle, scanning the sky above them, but of the purple demon, there was no sign. “Gone, for now.” He turned to Shannon. “You okay, Shannon?”

  Shannon inclined her head and walked to where the demon had batted her paintball gun into the bushes. “I played dead again.”

  “Good thinking, Shan,” said Mike.

  “I wish I was more useful in a fight.” Shannon lifted her shoulders and let them drop with an exhausted sigh, then she bent and retrieved her weapon.

  “You saved the librarian. I call that useful,” said Toby.

  Shannon shrugged again but wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Speaking of the librarian,” said Mike, nodding toward the library’s doors.

  Toby followed his gaze. The librarian was standing just inside the glass doors, a cordless phone pressed to her ear. Her eyes were wide as she looked back and forth between the three of them, and then at the demon lying on the ground. “Don’t have to be psychic to know she’s calling the police.”

  “Nope.”

  Shannon sighed. “Should I talk to her?”

  “No use. Let’s get out of here.” Toby turned toward the parking lot.

  “What about this one?” asked Mike, kicking the demon’s foot.

  Toby made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “It’s his lucky day. We don’t have time to get him loaded into the car.” As he walked by, he fired a stream of chloroform-loaded paintballs into the demon’s back. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to risk driving around with him when we might get pulled over and questioned. Come on, let’s get a move on.”

  They loaded their weapons back into the trunk of the car, and Mike slid into the driver’s seat once more. He started the Lincoln, backed out of the parking lot, and threw the car in drive.

  “Shan, can you disguise the car, please?” asked Toby. “Anything is fine, as long as it doesn’t look like this car.”

  Shannon nodded.

  Mike turned left onto Ridge Road, then he took an immediate right onto a worn macadam road that connected Ridge to Route 104 by way of the ball field parking lot. He continued turning at random, weaving their way through the small industrial area north of the town.

  “Was one of them lying in wait for us?” asked Mike.

  “I don’t think so. The purple bastard seemed to be just passing by.”

  “Awesome. Just our luck.”

  “You betcha.”

  “Was that one from inside on your list?”

  In the back seat, Toby shook his head, then reclined against the seat’s headrest. “I thought the troll was the only one in the area.”

  “And instead, there were two… How likely is that?” asked Shannon.

  “Not very.”

  “Do you think they know where we are?”

  “No. If they did, they would have attacked us at the house.”

  As they passed Casey Park, Mike flipped on the headlights. “So, was it just a coincidence?”

  Toby opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Shannon screamed and threw her hands up in front of her face. A colossal tree slammed into the road in front of them, and Mike locked up the brakes.

  Chapter 5

  1986

  1

  Red moved through the woods surrounding the circle of cops, moving silently, saliva drooling out of all three grinning mouths. His three tentacles waved about him and above his head as if governed by minds of their own, but Red tingled with excitement and didn’t care how he might look. Besides, who could observe him out there in the woods? The kid, and, based on the thoughts flitting through the kid’s mind, the kid thought the display was cool.

  The cops chattered in a tizzy—like monkeys—as Red kept circling around them and making different animal noises from different directions. The darkness made him almost invisible, even if he hadn’t blurred the humans’ minds so they wouldn’t perceive him.

  The men held guns before them, pointing them into the darkness as if mere firearms ensured their safety. Then again, they didn’t know they’d stepped into Herlequin’s domain, and none of them knew they faced one of his strongest guardsmen. Red wanted to shout laughter in their faces.

  Red whirled for a few steps, clapping his tentacle-tipped talons above his head. He allowed the humans to hear the sound, delighting in their fight-or-flight responses. One of the younger men raised his weapon to his shoulder.

  “Not until I say so, Martin!” The words rang with the practiced ease of one used to authority.

  Red grinned as he watched the man in charge. Herlequin had sent his daughters after the man on the other side of the lake, and they’d pushed him down the embankment. The men were off limits—Herlequin’s orders—but that didn’t mean Red couldn’t fuck with them. “No, not until I say so,” he said in a waspish voice.

  “Who said that?” asked the young man with the rifle at his shoulder—Martin. “Sh
ow yourself!”

  The demon twisted through the trees, strumming a staccato beat with his talons on the tree trunks as he passed. He allowed the men to see the chips of wood arcing through the air but nothing else.

  Herlequin had learned his lesson in Oneka Falls—no wanton killing of adults, especially adults of the law enforcement persuasion. The king extended this rule to demons and to their familiars.

  Red had explicit orders: drive the adults out of the woods—out of Herlequin’s forest, which didn’t always match the copse that humans thought they walked through—before they stumbled into Brigitta’s prey.

  Sated, but repressing a sigh, Red began to drive the cops from the woods using their fear of the dark as his stick. When it was time, he sent Brigitta’s boy running ahead as his carrot.

  2

  “Do you see that?” asked Stephen.

  “See what?”

  Despite being behind Officer Dennis, Stephen pointed at the mist above their heads. “The mist. It’s thinning.”

  Dennis twisted his face skyward and paused for a moment. He turned and looked behind them, examining the low-hanging mist. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered and turned to the front. He picked up the pace. “Lights ahead, unless my mind’s playing tricks on me.”

  By the time the mist dissipated to clear air, the two men were running flat out, leaping over brush and fallen limbs as they went. Once again, the sound of the lake lapping on the shore reached them on the wind. Once again, moonlight filtered through the boughs of the trees above their heads and reflected off the windshields of the police cars parked along the side of the road.

  “Tom’s already here,” said Dennis with an air of approval. “No moss grows under his behind, I’ll tell you that for nothing.”

  Stephen stopped at the edge of the gravel road and looked in both directions. “Yeah, but where are they?”

  Gary opened his mouth to answer, but before he spoke, a spine-tingling shriek split the night air. Before the sound even died, Stephen was sprinting through the gravel, running toward his parents’ lake house. Gary clutched the shotgun in his grip and rushed after him.