The Demon

by Rick Bonogofsky

  Dante returned to the bar while Helgen sifted through some envelopes. He pulled one out of the stack and handed it to Dante, saying, “The currier didn’t know where you’d be, so I had him leave it with me.”

  “Thanks,” Dante said, turning the envelope over in his hands. The writing on the front addressed to him was unfamiliar, but it looked feminine. There was no return address, either. He tore open the flap and pulled out the letter. His lips moved in silence as he read:

  Dante,

  I hope this letter finds you. I write to you to inform you that my grandfather, Gerard, is very ill, and may not make it to next month. He fell ill after I came back from my journey and I have been his caretaker ever since. I will leave him in the care of my mother and come to Bethlehem soon to ask you to come home in person, but in case I cannot find you, this letter must suffice. Please hurry. Grandfather has been asking for you lately. He needs his best friend.

  -Erin

  Dante’s fingers numbly refolded the letter and he slumped down on a stool at the bar. He knew this day would come - had feared it for years, even. Gerard was dying. Grievous wounds and broken bones, those Dante could heal. But old age was far crueler. He rested his head in his hand and sighed. Gerard was the last of his old friends and he had been the best of them all. No one knew Dante better than he did. Staci came close, but Gerard had known Dante for far longer, had helped the demon through nearly every bout of depression, murderous rage, and crippling defeat. The old man, though younger than Dante, was much wiser than the demon could ever hope to be. And now he was dying.

  Helgen, sensing the weight of Dante’s feelings, gave the demon some space. He slid a bottle of Dante’s favorite drink to him and disappeared to the kitchen.

  Absently, Dante took the bottle and left the inn. By the time he reached Staci’s home, the bottle had been drained and lay shattered several blocks back. He knocked on the door and leaned heavily on the frame. A moment later, Staci opened the door, a smile on her beautiful face.

  “You’re back! That was-” she began. He smile faded when she noticed the drawn look on Dante’s face. “What’s wrong, Dante?” she asked, worried.

  He slipped past her, making for the kitchen. He slumped into a chair and laid his head in his hand. Staci rushed in and knelt in front of him.

  “Honey, what’s the matter?” Then, she saw the letter firmly clutched in his hand. Gingerly, she took it and opened it. Her eyes passed over the handwriting and her worried visage turned to horror. “Oh no… Dante, this is Gerard Sykes, isn’t it?”

  Dante nodded slowly, tears rimming his eyes.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” She reached up to put her hand gently on his cheek and he leaned into her comforting palm. Staci pulled him to kneel on the floor with her as she gripped him in a tight hug. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him up. She felt a wetness on her shoulder and Dante’s shoulder began to bob up and down. He wept on her shoulder for several minutes, gripping her dress in white-knuckled fists. His sobs broke her heart and she cried with him, sharing his pain. She had never met the man, but Dante had regaled her with tales of their adventures together when they were young. She knew of the deep bond the two men had shared over the decades and almost felt as if she had known Gerard herself. Dante’s pain was also her pain, and she could not bear to see her love hurting like this.

  When Dante finally pulled himself off of her shoulder, he looked into her eyes with his own puffy, bloodshot eyes. “I have to go home,” he sighed.

  Staci nodded in understanding. They stood together and she wrapped him in another hug, squeezing tight. “I’ll go with you,” she offered.

  Dante held her at arm’s length and shook his head. “No. You don’t have a substitute for your students and I have to travel quickly. You are needed here. I’ll be back as soon as I am able.”

  “But-”

  “No, love,” Dante interrupted. “I’ll need to pass through a dangerous area to get there as quickly as I have to. I don’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

  Staci reluctantly nodded, unwilling to let him go alone, but knowing he was right. She was no fighter and would only be a liability to him on the road. She had never traveled outside of Bethlehem and was raised in a schoolhouse all her life before he parents had died. She gently kissed his lips and said, “Be safe, my love. I’ll be here for you when you get back.”

  Dante smiled weakly and gave her one last hug before heading back to the inn.

  Helgen kept a wary eye on Dante as the demon walked back into the inn and up to the bar. “Anything I can help you with, Dante?” he asked gently.

  “I’ll be leaving in the morning,” Dante muttered. “Keep my room locked until I return.” He placed another pouch of coins onto the bar and slid them to Helgen. “This is for next month, in case I don’t come back by then.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s going on?” the vampire asked, taking the payment and pocketing it. He slid another bottle to Dante.

  “An old friend,” Dante muttered, pulling the stopper off the bottle. He offered a few coins to Helgen, who waved them away.

  “It’s on the house, friend. To help you sleep. This friend of yours, is he a mortal?”

  Dante nodded, taking a long pull from the bottle.

  Helgen winced. “Terrible thing, mortality. Lost many loved ones to it, myself.”

  Dante wasn’t listening - he simply kept drinking. He slid empty bottle after empty bottle away, drinking away his sorrow for hours.

  Finally, in the early evening, he turned on his stool to go to his room, just in time to see Erin walk through the inn doors. She walked with more confidence than Dante remembered, and carried her short sword with much more comfort than she had the last time they were together. Even her clothes seemed to show more use. She spotted Dante and walked up to him, a grim look on her face.

  “Long time, no see,” Dante stated flatly, his words slurring slightly.

  Erin nodded. “I wish I came on happier circumstances. I take it you received my letter?”

  Dante nodded. “Yes, I did. Get a room for the night, we leave in the morning.” With that, he went upstairs to his own room and turned in for the night, half falling asleep, half passing out.

  Erin and Helgen traded looks and the woman rolled her eyes. She had hoped for a warmer greeting, even under the circumstances, but felt disappointed instead. Three years of wishing he was at her side and this was her greeting.

  “Mutual friend?” Helgen asked, removing the dozen wine bottles from the bar.

  Erin turned to him, confused for a moment. Realization of what he meant dawned on her and she nodded gravely. “My grandfather, actually,” she replied.

  Helgen motioned for her to have a seat and produced a bottle of wine and a small glass. Its label was white with a black border and the liquid came out crimson. Its fruity aroma wafted to Erin’s nose. Helgen pushed the glass to her and shook his head. “Never easy losing a loved one,” he said.

  Erin took a sip of the sweet wine and nodded in agreement.

  “Still… Man came in here this morning full of life. Terrible to see a man with such happy news get wind of such an awful thing. All in the same day.” he shook his head, feeling pity for his friend.

  “What was his good news?” Erin asked in curiosity.

  “He’s to be wed. To one of my best dancers, even.”

  Erin nearly dropped her glass. She knew that Dante had stayed to pursue a woman but had no idea things were so serious. Her thoughts went back to three years ago, trying to remember the woman Dante had met that had affected him so much. “You mean… Staci, right?” she asked.

  Helgen nodded. “They’ve been together a while now. I’m glad to see them so in love. She was lonely without a man, though she never would have admitted it. She was so alone until he showed up.”

  Erin stared into her drink for a few minutes, silently contemplating. She felt jealous, though she did not want to be as childish as that. Dante was a grow
n man and could marry whoever he wished. She hadn’t known him long enough to know the man beneath the outside, so why was she so unhappy about him marrying some other woman?

  “Best turn in for the night, miss,” Helgen mentioned. “Even hungover, Dante gets out of bed earlier than most around here. Also, don’t worry about payment. One night’s stay is on the house for a friend of a friend in such torment.”

  Erin nodded her thanks and went upstairs to find a suitable room near Dante’s.

  By the time Erin woke, Dante was already on his way out of town. She had to run to catch up with him, and when she did, she found him a bitter, surly, angry mess. She remained silent, walking behind him for several hours. They had left the main road early on, approaching a dark and foreboding forest. The trees’ canopies were so thick that little to no sunlight filtered through, leaving the dense forest swathed in shadow throughout the day. By nightfall, they entered the woods, darkened moreso by the lack of daylight. Erin kept close to Dante, hand on her short sword. How small the weapon seemed in this place, especially when compared to the power of her companion. However, even in the darkness, Dante seemed to radiate an even darker aura that sapped what little light there was. He looked more at home in the ominous woods than in the small town. Erin felt the same fear she had three years ago when he killed that militiaman. But she was a stronger woman now, honed by her trials throughout her journey around the world. She had battled vampires and werewolves, slain monstrous spiders and snakes, conversed with a dragon, but even with all that in mind, this one lone demon still frightened her more than anything could. Still, she kept close, knowing that she was safer nearer to him than from afar.

  “Do you know what is in these woods?” Dante asked suddenly, startling Erin. The forest was so silent that his words seemed deafening.

  Erin swallowed her fear and replied, “No, I don’t. I’ve never been in this place.”

  Dante’s shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “This place is the home to a being that no mortal alive today has ever seen.”

  “What is it?” Erin asked.

  “A hellhound,” Dante replied. “A beast of Hell, left here from the war. It doesn’t feed on flesh, but that doesn’t mean it won’t rip you to shreds. It feeds on souls and fear as if they were tangible things. Don’t let it know you’re afraid and you might survive.”

  Erin gulped. She had read about hellhounds along her journey, but had written them off as horror stories told around the campfire. As much as she wanted to see one for herself, she knew that it would be far safer to avoid such a sight. She would stick close to Dante and follow his lead through the woods. As much as she feared him, she did trust him. And she knew that going through the woods would lead to Manhattan much faster than along the road around them.

  The two travelers walked for hours into the night, Erin ignoring the fatigue that washed over her. She walked through the stiffness in her tired legs and forced her weary eyes to focus on the path ahead. She had been through worse than lack of sleep.

  Dante walked on, undaunted by the darkness or fatigue. He was driven by a much more important purpose. His hand remained firmly gripped on his sword, but he walked without fear. Fear was what drew the beast.

  They walked on until morning and made camp so Erin could rest. She slept for a few hours and woke ready to resume their pace. On they marched through the rest of that morning and into the afternoon, wary of any sign of the hellhound who made the forest its lair.

  Erin trudged along, as silently as possible, and began to feel cold. As she kept walking, goose bumps rose on her flesh and her breath came out in a pale fog.

  “Dante?” she asked, hoping he had an explanation for such odd temperatures in the middle of summer. When she received no response, Erin looked up, noticing for the first time in the last half hour that she was no longer walking behind Dante. “Dante?” Her hushed tone seemed to echo into the darkness and it was then she realized what had made the woods feel so wrong to her. There were no other sounds around her. Ever since they had entered the forest, Erin had felt the silence weighing on her without her noticing. No birds sang, no crickets chirped, nothing. There was absolute silence all around her, other than her labored, fearful breathing. Her heart pounded in her ears and her breath came in ragged gasps.

  “Dante?” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. She turned to and fro, hoping and wishing she could catch a glimpse of the demon, but the darkness made that impossible. The overbearing silence drove her to her knees and she wanted to scream. She had opened her mouth to do so, but was immediately silenced by a completely different and much more terrifying sound. Erin held her breath, felt her heart skip several beats, and she listened, fear gripping her like a clawed hand. She heard the distinct sound of a hound growling. A leaf crunched almost imperceptibly behind her and she felt a blast of warm air on the back of her neck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Dante!”

  He turned at the sound of the scream, swearing under his breath. He had thought she was right behind him, but had stopped paying attention hours ago. Cursing her for a fool, Dante ran in the direction of her cry. He rushed through the trees, nimbly dodging them all in his haste. A stray branch ripped open his cheek, but the wound closed in seconds. Within moments, he was in a small clearing, where Erin sat huddled on her knees, face to face with the hellhound.

  Its shaggy black fur moved as if alive, resembling flames made of darkness and shadow. Fiery red eyes glared at Erin, its hackles raised and its teeth bared. It stood, its shoulders hunched, nearly a full foot taller than her cowering form, coming just under the level of Dante’s chest. Its lupine snout curled into a vicious snarl, baring knife-like fangs. A single bite would be enough to rip the frightened woman’s head completely off of her shoulders. A single swipe from the beast’s razor-sharp claws could disembowel a wild boar in the blink of an eye. Dante stood tall, making himself appear as big as possible while keeping his hand on his sword. If his gamble failed, he would have to strike swiftly.

  “Erin, hold perfectly still,” Dante commanded. She was too terrified to move or speak, and the hellhound drank in her fear.

  The hellhound, upon hearing the demon speak, turned its head to glare at him. When its eyes met Dante’s, the hellhound blinked. Its snarling visage softened, and the beast lowered its head, seemingly in deference. It backed away, tail lowered, and kept its head low, gaze on the ground. When it was a few yards away, Erin jumped up and ran behind Dante.

  “What did you do to it?” Erin gasped.

  “Nothing,” Dante replied evenly.

  “What is it doing?” she demanded.

  Dante shook his head, nearly as surprised as her. “I don’t know. He just does that whenever he sees me.”

  “You’ve seen it before?”

  Dante nodded, keeping his eyes on the beast. The hellhound seemed to bow its great head, then ran off into the forest.

  “It… bowed?” Erin asked.

  Again, Dante nodded. “He does that. Not really sure why. Either way, let’s get moving. Don’t wander off again, or I’ll let him eat you.”

  Erin nodded her heartfelt agreement and followed Dante as he wended his way back to the original path.

  Victor watched, mesmerized by the sight of the beast in the mirror’s image. A hellhound, this close to his home? Why wasn’t it attacking the town as the beasts had during the war? Was this the only one? More shocking, however, was the beast’s reaction to seeing Dante.

  “There is only one being in all existence that has that kind of power over a hellhound,” he whispered. He threw his cloak over his shoulders and ran out of his room.

  Victor ran out of the city and away from the small farms. He had to be away from any prying eyes. Once he was in a small forested area north of the town, he knelt on the soft earth. He drew a rune in the soil and waited. Several minutes passed before a light gold glow enveloped the rune. A large portal opened, and Victor stepped through.

  He stepped
onto the roof of a tall tower overlooking a green meadow covered in yellow flowers. Marble stones paved a path through the meadow, bordered by low rose bushes. Winged people lay in the sunlight, basking in the beauty of the sky. Some smelled the flowers, some playfully wrestled, while others simply walked and talked with each other. Nearby was a grand castle with shining walls of pure alabaster and gates of pearl. Victor took off a ring on his left hand and let his wings unfurl. He was home after so long, and took flight, heading to the castle.

  Angels watched him fly by, many of them waving happily to him, glad to see him returned to Heaven. He wanted to stop and chat with the people he had not seen in several decades, but Victor was driven by a greater purpose. He flew to the castle’s main gates and landed, pushing through them to enter. Up a flight of marble stairs and through a large oaken door, Victor passed into the castle’s main hall. He was greeted by two guards, gold armor resplendent in the warm glow of the sunlight. Their spear tips shone silver and gleamed with an inner light.

  “Hail, Victor,” one guard greeted. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

  “I must speak with my father,” Victor replied. “I have questions I need answered right away.”

  The guards looked at each other, concerned by the look of dread on their comrade’s face. “We will take you to him immediately, then,” the guard said. They turned and led Victor through the main hall and into the audience chamber of the castle. Through a pair of oak doors, the guards led Victor inside.

  Greeting Victor was a sight he was not prepared for. Standing before the throne, already in a meeting with the lord of angels, was Artemis, black armor standing in stark contrast to the gold and silver halls of the castle. A dark blue cape rested between his ebon wings. The feathers held a bluish hue in the light and dragged on the floor behind him like a long cloak. The silk blindfold wrinkled as Artemis smirked at Victor. No weapon could be seen on his person, but Victor remembered the swiftness with which the archangel could summon the soul-blade.