“This is ridiculous,” Denny muttered. She stopped at the rundown steps covered with cracked and peeling paint. Several nails looked like they, too, had tried to escape. “What am I doing here?” Denny turn around and headed back down the weed choked path.
“Looking for answers, I daresay,” someone said from behind her.
Denny turned back to the house and was shocked to see a handsome gentleman of about fifty standing at the top of the steps. He wore a light blue button down dress shirt with grey slacks and black dress shoes.
The dichotomy was a surprise.
“Of course, if the sight of a dilapidated old house is enough to make you turn tail and run, perhaps it is for the best.” The man started toward the weathered front door with its battered screen.
“Wait. Ames Walker?”
He turned back to her. “Yes. Golden Silver? I believe our mutual friend, Bri Stuart, requested an appointment for you. If you know anything about me, you know I seldom take an appointment.”
Mutual friend? Denny tried nodding and speaking but nothing happened. Brianna didn’t make it sound as if they were friends…more like work acquaintances.
“Ah. I see. Did you think I take appointments from just anyone? I do not. I have been expecting you for some time, but if you cannot see your way past the physical delusion of—”
“It’s not that.”
“No? Then what is it? What would make you get so close to knocking yet you couldn’t pull the trigger?”
“I’m not sure you know what I need to know.”
“Well, you won’t find that standing out here now, will you? Come, or don’t. It’s all the same to me.”
He turned to continue into the house. Denny heard him mutter, “Your mother said you were stubborn.”
Before the front door closed, Denny bounded up the steps. “Wait.”
Ames Walker stood in a foyer that belonged to another house.
Completely.
The interior shocked Denny to the point that she forgot her southern manners and just stood there, mouth agape.
The foyer had white marble with grey veins running through it. A glass table sat in the center with fresh cut flowers sitting happily in a crystal vase with grey round rocks in the bottom. A gorgeous curved stairway flowed down the right side of the foyer, a deep cherry wood that was the antithesis of the cold marble floor. Pictures of old doors hung on the wall with brass inscription plates identifying locations and dates.
But the oddest thing of all was the smell of baked goods wafting from the kitchen.
“Banana nut bread calls. Please, follow me to the kitchen.”
The kitchen with its elegant and up-to-date appliances was a master chef’s dream. Eight stools surrounded the island as if they were waiting for the chef’s audience.
The aroma of freshly baked banana nut bread reminded Denny she’d not had breakfast. Her stomach grumble seconded the motion.
Rush usually reminded her to eat.
Rush.
“Please, have a seat.” Ames motioned to one of the stools before pouring coffee into matching mugs. “I only serve the finest chicory coffee from NOLA.” He handed Denny a Batman mug before checking on the bread baking in one of the ovens. “Chicory is an acquired taste not every pallet appreciates.”
“Thank you,” Denny said, taking the mug in both hands and inhaling the delicious aroma.
Ames closed the oven door and turned it off. “In case you are wondering, I find the exterior of the house keeps the Curious Georges away.”
“And everyone else.”
“I have no desire to entertain the nobodies of this city.”
“The nobodies of the city?”
“I am, by nature, reclusive. I’m sure Brianna indicated as much.”
“She didn’t tell me much. But for a recluse, you have a beautiful home.”
“Yes, I do, but not for sharing or entertaining. What I do requires privacy and security the likes of nothing you’ve ever seen. The exterior of this house may look like a dive, but I assure you, there is a sophisticated security system in place.”
“Wow. You’re right. I never would have guessed.” Denny sipped her coffee.
“Oh, I’m quite confident there is a great deal about me that you would never guess.”
A bell rang. He donned red oven mitts and removed the bread from the oven.
“Such as?” Denny asked.
“That I run a Tae Kwon Do studio in town.”
“Really? Wow, so are you a black belt?”
“I am slightly higher than that. While I no longer teach classes, I occasionally take on certain…promising individuals.”
The scent of the bread filled the kitchen and Denny’s stomach rumbled.
Ames slowly turned to Denny. “So, what can I do for you, Ms. Silver?”
“It’s Denny, sir. Please.”
“Okay, Denny. People seldom seek me out unless it involves my specialty, and Brianna Stuart is, indeed, special.”
“Demonology, sir. I need a crash course.”
A smile softly lit his face as he placed the bread on a rack to cool. “Well, yes, that’s one way to refer to it.” Ames took off the oven mitts and sipped his coffee. “Chicory is underrated by most coffee shops, don’t you think?” Ames walked over to an antique secretary desk and retrieved a worn manila folder from it.
“I am the south’s premier demonologist, Goldy. I’ve studied and tracked hundreds of demons across this state and beyond. I know more about them than any hundred people put together. That is why Brianna recommended me to you. She couldn’t possibly have known—” Ames pushed the folder over to Denny. “Why I am the only person who can help you.”
Denny set her mug down and opened the folder. Her mother’s name jumped out at her from the top page of a thick stack of paper.
“What the fuck—”
“Your mother came to me the night she knew her hunt was out of control.”
“You...you knew my mom?” Denny felt like her world was spinning out of control.
“Knew her, no. We were good friends. Very good friends. Long ago, she made me promise to assist any of her children who came to me for help. I did. And now, here we are.”
The words swam before Denny’s eyes as relief lifted the burden from her shoulders. Brianna was right: she wasn’t alone in this after all.
“You knew...my mom.”
A smile briefly crossed his face, lighting up his light blue eyes. “I did. She was…is a very brave, very funny lady.”
Denny wiped her eyes. “Brave?”
“Ho, yes, indeedy. There was no demon she wouldn’t go after, no evil she would not wrestle to the ground. She was as proficient a hunter as any man I have ever trained.”
“Wait. You trained my mom?”
“Oh yes. I am the reason your family moved here. Well, I am one of the reasons. The others you’ll have to discover for yourself, but yes, I trained her. One of the best hunters I have ever worked with.”
“How many did she...hunt?”
“Three, four dozen, maybe?” He looked up at the ceiling as he calculated. “But you see, your mother’s strength wasn’t in the killing. It was in her reputation. Those bastards didn’t want to deal with her after awhile, so Savannah has been demon free for a while. That has changed a great deal since the accident.”
“Wow. She must have been good.”
Ames sliced the bread and, after putting it on a plate, handed it to her. “Not just good. You mother was the best. Smart, courageous. She was incredibly adept at setting traps.”
“Traps?”
He grinned. “You have so much to learn.”
Denny inhaled the steam rising off the banana nut bread. “Like everything. I need to know everything, but...I don’t even know—”
“It’s not really a choice, as you’ll soon see, if you haven’t already.”
“What do you mean? I don’t—”
“Finish your bread and I’ll show you. There won’t b
e much time if the legacy has been passed on to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
He nodded patiently. “You don’t, but you will. Once you leave here, you’ll know why you’re experiencing some of the things you are.”
Denny’s eyes lit up. “Thank god. For a minute there—”
“You thought you were going insane? Hardly. But it sure can feel that way.”
Denny studied his face. “What if I don’t want to be a hunter?”
“You might not have a choice anymore.” Ames walked around the island and looked into Denny’s eyes. He held her chin a moment as he gazed into them…or through them. “Just as I suspected.”
“What?”
Ames shook his head as he walked away. “You don’t have a choice. Come.” He started toward a door that lead to the basement. “There’s not much time.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Denny stood up. “My mother didn’t raise a dummy.”
Ames turned to her. “Smart girl. But we need to go to my basement so I can teach you some demonology one-oh-one. You need far more information than you realize. That’s what you came here for, right?” Ames walked back to the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled a 9 mm handgun out and set it on the counter. “You can bring that down with you when you come, after you finish looking at the file.” Ames started down the stairs. “But finish the file first. I’ll be waiting.”
Denny turned her attention to the folder.
The first page was a photo of her mother, with her long blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Denny’s eyes were just like hers, only with flecks of yellow. Her mother, while not beautiful, was a handsome woman with Lauren Bacall features. The photo was taken years ago.
The next thirty pages were individual reports about the demons she’d hunted and the results of each hunt. The reports included manner of death, place, circumstances, length of hunt, etcetera. Denny was amazed by the details. The odd thing was, under the section listed as Killed With, it appeared Fouet and Epee were always with her and did the lion’s share of the killing.
“She had partners?” Denny said to no one. Glancing at the basement door, Denny looked at the gun and dialed Brianna’s number.
“Hey you, what’s shakin’ bacon?”
“I’m with Ames Walker, getting ready to go down to his basement. If I don’t call you in an hour, send the cops.”
Brianna laughed. “Don’t be absurd. He’s a good guy.”
“I’m serious.”
“Oh. Wow. Okay. Paranoid much? You think I sent you into the lair of a serial killer?”
The word lair gave Denny pause. “Uh. No?”
Brianna laughed again. “I’ll call you in an hour. Okay?”
“Thank you.” Denny slid off the bar stool, crammed the rest of the bread in her mouth, and headed for the stairs, leaving the gun on the counter.
“If mom trusted this dude, then so will I.”
****
The Demons
The demon was breathless from the chase. Two traps and he’d nearly lost a leg to this tracker. This hunter would never stop. He was proving to be relentless.
The demon flagged down a cab when he felt the spiritual presence of his foe.
“Olive Street.”
The cabbie said nothing as he punched his meter. Before he could put the car in gear, the demon sliced the man’s throat. He pulled the bloody body into the backseat. The demon slid into the driver’s seat and pealed out into the traffic looking in the mirror to see if anyone was following him. He didn’t see anyone.
“Jesus,” the demon muttered. He glanced down at his leg wound. It was bleeding heavily, as human bodies were wont to do.
That was the problem with humans. They bled so darn much. One little cut and you’d think they were on death’s door.
The demon chuckled.
Death’s Door.
As if Death lived in a house.
Why did humans always feel the need to anthropomorphize every little thing they didn’t understand? Like winged angels who merely looked like humans only with big wings? How dumb was that? Did they ever wonder if angels fucked or had to take a dump?
If only they knew.
He laughed again.
Why, if angels existed, would they ever choose to look and be as frail and weak as the human body was? There were far superior bodies on other creatures. The jaguar was a good choice. Maybe a dolphin.
And wings?
Seriously?
If an angel really had powers, would he need wings to fly?
The whole notion was ludicrous and infantile—two steps above the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny. He couldn’t believe these pathetic creatures believed they were at the top of the food chain. Did they not realize that if ants ever rose up to take their place, they could destroy every human on the planet in less than a week?
The demon stopped at a stoplight and looked closer at his wound. It should have stopped bleeding by now. What was wrong with him?
He looked up as his passenger door opened. The sickening sound of schnikt told the demon he hadn’t outrun this hunter. Before he could move, a pointed pike punctured his chest. He looked down at the pole protruding from his body and then to the hand still holding it.
Two seconds later, the demon blew up.
“Next time, hombre, take the subway.”
****
Denny was surprised to find a small, finished basement furnished with a leather recliner and a television set. Ames was sitting in the recliner with the remote in his hand, but the television wasn’t on.
“Very good. As you can see, I have no dungeon or sex slaves down here. It’s pretty utilitarian, really.”
Denny handed him the folder. “If my mom did all of that, she didn’t do it alone. Those files say she did all of her killings with Fouet and Epee. Who are they and where can I find them? I have a million and one questions.”
Ames pointed the remote at the back wall of the little room. To Denny’s astonishment, the wall slid down into the floor revealing nothing but darkness.
With the press of another button, Ames lit up a room the size of a warehouse. Hanging on one wall were weapons Denny had never seen before. The rest of the room had wrestling mats, weights, and boxing dummies.
“Holy shit.”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing holy about any of those weapons.” Ames beckoned Denny to follow him into the room.
“Oh my god. I’ve...I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“No, you have not.” Ames stood back as Denny studied swords with two blades, metal bats with spikes, pikes of all sizes, and even a few guns that looked like something out of Star Trek.
“Okay, I’m impressed. You’ve got tons of scary ass weapons, but you haven’t answered my question about Fouet and Epee. Maybe they know what happened to my parents. I need to speak with them.”
“I’m afraid Fouet and Epee won’t be able to tell you a thing.”
“Why? Are they dead, too?”
Ames smiled, his light blue eyes filled with warmth and patience. “No, my dear girl, they are not. Fouet and Epee are not alive. They have never been alive. They are the names of your mother’s weapons.”
“Her...weapons?” Denny looked from Ames to the wall of weapons and back. “She named her weapons?”
“Yes. You all do. It’s a peculiar practice of legacy hunters. The words are French for whip and sword. Your family origins hail from old French and the weapons have been passed down through the ages. Fouet and Epee are probably well over five hundred years old.”
Denny held her hand up. “Wait a minute. My mother was hunting and killing twenty-first century demons with sixteenth century relics? Why not a Beretta or a machine gun?”
Ames pulled one of the pikes off the wall. “This is one of my weapons. She’s six hundred and fourteen years old.”
“It’s a pole.”
He grinned. “Oh really?” Ames slammed the pole’s blunt end on the ground and a three-foot tall flame b
urst from the top of the pike.
Denny took a step back, her eyes glowing with awe. “Shit.”
“The weapons themselves are ancient, but what each is capable of depends on the quarry, the era, and the hunter. In this case, it is the twenty-first century. Your weapons can do anything from fire to water, from blades to chainsaws. Whatever you need to defeat them.”
“So Fouet and Epee were my mother’s weapons.”
“That’s right. They’ve been in your family forever and they are responsible for the deaths of hundreds throughout the centuries…maybe even thousands.”
Denny pinched the bridge of her nose. Instead of getting her questions answered, she had more and more to ask. “And you’re a legacy hunter?”
“No. My family were never hunters in the true sense of the word. I train them. I have been training them for almost a quarter of a century. It is…what we have always done in the name of the service. I am a legacy hunter, like you, but my family’s responsibility has always been to train.”
“This just keeps getting weirder.”
“I wish I could tell you it won’t get any stranger, but I’d be lying. This is only the tip of the iceberg for you, I’m afraid.” Ames put the flame out. “Demons can’t just be killed. They must be exorcised or destroyed by a relic. Sometimes, this kills the host as well, but you know what they say about the needs of the many.”
Denny nodded.
“You’ve not seen anything...different?” Ames put the pike back.
“In her lair? No. I’ve not really...I haven’t had that much time in there.”
“Oh. I see. So you haven’t located them yet?”
“No, but I can always use one of—”
“No, no, no. A hunter’s weapon is part of the family’s legacy. It belongs to the bloodline of hunters and reacts only to the legacy owner. No one else can use it to its full potential.”
Demon Hunter Page 14
