Fiends and Familiars
Debra Dunbar
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Also by Debra Dunbar
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Typhon
“Lord.” The demon bowed low before me, which was quite a feat since his nine-foot, half-fish/half-owl form wasn’t optimal for the motion.
“What?” I’ll admit my reply was a little snappy, but I was busy torturing a mass murderer and I hated to be interrupted.
“I heard from Bifrons, who says he got the news from Quitta, who supposedly found out from Nubar—”
“Get on with it, fiend. I’ve got a busy schedule today and this soul isn’t going to torture himself.” I looked over at the human, wondering if that were true. Some of them were very adept at delivering the sort of self-punishment even we demons would shy away from.
“We may have found him.”
I immediately forgot about the human, knowing exactly who “him” was. I’d forbidden my demons from mentioning Faust’s name for the last two hundred and forty years, ever since he’d gone missing and not even my most skilled hellhound had been able to find him.
The guy had signed a contract with a crossroads demon, then somehow managed to keep himself alive for three hundred years—in spite of all sorts of attempts on our part to kill him. Finally, he died and his soul was delivered unto our hands as per the contract. He wasn’t here a week before he disappeared. Gone. Poof.
And worst of all, I’d been the demon assigned to supervise his punishment. A soul escaped hell while on my watch. It was mortifying. The only reason Satan hadn’t demoted me was because it was clear that Faust had help.
It was those poor suckers who felt Satan’s wrath. And while I was glad it wasn’t me, Faust’s escape was a blot on my otherwise perfect record. I needed to get him back. And I’d been trying to find the sneaky bastard for two hundred and forty years.
I was thrilled at the thought that we may have finally found him.
“Where is he?”
The fiend, and Satan knows I couldn’t remember any of their names, took a hasty step backward at my tone.
“It might not be him. I’m getting this information fifth hand, and it could be faulty,” he warned, raising his hands as if to ward off my expected anger.
I wasn’t angry, I was excited. “Tell me.”
He gave me an address then wiggled an outstretched hand. “That could be off by a few houses, or even a few miles though. The demon who says he sensed him isn’t all that good at location or directions. And he supposedly is ambulatory. That’s what I heard, anyway.”
Ambulatory? As in he was moving about by his own free will and had somehow evaded all detection for hundreds of years? Or perhaps he was trapped and the bastard who had him was changing his location occasionally to help avoid detection?
Either way, I’d find him. Glancing over at the human and remembering my schedule, I reconsidered my initial impulse to drop the burning hot whip and race to the mortal plane. It wouldn’t be the first time rumors had been wrong, and I didn’t want to appear an idiot, or seem as if I took my infernal duties less than seriously. No, I’d send one of my hellhounds to check out the validity of this fiend’s claim. And if it proved to be true? Then I’d rearrange my schedule a bit and give myself enough free time to take care of a matter that had caused me no end of worry and anger for the last two hundred years.
Chapter 2
Adrienne
“There’s another one!” The woman screamed, clutching her ample bosom as I raced after the scampering squirrel.
Normally my pest control and wildlife removal company was the easiest job ever thanks to my magical talents. Waltz in. Tell a colony of a few hundred ants to go elsewhere, relocate a huge wasp nest from someone’s eaves to a remote tree, convince a dozen bats to take up residence in the comfy bat boxes I’d constructed rather than an attic. I spoke to animals, and they generally were amenable to doing my bidding.
Not these squirrels. They were determined to stay in this woman’s house. Basically, they’d given me the middle finger, and told me if I wanted them to move, I’d need to catch them. Which is why I’d been here for an hour, chasing the furry things all over. I’d caught three, but this last one was proving to be a clever little bugger.
Drake hissed and hopped from foot-to-foot, causing the woman to shriek once more. She wasn’t all that happy about my co-worker, but Drake had been my constant companion for the last three weeks. I think he was what the spell books would have called a familiar, but I hadn’t done any rituals to bring one to my side. He’d just sort of appeared one day and never left.
Most witches who had familiars seemed to get a cat. Figures that I’d get a turkey vulture with a six-foot wingspan and a bright red, bald head. I don’t know what had possessed me to name him after a hip-hop artist when he looked more like Lurch from the Addam’s Family, but the name had stuck, and he would be forever known as Drake.
“Could use a bit of help here,” I complained to the vulture. He cocked his head at me and I realized I probably didn’t want his help. Turkey vultures didn’t have the sharp talons that birds of prey had. His chicken-looking feet were better suited for holding down long dead carrion than snatching a running mouse from midair. His beak could do some serious damage, though. That thing was like a scalpel. I’d seen him pick a pig’s head clean down to shiny bone in less than an hour. One stab and that squirrel would be shish kebab.
I might be a bit annoyed, but I didn’t want the furry little guy dead. I just wanted him in the cage with his brothers.
The squirrel darted out from behind the fridge and the woman screamed again, swinging wildly with her broom and by some incredible luck actually hitting the animal. It went airborne and I dove, catching it before the thing took a header into the cabinetry.
Don’t bite me, I told it, hoping the fact that I’d saved the squirrel from a minor concussion might work in my favor. Normally animals happily did whatever I asked. Not today.
The squirrel bit me. I let out a curse, but kept a tight hold on the thing, wishing I’d let Drake skewer it after all.
Shoving the squirrel in the cage with the others, I turned to accept a check from my client. She also handed me a paper towel to soak up the blood that was covering my fingers and threatening to drip onto her carpet.
“Let me know if you have any further pest or wildlife problems.” I smiled through my pain and recited the usual blah, blah, blah that would hopefully get me either repeat business or a referral.
She nodded enthusiastically. “I will. You’re the only one who’s been able to catch them. I called three others and none of them could. They even put out traps and poison, but the squirrels wouldn’t go near any of it.”
I was thankful for that—well at least about the poison. I didn’t mind humane traps, but ones that injured or killed the animal weren’t something I’d ever use or approve of. And I hated poison. Of all the terrible ways to kill something, that was the worst in my opinion. I’d seen what poison could do to a mouse and I wouldn’t wish that death on a cockroach.
Actually, I kinda liked cockroaches. Of our family of witches, only Babylon’s specialty was considered weir
der than mine. That plus the fact that we were the youngest of seven sisters made us rather close. A necromancer and a witch who could communicate and persuade animals to do her bidding. We were an odd pair, but then again all my sisters were odd—even the ones with more conventional witchy skills.
I left my client with a handful of business cards and loaded the cage of squirrels in the back of my truck. Drake hopped along beside me, jumping into the passenger seat and promptly rolling down the window. There was a fall nip in the air, but the bird liked to feel the wind in his feathers, so I left the window open and turned the heat on as I pulled down the driveway.
This had been my last job of the day, and I was looking forward to a relaxing evening at home. All I had to do was drop these squirrels off somewhere far enough from my client’s house that they wouldn’t be back, then I could enjoy a hot shower, some leftover takeout ribs and a glass of wine.
“What do you want to watch tonight?” I asked Drake as I maneuvered the truck onto the highway and toward the mountains.
The vulture made a hissing noise, but thanks to my magical ability, I perfectly understood him.
“I’m not watching the Angry Birds movie,” I told him. “Pick something else.”
He tapped his beak on the dash.
Rio.
I sighed. “How about something that’s not a cartoon? We saw Up last night. Let’s go for a romance, or drama or something not animated.”
I’d enjoyed Up, although I’d seen it a dozen times before. Drake had been particularly fond of the scenes with Kevin the bird in them—go figure—and I never failed to cry at the part where Carl’s wife, Ellie, dies.
Was that a spoiler? I hope it wasn’t a spoiler.
Drake hissed again.
“The Birds is a classic,” I admitted, “but I’m not sure I’m in the mood for horror tonight. How about we watch Ladyhawke, and save The Birds for tomorrow night? I’ll even scrape a possum off the side of the highway for you to eat while we watch. Put it on a plate for you and everything.”
Drake seemed to think this was a good compromise. I turned on the radio as we took an exit and headed up the mountain toward the pass that marked the boundaries of Accident. I figured that would be a good place to turn loose a group of belligerent squirrels. There was plenty to eat, lots of good spots to stay warm during the coming winter, and the werewolves would most likely ignore them since they preferred to hunt larger prey.
I pulled down an unmarked dirt road, throwing the truck into four-wheel-drive as we bounced over potholes and some tree limbs that had fallen during the last storm. About a mile in I put the truck in park and got out. Drake joined me, but took to the air as soon as I lowered the tailgate. The squirrels were not happy. I tried to tell them how wonderful this place was, and how peaceful it was going to be here without some woman screaming at them all the time, but they weren’t having any of it. It seems they’d grown fond of indoor living, and were not interested in making their home out here in the wilderness.
Finally I gave up trying to convince them and just unlocked the cage. When none of them budged, I grabbed the handle and upended the thing, trying to dump them out on the ground. They held on for dear life and I resorted to shaking the cage and trying to pry their little paws off the wires. One fell out and promptly jumped into the cab of my truck. Another bit the tip of my finger, making me drop the cage onto the ground.
“Ooo! So sorry about that!” I squeezed my finger, blotting the blood on my shirt as I bent to make sure none of the squirrels were hurt. That’s when they made a break for it.
I shrieked as one used my head as a launchpad, then fell back onto my ass, scrambling out of the way and shielding my face with my hands. Thankfully none of the squirrels attacked me.
Not thankfully, none of the squirrels ran into the woods either.
So there I was, sitting in the dirt with another bite on my hand, watching as the last squirrel jumped into the cab of my truck after the others. That’s when Drake returned and dropped a very dead, very bloated, very rotted weasel at my feet.
At least he hadn’t dropped it on my head.
“Lovely. Is that your dinner, Drake? Possum not your choice for tonight? Maybe you can put it in the truck bed then help me get these squirrels out.”
He grabbed the weasel carcass and tossed it into the bed of the truck. I picked up the cage and motioned for him to stand guard at the driver’s-side door and make sure any squirrels I ejected didn’t get back inside.
Then I went in.
The next half hour was like a Keystone Cops film. Those squirrels were agile bastards, leaping all over my truck as I tried in vain to grab them. Sweaty and frustrated with my hair half out of its ponytail, I gave up. It wasn’t going to be easy driving home with a bunch of squirrels in my truck, but I didn’t seem to have any alternative to that besides spending the night here in the woods. That wasn’t an option. I wanted my hot shower. I wanted my leftover ribs. And I wanted to sleep in my own bed tonight.
Drake climbed into the passenger seat, and I got in. The car started and I saw a furry head poke out from under the seat. Drake hissed, and the squirrel vanished with a squeak.
“That’s your job, buddy,” I told the vulture. “Make sure none of them mess with me while I’m driving. None of us wants me to wreck tonight.”
Drake agreed with a guttural sound, then got to work glaring and hissing at any squirrel he saw as I drove. By the time I pulled into my driveway I’d realized my mistake. I should have been the one standing guard while Drake went in to herd the squirrels out of my truck. They actually seemed to be listening to him, which they certainly weren’t doing to me.
The motion-sensor light came on and I saw a large, dark shape standing in front of my porch, looking particularly eerie with the lighting behind it. Drake danced from foot to foot on the passenger seat, communicating his unease. Was it a lost dog? Stray animals did seem to find their way to my house, sensing that I’d take care of them and find them a good home—and make room for them in my home until that happened. The thing did seem vaguely dog shaped. Newfoundland? Although it didn’t seem quite that furry from its outline. Mastiff?
It followed us. Drake told me.
Followed us from where? The squirrel lady’s house? The woods? From down the street? The latter had to have been what Drake meant, because I hadn’t seen any dogs chasing after my truck as I drove down the highway.
I got out of the car, dismayed to see the squirrels race out before I could close the door. They took one look at the big dog and shrieked. Drake got out of the truck so fast he nearly knocked me over. Then he half ran, half flew around back to pop the tailgate open, grab his dead weasel, and take to the air.
Jerk. He’d never run from a dog before, but this did seem to be a particularly huge dog. At least he’d removed the dead stinky thing from the back of my truck. Hopefully he’d eat it before he returned and I wouldn’t have to deal with that smell in my house.
I left the tailgate open to air out the truck, grabbed a handful of treats that I kept in one of the crates, and walked slowly and non-threateningly toward the animal. It stared at me, its eyes seeming to glow orange with the reflection of the light.
“Hey boy. It’s okay. You’re safe here.”
The dog held still as if it wasn’t even alive. I reached out with my magic and instead of the easy flow of communication, I got nothing. Was it even an animal?
“Babylon?” I called out, wondering if my sister was playing a trick on me. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d surprised me with some zombie animal.
I took another two steps toward the…thing. “Babylon? Come on, Lonnie. This isn’t funny. Send your dead dog back home and we can have a glass of wine. I’ve got leftover ribs.”
My sister didn’t appear. The dog still remained completely still. I was beginning to sweat a little. Okay, more than a little.
Two more steps and I was finally in a position to better see the dog. It was the size of a mastiff wi
th black wiry hair and a strange musculature. The way its front legs bowed out, it made me think the animal could possibly stand on its hind legs, or that it had a greater range of motion than most canines did. Since my magic wasn’t having any affect, I fell back on plan B and tossed a few of the treats toward the creature. Hopefully he liked freeze-dried liver.
The dog-thing lowered its head to sniff at the treats, then his lips curled back revealing huge sharp teeth. A long forked tongue snaked out and slurped up the bits of liver.
Okay. Well at least I knew it was alive and liked treats. I contemplated whether it would be a better idea to keep trying to make friends with this thing and at the very least ease past it to get into my house unmolested, or if I should give up and go around to the back door. The thought that this thing might come after me the moment my back was turned made up my mind. If I was going to have to fight off a toothy animal, I was going to do it head-on.
“Good doggy. Good boy. Can I get inside? I’ll give you some leftover rib bones later if you let me in.”
I tossed a few more treats, trying to lure the dog-thing off my porch and away from my door. He slurped them up, following the trail, but as I took another step forward, his orange eyes lasered back on me.
“Easy boy. I won’t hurt you. Why are you here? Do you need help? A place to stay?”
I didn’t know if it was the liver treats or if my magic was somehow getting through to the creature, because he cocked his head, a puzzled expression on his face. Random thoughts and emotions washed over my mind, as if they were making their way to me through a thick blanket.
It was a fierce beast, trained to seek, find, and kill. It was confused about why I could see it and how I was managing to communicate with it. And it really liked the liver treats.
Fiends and Familiars Page 1
