Sword of the Butterfly

by Scott Carruba

  “Is something wrong?”

  Therese swallows, her jawline belying the clamping of teeth, more a steeling than anger. Her lips then part, the exhale that comes forth showing a slight stutter.

  “I want to talk to you about something … If that’s okay?”

  Lilja blinks, then nods, her mind abuzz with what this may be. “Okay.”

  She wonders if Therese will resume her accusations and demands regarding her being the vigilante. Of course, she was correct, but Lilja never admitted it. As far as she knows, her student has never confirmed it, despite her obvious talents. Lilja readies herself, knowing she doesn’t want this sort of thing thrown at her and the guilt it brings, especially now.

  “I …,” the other girl tries, then she tucks in one side of her mouth, playing with the snakebite piercing there. “I found out some bad news, and … I look up to you, you know?” She suddenly shifts gears, and Lilja continues to just stand there, eyes on the woman. “I don’t really have too many people in my life that I do. No one else, really, so … I was hoping I could talk to you … if you’ve got a minute?”

  Lilja nods, slowly, paying close attention to Therese without necessarily appearing to do so. She watches for signs, minutiae in movement, anything that may tell her if Therese is perhaps ill, in danger, or even a danger herself.

  “Tell me what happened,” she bids.

  “I went to visit someone in jail recently,” Therese reveals.

  Lilja blinks, pondering, wondering if she is about to hear of a close friend or relative having been apprehended. Perhaps Therese is upset about something like that and just wants to talk. Maybe she even needs some direction in what to do. Maybe that is all this.

  “I …,” she again tries and again pauses, eyes studying the red haired woman before her. “I don’t know if you are who I think you are, or if you can be what I want you to be, but I want to tell you this, and not just because of that, but because of how I feel about you.”

  Lilja gives more of the calm, hopefully comforting nod, “Okay, Therese,” but she still keeps that underlying study and awareness, for she is becoming tense in expectation of the things implied and what may be about to be told.

  “I’ve been keeping a watch on the problems in the city. You know that, and uhm, I’ve been trying to help others.”

  “Oh?”

  The hacker nods, her dark, spikey hair a channel of the confusion she evinces. Then the movement stops, and Lilja watches, seeing the growing tension rise again. She feels a gathering pinch in the flesh of her face, a drawing in of her own concentration and worry. Therese is all but trembling, fighting the emotions she feels within herself.

  “Did you … did you see the … news on the dead cop they found – Quain Contee?”

  Therese had sent information, per her usual, through the network that feeds intel to the vigilante. She still believes in what she does, but the devastation she feels has forced her into an uncharacteristic diplomacy.

  “Yes.”

  “It was my fault.”

  “What?” Lilja’s head moves fractionally, belying her perplexion. She wonders if she is hearing a confession.

  “I fucked up,” Therese adds, “I really …” She looks away and up, fingers clenching, eyes blinking rapidly, still fighting back the strange feeling of emotion. “I really ought to stop trying to do investigation outside of cyberspace.”

  “Therese?” Lilja finally speaks into the growing silence, “What do you mean?”

  “I’d been working with … that cop, Contee.” She seems to have to force out the name. “I found … something, a place, for him to check out. Well, I … I’d been working with a P.I., and I sent him there first.” She fixes a stare on Lilja, and the pain that resolves on the young girl’s features sends a wave of empathy through the teacher. “I’ve just been sending people to the fucking executioner.”

  Lilja had seen the information from “Sparrow”, Therese’s online alias, but it had not said anything like this, merely being further and more detailed information about the murdered police officer, nothing about a private investigator. Therese fully intends to share more with her contact, but after what else she had learned, she felt compelled to come here and speak to Lilja directly.

  “I found out that the cop’s ex-partner was in jail,” she continues, once regaining what she is able of her composure, “Corrupt cop, finally left the department and went full-on criminal, but then he got arrested and was going to give evidence against his boss.”

  Therese does not add that she saw the mug shot of the man, realizing he was the same who had helped kidnap her last year, leading to her second rescue by the vigilante. It had chilled her, and she felt as though some pieces of a larger puzzle were showing themselves.

  “So, I went to visit the ex-partner in jail. To talk to him. I don’t know why. I just felt like I needed to, but…” She turns her strained eyes again on Lilja. “They told me he killed himself,” she states, almost cold, though not from anger or vengeance, but to still herself and the growing maelstrom she feels inside. “He was in protective custody, trying to help them. He left a note, blames himself for Quain’s death. There’s too much death, Lilja. Too much. It has to be stopped.”

  The two stand there, both looking almost frozen. Lilja feels the roiling current beneath the icy surface, an undeniable force that will eventually break through. All that is unknown is how it will be handled, what damage it will do.

  Therese moves her head side to side, aggressively, as though shaking herself out of a reverie, her left hand going up to her face, formed almost into a fist, and she presses the knuckles of her clawed fingers against her cheek. She feels the burn there, the threat of tears, and she is left feeling alien for it, fighting it, subconsciously, doing what she thinks is a defense against the pain. Lilja wars with her own emotions, but she does not give any sort of physical display, only moving her hand forward to gently touch Therese’s shoulder, gently sliding her hand down to the bend of the elbow.

  “Sorry to have bothered you,” Therese manages, her voice strained, “I just needed to tell someone.” She glances at the redhead, her lips forming into a sort of grimace that seems an attempt at a smile, as if such an expression were an impossible foreign language to her. “It sucks not really having anyone to talk to.”

  “You can talk to me.”

  Therese locks eyes with her instructor, staring, unblinking. After a time, she nods, the gesture rapid, almost jerky.

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you going to be okay? Do you need a ride home?”

  Therese presses her lips together, drawing them inward, eyes moving away from Lilja. She truly ponders the first question. Has she ever been ‘okay’? She supposes she has and ought to stop being so melodramatic, but the situation now is very real. There is a tremendous threat in the city, and she has done no more than send meat to the grinder. She wants help from the vigilante. She wants something from this woman standing before her.

  “I’ll be fine,” she opts, eyes going back to those deep blue ones, “And thanks, but I have my bike.”

  Lilja nods, letting her hand drop as it seems her student is indeed calming. “Okay. Be careful.”

  Therese blinks, head rising on her stiffening neck. She finally nods again.

  “Yeah. I’ll stay out of it. I’ll just stick with what I know,” she decides, then turns and leaves.

  *****

  “Why did you leave Finland, Lilja? Did something bad happen?”

  A dark miasma envelopes her, though she feels it like a haze, like something on the edges of perception. There is a solidity here, a convincing measure, even through the dim.

  “Did you let someone die like you let those kids die?”

  Tension roils, like sutures bleeding into her, too tight, the rough thread pulling through tender flesh, the slow creep of binding pain.

  Doubt scratches at her, has done so for many years. Yet now, it is worse. It leaves more than marks. It gets deeper, pee
ling at scars, pushing at new places, and cracks form. They feel this like a lure, and they will use it. They know she is out there. They know of this new force that defies them, and they want to consume it. She has eluded them until now, but they have her.

  “Why haven’t you even visited the gravesite, Lilja?”

  Smatterings of darker hues begin, dropping in mid-air on the outside of the place in which she has found herself, as though she is inside a bubble, seeing ink drops form outside. They spread, reaching out, then disappear, suggestions of a coughing sound.

  The haze within her mind is not entirely of nightmare. She dwells now in the Dreamlands, a place told to her by her grandmother, a place that is more real than most may credit, a place where one’s subconscious has reign. It is a place of confrontation unlike any other.

  They may thrive here, riding upon the wispy waves of that in-between place. Such locales may be gateways for them, and they ever lurk, gnashing and scratching, looking for ways to get inside.

  They have found one.“What are you afraid of? Why are you running away again?”

  Forms coalescing, taking shape, heads rising from shoulders, features hinting through the fog, like chaotic lines obeying and giving more definition, yet still abuzz with rebellion. She sees sorrow on one, a male, someone close to her, someone dear, yet he turns away in disappointment. She sees challenge on another, a female, someone who rivals her, pushing her with a precision that threatens to tear her apart.

  Don’t leave, don’t leave, she tries to say, but her voice does not wish to properly work. She reaches out, trying to grab at the departing figure, to move toward it, but she feels stuck, her muscles paralyzed, her feet lodged in firming cement.

  The unnatural fog seeps inside her apartment, coiling its way throughout, seeking, hiding. The creature it conceals sniffs deeply. Yes, there. It detects the sweet, enticing scent. That weakness, that fear, it was born of itself, but they fuel it, letting it grow. It yields more unto them. And now, finally, they have found her.

  It wasn’t my fault. There was nothing I could do! She cries out, trying to shout at the extent of her lungs, hoping to convince someone, anyone, perhaps even herself. Yet, there is barely any sound.

  “You know that’s a lie,” the voice of fear resumes, grating into her, “You killed him.”

  No!

  The demon gains more form, becoming a darker, weightier shape within the transdimensional mist. There is a suggestion of a bulbous, weighty body, a central core, appendages moving out, somewhat thin, though comprised of fibrous muscle, joints like hard knobs. Even as the monster gains solidity, it seems off, wrong, disproportionate. But it is not here to fully obey laws of this world.

  The door opens without being touched, and there, within that room, that resting place, it sees her. She is trapped within herself, ready prey. A line forms across the front of the demon, a wide maw showing itself with the parting of absent lips, an obscene opening toward the upper part of the main mass, a crowd of teeth within, a tight array of thick needles.

  It moves closer, hardly making any sound on its large, almost sloppy feet. It scents the fear now like a ripe bouquet. It inhales again, reveling in the allure. She is sweet, lying there on her side, red hair arrayed out like a pattern of sprayed blood. It wants her, and even though the desire is rich, the purpose plain, it lingers, giving more time to the enticing foreplay.

  Close, so close now. Claim her. Eat her. End her. Deadly claws on slowly writhing, slender fingers, offset eyes wide with pleasure.

  Dali suddenly springs out toward the demon’s face, yowling and hissing, clawing at the eyes with a great ferocity. The monster howls in its unearthly way. Lilja wakes, body tensing with a sharp intake of breath, eyes going wide, confusion claiming her. She turns, hearing the sounds, seeing the dark shapes in her bedroom.

  The beast grunts and growls in a manner unfit for this plane, grabbing the large cat with its taloned hands and throwing him against the wall. Dali cries out, falling to the floor, unmoving.

  Lilja rolls away, going over the bed and landing upon bare feet. The demon reacts, turning to her, lunging. She ducks her head, using her bent legs to propel forward, staying low. Adrenaline rushes though her, but now that she is awake, her training takes hold. She knows she is under attack, knows Dali has been badly hurt, and she knows her life is being threatened.

  The thing hisses, feet plodding with a lethal staccato on the floorboards as it rushes after its prey. She rises up, having gained some distance and takes to a determined sprint, knowing where she needs to go.

  Why are you running away?

  The demanding hisses both within and without, and she is not sure from where it comes. She falters, feeling it like a drilling buzz. The demon gains on her. She turns, barely missing being struck, and there it is, waiting for her, patient, ready, in its proper placed, cleaned and well-maintained, needful of its own purpose.

  She grabs the katana from its stand, jerking it free of its saya, both hands on the hilt, turning on planted feet just as the demon attacks. She moves to the side and down to avoid the swipe of both claws, striking out with her own collected force, and the sharp blade of the sword digs in to the thing’s side, going deep, lodging. It screams, moving away, taking the weapon with it.

  Lilja reacts quickly, but a slim moment spared to realize the sword is no longer in her hands. She dodges away, rolling, using that momentum to regain her feet and face her opponent. Dark ichor leaks down the side of the monster, though it shows more concern for her than the katana stuck in it.

  It attacks again, rushing her, flailing with flaying claws. The chaos and speed of it is challenging, but she moves away, using her own diminutive frame and speed to make herself a less easy target. She pivots, striking out with a powerful kick, her heel smashing against the Demon’s body. It feels like a dense mass of vegetation, and it seems she does little more than annoy it. She is well versed in sensitive places on the human body, but she knows not how to pinpoint such weakness in this thing.

  It unleashes a challenging, lustful growl from deep within itself, that wide, irregularly shaped mouth open and eager. It lunges again, arms out, as though hopeful of merely crashing its bulk onto her and crushing her. Lilja ducks down, low, keeping her feet, moving away. The demon collides with the wall.

  The beast turns, yelling at her again, and she lunges in, grabbing the tsuka of the katana, pulling it free. A greater spray of the beast’s vitae erupts, and it now cries out in what she hopes is pain. It rushes her, sensing her closeness. Lilja pulls her arms back, bending them, then presses forward with all her strength, sensing a surge of energy from deep within herself. She unleashes her own battle cry, feeling a wave coursing through her body, and there, flashing about the blade in that single, short instant - a blaze of colored light, and she jams it inside and up into the demon’s mouth.

  She dances back on fleet feet, holding the sword, the length of it dripping with the black gore. The demon stares at her, eyes threatening to pop out of its head, gaping mouth unleashing more of its fluid. It then drops forward. She moves away from this, sword held ready, point angled at her opponent, but it looks to be dead.

  She then drops her sword, turning to rush to Dali, worry and panic now claiming her. She’ll get him to a vet, she’ll get her phone, call Skot.

  This is not over.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  They sit together on the sofa, close, embracing, just feeling each other’s company in a way they have not in a while. The time apart has felt long. It has done her good, even as it filled him with longing and a nagging impatience. But Lilja has returned. She’s moved back in, brought her things, especially the sword, placing it reverently in its holder.

  She had collected Dali and rushed to the emergency vet clinic, hoping he’d be okay. He had proved to hold a resilience similar to her own, and though there would be more monitoring, the treatment had proven successful. He’d be fine.

  Skot remembers that phone call with an alarming
clarity, waking to the chiming of his mobile, seeing the number. In the instant it took him to answer, he figured it could not be so bad since she was the one calling, but then a panic gripped him – what if someone else was calling him on her phone? The relief which washed over him when he heard her voice did not match her tone of alarm. She quickly explained what had happened, telling him where she was, and he had gotten there as soon as he could.

  He felt a nigh sickening miasma of worry and comfort that she was alive and well, but she had been attacked by a demon. They’d found her. If there had been any doubt as to whether or not they know her, such is gone now. He knows this is not just to remove the Book’s guardian. This is to destroy someone they perceive as a threatening enemy.

  “You know I’ve had a lot of training.” Lilja breaks the silence, looking up at him as they loosen their embrace.

  He nods.

  “Part of that is learning to identify risks. I assess everywhere I go. I analyze. I evaluate tactics and strategies with every mission I undertake. You know how important that is to me. I suppose I came into a feeling of comfort.” She pauses, pondering. “’Confidence’ is probably a better word for it. I knew of the risks out there. I had identified them. I kept watch on them and on myself. I had it figured out.

  “Then you showed me a whole new world, and it’s kind of scary,” she says, adding a short grin and exhaled chuckle, “and that risk … well, it’s much more difficult to discern.”

  She goes quiet, eyes moving away, thoughts turning inward. He keeps contact with her, watching, holding his tongue. He moves a thumb over her held hand.

  “In the moment when the demon attacked me, I didn’t think much. I just acted. And that’s how it’s supposed to be. I teach that to my students.” She looks over at him. “Just as you and my sensei taught me.”

  He blinks once, wondering to be in such prestigious company, and he knows that he is not alone responsible for her new learning once she became a Hunter.

  “After I had calmed down a bit, when I was waiting for you to come to the clinic, I felt a rush of feeling. I realized what had just happened. The training, the practice, over and over, and then, when it is needed, it just … happens. I felt the power.”