Demon Master Page 11

  As I spoke, she closed her mouth. I had her attention.

  “So, first things first. Tell me about yourself. From the beginning. And leave nothing hidden. Begin.” I tapped the knife handle in her skull fracture. She hissed and stiffened. But then, she began to speak.

  “I was born the bastard of a defrocked bishop who backed the wrong Papal court. After Avignon surrendered the seat of Catholicism in 1377, my father was another castoff who had lived a life without concern, suckling at the teat of the Mother Church.”

  She ignored my expression of shock at her age. She was far, far older than I had known.

  “Keep going,” I said.

  “Rome took the Papal throne from France, and I was young, born without title, and had precious little chance of marrying anyone wealthy. At best, my father hoped for me to wed another by-blow and remove myself from his home.”

  “Is Sandrine your real name?” I asked out of pure curiosity.

  “No. I cannot even recall my birth name. Sandrine was a hatchet-faced nun who fucked my father for political favors. Her, I still remember clearly, a horrid woman. Stick thin, with nose hair and a braying laugh, but enormous breasts and no scruples whatsoever. I killed her when I was sixteen. Not that I regret it. Not one bit.” Her tone was dreamy. “My last name is a joke.”

  “Destot? What is the joke, then?” I asked.

  “I would show you, but I do not think you will remove these bonds, so I shall explain. When Jesus or any other victim of crucifixion was impaled, they were not hung by their hands. No, the nexus of three major tendons in the wrist is the perfect weight-bearing location to be hung on a cross. The intent was for the victim to endure unending asphyxiation and thirst. A most creative punishment, in my eyes. And I have seen many. That point on the wrist is called Destot’s place, after the French anatomist. My little nod to a countryman who named something quite useful in keeping the peasants in line.” She smiled and her eye leaked a stream of aqueous fluid, which she ignored. She was a tough.

  “When did you become an immortal?” I assumed at a young age, but I wanted a definite answer. “Truly? Two years earlier. On Michaelmas, we had a visiting party from the Church who brought countless servants, scribes, whores. A waste to remind us that Rome was the true ruler. Among them was a woman who was so regal that every country priest found a reason, no matter how thin, to seek her company. It was as if Aphrodite had appeared in our midst. Even the most ancient clergy found themselves taken by her.” Her expression was one of proud remembrance. I could see she spoke of her maker.

  “Elizabeth?” I asked to confirm. “What was her position at that time?”

  “No one ever truly knew. She was a confidant of the Papal secretary, that much was certain. He listened to her as if his life hung in the balance, which later would make a great deal of sense, since it did. All of our lives existed by her whim. My seduction at her hand was so complete, so overwhelming. She summoned me to her room after vespers. I was to deliver candles and a trencher with hard cheese and pears, as she had missed dinner due to illness. I was expected, as a child of the house, to extend the utmost in courtesy for our guests despite the tension between the parties. I knocked at her door and heard her call to me. I was bid to open the door. She sat in a sagging cane chair. The fire hinted at her physical perfection. Her face, her hands, all. Even her voice was a sexual promise. I stood transfixed. She never blinked as she took my measure. I wilted under her eyes.

  “‘Put them down,’ she told me. I could not disobey. With a thump, I dropped the food and stood at attention. I quivered like a tuning fork until she spoke again. ‘Do you find your life hard, despite your devotions?” She smirked. I felt small.

  “‘No, my lady. I mean to say, yes. I have many blessings. I can ride horses when I wish, and there are books here. My master allows me to read on Sundays if there is time. And I am never hungry, really,’ I revealed, shrinking further.

  “‘Your master must be kind indeed. Bind not the mouths of the oxen that tread out your grain,’” she quoted to me. “‘I do not see hooves on you, I see hands. Are you a beast of burden?’ the lady teased me.”

  Sandrine paused, gulped air, and winced. Then she continued. “She mocked me, but I welcomed it because it meant I had her attention. I felt the pressure of her gaze, do you understand?” she asked, adjusting her arms behind her.

  I knew she was in discomfort, and it bothered me.

  “I was being seen. It was a generosity I had not experienced, and I found it to my liking. Even my youthful senses detected a threat from Elizabeth, although I was too naïve to understand what I felt. In moments, I was sitting next to her, on her bed, and the blood roared in my ears as she whispered secrets and promises in a single kiss. When she touched my face, I knew, somehow, that I was in danger. She pushed me flat, sliding over me. I saw the ridged timbers in the firelight, and then her face, and then she laughingly drew me into her and I was mounted. Raped, you might say, but I would not because I gave her my entire will and spirit in my childish thrusting, calling to my God to stop the pleasure and absolve me of my guilt at wanting her mouth, her hands, body, all of her. I was—I was damned.”

  “Raped? What? Is that how you were turned? Did she . . .?” And I really looked at Sandrine, beyond my assumptions.

  “Paul. I remember it now. My name was Paul, and I was a young man. But no more. Elizabeth saw to that. Over the years, I grew smooth, fine-boned, and feminine in every way. Except one. I felt my innards rearranging. I became sensitive to sounds and scents. That abomination between my legs grew, and I became a slave of my desire to breed. Elizabeth told me I would feel like a youth forever. I would command lust with a glance. What could be truer than wishing to live to see what was around every curve of the road? Bend in the river? I had never ranged beyond my birthplace. As for the lust, she created a burning want for something I had been unaware of before her touch. I found I had a taste for it.”

  She stopped speaking as a trickle of blood rolled thickly on the pillow, spilling from her delicate ear. Pain shadowed her face, which was now growing taut and pale. She was fading from my wound, which had been more savage than I realized.

  I had suffered through awkward teen years, as did nearly everyone I knew, save Wally, who transitioned from childhood to godhood without breaking stride. Sandrine, though, she had endured a theft of her youth. Her identity. Even the boy Paul’s death was now part of a future he would never know. Elizabeth possessed a sophistication that elevated her crimes into something truly evil. Paul, the subtle, seductive killer, was a prisoner of his childish greed. It was humanizing and nearly gave me pause, until I thought of the bodies she had buried over the centuries, stretching into time. They had been given no choice.

  Nor would she be granted one.

  “Elizabeth is nearby, I think. It feels like she brought you here? Or was it of your own volition?” I asked. She was breathing hard from my weight.

  She considered this for a second. “Sent. Called. Both are the same, only the timing is different. I was called. I know others have been sent, personally. I made my way here, now, on my own time and by my own means, but I have been moving about freely for longer than your nation has existed. As to my sisters, I cannot say where they are, exactly. We seem to squabble quite often, which is rather dangerous for us. And you. I know that when you dispatch me, they will become very interested in meeting you. And your partners.” Her threat was open. I believed her. “I think it safe to say that you will not wait long at all before unwanted visitors come to call.”

  She shuddered once as I let the knife tip draw another jeweled drop of blood from her chest.

  My blood boiled at her threat. “Do you know how easy this was? I can take your sisters at will if you’re any indication of their abilities. And when I bury this knife in you, do you know what happens? I get a little bit faster. A little bit stronger. Less likely to make a mistake. And let me assure you, Paul, no one will weep for your ashes when I close this door. A maid
will vacuum your memory up, along with any threat you might have posed.”

  I slid the blade along her chest again, lingering on the nape of her slender neck. “So, then. Where is she?” The blade slipped under her milky skin, a chilly violation.

  She shivered. “I do not think you want the answer to that question, boy,” she sneered, even in her agony. “We built a castle on foundations of human weakness. Money. Power. Souls. All are delicacies for the true predators among you. You jostle like cattle on the ramp to their deaths and know nothing of the true seat of power. It hides in plain sight until one day you’ll see, with dull eyes, what the Horned One is building. An empire hidden beneath the cool shade of a forgotten forest. But I have said enough for this body, and I think it is time for my last kiss.” She curved her lips, playful to the end. Fully evil. Completely inhuman.

  I looked at the blade’s path and began to part her ribs with the tip when she sat up, impossibly strong, her body arcing in a whip-like action fueled by hate. My knife struck true through her flesh, reaching a grating stop in her spine as it angled toward her heart. Her face was at my ear, a searing sting as her dart pierced my lobe and withdrew with the speed of a mongoose.

  Before I could react, her breath was light in my ear, whispering to me. “Did you think the Horned One would remain in the forest forever? You don’t know shit about pain yet. But you will.”

  My weight settled on the mattress as her corpse sublimed, ashes and faerie lights, and then silence. And in my bones, instantly, came the first salvo of a night-long war as I became imbued with the residuals of a seasoned killer.

  38

  Florida: Ring

  I was still sitting in the circle of Sandrine’s dust when the light tap at the door announced my backup had arrived. I stood carefully, not knowing what to expect. It was a good policy, this going slow, because the room seemed to tilt as I lurched to the door and opened it, only to have Wally catch me. Suma and Risa were nowhere to be seen, which meant that a hotel staff member was having a very uncomfortable conversation right then.

  “Are you hurt?” Wally searched me, her face lined with worry. I stood against the doorway, feeling steadied by her presence.

  “I’m good. I got to her first and put everything I had into the first shot. Nothing but ashes now, Blondie.”

  Wally kissed my cheek in relief.

  “But she was very different, totally new to us,” I said. “And very old. I think I need to go home, and we can talk on the way before I crash.” We left without a backward glance and turned down the carpeted hallway, two more anonymous faces in a building made for them.

  Muscles have memory, and by the time we pulled into our driveway, mine had acquired another lifetime from Sandrine. I noticed high spots of color on Wally’s cheeks as she walked with me, arm in arm.

  “Contact buzz, or out of shape?” I asked her.

  “Buzz! I am sailing just from being near you. Crazy! I’ve never felt this way, like our best sex ever but we’re upright and walking, this is . . .” She shivered, pulling me closer as we opened the door to find Suma and Risa in the living room, pouring wine.

  “Our little friend here is quite high from the kill,” I said to them, tugging at Wally. “Sandrine packs quite a punch. I’m already feeling her all over me, in me, and Wally’s got a bad case of the chats.” She disengaged from me and downed a whole glass of wine in two gulps, motioning to Risa to fill it again. The surge from Sandrine was pervasive. I felt like chewing a chain in two and then ravishing every woman in a three-mile radius. Not bad for an aftereffect.

  That was when I noticed the man sitting quietly at the kitchen table, admiring the necklace Wally had gotten from the Baron.

  “Hello?” I cut my eyes askance. “Who’s our new friend?”

  He turned and waved, somewhat meekly. A beer sat in front of him and his shoes were off. He was clearly comfortable, which was odd, because we usually just kill intruders. He was early thirties, professional looking, brown eyed, and sandy haired. He had an air of middle management.

  “Ring, meet Marcus. Marcus, Ring. The knockout drinking like a twelve stepper is Wally.” She waved carelessly, her nose buried in another glass of red wine. Risa indicated he should come over to the living room, which he did, albeit slowly.

  Wally caressed his face as he passed, winking.

  “And please ignore her trashy behavior. She’s got quite the glow from Sandrine—that’s the escort Ring popped in your hotel tonight, by the way, so she’s even more randy than usual.” She rolled her eyes to indicate this was not a unique situation.

  To Marcus’ credit, he didn’t blink, but merely sat on the cushion next to Suma and looked awkwardly at each of us in turn. “Sandrine? The French girl? She’s dead?” he asked, worry on his face. “You killed her? I knew something wasn’t right about her. Knew it.”

  I nodded. “I wouldn’t call her a girl, exactly. But yes, she’s dead, I killed her, and I assume that you’re not here for just a cold one?” I raised an eyebrow at Risa, inviting her to elaborate where Marcus could not.

  Wally belched and stretched with an erotic groan. Quite the lady.

  Suma snickered and then focused on our guest.

  “Marcus was in the hotel lounge, but he wasn’t working. He’s not a true Helper, either, not like we understand. He’s sort of a . . . groupie? Or a really enthusiastic fan of a particular lady, right Marcus?” Risa inquired politely. “Why don’t you start with how you got here? Then we can move on to other details, okay?” She was being overly polite. I distrusted that voice; it reminded me of her interrogations about my use of her towels.

  Marcus gathered his thoughts for a moment. You could see the wind filling the sails of a narrative in his mind, and then he spoke. “I’m from Chicago, I’m a . . . well, it doesn’t matter what I did. I was a nobody, but I made an okay living. My wife left me two years ago for some shithead from Colorado who wore a buckskin jacket, for Chrissakes, and to boot he had a—”

  “Marcus” I snapped. “Let’s focus on the other aspects of your story, mkay?”

  “Um, sorry,” he said. “Okay, so I’m single. No wife, no dog, living in some kind of country song. I’m on a cold streak with women like I’m a penguin. I couldn’t even get a look from the maid at my gym. So after about a year of that shit, I do something I’ve never done before.” He paused, sipping his beer.

  “You called a pro, right?” Wally spoke up from the floor where she lay supine, her feet in Risa’s lap. She knew men.

  “Err, right. But I wasn’t about to bring some streetwalker into my house, so I looked around online a little, you know, just doing my homework. I’m an insurance actuary. Or I was. I know about risk,” Marcus explained.

  “That explains your shoes. Gah!” Wally piped up from the floor.

  Risa slapped her foot, hard. They glared at each other for a second and then fell back toward the conversation. Suma snickered again, clearly enjoying the argument. I remained dignified, as I always am. Ask anyone.

  Marcus pressed on. “I have a buddy at work. Derek. Or had, rather. He’s dead.” We all knew what was coming, but we let him continue. Only notes of the story would differ, but the tune would be familiar. “He whored around on his wife all the time, so I asked him if he knew of a girl, you know, who was available. A sure thing. So he told me there was an escort he’s been drooling over and that he would have her break me in the right way, in his words. She was expensive but when I saw her picture I thought it would be worth every penny. Only problem was, we had to travel to her, which was no worry for me, I didn’t have anything to do and Derek said he’d pay for my ticket. So we planned it out. Or Derek did, anyway. We arranged to meet her at a hotel bar for a drink. Derek set it up and he knows his shit, so he got a room upstairs.”

  “What did she look like?” Suma interjected.

  Wally stood up to grab the wine bottle, intrigued. We all were by now.

  “Hot. Oh my God was she hot. Blonde. Short. Tanned. Killer body,
smelled like heaven and the angels all together. She looked kind of like you, Wally,” he added.

  Wally curtsied from the floor while Risa grimaced.

  “She was so far out of our league I almost couldn’t look her in the eye. Her teeth were blinding. Even her hands were perfect. I felt like an idiot sitting with her at the table, but she talked and flirted like we were old friends. Shit, I was hooked. I mean really hooked in like ten seconds. Her accent made me insane, I could’ve been happy listening to her reading an aspirin bottle.”

  “Describe her accent, Marcus. Again, if you would,” Risa asked.

  “It was southern. But not like redneck, you know. I mean . . .” He struggled to articulate the finer points of southern dialects. “She said she was from the Garden District, whatever that means.”

  “New Orleans. Louisiana. High class brood mares out of there,” I said, earning a punch from Wally. “So how did this date proceed?”

  “Right, New Orleans. That’s where we ended up.” Marcus took a long pull on his beer. “Like I was saying, I went up first. She already had a suite. Beautiful, way over my pay grade, just like she was. She kissed me and bent my mind; I mean I just about fainted. In about a minute I was on the bed, nude—hey, is this part okay? You want details?” He hesitated, turning shy.

  “It’s okay, these are my lovers. Feel free to hit us with the good stuff,” I stated flatly, and then gave him a mock salute when his eyebrows went skyward. We get that reaction a lot.

  Sliding his eyes from Wally’s legs, Marcus continued. “Well there aren’t many details. At least not with me. She lay upside down on the bed with her head over the side and I . . . I had trouble with my liftoff, if you know what I mean. I tried to concentrate on her face and her perfect tits. I mean, they were world beaters, but when I thought it wasn’t happening for me, I focused on this green necklace sitting in her cleavage. It shimmered constantly. I mean, what wouldn’t if your camping spot was in the most beautiful valley of all time, right? Anyway, I was pissed. I think she was just too insanely hot for me and I felt like a kid getting taught a lesson by some cougar. Anyway, she was so sweet and she said that we would see each other again and she would make it right. Blew my gaskets right there to think about being with her again. And after I went downstairs, that’s when Derek headed up. Looking back, that’s the point where things really started to get weird.” He paused in remembrance.