Authors: Seth Skorkowsky
Matt grinned.
Luiza looked down at the drawer of .45 slugs. “Nick never loaded any of the tips on these, so you’ll have to. Not enough demand to keep a committed inventory. Once you bend the prongs in, that’s it. So choose carefully.”
“
We have any jade tips?”
She nodded.
“Then let’s start with those.”
#
After what had felt like a hundred potentials and a thousand questions ranging from the comically general to the frighteningly specific, Allan had chosen his sidearm; a Walther PPK chambered in the 9mm Kurtz. Allan wasn’t sure about it at first, but once he learned it was the same type of gun James Bond used, the deal was set. Luiza took him back to the range just to be sure Allan actually liked shooting it. Through the double-walled Lexan window, Matt watched Allan blast holes through paper silhouettes as he operated Nick’s cap setter.
The cap setter, as they called it, was similar to a large stapler made of metal and polished wood.
On the lower jaw, Matt slotted a hollow metal post, just the diameter for whichever size bullet he was using. He’d slide a bullet into the ring, where the slug sat tightly, then he’d set whichever type of cap he wanted beneath the prongs in the hollow point. Once in place, he just lowered the jaw, jamming it firmly down, which pressed the claw-like prongs securely around the cap. It reminded Matt of this stupid toy his sister had that attached plastic rhinestones to cloth. She’d spent her Fourth Grade year with nothing but sparkly jeans.
“
How are you coming?” Luiza asked, once she and Allan had finished.
“
Done with the forty-fives. Starting on nine mils.” Matt mashed the setter down hard, then rolled his hand a little over the top, trying to get all the prongs perfectly set. He released it, then removed the bullet. A purple amethyst capped the silver slug. He tugged the little claws with a thumbnail.
Good and tight.
“
It took a couple tries to get it down,” he said, motioning to the trays of completed slugs. Twelve of the silver bullets and two of the brass had no caps, their broken prongs casualties of Matt’s learning curve. “Guess I’ll just have to make do with hollow points. Probably better than the ones I’ve been using for years.”
Luiza grinned.
“Allan and I can take over from here. We’re the ones using them anyway.” She nodded toward the corner. “You know how to use one of those?”
Matt looked at the reloading presses bolted securely to the table.
The larger one stood over two feet high, grayish green and silver with little rotating plates and topped with a slender clear bottle of gunpowder. A long silver lever, capped with a round knob jutted up and outward from the front in a almost suggestive manner. “No clue,” he said. “Always used a hand press. Easier to carry on the road. You?”
“
Nick insisted on it. He said we’d all learn to slow down and shoot better if we knew how long loading them took. A group of us used to all come, watch movies, have a few drinks, and swap turns loading bullets.”
Matt showed Allan how he learned to use the cap setter, then set him at it, armed with a list of what stones worked on what demons, then Luiza set him down and showed him how to operate the press.
The press was very simple to use, once he got the hang of it, and Matt wished he’d been able to use one all those years of sitting with Clay or alone squeezing them out at a snail’s pace. The solid silver bullets that he molded were also a lot lighter than these lead-core ones. They needed more powder, which the machine properly measured and poured for him. Reloading Dämoren’s special shells however, would always need to be manual, but Matt wouldn’t have it any other way. That was something intimate, something special. The Ingram was a tool, a hungry machine that needed feeding. Dämoren was...well...like a lover. Matt chuckled at the thought, true as it was.
“
What’s so funny over there?” Allan asked. He’d almost filled two fifty-round trays with capped slugs.
“
Nothing,” Matt said. Then, “So Luiza, you mentioned drinks earlier.”
She snorted.
“Not while you two are still learning how to do this. Beers are reserved for loaders that don’t even have to think about what they’re doing.”
“
Ahh, one beer won’t hurt,” Allan said.
She gave them both a look.
“Once we’re done. “
“
Well, I’m finished with these,” Matt said, cranking out the last of his rounds. Eighty in total. Amethyst for succubi, brass for ifrit, obsidian for ghouls, jade for the oni.
“
And I’m almost done.” Allan pressed the cap setter down. “Four more after this one.”
Matt turned to say something when he saw Schmidt walking past the range window.
Moments later the door opened and he stepped inside carrying a green cloth bag. His thin lips looked even tighter than normal.
“
Here are your supplies, Mister Hollis,” Schmidt said tersely, setting the bag down on one of the long tables with a
thunk
. “I trust they are what you need.”
Matt rose and looked inside.
Four black plastic jars rested inside beside a large square of folded red felt. He picked up one of the jars. Most of the French writing was lost on him, but the little orange warning symbol of an exploding ball was very familiar. He set it back inside and checked the felt. It was the exact same as Clay used to use, even the color, which Matt’s list hadn’t specified. Had it not looked new, he’d have thought it was from the same bolt.
“
These look good.” Matt moved the jars aside to find a worn tin box resting at the bottom. Its once bright paint and picture of what looked like snow-capped mountains was worn and scratched. He picked it up. It weighted more than he’d expected. Matt set the box on the table and carefully opened the tight lid.
Six tapered ingots rested inside, tarnished black with age.
Matt picked one up and turned it over. ‘C.M.’ it read, scratched deep into the bottom. He looked up at the old man, his mouth opening into a question.
“
Clay poured those,” Schmidt said. He gave a slight smile, but then it was gone. “I’ve had them for several years now and decided it was only appropriate they be used for their original intent.”
Matt closed his hand, feeling the weight of it.
Clay’s personal silver. Schmidt had saved it all those years. “Thank you.”
Schmidt nodded, then turned to the others.
“I’ve come to fetch you. There was an incident in Limoges last night.”
Allan straightened up.
“What happened?”
“
Attempted break in at the Vedorme-Perrin Museum. Nothing stolen, but a guard is missing. We suspect demons were involved.”
“
A weapon?” Allan asked, standing.
Schmidt
’s brow rose. “Possibly. Master Turgen received the call this morning. We have several pieces on loan there and the owner called him personally. We are meeting to discuss the operation and sending a team.”
“
What about me?” Matt asked. If he wasn’t going to the meeting it only meant he was again exiled back to his room.
Schmidt
’s blue eyes regarded him. “You’re going with them. You have an hour to cast your bullets and prepare. We need Dämoren ready. You’ll be briefed on the way to Limoges.”
Succubi and Incubi
Among the most pervasive and vile of Demonkind is the Succubus, a most awful fiend who desires not the flesh of a man for sustenance, but for carnal dominance.
While theologians and scholars believe that Succubi and Incubi are separate species: one female and the other male; they are unquestionably the same entity merely inhabiting the physical body of a human female or male host.
2: Succubi, whom the Germans call
Mara
, the Norwegians
Huldra
, the Arabs
Qarinah
, take the form of comely women; their hair is long and breasts round and full. Succubi possess wings of soft skin that extend from their backs. Through trickery and glamour they can hide these appendages from any physical observation or touch.
Incubi, whom the Italians call
Folletti
, The Spaniards
Duendes
, the French
Follets
, are the male form of Succubi. Their appearance can change, depending on their host. However they all share a beauty that no woman, no matter how chaste and pure, can resist. They are well formed and possess a member whose size and girth rivals a stallion’s. Unlike their female counterparts, Incubi do not possess wings and therefore cannot fly, although their physical strength is far superior to that of Succubi.
Succubi can also inhabit the body of a fox, as observed in the Far East.
When slain, the incorporeal body of a Succubus burns with the
most unholy of fires whose color alternates from the deepest crimson to rich violet.
3: Several folk remedies exist to ward back the evil of Succubi, though most are in truth merely superstition and possess no power over the Demon. Fearful monks tying crucifixes to their genitals before retiring at night protect themselves no more than ignorant maids relying on phallic-shaped amulets. Succubi do not obey the Exorcist, have no dread of exorcisms, nor reverence for holy things.
In truth, the peony flower does repulse the Demon, a
s does cold iron and amethysts.
4:Succubi feed through carnal intercourse, sapping the energies of their victims through the deed of Demoniality; a term invented by John Caramuel in his
Fundamental Theology
. While victims can recover in time, repeated attacks over a series of nights frequently results in death. Any victim who tastes of a Succubi’s milk or Incubi’s seed is damned and becomes a vessel which the Demon may possess at their whim.
Many victims do not understand their attacks, as they are beguiled by the most diabolical illusion.
Under the influence of this illusion brought on by the Demon, they fancy that they attend nightly revels, dances, or vigils, where they then partake in carnal intercourse with the Demon, though in truth their bodies are not transferred to those places.
5: A most marvelous and incomprehensible fact: Carnal intercourse between mankind and these Demons on occasion has given birth to human beings. While oft the child is malformed and disfigured, it is not unknown for a child of true quality to spring from this most unholy union. Children thus begotten are naturally tall, very hardy and bold, proud, and also wicked. These Cambions are a most wretched of creatures, for they have never known existence without damnation. Instead of seeking salvation, they yearn for the total and complete damnation of the world.
Many men have been accused of being Cambions, though most are in fact merely wicked individuals.
There are two cases in which the accusations were in fact truthful.
Firstly, the infamous Pope John XII, who invoked pagan gods and hosted foul, incestuous orgies in the Church
’s sacred halls after his pontification was in truth the child of an Incubus.
Secondly, Marco Barugnano, the Italian lord whose demonic cult was discovered and destroyed by Valducan Knights in 1628, was in actuality a Cambion who very nearly summoned a black Demonic Goddess.
Sir Isidore Vidal, 1765
Translated by Sir Aaron Mulwray, 1884
“Alexander, my old friend,” said a pudgy man opening the museum’s tall wooden door. The man’s pinched face and long nose gave him a raccoon-like appearance, if raccoons wore suits.
“
Louis.” Turgen stepped inside and gave Louis a small hug. “It has been too long. I came as soon as I could.” He turned. “These are the people I told you about. Doctor Malcolm Romero, Allan Havlock, Anya Jeliazkova , Ben Varghese, and Matthew Hollis.” Turgen gestured to the pudgy man. “This is my friend, Louis Perrin.”
Matt smiled, nodding to the museum owner.
His formal attire made him stand straighter than normal. Matt’s history in antiques had required him to wear a blazer before. Urban camouflage as Clay had called it, but this full charcoal suit and lead-colored tie they had picked up on the way into Limoges made Matt feel even more...trustworthy. That was the idea. Matt and the other hunters all played the parts of professional security investigators, hired by Turgen.
“
Please,” Louis said, twisting his hands. “Come inside.”
Matt followed the others up the short steps and through the arched doorway.
From the outside, the Vedorme-Perrin Museum appeared as an old stone church with high stained glass windows and a slender bell tower all surrounded by a low wrought-iron fence. Matt hadn’t expected the stylish, modern interior of sleek concrete and steel interlaced with gray medieval stonework.
“
The police left a few hours ago,” Louis explained, leading them past an empty ticket counter.
“
Has the guard been found?” Turgen asked, his cane tapping on the polished floor.
Louis shook his head.
“Not yet. They advised we change our locks and any pass codes Henri may have known.”
“
Of course.”
“
We suspect the burglar was somewhere inside until closing. Possibly a supply closet. We found no sign of forced entry.” Louis led them through a hallway past a small room filled with suits of armor behind glass. They turned into a wide room, the former chapel. The spaces between the old stone columns were walled, creating several alcove galleries, each filled with glass cases of art and antiquity. Matt’s gaze fluttered between various paintings and cases, wishing he could stop to inspect them.
After turning at a bronze statue of a Napoleonic rider, they entered a large round chamber.
A colorful mural of Christ peering down from the clouds covered the inside of the low dome three floors above. Two large rooms broke off to either side, while a smaller door led to a hallway ahead, barely visible through the gaps in a large, art deco sculpture of three dancing women that dominated the center of the room.
“
The burglar made it to about here when
André
spotted him.
” Louis gestured to the hall ahead. “
André
yelled out to the man and pressed the alarm button at his belt.
The burglar rushed
him
,
” Louis thrust his arms forward to emphasize the movement, “with a speed I cannot describe. It was like...a TGV train, just a blur.”
Vampire?
Matt thought.
“
He grabbed
André
and threw him against the wall. Broke his arm and several ribs. By that time the security doors were closing. The burglar made it into this room before the door shut, but the ones to the wings had both closed by the time he reached them.” Louis gestured to the large chambers to either side.
“
And then you said the thief began punching the security door?” Turgen asked.
“
Yes.” Louis nodded quickly. “He began striking it like a madman. Then Henri arrived.” He pointed to the balconies above. “He ordered the burglar to stop, or so it appeared on the surveillance video. The man stopped, then ran.” Louis turned, pointing back the way they had come. “He charged up the stairs, up to the third floor, where it grabbed Henri, threw him to the floor, then picked him up like he weighed nothing, and jumped through a leaded window.”
The museum owner shook his head.
“That window is thirteen meters to the ground. No body. The only blood found matched Henri’s blood from the floor. I’ve never heard anything like this, Alex,” Louis said to Turgen. “You said you can help.”
Turgen set a hand on Louis
’s shoulder. “Yes, my friend. The people I brought are the very best for this. Now tell me, which room was the thief trying to enter?”
Louis led them
through the domed gallery to the entrance to the western side room. Polished silver tracks ran along the top and bottom of the doorway. Lit glass cases covered both walls and ran up the center of the room beyond.
“
As I explained on the phone,” Louis said, approaching a glossy black keypad beside the doorway. “While you can’t see it in the surveillance video, the damage is quite amazing.” He removed a key from his pocket and inserted it above the keypad, then punched a six digit code with a series of electronic beeps.
A massive door slid out from the wall, following the silver tracks.
Enormous and clear, it glided shut, sealing off the adjoining room with a heavy click.
Matt
’s gaze moved to a cluster of white cracks spider-webbing out from impact sites in one of its wide, glass panels.
He stepped closer.
The damage looked like someone had taken an automatic rifle to it, but as he studied it, Matt made out the distinct impression of a fist in at least three of the breaks.
“
Christ,” Allan whispered.
Matt nodded.
He’d seen a vampire punch through an oak door once like it was nothing. But even then, peppering an inch-thick sheet of bulletproof glass was a feat only the strongest could do.
Turgen drew a long breath, regarding the damage.
“And you didn’t show this to the police?”
“
No. You said that...I shouldn’t...”
“
Good,” Turgen said warmly. “Now, first I would like to see this video of yours. Meanwhile, may my people inspect this room and hopefully locate whatever this thief was after?”
Louis swallowed, then nodded.
“
Very good. If you could also provide Doctor Romero with keys to the cases and disable their alarms for us, they may work while we discuss...business.”
Matt stood by while Louis keyed the code into the alarm, and the huge door rolled open, nesting itself into the wall.
Louis then handed a small ring of keys to Malcolm, advising him on which ones to use, then left with Turgen.
“
Now,” Malcolm said, once they were gone. “Let’s find what it was after.”
The hunters entered the room.
It stretched about fifty feet deep and thirty wide. White lights shone down from the rafters high above. When the building had been a church, it was shaped like a cross with the dome at the heart. This room formed the cross’s left arm.
Matt and Allan headed to the left side, while Malcolm took the right.
Ben and Anya inspected the tall case running up the middle. No one knew exactly what they were looking for, possibly something with the symbols they’d found, maybe even an actual holy weapon. Demons obviously wanted something in here, and that made finding it first that much more important.
The artifacts inside were an odd sampling of antiques from various parts of the world.
One featured Native American artifacts: arrowheads, buckskin clothing, stone tools and clubs, even a headdress. Another contained several pieces of Chinese relics and art, though no jade masks. Most items had little teal signs, explaining their contents in French, Italian, and English. Some were only French. Some had no sign at all.
“
What is this exhibit?” Matt asked.
“
World treasures found by French explorers,” Allan said, peering through a case’s glass top.
Matt frowned.
“Just everything here seems so...random. Like those two statues out there from different eras, different themes.”
“
Most of the good exhibits go to the more affluent museums,” Allan explained. “Private ones like this rely mostly on displaying smaller, personal collections. Master Turgen works with many museums like this one, loaning out many of the Valducans’ pieces. A lot of lost or unknown weapons and books end up in these museums, so he maintains close relations. Curators form a rather elaborate circle, and he’s well respected.”
Matt glanced back to see Malcolm walking slowly along the other cases, his right hand open and gliding along the glass.
His eyes were closed. “What’s he doing?”
“
Mal?” Allan asked, looking across. “He’s feeling for a holy weapon.”
Matt watched as Malcolm slowly circled the room.
When he lifted his hand, moving from a side wall to a display along the back, Matt noticed an orange and blue tattoo on the inside of Malcolm’s right palm, very similar to the eye tattoo on his other hand, the one he’d held up when checking to see if Matt had possessed Allan. The same one he’d used to ward back the walking corpse in Spain. “So is that what he does for the Valducans,” he whispered. “Finds holy weapons?”
Allan nodded.
“He was a Librarian for a few years before being reassigned. To his credit, he’s located three in five years.”
Malcolm continued his slow search around the room, stopping periodically for a few moments before continuing on.
He’d made it almost all the way around when his hand seemed to jump slightly. He stopped, circling his palm slowly above the glass.
“
Find something?” Ben asked.
“
I’m...not sure,” Malcolm said. “Many of these have...energies. Deaths. Sadness. But this...”
Matt leaned to see an elaborately carved pick or axe inside the case beneath Malcolm
’s circling hand. The lights above glinted off the slender blade of black stone, lashed sideways into the club-like handle. It laid beside several primitive items: grass mats, and carved stone jewelry. Matt remembered reading the small collection as artifacts found on a New Zealand expedition, though none of the items themselves were labeled in English.
Keys jingled and Malcolm unlocked the case and lowered the brass-hinged front pane.
He slid his hand inside and held it just above the strange weapon. “This is it.” He turned, his smile broad and proud. “It’s a holy weapon.”
“
This is outstanding,” Ben beamed. “A real blessing we located it before they could steal it.”
Malcolm wrapped his fingers around the twisted wood grip and carefully, almost reverently, drew it from the case.
“It is.”
“
What is it?” Matt asked, peering closer.
“
It’s a Maori adze,” Malcolm said. “A...toki poutangata, I believe. It’s a ceremonial weapon. Though I’ve never seen one with an obsidian blade.”
Allan reached up, his hand almost touching the sacred treasure.
“Amazing. I wonder how old it is.”
Ben
’s brow rose. “Old enough the binding looks like it might break. Be careful. We don’t wish to destroy the relic for our enemies.”
“
Once it tastes its first kill that will mend.” Allan said, lowering his hand. “Ibenus was the same.”
“
Then we should take it,” Ben said “Maybe it will bond with Mikhail since our other orphans have not.”
It won
’t work,
Matt thought, remembering the boy’s journal.
He’s already spoken for.
“Other orphans?” he asked.
“
The holy weapons that no one wields,” Anya said. “We protect them until they find an owner. Sometimes, Master Turgen loans one to a museum to see if anyone bonds to it. A...recruitment tool, if you will.”
“
Wait,” Matt said. “We have other weapons in museums right now?”
“
Not now,” Allan answered. “We gathered them all back once the thefts started.”
“So they’re at the house?”
Anya snorted.
“Probably. Turgen and Schmidt hide them from most of us, in case we’re corrupted.”
Malcolm
’s eyes flashed angrily up from the holy weapon. “That’s enough.” He lowered the toki poutangata cradling it in his other hand, the one with the red eye tattooed inside, its ruby iris peeking just below the half-closed lid. “I’ll tell Master Turgen of this. He’ll decide what we should do.”
“
Either purchase it from the owner or...liberate it from captivity,” Ben said, a slight smile to his voice.
“
It’ll be difficult, but we could counterfeit it,” Allan said.
“
Possible.” Malcolm shrugged. “Not as easy now that Daniel is gone.”
“
There’s another option,” Anya muttered, almost to herself. “We could leave it here.”
Eight puzzled eyes turned toward the Romanian.