Authors: Seth Skorkowsky
“
What?”
“
They hit us, Allan. Must have watched you and Schmidt visit that place, then waited for me to arrive.” He shook his head. “Never heard of a demon like those, either. I’m convinced. I’ll join you.”
Matt sat in one of the worn blue and red pleather seats, reading his laptop screen while trying to ignore the endless drone of the plane’s propellers. He scrolled through police photos of the grisly crime scene in Bulgaria. The bodies weren’t just mutilated, they’d been torn to pieces. While stray dogs were responsible for some, the dismembered limb and crushed skulls were caused by something more. He examined a picture of the blood-inscribed walls. Curved symbols, like alien hieroglyphs, decorated the dingy sheetrock.
The plane shuddered and Matt tensed, letting out a sigh once the turbulence ended.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like flying. He just hadn’t been on an airplane since his dad took him to Colorado when he was ten. A lifetime ago. Airlines frowned on bringing handguns aboard. True, he could always check Dämoren. But trusting a baggage handler with her, even locked in a case, was out of the question.
When Schmidt said the Valducans owned a plane, and sneaking the weapons
through customs wouldn’t be a problem, Matt had envisioned a private jet. Fast and smooth, just like in the movies. Instead, he found himself on an old prop plane they’d picked up from some defunct airline. Fokker, they called it. It was loud, rickety, and felt like it might come apart around them with each jolt of turbulence.
When they stopped in Winnipeg to refuel, he had hoped he
’d have a chance to get out. Maybe take a few minutes to enjoy fresh air. Schmidt said they didn’t have time, and that the air on a tarmac wasn’t the least bit fresh at all. So Matt had stayed on board, and watched the world through the little window beside him, his fingers fidgeting with the ancient and grimy ashtray built into his armrest.
The cockpit door opened and Allan made his way down the center aisle.
The pink lines on his face had nearly faded. Gauze bandages wrapped his neck and wrists like some sort of mummy. A few red welts, covered in yellowed scabs and slick with antibiotic cream, peeked out, running down his fingers. He nodded to the screen in Matt’s lap. “Pretty gruesome stuff.”
“
Yeah.” Matt glanced back to the closed door. “He all right alone up there?”
“
Schmidt?” Allan snorted, taking the seat beside him, across the aisle. “He’ll call me if he needs me. I’ll take the controls once we hop through Quebec.”
Matt nodded, trying not to imagine the old man having a heart attack or something while manning the controls.
He clicked back to one of the images, a close-up of what appeared to be sharp-edged letters within a nine-pointed star and half-circle. “You know what these mean?”
“
Nope. We think it might be some sort of ward, possibly a summoning.”
“
I found a cult in Louisiana once. Crazy fuckers.” Matt tapped the screen. “Looks similar to some things they’d written inside a barn.”
“
Demon worshipers?”
Matt nodded.
“They’d kidnapped a girl. Sacrificed her while trying to invoke some monster. Don’t think they really knew what they were doing.”
“
I never really understood demon worshipers.”
“
Why?”
“
A demon has to possess a host. Who would willingly allow that?”
Matt shrugged.
“They might not understand what it is. Maybe they think they’re getting the power and not the entity. Maybe they just don’t care. Either way, if they do it right, it lets one into our world.”
“
You think that’s where the new monsters are coming from?” Allan asked.
“
Sure.”
Allan made a see-saw motion with his head and grunted.
“Maybe, but there’s a lot of new breeds. These killings have happened all over the world. That’s a lot of people giving themselves to possession. A lot of very organized people for it to be worldwide.”
“
So where do you think they’re coming from?”
Allan gave an embarrassed smile and glanced away.
“I think they’re forcing their way into our world.”
Matt
’s brow rose. “How?”
“
Well, used to be, people believed that a person didn’t become a demon because one bit them. They saw it as a scourge on the wicked. Like a murderer became a vampire, or someone who was just so full of sin, the entity entered them. Wendigos, for example...” He paused, looking like he wished he could suck the words back.
“
What about them?”
“
They were people that were usually kicked out of their tribe. Starving, angry, they transformed into these emaciated monsters with insatiable appetites.”
“
Clay told me about spontaneous possession. Said if you killed the body of a demon that didn’t have any other souls they’d marked, they just kinda floated around, waiting for the right moment.”
“
Exactly.” Allan nodded, running his fingers through his dark hair. “So what if there’s all these demons just floating around, been there for God knows how long, waiting for the right time and it’s now? What if these cult markings aren’t human worshipers, but demons calling even more demons?
“
Like the moon and stars are lined up right and they’re just forcing themselves through, then widening the door for their friends to follow?”
“
Something like that.”
Pursing his lips, Matt glanced out the window.
Blue nothingness. Clouds. He could just make out green at the bottom. “Personally I like the idea of demon worshipers better. I can’t shoot the planets and stars.”
Allan chuckled.
“Just a theory.” He touched his gauze-wrapped neck.
“
I’m not saying it’s wrong. I just hope to shit it is.”
#
The plane hopped twice more through Canada, before finally beginning its Atlantic crossing. Relinquishing the controls, Schmidt headed to the back for some rest, and insisted Matt join Allan in the cockpit to keep him company for the long stretch.
Matt sat in the padded seat, his hands in his lap, afraid he might bump the stick up between his knees, or one of the dizzying number of controls.
Huge gray headphones covered his ears, muting the plane’s drone. Outside was dark. Blackness. He tried not to think of the endless ocean beneath them. Yet the horrible fantasy that something would happen, something rendering Allan incapable of piloting, and leaving him to somehow man the controls, kept playing through his mind. The jolting turbulence was worse at the front, and each bump and shimmy fueled his imagination.
“
That’s a pretty cool trick you do with Ibenus,” he said, breaking the latest mental scenario. This one involved freezing in the North Atlantic with a severed leg. “How does it work?”
Allan shrugged.
His voice came in through the headphones. “I just swing and step. Nothing to it.”
“
How far can you go like that?”
“
Just a couple steps. Not far, but enough to keep a demon off me.”
“
Or a shooter.”
The Englishman chuckled.
“That, too.”
“
I’d like to check it out sometime, if you don’t mind. I’ve never seen another holy weapon before.”
Allan
’s face tensed. He licked his lips, and grinned, turning his head toward Matt. “No problem. Mind if I shoot Dämoren?”
A sharp pang shot th
rough Matt’s gut. Anger mixed with insult. His jaw tightened.
Allan laughed.
“Not that easy is it? It’s like admiring another man’s wife. Innocent enough until he says he’d like to shag yours.”
“
Yeah.” Matt grinned, his jealousy melting. “Never mind. Sorry about that.”
“
Don’t worry. I did the same thing when I first hooked up with the Order. Thought Marcus was going to take my head off when I’d asked him.”
“
Marcus?”
Allan nodded, running a hand over the bandages at his neck.
“One of the knights who showed me the ropes. Big guy. Had this Norse axe.” He paused. “He was among the ones killed in Bulgaria.”
Matt remembered the crime photos, wondering which of the mangled bodies
was Allan’s friend. His blood had made the streaked glyphs, and dogs had chewed his corpse. “I’m sorry.”
Allan
only nodded.
Minutes passed.
“So,” Matt said, breaking the silence. “How did you get into this line of work?”
Allan smiled.
“Still nervous about flying?”
“
Just answer the question.”
“
Fine.” He lifted a water bottle from a holder beside his seat and took a swig. “My great-great-grandfather was an Egyptologist, which is really just a polite term for grave-robber.”
“
Huh?”
“
Well, at the time Egyptian artifacts were very popular, and the prospect of pharaohs’ hoards buried under the sand was very enticing. So he made several expeditions down, and became quite wealthy stocking museums and private collections with the treasures.” He tipped the plastic bottle to his lips again, then put it back into the holder.
“
During his last expedition, in 1903, they discovered a hidden temple near Thebes. It was dedicated to Horus, a hawk-headed god.” Allan made a beak-like gesture in front of his face. “Inside they found a trove of artifacts. Priceless. They split the treasure up and took it back to England. He sold some, but kept several of the more impressive pieces for his collection, including Ibenus.
“
Years later my father’s uncle inherited the estate. We used to go out to the country to visit every summer. And as early as I can remember, I was fascinated with the sword. It was weathered. Hadn’t slain a demon in three thousand years, but I was entranced.” Allan gave a toothy smile. “When I was twelve I picked the lock to its case. Uncle caught me playing, swinging Ibenus around. Wonder I didn’t break anything. I thought he was going to kill me. Really did. That was the last time I was allowed near the antique room. Then, when I was seventeen, my uncle passed away. His estate was split amongst the family, but he willed me Ibenus. That, and the cost of an Egyptology degree at Liverpool.”
Matt shrugged.
“Doesn’t sound too bad.”
“
I took fencing. Specialized in saber. I tried to dedicate myself to my studies, but became more and more distracted.”
“
With what?”
“
Vampires. Werebeasts. The occult. I started courses on folklore. Spent more and more time practicing my swordsmanship. It began dominating my dreams. I was obsessed.”
Matt gave an understanding nod.
“She bonded with you.”
“
Yeah.” Allan let out a long sigh. The sound of it whooshed in Matt’s headphones. “It was like puberty, but instead of discovering my cock and girls, all I wanted to do was kill a monster with Ibenus.”
Matt laughed.
“Dämoren did the same thing with me. She was Clay’s, but I was completely enthralled with her. Learned pretty quick not to let him catch on. Like you said, it’d be like cheating on him with his wife.”
The Englishman turned his head, his brow creased.
“She bonded with you while still with Clay?”
“
Uh-huh. Why?”
“
Just never heard of that before. The weapons are very committed to their owners.”
“
Nothing happened,” Matt said with a dismissive wave. “Maybe she was just flirting me up, letting me see what my future held. Kinda like the bright spot ahead. One day, she’d be mine, and I’d kill every damn demon there was with her.” He licked his lips. “So you telling me my gun’s got a wandering eye?”
“
No,” he laughed, turning back to the controls. “Every weapon is unique. Not just their form, or powers they might have, but...personalities. I just find it fascinating.”
“
So you think they’re alive?”
“
Well, alive-ish maybe. I mean, why not? You refer to Dämoren as a she. You know they can bond with people. That’s intelligence isn’t it? I think, therefore I am.”
“
I’ve called my car a she before, too.”
“
True but...” Allan bit his lip. “But with Dämoren you mean it.”
Matt nodded.
“Yeah. Clay used to say she had a soul. An angel that lived within her. That true?”
“
Don’t know. There’s a lot of different theories.”
“
Like what?”
“
Well, some believe that the power comes from pure faith. Like when they made the weapon, they had so much faith in it, that the blacksmith maybe put some of himself in there. Or maybe the power of God. But not all weapons that were intended to be holy weapons are. It isn’t that easy. There’s a lot of gilded and jeweled blades which were utter disappointments.”