Chapter 9: The Devil You Know

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When I return to the apartment, Lydia isn’t there.

I don’t panic. Not immediately. I can feel her - soon enough the bond between us will be so strong that I’ll be able to pinpoint her location with no effort. But for now, I have a sense of where she is. A sense that will get stronger the closer I draw to her. Pulled along like a fish at the end of a line. A dog at the end of a leash.

Not a time to get self-deprecating, I think. My eyes scan her rooms carefully, looking for a clue as to where she may have gone. There’s a cat curled up on her futon, a big black cat with yellow eyes that blink slowly at me when I step through the door. It tilts its head one way, then the other, letting out an inquisitive mrrrrow?

“I don’t suppose you know where she’s gone off to?” I ask.

‘Mrrrrow.’ There’s a rather flat note to its response.

“Ah. Disappears on you frequently, does she? A shame.”

It lets out a little huff, stretching languorously and opening its mouth in a wide yawn. Then it curls in on itself and resumes the nap I presumably interrupted.

It isn’t until I realize the book is missing that I begin to panic. For an ordinary person, I wouldn’t be worried - unless they specifically tried to perform one of the rituals, it’s doubtful there would be any negative effects. But the book no doubt has protective runes on it, not to mention one of the Archive’s official marks, and there’s a high probability that Lydia is a Shaper—or at least possesses some other gift—in spite of my vehement denial to Avidia. If she touches the wrong thing on that book, it won’t take her for a random ne’er do well. It will register her as a threat, a true competitor and a danger to the Archive. It will send the book’s guardian after her.

“Gods bedamned woman,” I growl. She’s going to force me to burn through more of my reserves than I’d intended. I wanted to space out my feedings - but Peter Nell lacked as much in substance as he did morals. Eating him was like a mouthful of moldy grain. I’ll soon need more.

But I’ll think on that later. If I let her die, the Archive will have more than just my hide. They’ll have what’s left of my soul.

I close my eyes. Sensing Lydia should be harder than it is - bonds take time to tangle beneath one’s skin - but she’s like a beacon. Bright and - though I’m loathe to admit it - beautiful. She hasn’t left Capital, that much is certain. And given its size, at least that means it won’t take long to get to her.

Unfortunately, the moment I reach out to verify her presence, I feel a ripple of utter terror.

Something is chasing her. I can’t quite make out what it is, but I know she’s fleeing from it. The knowledge makes the heart in my chest squeeze. Because, of course, when her life is on the line, so is mine.

Of course that’s it, comes the thought. The voice isn’t mine, but rather a memory, low and full of biting venom. It could never be because you enjoy it. Because you’re a good little mongrel, eager to heel.

I shake my head, gritting my teeth. Now isn’t the time. It will never be the time.

I march back towards the door and step into the hall. Calling upon the strength of the essence still flowing through me, I flood the power through my body. The world sharpens into clearer focus. Energy pours through my veins.

I run, and my surroundings become a blur.

I’m grateful that Capital is so sparsely populated. Usually when I take up speed like this, there are always a few witnesses. Rarely is it a concern. The Archive prefers to remain covert of course - and grandiose displays of power always result in heavy reprimand - but most people disregard things they consider out of the ordinary if they’re simple enough. The flash of a man speeding by is little more than a smear from the corner of their eye. A trick of light. A shadow in an alley. Much easier to dismiss it than to pay it any mind.

Lydia’s pull grows stronger the closer I come to her. By the time I see the house ahead of me, I know that the terror has become abject, taking over her mind entirely. She’s a rabbit cornered by the wolf. I know she’s in that house - and as my foot touches the front step, I know that she doesn’t have long.

‘Hold on,’ I think, and I know that she can hear me. ‘I’m almost there.’

‘Lucas!’ Her voice echoes back, and the relief in it makes me feel a twinge of guilt.

I fling the door off its hinges, burst through, and I see her.

She’s at the top of a winding staircase, slowly backing away. Her eyes are saucers, bright and strikingly blue. The book is clutched tightly to her chest, her legs trembling. Down the hall, I see another man - the police officer who came to her apartment. He narrows his eyes at me and raises a gun. “Freeze!” He barks. “Don’t move!”

I blur past him, up the stairs, and leap onto the guardian’s back.

The creature snarls, whipping itself this way and that, trying to dislodge me. I wrap my arms around its neck, baring my teeth, feeling the power still surging through my veins. It bucks wildly, and with the distraction, Lydia runs further away, disappearing through a doorway and into another room on the second floor.

“Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú!” I spit, the words coming to me instinctively. I wish I had a moment to appreciate the irony of that. May the devil choke you. How apropos.

As if insulted, the guardian rears back on its hind legs, smashing me into the wall. My world spins. Pain lances up my side, and I can feel Lucas roaring inside of me, howling in agony. I feed all of it to him, uncaring, keeping the sensation muted for myself. My grip loosens, and the creature breaks free of me, careening after Lydia as it bursts through the doorway in her wake.

With a grunt, I rise from the stairs and follow, knitting my bones with a horrible crack and a wisp of my will. I can hear the cop charging up the stairs after me, but he’s stopped commanding me to freeze. He hasn’t shot me yet either, which tells me he’s out of ammunition.

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Not good. A gun wouldn’t do much against the creature, but it may have served as a distraction - and I have no qualms about letting it eat the man if that gives me a chance to get Lydia to safety.

I chase after it, feeling the power thrum through me. When I connect with the creature this time, I grasp a handful of the writhing tendrils on its leg and pull, ripping them free. It collapses for a moment, back end hitting the ground as it lets out a pitiful howl. Turning its head towards me, it glares with baleful green eyes, pulling its lips back from blood-red teeth.

I bare my teeth right back, a thrill ringing through me. Rare is the occasion that I take pride in what I am, but it has been so long since I stretched my legs. I feel so ready to run.

“What, little beith,” I croon. “Too busy with a morsel to bother with the meal?”

Its leg reforms just enough to let it pivot, and it reels backwards, raking a claw through the air and aiming a strike at me. I move - the paw swings through with a whistle, missing me by mere inches. Adrenaline floods through my host and I relish in the sensation, a sweet ambrosia after so many years in the Aether. “Go mbrise an diabhal do dhá chois,” I hiss, and true to my promise, I sweep a leg out and crunch into one of its knee joints, eliciting another howl.

Its attention is wholly upon me now - surprising, given that most guardians are bound to defend their books above all else. The Archive uses some of the Aetheric energy from all of the creatures trapped between a book’s pages in order to create the creatures, failsafes of tooth and claw and spite. But when it’s fully turned in my direction, the slithering of its limbs rasping against the floor, I watch as it opens its mouth and speaks.

“Ahhh, there you are, my precious peata,” it says. Its jaws do not move with the words, the sound drifting out like the guardian is some macabre recording device. “I wondered how long it would take them to spring you free.”

I feel coldness spread tendrils through my blood. Fear, too - and the fear infuriates me. Behind me, I can hear feet shuffling - the cop, no doubt, taking up position and still clutching his gun.

“Have you figured it out yet?” the voice croons. “Can you feel it? It won’t be long, you know.” The beast’s teeth gleam as if coated with saliva. “I promised I’d never let you go.”

The voice is silken. It oozes femininity. I recognize it immediately, and the fury in my chest wells hot. I know in that moment that I will kill this creature, even if I have to obliterate both of the souls inside of me and send myself back to the Aether.

“Hey!” A voice shouts. “Bitch!”

A vase smashes violently into the back of the guardian’s head. Lydia stands at the end of the hall, face coated in a sheen of sweat, teeth bared. She’s already got another weapon in hand: a golden candelabra, the wicks still sputtering with fire. This she holds out in front of her, dripping wax onto the carpet at her feet.

“Take a hint!” she snarls. “He’s not interested!”

The creature’s focus locks on her again, its binding spell taking over. Dorothy’s voice dies - I imagine she didn’t plan for a contingency like Lydia, and she didn’t work any greeting for her into whatever spell she placed over the Archive’s mark. It begins to leap towards her, lines swirling, claws digging deep grooves into the ground. I prepare myself to leap at it, to throw myself upon it and find a way to destroy it, but as I move and it lopes a pace closer, I see Lydia swing the candelabra in an arc. A long, violent arc, as if she were holding a sword.

The concussive force that bursts out of the arc sends me flying backward. I bowl into the officer, who lets out a cry of surprise as we both slam into a wall. The guardian shrieks, and I feel a heavy drain upon my power - the aftereffects of the telekinetic burst Lydia blasted it with. It stands there for a moment in the hallway, wavering on four legs, head weaving back and forth as if drunk.

And then it falls to either side, cleaved into two perfectly neat, roiling halves of ink.

Lydia ogles, her jaw dropping open. Behind me, the cop grunts, shoving at me so he can rise to his feet. Dusting himself off, he stares at what’s left of the guardian - watches the way its pieces are already trying to come back together - and announces:

“Ma’am. We need to leave. Now.”

Very sensible, this one. Lydia continues to gape at the mass for a moment more - and then she bursts into action, dropping the candelabra with a clang and leaping towards us, clearing the black substance by a good two feet. She’s clearly motivated to put distance between herself and that thing. Not that I can blame her.

“Get to my car,” the officer says. He’s no-nonsense, gun still pointed at the ooze on the floor. I notice for the first time that his gun glistening - gleaming - and I realize it’s covered in runes. Spells of banishing. A weapon capable of sending a spirit back to the Aether.

Or a demon.

It bears keeping in mind.

Lydia surges past me, fear obvious in the way she all but flies down the stairs. I follow after her, sparing only a glance over my shoulder at the other man. He’s not paying attention to me at the moment, but that’s likely to change when there’s no longer a distraction.

I carefully check my resources, taking stock of how much power is still lingering in my veins. The last vestiges of what Peter Nell supplied are running low. I’ll have to start biting into Lucas before long - a circumstance I prefer to avoid.

Not because I like him, of course. But because if I consume much more of him, it’ll be harder to keep this vessel from looking like a corpse.

When we reach the police car, Lydia slides in beside two other people already inside: a stately looking old woman and a young man around Lydia’s age, broad-shouldered and wearing a look of concern. I see his shoulders visibly loosen as she sits down beside him, and he tucks an arm around her, hugging her close.

A frisson of emotion pricks at me at the sight. I try to discern what it is, but it slips through my fingers.

No it doesn’t, Dorothy’s voice croons, as though she were speaking into my ear. You’re growing to like her, aren’t you? Soon you’ll be begging at her feet, just like you did for me…

I hear the sound of a car door slamming. The officer is glaring out at me from the window, seated with his hands already on the wheel. I stare back at him, face blank.

“Well?” He says. I see his gun perched on the dashboard.

“…Yes?” I reply.

There’s a twitch just beneath his left eye. He draws in a deep breath, his words coming out low and impatient.

“Get in.”

I open the door and slide into the passenger seat. When I just sit there, he continues staring at me, expectation on his face.

“…What?” I ask, flabbergasted.

“Seatbelt.”

I meet his eyes. He meets mine. I grab the belt and slowly side it into place without looking away.

He lets out a grunt, faces forward, and hits the gas. We peel away from the house in silence, the tires squealing faintly on the asphalt.

There’s silence. For about thirty seconds, at least. Then a voice pipes up from the back, presumably the blond man who’d embraced Lydia.

“Sooooo,” he says, drawing out the word. “…Introductions, anyone?”

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Valerie, 10/29/2022 2:32 PM

May the Devil choke you

beast

Valerie, 10/29/2022 2:51 PM

That the Devil may break your legs

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- [Gaelic] May the Devil choke you.

- [Gaelic] Beast.

- [Gaelic] May the Devil break your legs.

- [Gaelic] Pet.