Demons. Aimee didn’t fight demons. For that matter, she didn’t fight anything. Her job entailed creating devices at her workbench. Yet here she was, heart thudding and sweat dripping off the tip of her nose. Why didn’t I have the sense to stay behind as the Captain ordered? Why did I think I needed to prove myself and my new invention?
Time to be brave and do my duty. She took a deep breath and peeled herself away from the false security of the wall next to her. At the other end of the manor hall, she could see a body laying across the threshold of an open door. Blood still dripped from the torn chest, spreading a pool around the corpse and oozing down the grooves of the tiled floor. The blank eyes belonged to Gaston, a fellow Guard member. Aimee had never liked him much, but that seemed so unimportant now. She couldn’t believe she’d never hear another one of his self-aggrandizing stories. No sign existed of the town militiamen who bravely ran into the manor with Gaston.
An odor hammered her senses, something between the scent of a wet dog and rotting flesh that raised bile into her throat and threatened to make her retch. She forced herself to breathe through her mouth to lessen the effect. From the opening behind Gaston she heard wet crunching noises punctuated by a sort of snuffling; the sounds of whatever killed Gaston and probably the militiamen as well.
Aimee stood frozen struggling to gather her courage. Act as if, her mother always told her. Act as though she wasn’t terrified and maybe she’d find herself less afraid. Maybe.
Footsteps echoed on the tile behind her, making her jump and nearly drop her self-named incinerator. She whipped around, gripping her invention like a vice, and almost incinerated a knight of the Order. The device looked like nothing more than a foot long copper tube attached to a wooden handle, but it packed more energy than anything Aimee ever made before. The knight would never know how close a call he just had.
“Get out of here. This is a matter for the Order,” he commanded as he ran past, never taking his eyes from the doorway ahead.
This idiot might get us both killed. As if triggered by her thought, she heard a growl that made the glow lamps in the hallway rattle. A second later, the beast burst out of the doorway, bounding over Gaston’s body and slipping on the pool of blood as it turned the corner. The horror resembled a huge mange-afflicted hound with bloody fangs the size of daggers and a hide covered with hair and bony plates. With terrifying quickness, it charged toward them.
Aimee brought up her weapon, she’d have only one chance.
The knight knocked her to the side as he charged the creature. The monster lunged at him, fangs bared. He raised his shield but the force slammed him into a wall. Wooden lath splintered and plaster poured down. The knight did not get back to his feet. Through the fog of plaster dust, the beast turned its gaze upon her.
Aimee sighted the demon’s head through the copper tube and willed her weapon to unleash its magic. Inside the handle, a specially designed matrix crystal released every bit of the pent up magical energy it possessed. The device transformed the surge of energy into an intense beam of heat that seared the demonic flesh in a fraction of a second. A deafening thunderclap shook the walls and sent a second rain of plaster down from the ceiling. The noxious smell of burned fur and flesh flowed through the hall as the beast lay dead before her. A vargat: now that she had a moment to think, she recognized the demon she’d only see in illustrations before. The pictures didn’t do justice to the monstrosity before her.
She let out her breath, just now realizing she’d been holding it. Her entire body began to tremble as the adrenaline drained. With her hands on her knees, she sucked in gulps of air, relieved to be alive. Next time, I’m obeying the Captain’s orders.
Her brain no longer frozen by fear, Aimee realized that the knight had failed to rise. She started toward him, hoping that somehow he survived the demon’s assault. He looked so still.
Before Aimee managed to take more than a single step, something else came through the doorway, traversing the corpses of Gaston and the vargat. The demon looked vaguely like a woman; straggly hair dangled around a face of bone white skin mottled with green, the color of mold. Ragged clothes revealed more of the mottled skin underneath. Its eyes—solid black with no whites—stared, unblinkingly. The eyes hypnotized Aimee like a snake before a charmer.
“Where is it?”
With her ears still ringing, the voice must be in her head. Aimee didn’t have a clue what the creature wanted.
“Where is it, Human?”
The voice intensified, boring deeper into her mind. The creature walked toward her, waving a jagged knife in its hand.
“Where is it, Aimee?”
The sound of her name snapped Aimee back into the moment. Aimee dropped her incinerator, useless now with its energy expended. She stepped backward and gripped the hilt of her slim sword, as she frantically tried to recall the training she never thought she’d need. She fumbled her grip as she jerked her sword from its sheath and the weapon clattered to the floor. The creature moved closer, gaze still fixed on Aimee.
The demonic woman raised her knife to strike. “You don’t know, you are useless.”
Behind the creature, Aimee saw the knight struggling to his feet. He only needed another moment.
“I know who does, though,” Aimee said.
The creature’s progress halted for a moment, long enough for the knight to regain his feet.
“You lie.” The demon slashed its knife at her.
Aimee jumped to the side, the blade sliced fabric, but not flesh. The knight shook his head clear and charged. The demon turned toward him, but too late. He brought his sword down, nearly splitting the creature’s torso in two. Warm blood splattered across Aimee’s face and body.
The knight stepped over the remains of the demonic woman. A foot taller, he loomed over her. He brushed plaster-covered blond hair out of the way to reveal a face contorted in a scowl.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” he demanded.
That’s when Aimee threw up on the man’s boots.