Wednesday, 22 May 2019, Evening
Paxwood, Whatcom County, Washington, USA
Eyewitness: Kerry
“Have a good night, ladies.”
A good night did not start in the city hall parking lot, face to face with a massive bipedal crocodile-wolf hybrid, my only defense the chosen demon slayer Rowen Hayward, but here I was. I didn’t even think to look at Tricia Anholts as she left. This creature was so beyond my understanding of the real world. I wanted it to be a practical effects puppet, or some kind of holographic projection. It wasn’t, though. I gagged on its rancid sulfuric smell.
“Rowen Hayward. Slayer of Veroriax.” It spoke slowly, like it was trying to figure out how to make its mouth work. “Kerry Rhys-Hansen.”
“It talks?” I asked Rowen.
“It talks, and it knows so very much more than you wish it did, little morsel,” it replied for itself.
“Dialog with demons is usually a trap,” Rowen said. “Ignore it.”
The demon laughed, a hideous, blood-curdling laugh. “Yes, ignore me. Ignore me like you ignore the truth unspoken that rots inside you. You’ll never tell her because she is so much better than you. Useless. Small. How could she love someone whose only offering is selfish obsession?”
The words plunged into me, physical pain clutching tight around my heart. How could it know what I’d never said aloud to anyone, anywhere? My breath caught in my throat. All I could see was its eyes, its black-void pupils, dilated and swelling in my vision.
“All right, enough of that.” Rowen’s words swam. Then she cut between me and the demon, breaking my line of sight.
I collapsed in a heap on the gravel, marionette with cut strings, while Rowen lifted her short sword against the foe. The way she positioned her prosthetic arm with the tilt of her shoulder reminded me of a fencing stance. I only knew anything about fencing stances because Mx. Cardoso’s high school boyfriend, Roy Coleman, was a literal Olympic fencer. When a local represents the US in the 2016 Olympics, I’m going to write a special interest piece about it. That’s just a fact.
I didn’t know what I would have expected from Rowen’s fighting form, but not this. With her height and her build, she didn’t give off the energy of someone who would flow around a demon’s slashing grasp. She pivoted and dodged and flowed, flower petals on a breeze. Her short sword reach couldn’t possibly match the demon’s disproportionately long arms.
The demon almost locked eyes with me again. I twisted my head toward the parking lot so that it couldn’t get into my thoughts again. Out there, the world was still completely normal. Early summer that it was, the sky above was in a transition of darkening twilight blues, stars glimmering into sight. People were getting into their cars and driving away after the meeting.
Nobody noticed what was going on just behind the shield of the trees, and no one was coming for a smoke break before their drive home.
City Councilmember Curtis Mitchell was just getting into his car, safely, no sign of Hugh or Anholts anywhere near him. Normal. Safe.
Running out there, into the safety and normalcy, wasn’t the worst idea. Instead, my heart pulled me like a magnet back toward Rowen, locked in her duel with this otherworldly monster.
No more demon eye contact. Focus on Rowen. When she used the short sword to block a blow, it forced her back a step, off balance, vulnerable. She turned on her heel and caught a claw hard on her prosthetic forearm. This created the opening that she needed to slip beneath the demon’s reach and jam the blade upward into its torso. The demon wailed horrifically as it stumbled backward. Then it dissipated into sickly yellow smoke.
Rowen fished through her pockets with a curse, but whatever she was looking for, she came up empty-handed. She switched to an at-ready stance, then waited for the smoke to clear.
“Where did it go?” I asked after a long, quiet moment. “Is it coming back?”
“The smoke. Anholts must have used her magic to grant it temporary physical form. I usually try to keep a demon trap on me in case I’m going up against the incorporeal made flesh, but I used my last one in Montana, and I haven’t restocked.” She kneeled down, then picked up a little wooden carved wolf from the ground. It was the sort of simple handmade thing some of the tourist shops sold because of Paxwood’s lumber history. After she held it up for me to see, she slipped it in her pocket and picked up her sword again. “That was the anchor she used. I can at least burn it for safety, but the demon got away.”
“Demon trap, to catch the smoke instead of letting it escape,” I guessed. “And an anchor for the demon-smoke and the magic to hold on to. Anholts didn’t, like, summon it from another plane of existence, then?”
“Thankfully, no,” Rowen confirmed.
She moved over to the gazebo bench, tilting her head for me to follow. We both sat down. She had the short sword across her lap and the carved wolf beside her. I folded my hands, not sure what to say. The adrenaline was passing, leaving me a little light-headed.
“Look, I’m not the best one to give anyone relationship advice, but you need to tell Char the truth before it eats you up inside,” Rowen said, taking a cloth out. She wiped down the blade gently, balancing it in the crook of her prosthetic arm.
I was still reeling from the fight, from the monstrous taunts, and her statement only hit me harder. “What do you mean, you’re not the best one to give anyone relationship advice?” I asked, avoiding her statement.
Rowen looked up toward the darkening sky, stars appearing in greater numbers. Her lips formed the smallest curve of a painful smile. “When I was in high school, not long after I got my calling, the enemy killed my boyfriend, put a demon inside him, and spied on me through his body. That sort of thing leaves scars.”
I whistled. “That… explains why you carry demon traps, huh? You need to tell me your story. Start to finish. Sooner than later.”
“When’s your birthdate, Kerry?” Rowen resumed cleaning the sword.
“November 19th, 2002. What’s that got to do with anything?”
She shook her head. “Maybe nothing. But… the one thing I don’t regret is that I told him how I felt early enough in our relationship that he was definitely still alive. I don’t have to wonder how he felt about me or if it was all a demon trying to manipulate my emotions. I told him the truth, and even though it ended terribly, even though I still blame myself some days, at least there’s that.”
“Char told me not to talk to her. She said she needs to grow up,” I objected. “Isn’t it better to honor someone’s boundaries?”
Rowen shrugged. “In the off chance she’s set those boundaries from a place of misunderstanding, isn’t it worth knocking at the door to say one last thing and clear the air?”
My head dropped into my hands, heart so conflicted. “What if it doesn’t change things? What if it’s not a misunderstanding?”
“At least you won’t be turning the question over in your mind until it consumes you. You’ll have the answer.” Rowen sheathed the sword. “That’s when you respect the boundaries, and you work to let it go.”
“Is that the sword you used to kill Veroriax?
“Stahlblume is a Zweihänder, and I don’t exactly have zwei hands anymore,” Rowen said. “This one has some light enchantment to keep the edge especially keen for slicing into demon flesh, but beyond that, it’s nothing special. Just… what I have to use, given current circumstances.”
“And when do I get to start sword training? That has to be part of my introduction to the world of magic, right?” Anything to veer the conversation further away from the troublesome matters of the heart.
Rowen laughed. “If you’ll have a one-handed swordswoman as your teacher, training starts tomorrow. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect.”
“Let’s get you home.”
