Darklands (17 page)

“I get the idea, Tina. Move along.”

She dug out another big scoop. “So I was thinking. The book says that if you kill an Eidolon, another one will follow unless you get rid of the feelings that attract the demons to you in the first place. That Russom dude recommends psycho-whatsis—”

“Psychoanalysis. R. G. Russom was a big fan of Sigmund Freud.”

“Who’s that—like, some actor?” Tina rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about demons here.”

“Freud wasn’t—” I sighed. “Never mind, go on.”

“So anyway, Russom recommends using that psycho stuff to, like, pull out guilt and other negative emotions at the root. But here’s what I thought: Why not
start
with that? No maggot-popping needed.”

I closed my eyes for a moment against the image of a popped maggot—I’d killed enough Eidolons to know how accurate it was—and wiped my hands on the dishtowel under the table. “Psychoanalysis can take years, though,” I said. “Killing the Eidolon gives the victim relief and some time to work on the psychological issues.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

“Explain, then. Let’s say you were faced with an Eidolon. Not a client’s—one of your own. What would you do?” My voice sounded a little too eager.

“I’d embarrass the sucker to death.”

I almost laughed. That was not an idea I’d expect from Tina, who thought weapons were the cool part of demon slaying. On the other hand, she
was
a teenage girl. I motioned for her to continue.

“See, I was thinking about personal demons and why they’re so scary and all. And I realized that they’re scary mostly because we’re scared of them.” She shook her head. “Wait, that sounds kind of obvious. What I mean is, the victim gives the demon the power to be frightening. If you give something, you can take it away, right?”

I leaned forward. “And how would you do that?”

“You know that trick to get rid of stage fright—the one where you imagine the audience in their underwear?”

“You think people should picture their demons wearing underwear?” This time I did laugh, as the image flashed through my mind of my scowling Eidolon with a matching bra-and-panties set stretched around its bloated, slimy body. Pink satin. With lace. And rosebuds.

Tina grinned, taking my laughter as encouragement. “Sure, why not? But it doesn’t have to be underwear. When you’re scared of something, make it seem all lame and ridiculous. If you’ve got an Eidolon, give it a nickname, like Snookums or Tinkerbell or Butterfly. I mean, who could be scared of a demon called Snookums?”

“So when you’re lying in bed and your Eidolon shows up…”

“I’d say, ‘Hi, Snookums. I hope you’re not hungry, because I had the most awesome day.’ I’d imagine Snookums wearing a silly-looking party hat and those glasses that have a big fake nose attached. I’d tell jokes and think about things that make me happy. You know, think about them on purpose. If old Snookums tried to make me feel bad, I’d push away that thought and find one that made me feel better. Even just a little bit better.” Tina finished the last spoonful of ice cream and pushed the carton to one side. “Okay, so now you’re going to tell me what’s wrong with my idea.”

“No, I’m not. It’s a very solid idea.” Parts of it were exactly what I’d done to keep the Eidolon I’d summoned under control, thinking about flowers and puppies. “You’ve put a twist on what I usually recommend to clients, which is to find a way to get rid of those feelings of guilt and worry. When you do that, you cut off the Eidolon’s food supply.”

“You mean
Snookums’s
food supply. ‘Eidolon’ sounds too serious and scary. Anyway, that’s what I was thinking, too. ’Cause if there’s one thing zombies understand, it’s food. When you’re hungry and there’s nothing to eat, you’re not going to hang
around. You’re going to go somewhere else, some place where you have a chance to score some chow.” She eyed the empty ice cream container a bit sorrowfully.

“It’s a good method. Just remember that some clients find it hard to follow. Once anxiety takes hold, some people can’t push it away, no matter how hard they try. In those cases, it may be necessary to kill the Eid—er, Snookums—first and
then
get psychological help. It doesn’t have to be psychoanalysis; there are faster, more modern methods. I recommend meditation, hypnosis, counseling. It depends on the individual client.”

“Speaking of chow,” Tina said, “I’d better get home or I’ll miss dinner. And that would be, you know, a disaster.” She pulled a candy bar from her backpack and ate it in two bites as she put
Russom’s
away. “So I did good today?”

“You did. I like that you’re thinking outside the box. Fighting demons isn’t always about weapons.”

Tina beamed as she shrugged on her backpack. “Sometimes you have to think like that. Sometimes your teacher tells you not to bring your dagger to school anymore.”

After Tina had gone, I found myself back at the sink, washing my hands again. This had to stop. I pictured the Eidolon that sprawled on my torso, its horrible larval body quivering as it fed. Not a Snookums. Not even a Tinkerbell. What was the other name Tina had tossed off? Butterfly.

Something in my gut cringed.

Butterfly. Yeah, I could see that. It already looked like a bug. I imagined the lump of a body sprouting wings, beautiful wings covered in delicate, colorful patterns. They fluttered gently above me.

The nausea I’d been feeling shrank to a pinpoint, then disappeared.

“That’s right, Butterfly,” I said out loud. “You stay in your chrysalis.” Maybe Tina’s trick would help me keep it there.

ACCORDING TO THE INFORMATION I’D SEEN ONLINE, PURGATORY Chasm State Reservation opened at 9:00
A.M.
By the time I exited the Mass Pike at Millbury to take Route 146 South, it was already a few minutes past the hour. The morning was chilly and overcast, one of those April days that make you wonder if spring has decided to go back into hibernation. Since I’d be traipsing through the woods, I’d worn a fleece jacket over a T-shirt, along with comfy jeans, and traded my city boots for a sturdy pair better suited to hiking. I had a flashlight in my pocket and carried a couple of concealed daggers; I also wore my InDetect around my neck, tucked inside the jacket. There wouldn’t be any demons running around here in the daylight, but it might pick up something from Pryce’s hidden cauldron—assuming I had the right Devil’s Coffin.

The parking lot was empty except for one other car. It probably belonged to the ranger who was staffing the Visitors’ Center. Near that building was an outdoor information center displaying a big map of the park. Hugging myself against the cool morning air, I stopped to examine it. The entrance to the chasm was just ahead: go up the road, pass a picnic shelter, and then turn left. The Devil’s Coffin was at the far end of the chasm, about a
quarter of a mile down the Chasm Loop Trail. A quarter of a mile—what was that, two or three city blocks? Not so bad.

The display held photocopied maps of the park. I grabbed one to take with me and headed toward the chasm. A stiff breeze nipped at my face, making my eyes water. Clouds tumbled across the sky, occasionally letting a sunbeam through. It was the kind of sky that might drizzle or clear up or even toss a few snowflakes at you. I wasn’t surprised I was the only hiker here.

In a couple of minutes I stood at the entry to the Chasm Loop trail. I looked at the map in my hand. I looked back at the rough wooden sign that read
TO CHASM.
Yep, it definitely pointed this way. And then I looked at the jumble of boulders that littered the steep slope ahead. This was the trail? A trail is supposed to be wide path covered with pine needles and meandering through shady woods. This mess looked like the rubble left over after a boulder-hurling contest between giants.

Just a quarter of a mile, I reminded myself. No more than three blocks—if those blocks were an obstacle course going straight downhill. At least I’d worn decent hiking boots. I sighed and stepped onto the first boulder.

Blue stripes, spray-painted on the rocks, marked the so-called trail. But at this point, there was only one way to go: down. I jumped from one rock to the next, sometimes sitting and sliding to the one below. Steep cliffs rose on either side of the narrow chasm. In shaded places, some ice still clung to the rock walls. Halfway down, when I landed awkwardly and almost twisted my ankle, I began to have doubts. How the hell could Pryce lug a heavy bronze cauldron packed with demons over this terrain?

The same way he’d got it out of the museum, probably. Using his father’s magic, some kind of levitation spell. Like the spell he’d used on Phyllis’s Drude. I stumbled and whacked my hand on a rock.
Ow!
I wouldn’t mind knowing a levitation spell myself right now.

I paused and leaned against a boulder, catching my breath and examining the scrape on my hand. Thinking about Myrddin’s magic had opened the door to an unwelcome thought I’d been trying to avoid. It had taken the life forces of five people to resuscitate Pryce after I’d killed his demon half. I was supposed to have been one of them. Myrddin had tried to transfer my life force to his son. He’d failed, of course, but some part
of my life force—some part of my soul, of what made me
me
—had gone into Pryce. I’d felt it being ripped, slowly, agonizingly, from my body. I didn’t know how much of my life force Pryce received. Any was too much. What advantage did it give him? Was he aware of my movements? Could he hear echoes of my thoughts?

Pryce didn’t have to know my location to send that Harpy after me. When you sic Harpies on someone, you focus on the person. The Harpies lock onto the victim, wherever he or she may be. Then, Pryce had raided the dreamscape of my last remaining client the night I was doing her job. That could have been a coincidence, but somehow I didn’t think so. Pryce knew I’d be there and set me up for a fall. One hell of a long fall.

Clouds dimmed the light, and I shuddered. Did Pryce know I was here now? The chasm was deserted. No one descended the slope behind me. No one I could see, anyway. Those huge boulders offered way too many hiding places. A chill prickled the back of my neck. Was it the breeze, or was I being watched? I scanned my surroundings. A flash of movement caught my eye, and my heart leapt. My hand went to my dagger, then relaxed. A chipmunk. It was just a chipmunk, scurrying from the shelter of one rock to another.

Quit spooking yourself, Vicky.
It was a good thing no one else was here. If I were any jumpier, I’d be a menace to other hikers. I shook off the creepy feeling and scrambled the rest of the way down the slope.

At the bottom of the gorge, the going became a little easier. Boulders littered the chasm floor, but a narrow path—one that actually looked like a trail—wound through them. The ground was spongy and wet, its puddles glassed with a thin layer of ice. In some places deep, gooey mud sucked at my boots and sent me back onto the rocks. I passed signs marking named formations: Lover’s Leap, the Devil’s Pulpit. They all looked like everything else down here—huge hunks of gray rock.

A low wooden bridge crossed a particularly swampy section of the chasm floor. Ahead, on the right, was the Devil’s Coffin. A sign bolted to the chasm wall identified the spot. Beside the sign was a shallow boulder cave, like the pictures I’d seen online. A large rectangular rock rested on the cave floor, jutting out past the entrance. The rock tilted, making the head of the Coffin, the part inside the cave, higher than the foot. It was more the size
and shape of a bed than a coffin, but I guess “the Devil’s King-sized Mattress” doesn’t sound quite so scary.

I hopped onto the Coffin and scrambled up it into the boulder cave. The cave was as shallow as it looked from the outside. There was barely enough room to stand behind the Coffin. The wall was solid; no narrow passages wound deeper into the cliff. I breathed a sigh of relief. No cave exploring for me today.

It took only a couple of minutes to inspect the place. The walls, covered with ghosts of graffiti that park workers hadn’t managed to scrub away, crowded the slab on three sides. There was no sign of digging on the cavern floor. I got down on my hands and knees to peer beneath the Coffin, shining my flashlight into niches and cracks. Nothing there but rocks and dirt.

Rearing up, I pulled out my InDetect, lifting its cord over my head, and turned it on. The device buzzed to life, shooting out rapid-fire clicks as it warmed up. The clicking grew fainter, slowed, and then stopped. I stood on the Coffin and scanned the boulder cave with it, moving in a slow circle and sweeping the device up and down. Nothing. I let my arm drop, and the InDetect clicked a couple of times. I moved sideways, and scanned the center of the Coffin stone. It clicked again, but faintly, picking up residue of past demonic activity.

That could mean anything, I thought, turning off the device. A demon-haunted hiker carrying the effects of previous attacks. Some kids sneaking in at night to scare each other with a séance. It was also just possible the InDetect could be picking up a cauldron full of demons that had sat in the center of the Coffin. Yet there wasn’t any cauldron here now.

I tapped on the stone, searching for a hollow spot, but I found nothing. Of course, Pryce could have cloaked the cauldron using magic. Wizards have ways to deflect people’s perception, so that even though you’d swear you were moving in a straight line you’d actually go around the cloaked item. The cauldron could be right here in front of me, and I’d never see it. I waved my hand over the spot where the InDetect had made those faint clicks. Nothing but air. I tried again, keeping my arm straight, making straight lines in an X, feeling for anything out of the ordinary—a brush of bronze, a strange airflow pattern on my hand. Still nothing. I turned the InDetect back on and made another X. Again, just a few faint, irregular clicks. If the cauldron was here, it would stay hidden until Pryce was ready to use it.

That’s why I’d be back at night. If Pryce showed up to dump another sackful of demons into the hidden cauldron, I’d be ready for him.

I went to loop the InDetect around my neck again. Clicks erupted like a sudden hailstorm on a tin roof. I looked at the device. It was pointing at my abdomen.