1. Upside Down Miss Jane
It all started with a word.
Now, I can't say exactly what word because, frankly weird shit happens whenever I say it. So, let's just say I was poking around where I shouldn't have been, found a scrap of paper with a word scribbled on it (don't ask what, because I already said I wouldn't say it), and then my steady, mundane little life got turned upside down and inside out.
Poof! There goes a promising career in middle management, filling my days with emails, spreadsheets, endless meetings about corporate purpose statements and company values. All gone in an instant, the moment I said that damned word.
That's the reason I'm hanging upside down in a murder dungeon somewhere deep in the bowls of the city. It's also the reason I'm about twenty minutes away from having my skin flayed off and eaten by a demon with a face even a mother wouldn't love.
Okay, so maybe it wasn't just one word. Maybe it was a whole book. Or, will be a whole book. A grimoire to be exact. The detailed and somewhat gruesome grimoire of a demon sorcerer named Caravaggio, or Cargo, or Craig, something like that. Whatever his name is if I ever get my hands on him…
"Harper Stone!"
I twist my head to get a better look at the creep, trying to bend my hips and avoid spinning around again.
"The human stripling who dubs herself a demon slayer, no less."
It's no good. I'm tied upside down and current facing a dank wall while Slippery Pete over there delivers his soliloquy to my back. I'm bored enough as it is without having to listen to him drivel on while I stare at a wall.
"Yeah, you probably wanna turn me around there, guy," I offer. "The menacing speech schtick loses some of its punch when I'm facing in the opposite direction."
I can't help but cringe as gnarled fingers caress my waist and spin me slowly around. I make a show of flinching.
"Jesus! Warn a gall before you get up all close and creepy like that. You smell like a hundred armpits."
He backs away a little, brushing away strands of dank hair from his pock-marked face. Hollow eyes stare at me from beneath a pronounced brow. His pallid face is slick with sweat like the wall in this fetid dungeon.
"Also," I add, "just a suggestion, but I'd seriously think about some moisturizer. I mean, you're got plenty of moisture, but I'm thinking it's the wrong kind."
He slaps me hard across the face and sets me to spinning. It hurts, but I'm more worried about the nausea. If this doesn't stop soon, my lunch is about to make a reappearance.
Mercifully he stops me from spinning, holding me in place and squeezing my elbow with his hand as he raised a finger on his right hand. The flesh falls away to reveal a razor-sharp bone, dagger-like and lingering dangerously close to my eye as he leers down at me.
"I'm going to skin you piece by piece," he says, breath reeking of rotten meat, "and then I'm going to devour your soul and drink your ether."
I've got a steady stream of quips ready to go, but the truth is, I'm done with this nonsense. My head is pounding, my wrists and ankles feel like they're on the edge of breaking and this two-bit thug has just stepped on my last nerve.
I say the word. And, yes, I mean that word, the one I can't say in front of you because…reasons.
It tastes like ash and old socks, burns like fire as it leaves my mouth. The skinwalker shrieks in agony, his body racked with sudden, violent pain as he backs away, cowering like a vampire from one of those old black and white films when someone pulls back a curtain and lets sunlight in.
The power of that word is so strong and immediate that the creep acts like he's just been throw into a fire. His arms and legs are shaking, and he claws at his own face as the magic does its foul work.
I say the second word… Oh, did I mention there was more than one? Well, this doesn't really count because it didn't come from the grimoire. In fact, I shouldn't have told you about the grimoire yet. That comes later. Just forget I mentioned it.
Anyway, I have another word tattooed on my right index finger, the word liber written in arcana. When I say the word, the ropes holding my wrists in place untie themselves, snaking free and dropping to the floor as easy as you please. I shake my wrists, trying to work the feeling back into my hands and fingers, then drag myself up my own body and tap the finger against my ankle.
The ropes tying my legs together undo themselves and send me falling to the floor a little too quickly and with enough force to knock the wind out of me as I land against hard stone.
It hurts. Like a slap in the face by a hand full of herring.
I force myself to my feet, ignoring the pain and steadying myself so that I don't fall on my ass again.
El Creepo is still screeching and thrashing about, clawing at his own body, and tearing off chunks of flesh like a kid unwrapping presents at Christmas. He's too busy to notice that I'm free, but that won't last long. I look around, trying to find Gordon, my head still swimming as I stumble about the chamber.
"I will eat your soul!" the demon screams, still clawing at his own body and seemingly unaware that his luck has well and truly turned.
"Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that bub," I spit back with a smirk as I head to one corner of the room which looks a little more like a college dorm than a murder dungeon. There's a single bed to one side, and a free-standing cabinet, as well as several boxes neatly stacked nearby.
For a skin peeling, soul devouring monster, he keeps a relatively tidy murder dungeon. Not clean, not by a long shot, but tidy. I find Gordon sitting in a tall terracotta flowerpot in one corner of the room, next to a bunch of umbrellas.
Why the hell does this guy need all those umbrellas?
I guess he could have just picked a bunch of victims that had umbrellas on them? Or maybe he just likes to get out and about in inclement weather?
Whatever the case, he's clearly unaware of the devastating weapon sitting right here in his umbrella pot. I pick up Gordon and feel its comforting weight in my hands.
Oh, I should probably mention that Gordon is a crowbar. Just a solid piece of metal with a curve and split tongue at one end, and a chisel like wedge at the other. It also has a word of power etched into its shaft, a word powerful enough to put an end to this creep demon and send his soul back to hell.
Yeah, so that's three words if you're counting.
The first I found two years ago. That word that changed my life, ruined my career prospects, showed me a world I never knew existed and, for some reason, made dating even more problematic than it already was.
The second word, liber, the one on my finger, was given to me by The Order, a secret organization that occasionally employs me to hunt and kill demons. Although employ is a bit of a stretch. It's more of a 'do this and we won't kick three kinds of shit out of you' type of deal, but still.
The banishment word etched on Gordon also came from The Order. It's the demon hunter equivalent of a gun and badge and I'm about to show this skinwalker just how effective the word is. In Latin it translates as Exterminare, but it's written in arcana, not Latin, because…arcana is magical, and Latin is just old.
So, there you have it.
Three words.
Three words and a crowbar and you've got everything you need to hunt yourself a demon. Provided it's a low-level piece of scum like Wet Mike over there. I've never hunted anything above a gutter dweller because, well, I enjoy breathing.
Oh, and if you're wondering why I named it Gordon? Well, let's just say I spent an unhealthy amount of time playing a certain game franchise when I was younger. If you know, you know. If you don't, forget about it.
I walk over to the demon, swinging Gordon at its head before it has a chance to protest or take a swing at me. The crowbar connects and sparks fly as the banishment runes flare with brilliant light. I swing again, closing my eyes each time the bar makes contact so that I don't blind myself.
That's one of the little tricks I had to learn when I started this illustrious career. Close your eyes when you make contact with the boom boom stick, otherwise you'll end up blinded for around half a minute. First time I discovered that little fact I thought I was permanently blinded. Fortunately, the demon I was hunting was barely a level one beastie. He was just as surprised as I was.
The second lesson I've learned is not to hesitate when it's time to attack. See, demons for the most part are a real chatty bunch. They love to threaten or promise revenge or list out all of their despicable accomplishments one by one. Give them half a chance and they'll start laying out their plans for world domination like a Bond villain. The longer they talk, the more chance you give them to hook you with a mind snare, or scamper away into the night. Don't hesitate. Hit hard with everything you've got. Maximum force.
A third and equally important lesson is, if you do it just right, a liber tattoo on your index finger can unlock the donut display case at Krispy Kreme without anyone noticing. It's another thing to swipe yourself a fist full of donuts without being seen, but we can cover that some other time.
Back to me and Gordon as we beat Soggy Sal into submission.
I've heard that other demon hunters use swords and daggers with banishment runes marked on the blade. One swift strike to the heart or brain and the job is done. It all sounds great, but the problem with that is that it's not too easy getting to the heart in the first place. Even low-level demons tend to get a little aggravate when you get up into their personal space with a bladed weapon.
To my mind, getting up close and personal is a hell of a lot easier if you've already softened the demon up a little. A couple of blows to the head or body with old Gordon usually do the trick. Even if the banishment charm doesn't work right away, a hefty swing with a crowbar is likely to ruin anyone's day, no matter who or what they are.
In the skinwalker's case, it takes three hard hits to the head to do the trick. After the third blow, his mouth has stopped flapping, and his body has started to twitch. I load up and give Gordon one more swing, closing my eyes at the point of impact and aiming right for the skinwalker's heart.