Daughter to Demons

by Jeffrey M. Mahr and Levanah

Chapter Nine:
Ignition

For every time She shouted ‘Fire!’
They only answered ‘Little Liar!’
And therefore when her Aunt returned,
Matilda, and the House, were Burned.
― Hilaire Belloc, Matilda, Cautionary Tales for Children, 1907

“Be quiet and don’t turn on your flashlight until I tell you,” Sergeant Ahtram instructed Jackie as he slipped out of his car and into the passenger seat of Jackie’s. Jackie had just pulled to the curb behind his car. They were both parked a block from the house where DeBauck had died and well away from any streetlights. “It’s not quite dark enough yet. While we’re waiting, let me finish bringing you up to date on what I found out.

Seeing the expression of hope on Jackie’s face, even in the dim twilight, he quickly raised a hand. “Before you get too excited, I don’t have much.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” The hopeful tone in her voice belied her words.

“I understand, but you must understand. This isn’t one of your mystery novels and we don’t have one of those master detectives out of a mystery novel to take a dozen obtuse clues and wrap them up in a solution in the last chapter. We’ve got you and me to dig and dig and hope for a break.” Hank realized he was lecturing and stuttered uncomfortably before continuing.

“I saw the autopsy results. The dental work was inconclusive, there were no bone breaks or fractures in DeBauck’s record, nor the ‘corpse’s,’ as far as they could tell at least, that could be used for identification, and you can’t do reliable DNA sampling from ash so the identification comes from the personal items found in the remains. DeBauck had this huge ugly ring with some mystical creature on it; half man half goat.”

“A satyr,” Jackie said.

“What’s that?”

“A male wood spirit, like a faun, but randier, and with a goat’s ears, tail, legs, and horns” Jackie explained. “It’s usually depicted with enormous erections and playing these wooden pan pipes like that guy Z-something plays on the late night music commercials. They were the original party animals and were known to be extremely sexually active. Some scholars of myths and magic have suggested that they might be a divergent form of incubus, also sexual predators of women.”

“Well, that’s more than I probably ever wanted to know about satyrs,” Hank responded ruefully. “Anyway, it’s not a conclusive identification, but it’s good enough that it will might stand up in court, despite being fairly indirect and circumstantial, unless DeBauck magically shows up.”

“Boy, that would be nice, Uncle Hank, but I guess we can probably rule out him being so obliging. Heck, from what I’ve heard about him, even if he were alive the bastard probably wouldn’t assist in his own mother’s defense … if he had a mother.”

“Whoa, girl. Whatever happens, you can’t let your emotions get in the way of good police work. It’s a sure way to mess up a case.”

“But this isn’t just any case. It’s Frank.”

“I know,” he sighed and they sat there silently for a while before Hank cleared his throat and continued in a voice so caring and compassionate that Jackie had to listen. “But you’ll be helping the prosecution instead of the defense if you let your emotions make you see things not really there and ignore things that really are there. To make this work, we’ve got to do it the right way, girl. You know that in your heart. Now I need you to use your mind to manage your emotions. I know you can do it. You’ve just got to convince yourself.”

Jackie swallowed hard and nodded her head, too afraid on Frank’s behalf to speak.

Seeing her agree, Sergeant Athram continued in his professional voice. “Anyway, DeBauck always seemed to have plenty of money, but I couldn’t tell how much, since all but one of his accounts seem to be located off-shore. In other news, for someone who was as universally disliked as him, I’m having real difficulty finding anyone who he’d screwed over.”

“But there must be dozens, maybe even hundreds….”

“You didn’t let me finish. I found a bunch of people he’d cheated, but very few are still alive besides Frank and Doctor Long; and some of his detractors were heavy hitters, people no one in their right mind would mess with. I guess he just had problems keeping friends.”

“What happened to them?”

“That’s a bit peculiar. It seems almost all of them were involved in fires. One died when his house burned down in a lightening storm. One died when a tanker truck crashed into his car and exploded. One fell in a vat of unspecified flammable liquid at a chemical plant that then proceeded to catch fire, although they never figured out what the guy was doing there in the first place. One supposedly committed suicide rather than go to jail for embezzlement by dousing himself with barbecue starter fluid in the bottom of his empty pool and having a smoke. I think you get the idea.”

Jackie nodded. “If he weren’t dead, he’d be right at the top of the list of suspects. Doesn’t that also suggest that, if he wanted to cover up his own escape, he’d use some sort of arson?”

“It does, but the DA is unlikely to look, because it’s way too expensive to do the investigation required to build such a case, especially because the suspect seems to be dead, so first they’d have to prove that he was alive. Trying to do that would completely blow away the case against Frank, so instead of a tidy crime of anger they’ve got spaghetti, and they hate prosecuting cases involving spaghetti, especially against people with tons of money, because they can blow a lot of public funds and then look like saps when they lose. They much prefer going after some sad sack like Frank, with no particular assets to draw on.” He frowned at the injustice of it all, then continued. “The other funny thing is that even his dog is missing.”

“His dog?”

“Yup. Some really ugly mixed breed. Say, that gives me an idea.” Hank glanced at the dashboard clock and swung open his door. “We’d better get going, but tomorrow I’ll check out the local animal shelters, vets, kennels, and pet transport companies. It’s a long shot, but maybe I’ll turn up a long lost relative that killed him for his money.”

The ground sloped gently down toward the house and then beyond to the lake. Luckily there was no moon, so they would be hard to see, but it also made it harder to walk — at least for Hank. To Jackie, the house was eerily aglow with psychic energy that spilled over into the surrounding grounds, but of course she couldn’t divulge this to Hank — and so they walked very slowly, at Hank’s pace, feeling the path before them prior to each step. Jackie found it very difficult to control her impatience, and only stopped herself from running ahead by remembering the Frank’s freedom was on the line, and Hank might help her prove his innocence, although the woods themselves furnished a lovely distraction, wild sarsaparilla, Solomon’s seal, Indian pipe, bunchberry, and goldthread were scattered through the undergrowth, with oaks and a few hickories towering overhead, the trees reaching toward the dark sky, which to Jackie’s new perception was glowing with millions of pure stars, all holding themselves aloof from what went on beneath them. Finally, they were at the house, or what had actually been built, much less grand than the elevations Frank had showed.

They hadn’t gone far before they encountered a flimsy black and yellow striped barrier of plastic tape stretched across the path, running from tree to tree off into the darkness on either side of the path. Every couple of feet it had black letters printed on a yellow section: CRIME SCENE - DO NOT CROSS

“Go under the barricade tape,” Hank whispered as he bent at the waist and slipped under the tape before holding it up for Jackie, careful to use the back of his hand.

“Keep your flashlight aimed at the ground. We don’t want anyone to know we’re here,” Hank whispered. Jackie rolled her eyes, thankful for the darkness that hid her own impatience, then followed him up to the steps leading up to the front door, but neither one seemed willing to be the first to start up those steps.

Jackie furrowed her brow and squinted about her as if to see something just at the edge of sight. “Something doesn’t feel right about this,” she said.

“Yeah, crime scenes are always that way. You never quite get used to it, that feeling of wrongness. Although you’re right, this one feels wronger than most for some reason.”

His comment made Jackie briefly wonder if the police detective might not have some psychic talent. She knew why she was uncomfortable; the entire area was glowing with the dark aura of evil magic. With growing trepidation, she followed Hank around the side of the partially completed structure to the back door. There was a foundation and first floor, but the second floor and above was just framing. It looked like the living room was going to be a solid wall of windows and skylights facing out toward the lake and the moon.

“Shine your flashlight here.” Jackie shone her flashlight at the doorknob while Hank pulled out a gadget of some sort and inserted it into the lock, then twisted it slightly as he pulled a trigger repeatedly, click, click, click, until the device turned in the lock and the door opened. “Locksmith’s ‘bump’ gun. We’re not supposed to have these, but most detectives have one handy, just like a hold-out gun. It lets you poke around without busting down doors.” Seconds later they were inside.

“Use your flashlight just long enough to survey each room. Always point it downward and don’t touch anything. If you see anything, and I mean anything, unusual don’t move, and definitely don’t touch it; just call me. You don’t know how to preserve evidence and you could end up destroying the evidence needed to prove Frank’s innocence.”

Jackie wasn’t going to tell him, but it seemed that everything in the house was lit by the glowing darkness she’d seen from the yard. A flashlight was going to be superfluous for her. Still, while he was still in sight, she aimed it downward as if using it rather than have to explain her unusual abilities to the detective.

While Hank was slowly and methodically examining every inch of every room except the one Jackie was in, she turned off her flashlight and closed her eyes as she tried to determine where, if anywhere, was the source of the glowing darkness that spread across the floor and then crept up the walls like a sludge that was somehow buoyant, flowing against gravity. The evil radiance of darkness was so bright that it was hard to distinguish any differences, but slowly, gradually, as if her senses were adapting, she began to get a feeling, a impression of greater darkness in the basement that seemed to be the primary source, but there was another, second source of magic too, and it was outside; much smaller, and it seemed to move about almost at random, and it was an orange red instead of black.

“Jackie. Come here, but watch out for that pile of wood.” Hank called from the living room. He didn’t look up from his position kneeling by the fireplace as she approached. “What do you make of this?”

“It’s a fireplace with singe marks on the stone.”

He nodded, silent and unmoving; waiting for her to continue.

“But this is a new building. Not even new, but still being built. It’s still under construction. Would the construction workers have used it to burn rubbish or something? It doesn’t seem likely.”

“Not if they wanted to avoid getting docked pay to cover the cost of cleaning it, maybe even redoing the work entirely, if this DeBauck wanted to be a jerk about it, which he seems to have been.” Hank quickly flashed the light around the room, taking care to avoid the windows with the narrow beam of brilliant white. “We need to check the rest of the place, but there’s no sign of anyone squatting here, nor of entry damage that would suggest vandalism.”

“Ah, Hank? I think I should tell you that there’s something moving around outside the house.”

There was a gun in the detective’s hand before she could blink and a second later he had moved into a crouch against the wall after pushing her behind him.

“Hank. Relax. It’s not human and it doesn’t seem to want to come in.” The man continued scanning the yard from the edge of the open window frame, searching for whatever Jackie had seen move.

“Wha…?” Her words finally sunk in. “What do you mean, ‘not human?’”

“I think it’s a dog or something, silly,” but the levity in her voice was strained. Dogs didn’t usually have auras. “You didn’t let me finish my thought….”

Slowly, with a scowl, he stood up and put away his weapon. “Let’s check the basement,” he growled and turned abruptly on his heel.

There was only a rough construction ladder built from two-by-fours between the first floor and the basement. Hank insisted on going down first to check the area out and make sure it would be safe. While she waited, Jackie tried to get a better look at whatever was lurking outside. It was clearly magical in origin, but it kept itself just far enough away to prevent her from getting a good view.

“Come on down, if you must, but the stench is going to be really bad.”

“Be right there.” As her head moved below the level of the floor joists it hit her, a cloying, sweet smell, like a combination of roasted pork, charcoal and rancid garbage. “What is that smell?”

“Ask me after we’ve left and I’ll tell you. If I tell you now you’ll just foul the crime scene.” The detective was kneeling beside a dark stain on the concrete floor, staring at it intently. Hank reached out and gently rubbed a finger against the stain. A fine powder came away on his finger and there was a line in the powder where his finger had been.

“I have a friend who investigates fire scenes and we like to compare notes over a beer every now and then. You never know when some piece of information will be useful.” He looked around the room, puzzled for some reason.

“Anyway, I don’t know everything that he does, but I’ve never heard of something that could burn hot enough to cause cement to turn into powder. Have you? It would have to be something hot, very hot.”

“Somewhere between 1610 °C and 2230 °C,” Jackie promptly responded, “but heat alone wouldn’t do it.”

“Huh?” he looked up at her confused.

“What? You think a girl wouldn’t know facts like that?” Jackie was miffed.

“No. I don’t expect anyone to have facts like that at their fingertips unless he or she was in the profession or a trivia buff like me.”

“Oh.” Mollified and a bit chagrined to have been so touchy about it, Jackie explained. “I guess I’m sort of ‘in the profession,’ then, because I’ve been helping Frank study for his exams for years, and he’s a materials engineer. I guess some of it sticks with you, if you see it often enough.”

Hank looked a bit dubious.

“My bigger concern is that heat alone would not have turned cement, which is mostly sand or silica, plus a bit of lime, into powder. It would turn it into glass. There’s something else going on here.”

“I think you’re right,” he said as he stood. “Unless there’s something else you want to see, I think we should get out of here.”

“I’ll call Daren Brightman tomorrow.” Hank stood by Jackie’s car with his head hanging just inside the rolled down passenger window. “He’s the fire investigator I was talking about.”

“Good. Thank you, Hank. Oh, and I think I can guess what the odor was.” She touched the back of her hand to her lips and grimaced fetchingly. “I’m going to sit here a few moments more.”

“Are you going to be able to get home okay?”

“Yes, thank you, Hank.” Jackie smiled at the old fashioned concern in his voice and wondered what he would think if he knew what she really was. “I’ll be all right, really I will.”

Jackie waited until he’d gotten into his car and driven away before hurrying back to the partially-built house. Eschewing the door, she passed through the wall and squatted demurely before the fireplace.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she called. She could feel the presence. It was close, but it was hesitant. She needed something to entice it to come to her, something to make it feel safe and comfortable, but what would make it comfortable?

“Of course.” Jackie ran to the fireplace and tossed in a bunch of wood. Then, she searched for something to use as tinder, but the room was bare. In fact, the whole house was bare, except for the wood.

“Gotta start a fire.” Yanking off her blouse she stuffed it under the wood and considered how to do this. Speeding up the atoms ought to work, since the blouse was nylon, and had a low ignition point.

Soon there was a roaring fire and Jackie could feel the presence moving closer and closer. Suddenly, there was something else in the fire, something alive, something looking at her from the heart of the fire. “Zzz-ang-oo. Vvv-uzzz cold.”

It took her a moment to figure out that whatever was in the fire had just thanked her and told her it was cold. “You’re welcome, but what are you?”

“Zzz-al-man-der.”

“Oh, a Salamander. How nice. What are you doing here?”

“Vvv-ate vvv-or Mazzz-der.”

“You’re waiting for your Master? Who’s your Master?”

“Vvv-nix.”

“Phœnix? There’s a Phœnix around here? Damn, this town is getting too crowded with mystical creatures.”

Copyright © 1998, 2002, 2005, 2007, 2009 by Jeffrey M. Mahr

Copyright © 2011 by Levanah