Daughter to Demons

by Jeffrey M. Mahr and Levanah

Chapter Ten:
Flame

The fourth part of the universe is entirely fire,
and is the source of the salutary and vital heat
which is found in the rest. From this we may conclude
that, as all parts of the world are sustained by heat,
the world itself also has such a great length of time
subsisted from the same cause….
― Marcus Tullius Cicero,
from The Tusculan Disputations,
(composed some time after the year 47 BCE)

“I saw Frank this afternoon. He’s hanging tough, but he looks gaunt,” Jackie told Sarah after she had thrown herself onto the Ahtram’s couch, frustration clear in her every word and action.

“There, there, dear. Everything will be all right.” Sarah’s arm was around Jackie, hugging her, holding her. “Hank will help you. Won’t you, Hank?”

“I’ll do the very best I can,” Hank agreed as he cleared the assorted knickknacks off the coffee table and spread out a bunch of papers from a thick folder. “This is what I’ve got so far. Let’s start with the autopsy.

“The autopsy is a bit weak, but then there wasn’t a lot left besides bits of bone and ash for the coroner’s to work with. Additionally, DeBauck had no broken bones or fillings that we know of. He was apparently a disgustingly healthy corpse. As a result, the determination of identity was based primarily on the discovery of an heirloom ring amongst the ashes, the location of the body at the construction site, and the chronology provided by his associates that placed both Frank and DeBauck there about the time of the murder, plus Frank’s wound, which argues for some sort of altercation, even if Frank can’t remember what happened, and Frank’s blood at the crime scene.”

“So they can’t really prove it’s DeBauck?” The smoldering hope in her eyes belied the calmness of her words.

“Forensics is usually better than that, but in this case the findings don’t really prove anything. That’s why they still have cops. A good lawyer could play with these findings, but in the end, the autopsy is unlikely to be a deciding factor. Motive, opportunity, and means are the real issues, so let’s move on to them. Did your friend check on the two sets of books?”

“Yes, but it’s not that helpful either,” Jackie answered. “The books weren’t ‘cooked’ as he called it, despite there being two sets of them. The problem seems to be the purchase of more concrete than the house should have needed or apparently contains. One set of books — the set Frank had at home — showed the excess concrete, but the other didn’t, so the ‘cooked’ books were in DeBauck’s control. He thinks someone got a kickback, but if it went to DeBauck, he couldn’t find it without comparing the books of the excavating company.”

“Difficult, but not impossible. I’ll start the paperwork tomorrow, but you’ll have to submit it instead of me. I’ll get you the name of a friendly judge. You’ll have to get him to authorize a subpoena. Then comes the fun part as the excavating company has its attorneys file show-cause orders ad nauseam.”

“My God, is this what you go through every day?”

“Yup. Exciting, ain’t it?” Hank responded with a rueful grin before continuing. “Considering what an unlikable person DeBauck was, it’s quite amazing how few people there are who seem to have a motive for wanting him dead. Most of them are dead instead.”

“Excuse me? You mentioned that before, but have you found out anything more?”

“Not much. In the short time I spent checking out DeBauck’s acquaintances I found twelve dead people. As I said last night, the really interesting thing is that all the deaths were somehow related to fire, but none of the fires seemed to have much in common, other than being hot. The folks I talk to tell me he has a ‘bad rep’ and no one — not even any of the folks I know on the fringe — is willing to work with or for him. He’s damn close to a pariah in this town.”

“That’s got to mean enemies. Doesn’t it?”

“No. It means he didn’t have many enemies at all. You can’t have serious enemies if people won’t do business with you, and if the few people unlucky enough to have done so are mysteriously dead, it tends to encourage people to stay away from you. Hell,” Hank snorted, “he couldn’t buy a cigarette from a bum. Hardly anyone would do business with him, above or below board, so most of his contractors were hired through shell companies, who were ticked off when they found out who they were really working for, but probably not ticked off enough to kill him. They just demanded an escrow bond before starting work. Even his credit cards had been revoked. Appearances to the contrary, he was broke, at least on paper, although there are supposedly off-shore accounts somewhere, and a record of payments overseas for no apparent reason, but there’s not much we can do about that at the local level. So it looks like all his ready money went into building that house, and the rest vanished into the Cayman Islands and other ‘banking privacy’ warehouses.”

“So who did he have as enemies?”

“Well, unfortunately it’s a very small list and Frank is still on the list, high on the list. He had motive; DeBauck was making his life hell and everyone knew it. He had opportunity; he admits he saw DeBauck at the construction site that night and he has no alibi to prove he left before DeBauck was killed. He even had means; there was an oxyacetylene torch at the site that could have gotten hot enough to burn the body, and the tank was empty.”

“Hank, that’s just plain silly. Even I know that it takes several hours in a specially-constructed retort to reduce a human body to ash, using an enormous amount of heat and fuel. Doing that with an oxyacetylene torch — essentially a point source of heat — would be about as practical as roasting a turkey with a book of matches. I don’t know exactly how long it would take, but I suspect several days and a truckload of replacement tanks.”

Hank blinked in surprise. “Good point. We’ll have to mention it to Frank’s attorney, but not yet, I think. If you give the DA’s office any warning, they’ll just work harder to come up with an alternative, since Frank’s their only suspect and they won’t be happy if they’re made to look like fools before they go to court. They’ve already spent a lot of money on building a case, so their reputation is on the line. If they think they have an air-tight case going in, maybe they won’t pull as many dirty tricks to bolster their case.”

“Oh, great,” Jackie said. “This is just so not CSI. At least they go after guilty people. All this ‘circumstantial evidence’ the DA supposedly has in hand might just as well point to ‘spontaneous human combustion,’ so maybe the ‘murderers’ are really cosmic rays or space aliens.” Jackie was almost in tears and Sarah gave her a gentle pat on the knee. Startled, she looked up into the older woman’s eyes and saw the love and concern. The tears stopped stillborn and a tentative smile appeared in their place. They hugged.

At last Jackie was ready to continue. “So who else do we have?”

“We have Doctor Long. He had motive, what with DeBauck being responsible for the university not agreeing to the expansion of the Humanities Department and the home construction. He had opportunity — being at home and alone at the time of the death. But means is a bit weak, unless he used the mystical arts,” Hank laughed sheepishly.

“There must be someone else. Isn’t there?”

“Well,” Hank gave a deep sigh. “Not that I can find. I can’t even find the guy the house was being built for.”

“You mean he wasn’t building it for himself? Do you have a name?”

“Sure.” Hank flipped through his papers. “Here it is. Ignátio Fénix. Funny thing is, he doesn’t seem to care about the construction delay this investigation is causing. He hasn’t answered any of the messages Handelson’s left.”

‘Fénix! Phœnix! The Salamander had said that a phœnix was the ‘master’ it was waiting for, and her mother had said something about a Phœnix being involved — if only to dismiss the notion that DeBauck could possibly know one — but if a Phœnix was involved with DeBauck, that would account for the burn marks on the concrete. Mom did mention that the guy wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box, so maybe the Phœnix offed his goto boy when he goofed up somehow.’ “Could he be a suspect? Or could this whole thing be a scam? Ignátio Fénix seems about as obviously phoney as ‘Primo Suspek,’ or ‘Ima Crook.’ If this Ignátio guy is out to scam people, though, the first rule of villainy is that dead men tell no tales.”

“I don’t think so. The guy lives somewhere in Mexico. There’s no evidence that he’s ever been in this country, let alone in this area, so opportunity is out. As to motive, why do something to delay the construction of your dream house?”

“He’s never been in this area? Then how could this be his dream house? And having no evidence that he’s here isn’t nearly the same thing as not being here. There are probably a thousand informal ‘tourists’ and ‘economic refugees’ within a mile of here. Any man wealthy enough to build that house on the lake shore is easily capable of bribing someone in Mexico — or anywhere south of the border or in the Caribbean — to create a false ID, or even a passport. He might not even exist. Anyone could show up and claim to be acting on his behalf, and all they’d need would be a piece of paper to wave around.”

“Who knows?” Hank said. “ The guy apparently has enough money that he can afford several houses.”

Jackie sat very still, concentrating as hard as she could. Something didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Well, tonight would be the full moon and that would help her powers. Maybe it would help her think too? Then again , when she thought too much, she began to sink into despair. “I think I need to go home now,” she said, trying not to lose control.

Sarah reached out to touch her arm. “Don’t worry dear, something will come up. I have total confidence in Frank’s innocence.”

“Thank you, Sarah. I’d better go now.” Jackie nearly tripped over her feet in her rush to leave before the tears started again.

“Why am I here? Why am I here?” Jackie kept mumbling as if by repetition it would become a mantra to relax her and keep her safe as she squatted by the still incomplete home’s fireplace. She had just started a roaring fire in hopes of luring back the Salamander so she’d have someone to talk to while she waited. She’d brought the lighter from home this time, and a little can of lighter fluid to speed up the fire. She remembered being in the Campfire Girls, but didn’t recall going on any camping trips to hone her woodcraft skills. The trick with the nylon blouse had been fun, sort of, but even on sale at Ross it had been ten ninety-nine, and she’d liked that blouse.

It would have been easier if she knew what she was waiting for, but she didn’t. There was just that gnawing feeling that the answer to her problems was here if she could just figure out what it was.

“Zzz-ang-oo. Vvv-uzzz cold. Zzz-ooo cold.”

“How’s it going? Still waiting for the master?”

“Eeh-zzz.”

“Any idea when he’ll come?”

“Zzz-oon?”

“You don’t sound very sure of yourself.”

“Not zzz-ure. Hhh-ope.”

“You know, it doesn’t sound like your master is a very nice person.”

“Not pur-zzzon. Vvv-nix. Mazzz-der izzz vvv-nix.”

“Well, it sounds like your Phœnix isn’t very nice.”

“No.”

Jackie thought for a moment. “Tell you what. If this Phœnix doesn’t come back, you can live with us. We have a fireplace you can use.”

“Zzz-ang-oo. Be nnn-ew mazzz-der?”

“How touching,” said a new and scornful voice behind her. Jackie jumped and turned to see a tall man standing in the shadows by the door. “We’ll deal with your treachery later, Salamander.”

Two quick steps and the man was standing over Jackie. “It … it’s you,” she managed to say before a flash came out of nowhere and caught her with some sort of psychic blast. She was unconscious before she struck the ground.

The room was about twelve feet by twelve feet and solid concrete. Even the roof was concrete. What was more unusual was the absence of any doors or windows. What was even more unusual — although Jackie found herself ruefully admitting that this sort of stuff was fast becoming commonplace — were the black candles surrounding an elaborately drawn pentagram. In one corner, shivering, cringing as far as possible from DeBauck himself, was the Salamander, and in the middle of the pentagram was her captor.

“Wh … where am I?” Jackie asked the man who had struck her. She made a special effort to appear dazed and confused.

“Where I want you, in the room I had built beneath my house.”

“Your house?”

“Not a great conversationalist, are you? Yes, this is my house,” the man responded as he sprinkled some powder onto the floor inside the pentagram. It flared up brightly for a moment, clearly showing the face of the man standing in the center of the room.

“You’re Ignátio Fénix?”

“At your service, sweet thing.”

“But you’re Sylvester DeBauck. And you’re alive.”

“Right on both counts. It’s a shame I can’t keep you for later.” He took the opportunity to leer at her. “I’ve always liked dumb blondes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Is it possible I’ve overestimated your dim intelligence? Do you expect me to spell it out for you, woman?” he sneered and made a lewd gesture. “Oh, what the hell?” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got time to kill. Where would you like me to start?”

Jackie slowly sat up and tucked her legs under her. Thinking a few moments before speaking, she asked, “Why Frank?”

“Tsk. Tsk. And I thought you would ask what I was doing first. Oh, well, your loss. The answer is ‘Why not?’”

“That’s it? ‘Why not?’ You set up your research assistant for your own murder and the reason is ‘why not?’”

“Would you prefer something deeper?” DeBauck asked as if it was the most hilarious of questions.

Jackie was getting really tired of that sneer.

“He was available and easily manipulated. What more reason should I need? You humans are so weak and unworthy.”

Jackie noticed that he had described her as human. She knew her mystic aura was less when she wasn’t tapping into her magic, but he should still have been able to see it, just as she could see his. Whatever the weakness, Jackie knew that she would need to take advantage of it if she could.

“What do you hope to gain here?” Jackie gestured to the pentagram.

“Ah, now that’s what I expected to be your first question although it should be obvious.” He tsked at her blank look, allowing contempt to twist his features, and then continued. “I’m about to be reborn.”

“But how’s that possible?” she asked.

“I,” Jackie could see him preening as he spoke, posing to present the most attractive profile, ‘am a Phœnix, an immortal being who is reborn in fiery glory every millennium.”

‘Sure, and I’m Queen Marie of Roumania,’ she thought, but carefully didn’t say. Jackie turned to the Salamander. It looked completely miserable, so Jackie began whistling and patting her lap in order to call it to her. If nothing else, it gave her a chance to look at something, anything, other than DeBauck, still busy gloating over his own genius.

“You disbelieve? You doubt my supernatural nature? Then see me in my true glory.” With that he shimmered and something else stood before her. It was still DeBauck, but it was something else also. It had the hoofed legs and pelt of a goat and two small horns on the head. The hair on its head looked the same as that on the legs and the ears were pointed.

“You’re a satyr?” Jackie was careful to sound disbelieving.

His already ruddy skin turned a deeper purplish red and the perpetual sneer became a vicious snarl. “I am a noble Phœnix, do you hear me? A Phœnix, not some common wood spirit, some frolicking billy goat! How dare you suggest anything to the contrary!”

Jackie refrained from mentioning that the Phœnix was reputed to be a bird, and he showed no signs of having feathers — other than the ones inside his head where most people kept their brains — but had to bite her tongue to restrain her natural tendency toward sarcasm, because the guy was clearly loony; dangerous, but loony, and she didn’t know how he’d managed to knock her out.

His rage was beginning to dissipate a bit. “I should destroy you for such blasphemy.” His face became calculating and an evil smile replaced the snarl. “But no, I must not forget. I have a special fate in store for you. You will be the thirteenth. The last oblation destined to ensure my glorious apotheosis.”

“Thirteenth? The thirteenth what? Corpse?”

“Ah, there is a glimmer of a brain in that pathetic human head of yours after all. Yes. You shall be the thirteenth sacrifice.”

“Of course, the twelve people who died by fire,” Jackie blurted out. Then her eyes grew wide as she realized that she might have given herself away by letting him realize that she knew things that she should not have known, things that might reveal her to be more than just another human to be sacrificed.

“What do you know of them?” He was instantly wary.

“I … ah, nothing in particular. I’m in the Humanities Department you know.” She ignored his derisive snort as she frantically searched for an explanation that he would believe. “I specialize in mythology. The Phœnix was reborn each millennium from the ashes of its own funeral pyre. Actually, it’s not exactly a millennium, but full moons approximately a thousand years apart. There’s nothing specific that I’ve ever read about thirteen sacrifices as a precursor, but thirteen is a mystic number associated with the moon, so it makes sense, and you’re the one who said that I’d be the thirteenth, not me. I suppose there’s a timing to the sacrifices that requires some esoteric knowledge? Secret ceremonies known only to you?” Belatedly, she resolved to flatter him as much as possible. He had that hungry look about him, and Jackie was a very shrewd judge of male character. Her mother had been right about him; he was almost as stupid as a box of rocks, not that she’d proved herself much smarter, after foolishly blabbing what should never have been said aloud. She began to think that her mother might have been right about the other thing as well; that she’d never done anyone any harm who didn’t deserve it.

“Very good,” he nodded, flattered by her subtle acknowledgement of his superiority. He smiled. “The Sacrificial Lamb must be offered at the rising of each full moon of the last year of the Lunar Millennium, which is almost upon us, the Culmination of the Mystic Prophecy of The Last Moon, the sacred day of Divine Fulfillment, the Sacred Culmination of the Ever-Ascending Cosmic Spiral of Rebirth. Know that your puny death shall assist me in my Ascendance into Glory!”

“But wait, you don’t have a funeral pyre!”

“Of course I do; that’s what the Salamander here is for,” he said, sneering as he looked at an expensive watch, a Ulysse Nardin Men’s Maxi Marine style, she noted, around twenty-five grand at discount, twice that retail, so at least he had enough taste to avoid the clichéd Men’s Rolex Submariner, or perhaps he had a fashion consultant who told him what to buy. “But enough idle chatter. It is time,” he said with grandiose condescension. With a wave of dismissal he turned to the Salamander. “I know you’re hungry. There’s your food.” He pointed to Jackie.

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

Copyright © 2011 by Levanah