The Demon-Eater: Hunting Shadows (Book One, Part One (6 page)

Barnes just shrugged in a
way that said,
Being stupid is your
choice.
Gabriel waited for the man to exit.
Barnes remained where he was by the door, however.

Right,
Gabriel remembered,
payment.
The underground bosses paid him to kill demons,
while another robbed him of half of it for a room the size of two
closets and a party invitation. Reaching into his duster coat, he
retrieved a rubber banded bundle of bills. The price for getting
one invited to a ball was a hefty one, indeed.
Apparently, even when they're the ones employing you,
Gabriel grumbled inwardly.

Barnes reached for the money and Gabriel
withdrew the bundle slightly, making the man pause. “Before you're
off,” Gabriel said to the man's agitated stare, “answer me this:
Why do you help? Why do your people expend some of your funds
paying me to hunt demons? I can't see how it helps you, seeing as
nobody knows.”

“
We love this world as much as any,
Lord Baryon
,” Lannister answered. “It
is by cheating it that we are paid, after all. Using a portion of
our resources to eliminate any potential competition secures our
own
business.
”

“
Competition?” Gabriel asked. “From demons? I doubt they're
interested in the things the many undergrounds do.”

“
I
did say
any
potential competition.” Barnes raised an eyebrow at Gabriel's
still-questioning look. “Our money primarily comes from the
wealthy—lords looking to upend another, merchants trying to rid
their rivals of supplies—, and we get paid by making those things
happen. If the demons are killing the lords, essentially our
money
, then we in
my
business
have a
major problem. Now, I think I will have my money. Or have you
anymore question regarding the
business
?”

There was a dangerous edge in Barnes's eyes
and Gabriel was quick to hold the money out for the man again.
Lannister Barnes accepted the money gladly and turned to leave. He
paused in the doorway, however.

“
You would do well to work on thinking more like a noble
yourself,” the man said over his shoulder. “I think you'd find many
of your questions answered, merely by using another person's head.”
With that, he left Gabriel to himself.

Gabriel leaned his cane against a wall and
set his suitcase down on the squeaky bed, unclasping the
fastens.

Time to save a lord.

C
hapter
T
wo

Tall lampposts stood on either side,
illuminating the cobbled drive leading to the Bawdlin mansion. The
even-glowing electric lights were far more practical than the oil
lamps still used by some of the smaller towns. Being still a
relatively new technological advancement, electric lights were
often the center of conversation among the nobility. Pragmatic as
they were, how anybody managed to hold entire conversations about
the things was beyond Gabriel.

Gabriel paid little heed to the lights as
his coach made its way along the drive. Although they were quite
intriguing, he found that change frightened him more than he would
probably ever admit. His coach rounded the circular drive before
the mansion, giving Gabriel a view of the massive structure from
his seat in the coach. He looked out the window, raising an
eyebrow. The Bawdlin mansion towered three storeys high,
beautifully designed statues erected from the corners of the
building at each storey.

Gabriel reached to push the coach door open
as the coached rolled to a stop, then pulled his hand back. Tapping
his cane impatiently against the floorboards, he waited as “his”
coachman—or, rather, the coachman provided him by his underground
contacts—came around to open his door, then stepped out. It was
difficult being a lord; after all, one required a great deal of
patience when waiting for others to serve him.

Gabriel had long ago determined he could
never endure the task of being a full time lord. There was simply
too much waiting involved.

He stood rooted for a moment, tall and
regal...lordly..., before strolling forward, his mahogany cane
clicking against the cobblestone beneath him. Lords liked to carry
canes, even when they did not need them. He had only just
discovered this at his latest ball at the now-deceased Lord
Placent's.

Regardless, he quite liked
the new fad, as it allowed for him to bring a rapier, concealed in
the sheath of his cane along with him—of course, the previous
fashion had been wearing an
actual
sword. It was short-lived, apparently making the
lords, with all their enemies, nervous. Still, many of the noblemen
probably did the same as Gabriel, concealing some kind of blade or
another in their canes.

Gabriel strode up the few steps and into the
colorful limelights, which were fixated upon the rooftop to shine
down on the entrance. On the front patio, a few nobles stood to the
side chatting amongst themselves. The one noblewoman in the small
group—probably the wife of one of the men, by the wedding ring she
wore—fixed hungry eyes on Gabriel and smiled innocently. Then, not
so innocently, she perked up her breast and gave him a low curtsy,
revealing an egregious amount of skin, her plummeting neckline
doing little as far as concealment was concerned.

Perhaps, not the wife of
one of
these
noblemen, then.

Gabriel—or Lord Baryon, as he would be
called this night—ignored the woman as he walked past the chatty
nobles, two guards opening the towering entrance doors as he
approached. He had a feeling the glimmering ring she wore on her
finger meant very little to her. This time, he caught himself
reaching for the wedding band which was no longer on his finger and
stopped himself.

Shaking his head to himself and drawing
himself up with a lordly haughtiness, Gabriel strode in through the
doors, pausing as a man stepped in front of him, performing a
sweeping bow. His plain grey waistcoat and white-gloved hands
marked him as a steward.

“
This way to the ball, my lord,” the steward said with as much
poise as his bow.

Gabriel followed the man through the
impressively capacious antechamber and into the even more
extravagant ballroom. Moonlight and limelight alike beamed in
through the skylights above, illuminating the bustle of the floor.
The smell of perfume, sweat, and scheming dusted the air.

Gabriel had only recently begun finding it
interesting to see diversity even among the aristocracy, for he had
only recently realized it existed. When looked upon briefly by one
of lower birth, nobles would all most likely appear to be the
picture of perfection and poise expected of them. However, when one
dwelt among their ranks for a time it became clear that—just like
any other—, when compared to the poshest of nobles, there were a
group of nobles that would seem rambunctious among their class.
Drunkards and slackers existed among nobles and non-nobles all the
same. Noble drunkards merely slurred larger words, and in a more
refined manner.

“
And who may I say has arrived?” the steward asked, drawing
Gabriel's attention from the floor.

“
Lord William Baryon, of the noble House Baryon,” he said,
handing the man his overcoat. The steward hesitated, eyeing his
cane in silent questioning. Gabriel frowned.
Why would he want my cane?
Sweeping
his gaze across the ballroom, he noted, with dropping spirits, that
only the old or crippled seemed to be bearing canes around. He
cringed inwardly when he noticed a few of the younger nobles eyeing
his cane with amused expressions. A few of them laughed to each
other.

Gabriel leaned in closer to
the steward. “Tell me,” he said in a low voice, “are canes no
longer...
in
.”

The steward flushed, his eyes flicking
nervously to the side. He looked as though he suddenly wanted to be
away.

“
Of course, they are quite fashionable, my lord,” the steward
said. Was he supposed to correct a lord, after all?

“
You can be honest with me,” Gabriel pressed, giving the man
what he hoped was a disarming smile. The steward looked as if
Gabriel had revealed a mouth full of fangs.

“
Well...er...they are quite fashionable...mostly for elder
folk, I believe, my lord,” the steward finally stammered out.
“Pardon me, my lord.” The steward flushed again.

“
No harm done, good man,” Gabriel replied, handing the man his
cane with some hesitation. It's been a week and already they
changed the fashion?
Nobles,
Gabriel thought with a sigh.
Little more than very tall children with constantly shifting
tastes.
He still had Retribution, at least,
tucked away in the hidden holster built into his suit jacket.
Although, in this place, he would never be able to hide the fact
that he was the one to fire a gun. That was, if he managed to catch
the demon
before
it was able to take another host's life.

“
What,” Gabriel began again, “
is
considered fashionable now? You're
always around nobles, so I'm betting you know. They always change
things on me, these other nobles.”

The steward laughed awkwardly, obviously
unsure of how he was supposed to respond. Was Gabriel toying the
steward for his own gain, somehow? The poor man looked on the verge
of faint. “Cravats,” he squeaked. “I believe it's colorful cravats,
my lord.”

“
Cravats,” Gabriel said with a wince. “Why, that's absurd. Who
could conceal a wea...er...a well deserved bottle of liquor in a
cravat?”

The steward stood in
confused silence, sweat trickling down the sides of his face.
Apparently, this man was not accustomed to having a lord engaging
in any sort of conversation with him. His eyes flicked to Gabriel's
cane in his hand. His expression said:
And
you can hide a bottle of liquor in this?

Gabriel shrugged as if to
say:
I have my ways
, then patted the steward on the head. “Thank you, friend. I
shall allow you to get back to your announcement of me,
before
you soil
yourself.”

Gabriel turned back to the commotion of
nobles again—the steward announcing his presence in a stumbling
voice—, noticing the bright cravats around the necks of nearly
every nobleman, for the first time. Fortunately, Gabriel wore a
dark green cravat with his black suit—a white shirt underneath—,
the buttons of his tailcoat a gleaming gold...fake, of course. His
cravat was not nearly as bright and extravagant as the others', but
at least he was wearing one.

And I still have my looks
to get me through the night,
Gabriel
thought as he started forward, quickly taking in his surroundings
as he sauntered among mingling clusters of men and women. The room
was circular with a lofty ceiling, from which three golden
chandeliers, with a myriad of crystals, hung. Their many electric
lights did little to illuminate the massive space, that duty left
mainly to the skylights, but a rainbow of colors did reflect off
the crystals of the chandeliers and bounce around the
space.

Tall, narrow windows circled the entire
room, set into the wall higher up. Although, these were more for
decoration than anything else, with beautiful designs painted on
them in intricate detail. The place was, indeed, filled with enough
color and light to send one into a daze.

Balconies jutted from the wall in a few
places, on which the most important of nobility would be
conversing. Undoubtedly, the host of the ball, Hort Bawdlin, would
be on one of them now. Duke Hort was one of the most powerful men
in all the South. It would prove difficult for Gabriel to get close
enough to the man to protect him.

He took a seat at an empty table, waving for
a steward carrying a wine tray. A glass of sparkling red wine was
set in front of him a moment later, the liquid sloshing back and
forth like blood. A few drips were carried over the brim, trickling
down the side of the glass. Three crimson droplets fell to the
white tablecloth.

Like...
An image flashed in Gabriel's mind. The smallest
fraction of a memory. Of a bandage stained red.
Blood.

Gabriel shoved the image away, clenching his
jaws. He could not let his head affect him this night. There would
truly be blood shed at this event, if Gabriel was unable to get to
the host in time. It was always the host the demons slaughtered, as
if to make some kind of show of their murder. Two lords had already
been slain, and whispers of mad lord-killers had begun to buzz
throughout the Southern Region already.

No one wanted to speak
aloud the existence of demon-kind. They wanted to forget about them
completely. Most these days were probably completely unaware of
them
ever
having
existed. People ignored the demons and the demons' discreet
killings were written off as “undeterminable deaths.” Or, at least,
that was how it had been for as long as Gabriel could recall. So
why would the demons suddenly want to draw attention to
themselves?