The Demon-Eater: Hunting Shadows (Book One, Part One (7 page)

Gabriel sat back in his
chair, wineglass in hand, musing over his plan to get the attention
of those atop the balconies. How
had
he decided he would gain passage
to the balconies? He sighed.
Right, there
is no plan. I must have forgotten to think that part up.
Sounding off his gun would certainly get their
attention—perhaps even get the nobles to clear the entire place,
thus saving the duke—, but it was not necessarily the sort of
attention he was looking for.

Save one man, to get
hanged later for firing a weapon in a room full of nobles?
he thought. It was absurd. Even if he could get
out of being hanged—and, being a fake lord, he probably could—he
definitely would not be invited to many balls after such a stunt.
Which meant, in the future, he would have a flaming difficult time
saving the targeted lords.

Let the lords die,
he thought.
I'm hunting
demons, not hero points.

He paused. That seemed the wrong
thought.

Gabriel took a sip of his
wine, watching the couples dance on the slightly raised dais at the
center of the room, designated for the purpose. He closed his eyes
and listened to the song of the musicians, who were sectioned off
in their own area near the dais. For a moment, he could imagine
they were playing a faster tune and he was dancing the haymaker's
jig. With
her.
She
had loved to dance.

She's dead,
voices hissed at him. He opened his eyes, looking
around for the voices, before realizing it had come from the
others
. He did not like
to call them demons once they were inside his head—or wherever they
actually were. He found that his control over them seemed a great
deal more fragile, when calling them demons.

Do you remember how she
died?
the voices went on in unison, a
hundred whispers coming together to form one low groan of
thunder.
Tell us,
the
others
said in pleading voices.
Oh, tell us
how she died, please! Tell us, Demon-Eater. Tell us!

The music of the ball faded, until it was no
more. He heard footsteps in the silence, pattering passed him on
one side, then the other. None of the nobles were near him. One
eye-blink later and the ballroom, with all its denizens, was gone,
replaced by a long, narrow, sheer-white corridor. Gabriel stood on
one end, facing a door which seemed a mile away.

Figures dressed in white scuttled to and
fro, moving around him like water around a stone. Gabriel found his
breath choked up. The brightness of the light, the people all clad
in white, the door... He did no want to be here.

After a few moments, like an echoing shout
in an empty building, the people blurred around the edges, faded to
near transparency, then disappeared from the corridor. Gabriel's
heart drummed heavily as he stared forward, into dead eyes. One man
stood before him, all clad in white, wearing a mask covering his
mouth and nose. Gabriel felt sick.

The man folded his arms, taking Gabriel in
with those stoic eyes. The fingers of one white-gloved hand drummed
against the man's upper arm. He wore a ring on this hand. Why did
he wear a ring over his glove?

“
Give us more blood,” the man said in a steady tone, his voice
muffled by the mask.

Gabriel felt cold and suddenly very
weak.

“
Give us more blood,” the man said again. “We need more
blood.”

More blood,
Demon-Eater,
the voices inside
mocked.

“
More,” the man continued. “We always need more. To make her
better.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes
shut, shaking his head.
I am in a
ballroom,
he told himself, trying to gain
control.
There is music
playing.

More blood,
the
others
growled in defiance of him.

I am in a ballroom. I'm here to save the
duke, Hort.

No,
the
others
said.
You are in the place where she
died. You are facing her murderer! What are you going to do,
Demon-Eater? Tell us.

I am in a ballroom!
he shouted in his thoughts.
There is music playing. I am here to save Duke
Hort.

Tell us, Demon-Eater. What are you going to
do?

Stop it!
I
am in control. You are
trying to break me, because you fear me. But
I
am in control. I will
breathe
in every last one
of you. I will find a way to make your kind bleed. And I will wipe
your existence from the face of my world.

A fleeting weight lifted from his mind at
once, and he opened his eyes to the sound of music and the sight of
dancing. He looked down at his hands, realizing he was clutching
the side of the table in a white-knuckled grip. He forced his hands
to relax and released his pent up breath. Carefully, he swept his
gaze about the ballroom. None of the other nobles seemed to have
noticed anything had gone amiss with him.

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, breathing
heavily.

Come and get us, Demon-Eater.

He cracked a smile. That was a challenge he
wholly accepted.

First thing's first,
however.
He needed to get information about
the duke, before trying to talk his way onto whichever balcony Duke
Hort was on—research he probably should have conducted
before
the
ball.

No time to waste,
then,
he thought, rising from his chair and
taking a gulp of his wine. He picked a path leading to the other
side of the ballroom and began zigzagging his way between small
groups of conversing noblemen and women. He made sure to skirt
close enough around the groups so that his ears could pick up
snatches of conversation.

“
...haven't found poor Placent's killer yet,” Gabriel heard as
he passed by one group.

“
You know, I am acquainted with the fellow who patented these
light...” another was saying.

“
...a
demon
shrine?” someone in another group laughed. Gabriel paused, his
ears perking up. “That's what you heard the Great Railroad was
built around?”

“
That's why it splits into the eastern and western tracks for
no other foreseen reason. Or, that's what I heard. And they could
not say for certain
who
the shrine was to. And, anyway, who can really say
with utmost confidence that there is truly even a shrine
there.”

Gabriel frowned and
continued on.
A demon shrine?

“
This is certainly one of Hort's better balls,” Gabriel heard
as he drew close to another group. “I wonder what's got him so
busy, he can't even mingle with the other lords.”

Here we are.

“
I
heard the duke's making quite a few deals tonight,” Gabriel lied,
as he slowly made his way past the group of four noblemen. From his
periphery, he saw them turn there heads to regard him, and he
slowed to a stop, turning around and facing them.

“
Well, that is no news at all,” one of them, a tall,
just-greying man replied, then chuckled softly. He was a
pretty
fellow, despite
his slightly crooked nose
. “Why, Duke Hort
is always making deals. And—terribly sorry—, but I don't believe we
have yet met...”

“
William Baryon,” Gabriel said, giving the man a cordial nod.
“I am Tulius's brother—or half-brother, rather.”

“
Oh yes,” the man said, half-grinning, “the viscount... I am
Thadias Lockre, the count of Lemrich and those few small towns
surrounding it. This is Jimothy Booker, Stial Hessen, and Mahre
Sep.” Thadias pointed to the other three in turn.

“
I
heard the entire reason for this event is so Hort can see to it his
daughter finds a suitor,” Booker, a shorter, hard looking man,
said. “Perhaps, the duke is merely using his time to speak with the
potential suitors himself.”

“
Suitors?” Gabriel said, thoughtfully. So Duke Hort wanted to
see his daughter find a potential husband, then. Perhaps that would
be enough for him to use to get onto whichever balcony the duke was
on.

“
The duke has been growing anxious in that pursuit of late,”
Thadias nodded.

“
Placent—Father Truth rest his soul—told me only just a few
weeks ago that the girl simply refuses to marry,” another
nobleman—Mahr?—spoke up. “He will likely choose for her tonight, if
he does not give her another chance to choose for
herself.”

“
Yes,” Thadias said, sounding amused, “she is quite stubborn.
Everyone I know says so.”

“
Where is this daughter of the duke's?” Gabriel asked and four
amused eyes turn on him. They seemed to imply Gabriel's motives for
him.

“
Just look for the table
encircled
by swooning noblemen, good
man,” Thadias said, wearing that half-grin of his again. “There are
many seeking to romance the young lady this night.” His tone seemed
to say,
Many from greater
houses.

Thadias nodded his head in the direction
just over Gabriel's shoulder and he turned to see a flock of young
men gathered around a table which was set apart from the rest, like
vultures. Between the nobles, Gabriel caught a glimpse of the one
young woman sitting at the table, her stewards surrounding her like
an honor guard might the king.

Gabriel only had a glimpse of her, but—with
her chin resting atop her hands as though to keep her head from
banging against the table—she looked miserable.

“
And her name?” Gabriel asked, turning back to Thadias and the
others.

All four of them cocked brows nearly to
their hairline, looking dumbfounded by the question.

I really should do more
research,
Gabriel told himself.

“
That is the Lady Renette,” Thadias said, eventually in a
matter-of-fact tone.

“
Thank you.” Gabriel gave the group one last nod and started
away.

“
This should be interesting,” one of them said from behind, as
he strolled toward the table set siege by noblemen.

Gabriel skirted around the
outside of the crowd of hopeful noblemen, all speaking to one
another in haughty, overly-loud voices about their feats or
financial holdings or—quite simply—their eligibility, in an attempt
at capturing the attention of Lady Renette. Gabriel peered between
the other lords, catching another glimpse of the wide-eyed,
rosy-cheeked lady, who was doing well to look everywhere
but
the crowd built up
before her.

She ran a hand though her raven black hair,
which had partly fallen loose from the bun it had been styled in,
before adopting her poised posture again. With tired eyes, and a
bored expression on her face, it seemed keeping her back straight
and her head up had become quite a task. She looked undeniably
stressed, bored, and not open to conversation at all.

Inside, Gabriel cringed.

Tick-tock,
Demon-Eater,
the
others
whispered.
Tick...tock.

Gabriel set his jaw. He would have to be
blunt, then.

He took a calming breath, as he maneuvered
through the mass of assembled noblemen, choking the air with the
scent of their perfume. They all stood a short distance from Lady
Renette's table, but none of them approached, for to do so without
being called forth by one of her servants would be highly improper
and offensive. Gabriel had never really been one to follow lordly
tradition—which was acceptable, being that he was a fake lord—;
however, to ignore it now could save Duke Hort, or—if Renette was
offended and turned him away—could lock the duke in his ill
fate.

Gabriel approached the table.

The lady's stewards looked to one another
with disbelieving expressions, clearly unsure what exactly they
were to do if a lord broke protocol. Of course, being stewards,
they did no more than continue with their incredulous stares.

Lady Renette frowned deeply, somehow
managing to take on an even more rigid posture. She was rather
pretty, despite the fact she had not yet quite grown into her
woman's body.

“
I'm sorry, sir,” she said in a firmness that seemed to
contrast her youth and petite figure, “but I do not believe you
were called for.”

“
No,” Gabriel said, trying to think out his next words
carefully. “However, there is something rather pressing I need to
discuss with you, my lady.”

“
You do realize, you are perhaps the half a dozenth person to
say that very thing tonight,” Lady Renette said. “Admittedly, you
are the first one to have the
gall
to say it to my face, instead of through the ears
of my servants.”