Ian began etching symbols onto the floor with the chalk.

  “Is it supposed to look like a rabbit?” Montague asked him, turning her head to one side. Ian shushed her.

  “Keep an eye on whatever is breathing in that pit.”

  “Can’t hear the breathing now, over the pounding on the door.”

  “Huh, that’s a good point. When did they start doing that?” Ian shrugged. “No matter, they can’t get in. If they do, shove them I the pit.”

  “Aye aye!”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t draw a circle all the way around it since there isn’t enough space.”

  “And it’s in the corner of the room,” said Jamie.

  “And it’s in the corner,” agreed Ian, “Can either of you get me something demonic to put in the circle? I’ll need a representation since I can’t encircle the manifestation.”

  “I don’t have anything demonic!”

  “The goo will do, get me the goo.”

  Jamie hesitated.

  “You have to get me some of the goo, because the Captain has to protect you while you do it. Unless you’re going to protect her?”

  “…I’ll get the goo.”

  “Good Boy.”

  “Protect him from what?” Montague watched him, wrinkling his nose as he poked at the goo with the edge of a knife.

  “The demon. Have you ever fought a demon, Captain Montague?”

  “Literal or figurative?”

  “Literal, obviously!” Ian shouted back at her.

  “Counting imps?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Twice, then.”

  “Good enough.” Ian made shooing motions. Montague rolled her eyes, but followed after Jamie all the same, her back to him and her eyes towards… whatever was breathing.

  “Ian Blackwing,” hissed a voice from the darkness.

  “Did anyone else hear that?” Ian called.

  “Hear what?”

  “Forget it.” Ian continued marking runes on the floor.

  “Master Blackwing,” hissed the voice.

  “Better. More respectful. State your case.”

  “You turn against the powers of darkness?”

  “I’m not turning against anyone, just trying to get out of here alive.”

  “We make you an offer, Blackwing.”

  “Are you actually going to make it, or are you stalling?”

  “We can offer you all that you desire.”

  “Go ahead, then.”

  “Every desire you hold in your heart.”

  “Such as?”

  “All will be fulfilled—”

  “Details!” Ian shouted at the pit, “I may not be the most experienced demonologist in the world, but I’m no rank amateur. You’re bound to your word, but to no more or less. So what is your word? What is your offer? And what do you even want?”

  “We want you to stop.”

  “Is that all?” Ian scoffed and shook his head dismissively. He did not stop.

  “And help us to corrupt this place.”

  “Seems plenty corrupted without my help. And you wouldn’t be here if it needed yours, really, since you were summoned in the first place. Who did that, anyway? I doubt it was Miranda.”

  “You desire knowledge.”

  Ian shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “Give us the Boy, and we will answer you question.”

  “I don’t want the Boy, I’m not stopping you. But all that for one question?”

  “Um, Ian?” Jamie had returned. He was trembling worse than ever.

  “Can you hear that voice, Jamie?”

  “A little, I think.”

  “Interesting. And you, Montague.”

  “Nay. Nary an idea what you’re talking about.” She had fixed a bandana over her face against the smoke, and moved to tie one over Jamie’s as well.

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  “Drop it there, Jamie,” said Ian, indicating the center of his small ritual circle. Jamie held the knife over the circle. The goo stretched out, slowly forming a large drop. “Just put the whole knife down,” Ian said impatiently.

  Jamie obeyed. “Y-you’re not going to—”

  “Shh.” Using his own knife, Ian spread the goo around. He traced a pattern in it, an echo of some of the runes he’d shaped on the floor.

  The thing in the pit hissed.

  “Oh, I did hear that,” said the Captain, drawing her weapons again.

  “If something comes out, push it back in.”

  “Aye.”

  “Blackburn,” the voice was no longer a gentle hiss, but harsh and loud, and somehow hot as thought it pulled energy from the fire. Ian looked. The flames were taking on quite an unnatural shape, swirling and being drawn towards the pit. Oh Hell.

  “Jamie, see how much you can shift things farther away from the fire, so it doesn’t have fuel.”

  “It’s all metal and crystal. It shouldn’t be burning.”

  Oh. Hell. “Sit still and be quiet, then.”

  “The fire does give us a bit of time pressure, Mr. Blackwing.”

  “I am aware of that, Captain, thank you.”

  “We offer your life, Blackwing.”

  “There’s a start. And my answers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Another question, then. What deal did you make that opened this portal?”

  “Power.”

  “Details!”

  “Give us what we want then.”

  “And that is?”

  “For now, the Boy.”

  Ian looked at Jamie, who looked back at him, pale, wide-eyed, and now covered with ash. “What, him? Why? I don’t want him.”

  “Ian, you—”

  “Shh! Adults are talking.” Ian glared into the darkness. “What do you even want with him?”

  “The sacrifice of an innocent soul, to fuel our transcendence.”

  “He’s weak and useless,” scoffed Ian, “Will Montague do?”

  “Hey!”

  “An innocent soul,” pressed the demonic whisper.

  “Hey!”

  Ian shrugged. “You heard the awful voice. Throw yourself into the pit, Jamie.”

  Jamie shrank back away from him. “Ian!”

  “Didn’t work,” said Ian, resuming drawing sigils in the goop, “He wouldn’t do it.”

  “Give him to us!”

  “If you can’t steal his soul, what makes you think I can? I can kill him, will that do?”

  “Ian!”

  “Oh relax, child. They’re hardly waiting for my permission. If they could do it, they’d’ve done it. They can’t.”

  “We can take his life.”

  “So can anyone, that’s easy.” Silence. “I don’t know what they want from me, and I don’t think they do, either.”

  “Stop what you’re doing, diabolist!”

  “You offer to spare my life in exchange for something I cannot do. So if I stop, you kill me?” The voice did not answer. “You’re terrible at negotiation.” He looked at Jamie conspiratorially. “That’s why they send imps, you know.”

  Jamie just whimpered, clutching his healer’s case.

  “You got anything in there to restore magical energy?”

  Jamie took out a vial of sickly green potion and offered it to Ian.

  “Drink it.”

  “But—”

  “Drink it!”

  “But you’re so much more powerful than I am!”

  “Yes, but you have a type of power I don’t, and it would be a big help now. Drink it.”

  Jamie drank it, made a face, shuddered. “It tastes like a tree.”

  “Is that why you—nevermind. The thing I taught you before, pushing your holy magic out. Do it now.”

  The Boy held out a hand towards the darkness.

  “No!” said Ian quickly, “Down here. Into the goo in the middle of the circle.”

  “And that will end this?”

  “Eh, I give it a solid maybe.”

  Taking a deep breath, Jamie held his hands over the goo. White energy flowed through him and from him, and the goo writhed like a thing in pain, boiled, shrieked. Well, the shrieking mostly came from the pit. The darkness drew back, and the rest of the vault began to come into focus, although there was little left to see.

  “Uh oh,” said Ian. The darkness drew back, but it left something behind. “He couldn’t get through the portal on his own, but he was on the edge of it, so now it’s pulling back from him.”

  “Who is he?” asked Jamie.

  “Dunno. Nobody important. Minor demon, but still much stronger than the imps. And he’s still not all here.” Ian stood. “And he’s not bound by any deal now, and I think he hates me, so… Ready to fight?”

  “O-okay,” said Jamie.

  “Aye!” said Montague, leveling her pistol at the spot where the darkness was coalescing into a humanoid shape. She fired, and the darkness writhed.

  “Not entirely solid, so hard to hurt physically. On the plus side, I think that works in reverse, too. And we can still push him into the pit before it closes." Ian worked a spell, sending a spark of energy towards the demon. “My best spell won’t work well on a demon. If you’ve any energy left, Jamie, he’s vulnerable to your holy power!”

  “You work with the holy powers, Blackwing?” hissed the demon, rising up.

  “It was hardly my choice! You’ve made him the enemy of my enemy. Put out your fires and we’ll talk.”

  The demon was formed of shadow, basically humanoid, but with wicked horns and clouds of darkness behind him that would probably look more like wings if he were allowed to fully manifest. The only thing that wasn’t pure darkness were his red eyes. “This betrayal will not be forgotten. The powers of darkness will know—”

  “Oh, I guess we just need to kill him, then.”

  “You grow more hubristic. You would tremble before me if I had fully crossed—”

  “Well duh. What kind of observation is that? Of course I’m more confident now that I’m winning!” Ian threw another spell at him. “Captain!”

  “These things are tricky, you know,” Montague answered conversationally, getting her gun reloaded and raising it again. The creature towered over her, at least ten feet tall. So she pointed the weapon at his face and fired again.

  The bullet tore through the wispy shadowstuff, though it quickly reformed. The demon roared with rage.

  “Are we even hurting it?” cried Jamie.

  We? “He wouldn’t be angry if we weren’t! There’s not much to him, but that’s hardly all good for him. If he runs out of shadow he’s done.”

  “And smoke,” said the demon, holding out a hand towards the raging fire on the side of the room. The smoke and fire were drawn towards his outstretched arm, swirling around him.

  Montague holstered her gun and raised her cutlass instead, leaping forward and slicing his arm off.

  The demon roared with pain and rage. The darkness and smoke shifted to shape into a new arm for him, but he seemed a little smaller.

  “Got it!” crowed Montague, “I can see that it’s workin’. You’ll regret the day you crossed Captain Gloria Montague!”

  “He won’t!” shouted Ian.

  “He won’t?” Montague faltered a little.

  “Not if we kill him!”

  The Captain’s roar of laughter rivaled the demon’s roar. “Oh aye! True enough.”

  Demonic claws tore at her. They weren’t solid and failed to cut her physically, but she winced all the same. Not unlike, Ian surmised, being hit by his own life-draining spell. The demon swiped at her again, but a shell of white magic formed around her.

  “I said blast him!” Ian shouted at Jamie.

  “I’m better at protection!”

  “That seems to hurt him well enough, besides,” observed Montague, and she was right. Where the demon’s shadowy hands would have passed through the shield, the shadow and smoke melted away. He was smaller now.

  Ian zapped him again, again, a third time. Montague’s sword slashed down through his left shoulder, down through his right, and then across his neck. He didn’t reform this time, the shadows largely dissipating as they were sliced to pieces.

  There was just a bit left now. Ian rummaged through a crate and pulled out a chalice. It was corroded where the demonic goo had touched it, but the goo was gone now and he could still sense hold power within it, though faded and week. He slapped the cup down over what was left over the shadowy demon.

  “Is it over?” asked Jamie.

  Ian held the cup tightly with his left hand, then placed his right over it and blasted it with magical energy until the chalice crumbled into bits of metal. There was nothing inside. “Now it is,” he answered triumphantly.

  The fire subsided a little without the demonic energy, though it still burned over the crates of holy relics. A brick fell behind Montague. They all looked up. They could plainly see where her bullet had gouged the ceiling, and dust fell from the hole in a steady stream. There was a groaning sound, and cracks ran out from the bullet hole. The zombies renewed their pounding on the door.

  “That part of it is, anyway.”