Chapter 8
Glysless waited until after Emory left the Buzzard before she set out for her night time shenanigans. The crest of her alcohol buzz had left her in a self pitying wake that really didn't help her mood. She thought she'd seen a nominally functional 'person' in the mirror on her way out the door. Not a drunk, no that took
effort.
She was just a little inebriated.
Which was good, because she didn't need to be sober to put the fear of....
her
into someone.
The plan was simple enough; if Claicey wasn't able to work in the brothel and her 'employers' had come looking for her, she was going to be at a specific corner. The lady sees some young man ogling her from the shadows looking for her leg tattoo. She runs because she's not stupid, and she probably calls it a night then and there. She goes home the back ways, or gets an escort from one of the caretakers assigned to protect 'the merchandise' in the wake of what happened.
Someone who's completely unaware a demon is waiting, and isn't valuable enough to the Family to get a silver weapon of their own. All in all, a tidy little scheme. If it meant lounging in the dark while Claicey finished out her rounds, then so be it; future Glys would thank her for her diligence.
Past
Glys, however, was in for a massive re-evaluation of both Claicey and Vellmullod: amongst the dirty plaster and- rare- brick houses was a small two story cottage with daisies spilling out of planter boxes under a bay window and tresses of violets and ivy racing up the corners of the place to strangle wrought iron fencing around an overhanging porch. Everything was remarkably clean and even the roof had been recently re-tiled.
Since when did the Hound know the first damned thing about carpentry? More to point, where did they get the money for those kinds of plants-- holy shit, were they finally developing a sense of self outside of killing things and breeding?
Someone in Hell was being given a handjob that'd let them see the face of eternity. Assuming anyone or anything was even
left
there at this point.
A quick look didn't seem to indicate anyone inside, no lights and no mortal souls that she could see. Maybe Vel had finally given up their ways-- they'd stopped at one child, kicked them out and just decided to lay low with their mortal wife. Could Glysless have been wrong all this time?
"Doubtful."
Despite all the pretty facing, the lock was still a weak point and Glys got in easily enough. Almost instantly she slammed into a barrier of Foxglove and iron shavings around the rim of the doorframe. Her skin burned. From the tips of her fingers to her scalp and even her toes. The pain was electrifying and drew
her
closer to the surface of her body, washing away the sloppy intoxication with sharp, angry clarity.
They'd set this up just for her-- probably assuming that one day Glys would break their agreement. Iron worked on any demon, but foxglove? Now that was a special touch just for her. It was too bad for all of them, though, that this message was too important not to deliver.
Glysless dug into her body, shoved herself down and collapsed her wings against her back. For extra momentum she ducked and shoved with all her strength, clasping her gloved hands to the narrowest point she could make. She shoved. Through the barrier- like pushing herself through a congealed block of liquid acid- every little bit of progress burned over more of her skin. She forced herself to sweat the feeling off but that only made it worse as rivulets of pain trailed down her back and thighs into uncomfortable places.
With each gain more agony burned her flesh, but piece by piece she dug in deeper and shoved through the barrier. She forgot to even breathe or to pump new blood through her body, adding to the torture until she finally broke through and crumpled into a heap just past the shavings. Then, as if she'd just been woken from a dream, she was
in
her flesh; she could see and feel it stitch itself back together, it crawled over her exposed muscle and bone and wrapped her once more without her even realizing she was forcing it to.
"I need a fucking beer..."
Glysless laid there staring at the wall breathing, mending the dead bits of her body and getting them back in working order. After she was 'mostly whole' again she opened her senses to the place-- there were three souls upstairs.
Young.
Very
young. Or faint. Which could easily be the case: hybrids never had particularly strong souls. Something about a demon's offspring always seemed to be
lacking
some fundamental part, or
parts
to make them a truly unique being. Maybe it was just the Hound's lack of basic intelligence and
essence
. Glys had always been the superior being in that regard.
After a few more moments of self affirmation, Glysless scraped herself off the floor and went poking around the idealistic little cottage for a place to sit menacingly in the dark sipping stolen booze.
There were a lot of flower motifs all over the place, engraved into exposed beams and etched into wrought iron accents that she didn't remember being there last time she visited. The place was very well kept and had even been partitioned off into separate rooms instead of the usual open floorplan of these kind of dumps. Weirder still, there were actual floorboards and nice furniture. Old, yes- but when you said 'Hellhound' or 'Fifth Segan of the Black Waves' you did not picture stained oak and birch flooring- unless those things were spattered in blood and bits of fur.
Glysless paused at the dining room, frowning to herself. They'd been in this world long enough to have seen the rise and fall of nations, they'd even been the cause of some, but they were
destroyers
and
conquers.
When had
they
decided to live the domestic life?
There was a distinct lack of beer. Or spirits. Or anything good looking to eat-- she still scarfed down half a sausage roll when she found it, because her body needed fuel to burn, but she wasn't going to be happy about it!
There was some mint tea which she started brewing to occupy herself. She was still close to her flesh after the barrier, and the faintest scent tickled her nose. It was oddly soothing, even if it brought to mind images of the young girl the Mistress had been. Back in the slums when Glys had been stabbed a dozen times to keep the kid from being taken by a much younger Delasin Kosori. They'd gotten tea after Glys ripped one of his friend's souls out and emptied his pockets.
Mint tea...
Maybe the Mistress had a greater impact on both of them than Glys had realized. A shudder ran through her. After it all, the thought that some human could domesticate not one but both demons was hilarious and pitiable.
So....very....pitiable.
She touched her throat unconsciously.
The kettle whistled.
#
Half an hour later Glys was on her third pot. She'd fallen away deeper into her body long ago, so there were no sensory responses, but she kept drinking to remember the taste- reconstructing the flavor and scents while choking back the memories of the attempted kidnapping.
All the while, and ignoring the ache in her bladder, she framed a small shadowbox cube with strips of wood she'd cut out of the dining room table with her knife. She'd cut some curtain material for the frame and was just about to go looking for something to glue it together when the front door opened.
The soul that stepped in was half-wrong; human and not, mortal and
other
. Powerful. Like a lantern blasting through frosted glass. It was familiar somehow.
Then it disappeared.
It didn't just
stop
existing, but Glysless couldn't pick it out against the background. Someone was
