The Grey Girl, The Van Tassel Murders

“You, sir, have made a very bad deal,” Simon explained in a bored tone. “Getting involved with that particular witch was very unwise indeed.” He waddled over to a chair. Lifting himself onto the cushion, he turned his eyes to Alistair.

Watching the small demon move, Alistair did not even consider helping him up.

“And I would not have accepted such assistance,” Simon replied to the unspoken thoughts. “I am not entirely sure what you were promised, but I assure you, it cannot be delivered.”

“Why should I believe you?” Alistair asked, not unkindly, as he took a seat opposite Simon. “She has already given me many of her spells.” To emphasize this he produced fire and lightning in his hands and moved several large pieces of furniture without even looking at them.

Simon barely watched, and by all accounts seemed woefully unimpressed. He sighed. With a click of his fingers, they were in the woods. Another snap and they were back in the house. A third and Alistair found himself screaming and burning in flame. In an instant he was back in his chair in the cool, dark room. “Your simple parlor tricks are unimpressive,” Simon sneered. “She has shown you nothing … and given you even less.”

“She has promised to give me great knowledge …”

“Knowledge,” Simon interrupted, holding up a hand. “Knowledge that she herself does not possess.”

“You are a demon. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?” Alistair’s tone was less friendly now. His hands still shook from his trip through the flames.

“Fair to say you have no reason to believe me,” Simon replied calmly. “But believe this. She has made another deal. It was made many, many years before yours, the payment of which has come due and she has not the capital to repay the debt. The simple fact is, she will not fulfill your bargain, whatever that may be.”

“What is it you propose?” Alistair asked, slowly leaning back from the edge of his seat. His voice held a forced calm.

“I propose nothing.”

Alistair waited, but when Simon did not elaborate, he asked, “What are you expecting me to do?”

“As I stated, I want you to do nothing.” Simon steepled his fingers, allowing each one to tap in order. “Let this play out. Simply stand back and watch.”

“And for my inaction, what is it that I shall gain?” Alistair asked. This time he failed to keep the greed from his question.

Simon smiled. “Oh, something I think you will be very interested in.”

Alistair waited anxiously, his mind obviously envisioning great power.

Simon chuckled. “No, my friend, nothing so grand as those desires you are dreaming of.”

“But you said I’d be interested,” Alistair replied, confused.

“Oh, you’ll be interested.” Simon’s eyes narrowed as he watched Alistair’s face. “I will let you live.” He saw anger flit across Alistair’s face. “I’ll let you consider my offer.”

Suddenly, the chair was empty. Alistair was alone and very angry. “Demons, witches, and ghosts. You can’t trust any of them,” he grumbled.

“True, but a side must be taken.” Emily said in his ear. She had crept in, unseen, to stand beside his chair. “What do I offer, as opposed to what the lesser demon does?” she asked, hopping into the chair where Simon had been seconds before. “What is poor Ally to do?” She giggled.

The nickname boiled his blood. “Do not call me that,” he hissed. “My decision will be my own. You should pray that I side with you.”

Emily pretended to pout. “You’re a mean man.” Her voice turned cold and something far older than the ghost of the young girl before him colored her next words. “You should fear what I will do to you if you betray me. That little demon is nothing.”

Alistair found a face filled with malice and anger inches from his. Long fingers that ended in sharp claws encircled his throat.

“I can cause you untold suffering.”

Alistair mumbled something under his breath, and the hag that had been Emily was thrown across the room. Alistair was on his feet now. “Neither of you understands my power.” Moving his hands as if cupping an invisible ball, he advanced on the specter. With each step, she reverted back to the figure of Emily. “Whatever I decide will not be influenced by either of you.” He moved his hands closer together as Emily cried out. “Have I made myself …”

Before he could finish, he was the one thrown across the room. Emily was back on her feet, glaring at him. Light and fire exploded all around them as the furniture was thrown to the walls.

Alistair shook his head, trying to clear it. Through the swirling dust and clearing smoke, he saw Emily rising, her anger palpable. He stumbled to his feet, using the wall as support. Teetering, he prepared to throw another spell. His hand did not comply. He tried to pull it free from the wall but could not. Grabbing his arm with his free hand, he pulled painfully on his wrist. He placed a foot against the cracked plaster for leverage and pulled again. Checking over his shoulder, the fear crept in.

If Emily was doing this, she had a clear shot. But from what he could see of her, she was simply standing across the room, gloating. He had to defend himself, even if it was one-handed. His foot refused to leave the wall. Hunched over, his back began to protest. Bouncing on one foot, he lost his balance and threw out a hand to stabilize himself. He realized too late that it too was now stuck fast against the wall. Defeated, he hung his head. There was no way he could beat her like this. His back and leg were protesting in pain.

Alistair closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate, but the sound of struggling reached his ears. Emily also seemed to be to be besieged with some kind of entanglement. He couldn’t help but smile as she became increasingly vocal about her displeasure.

“Are we all done playing?” Simon asked as he popped into existence between them. A horrid screech filled the room and Emily’s banshee flew through the wall, straight at Simon. With a flick of his wrist, the banshee was thrown like a sheet in the wind. It too was trapped. Disgust curled Simon’s lip. He closed his hand. The banshee writhed as it curled up. Simon sliced the air, throwing the wraith against the wall. His flicked his hand, sending the creature up to the ceiling then back to smash onto the floor. It screeched and howled like an animal in a trap, fighting to pull itself free from his grasp. “Oh, the poor thing would like nothing more than to tear me apart,” Simon cooed, waddling over to stroke the creature’s head. Its jaws snapped and fingers clawed as it tried to reach him.

Suddenly, Alistair cried out in pain. From across the room the sound of Emily’s agony matched his own.

Simon glared at one then the other of them. “Fools!” he cried, his voice a terrible thunder, “Mortal fools!” He slammed a fist into his open hand and the entire house shook. “You take me for a lesser demon!”

The banshee began to crumple like a piece of paper. Alistair found himself flipped into the air then forced to his knees. He could see Emily was in a similar position. Both cried out as they were dragged by an invisible force to the middle of the room.

Simon glared up at them. “You are not dealing with some deal-making lackey.” He produced a black top hat, bejeweled with black crystals and a black feather.

Even in his pain, Alistair wanted to laugh at its ridiculousness. To his surprise, however, Emily

reacted quite differently. “Oh, my Lord.” She tried to bow, “I beg your forgiveness. I did not know, I did not see.”

“No, you did not!” Simon snarled.

“Oh, great duke of hell, please, please grant me another chance,” Emily begged. A light shone in her eyes as she continued, “Begging your forgiveness.” She cowered as he turned his full attention to him. “But I have time left.”

Simon’s face returned to a sea of calm. “Yes, that is true. Not much, and it is speeding away as you battle with this magician.”

“Sorcerer,” Alistair muttered. Both Simon and Emily spared his wounded pride a moment of contempt.

“If you plan to fulfill your bargain, I suggest you do it soon,” Simon said. Turning his attention to Alistair, he continued, “If you want whatever paltry power she has promised, I suggest you work together.”

Alistair and Emily found themselves free to move. Both got to their feet like scolded children. Their mutters of vengeance were barely audible as they left the room.

Simon watched them go, a wry smile on his face.

“See, I told you this would be more fun,” a voice whispered from the darkness.

Simon nodded, stroking the silk of the hat. “Thank you for letting me borrow this.” His hand hesitated on the brim.

“If this goes well,” the voice hissed. “You may just be able to keep it.”

The look of rapture on the small demon’s face set the voice in the dark to laughing, the sound like the hiss of a snake finding its prey.