Chapter 16
Bartol
It was midafternoon when Bartol, Tormod, and Caius arrived in Budapest. After checking into their hotel, they took a taxi to a local mystic’s home. Word had spread in Europe that their group was hunting the demon, and supernaturals were starting to call with tips. Their latest clue had come about two days ago, but they’d had to wrap up their cleaning job in Romania before they could head to Hungary.
The taxi stopped in front of an old apartment building three stories high and made of brick. An older woman with curly gray hair sat on the steps, gripping a cane stretched out in front of her. She looked at them as they approached and said something Bartol could not understand.
Tormod glanced over at him. “What did she say?”
“I’ve no idea. Never had a reason to learn Hungarian.” Bartol knew at least twenty different languages, half of them ancient and dead now, but he couldn’t take the time to learn them all. They were constantly evolving, and it wasn’t easy to keep up.
“I said wipe your feet!” the woman yelled in a heavily accented voice.
Well, it appeared she knew English. Bartol made a point of giving her a wide berth as he got near the steps. He’d had more than his fair share of experiences with cranky, old women and didn’t have any desire to get hit with a cane. She could probably put up a decent fight.
His nerou charge, on the other hand, hadn’t learned that lesson yet. Before Bartol could warn Tormod, the young man reached down and touched the woman’s shoulder, a look of concentration on his face. It didn’t take long to figure out what he was doing. Tormod might be part demon, but he had a good heart. The elderly lady pulled away from him at first, cursing at him in both Hungarian and English. A moment later, though, she quieted and started leaning toward him.
Her wizened features softened. “You’ve got a good touch, boy. I haven’t felt this good in years.”
“It won’t last forever,” Tormod informed her. “But you should feel better for at least a little while.”
She patted his hand. “Thank you. I always said not all of the magic users were bad.”
Bartol probably shouldn’t have let the nerou heal a stranger when they had more important matters to attend, but Tormod had been rather shaken up by what he’d seen—and had to clean up—in the cathedral. This was the first time the anger and helplessness that had filled his features for days was gone. They all had their ways of dealing with tragedy. The nerou hadn’t faced much in his life, so if healing one old woman made him feel better, it couldn’t hurt to allow it.
They wiped their feet, making a big show of it, and entered the building. It was dim inside, but they found the elevator and took it to the third floor. The apartment they sought ended up being at the end of a long, dark hallway where half the homes contained shouting adults or crying babies. At least it was clean and didn’t smell all that bad.
An older man in his mid-fifties answered the door and waved them inside. “Thank you for coming.”
He had an accent similar to the woman outside, but his English was clear enough to comprehend. Bartol nodded at him. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it sooner.”
Caius had already explained over the phone what had delayed them.
“I understand.” He looked the group of them over after shutting the door. “My name is Norbert, by the way.”
They each introduced themselves. Bartol went last, adding a question, “You mentioned during your phone call that there were several unusual deaths in the area you wanted us to see?”
The man scratched at his peppered gray and black hair. “Yes, three of them over the last ten days to be exact. I’ve seen a lot in my life as a coroner with the police department, but this is unlike anything I’ve handled before.”
He turned toward his open kitchen and put a kettle on the stove, beginning to heat it.
“When did the last victim die?” Caius asked.
“A few days ago.”
Bartol stilled. Could they finally be that close to the demon? And would Haagenti stay in one place that long just to kill a few people?
He watched as the mystic reached for teacups in the cupboard, wiping them with a cloth before setting them on the counter. The older man likely didn’t get guests often.
“What makes these deaths unusual?”
“For one,” Norbert said, pulling a tea canister out, “I could sense the dark energy about them. For two, there was a symbol carved into their chests that I didn’t recognize, but I was able to find it later after searching through my books.”
The mystic nodded toward the other end of the living room where several shelves sat against two of the walls, filled with both newer hardbacks and tomes that had likely been passed down the mystic’s family for generations. They took up a lot of space in the small room. There was also an older television, a worn couch and chair, coffee table, and a space heater. Thin curtains covered the only window, providing just enough light for a human to see and be able to get around. The mystic wouldn’t win any decorating awards, but he kept everything neat and tidy, which Bartol knew from experience wasn’t always easy in tight quarters.
Tormod addressed the man, “What was the symbol?”
“Well, it was…” Norbert hesitated. Then he moved to his bookshelf and pulled an older tome out, bringing it over to the couch where they sat so they could see it. The page he opened to said it all.
It was Haagenti’s symbol.
“Wise of you not to speak the name out loud,” Caius said, meeting the mystic’s anxious gaze. “The more powerful he grows, the more dangerous mentioning him will become.”
They’d all agreed not to say the name or even mention it to anyone else since the day in the woods in Belarus. It was too risky. Better people just know that they were tracking a powerful demon and leave it at that.
“How did the victims die?” Bartol asked.
Norbert set his tome aside and returned to the kitchen to finish the tea. “One of them had their wrists slit. The second either hung himself or someone else did it, and the third was from poison. In every case, it isn’t quite clear whether they killed themselves or if the demon or a minion did it.”
That didn’t sound like something Haagenti would do. Everything they’d investigated so far led them to believe he preferred the mass deaths, but then again, Zoe had said she suspected the demon of smaller crimes on his way out of Russia. Could he have just been topping up his power as he went along?
“We’ll need to see the bodies.” Without viewing them, they couldn’t determine anything for sure.
The mystic brought over a tray with steaming tea cups. “Can’t do it today, but I can get you into the morgue tomorrow morning during my shift. You can look at them all you want then.”
They each took a cup. Bartol and the others weren’t particularly interested in drinking the hot brew but chose to humor the older man by taking a few sips. Norbert had been kind enough to allow them into his home, so it was the least they could do.
“Then we’ll meet you first thing in the morning,” Bartol said.
***
Norbert already had the bodies pulled out and ready for them to view when they arrived the next day. He’d greeted them at the front of the building and led them into the morgue without anyone questioning them along the way. The older man was nothing if not efficient.
He pulled back the sheet on the first body for them to view, stopping just below the collarbone. It was a young woman with bruising around her neck consistent with a rope. “What did she hang from?”
“The fifth story of an apartment building—out the window,” the coroner replied. He pulled the sheet further down to reveal the Haagenti symbol carved on the victim’s chest. “These were made before she died, so she would have felt every bit of it.”
Bartol shuddered. He’d had his skin carved into many times by Kerbasi, and the pain was considerable, but at least he’d known he’d heal and recover. Had this woman known her attacker would kill her, or had he taunted her for a while first?
“I don’t sense any demon energy,” Tormod said, grimacing at the woman.
“How can you tell?” Norbert asked. “The energy feels dark to me.”
The nerou nodded. “It is dark, but it’s not demon magic. It’s something else.”
“But…”
Bartol interrupted, “Tormod is a quarter demon. He would know.”
Norbert took a step back. “How…how did I miss that, and why would you bring someone who is part demon here? What good could he do?”
Tormod stiffened. “I’m also part angel.”
“I don’t understand,” the man said, and muttered something in Hungarian.
“He’s training with the nerou and considered one of them, but he has unique parentage. His father was half demon and half angel. His mother is a sensor,” Bartol explained.
Recognition lit in the mystics eyes, and he relaxed. “Ah, now that makes sense. I’ve heard of this young man’s father, and I saw him on the news earlier this year.”
That must have been when the supernaturals came out to the world and made a complete spectacle of themselves to ensure the angels couldn’t possibly cover it up. Tormod’s father, Yerik, had led the way by flying through the air around the Seattle Space Needle and then landed on the ground for extra theatrics with fire. The media had been there to catch it on film, which was replayed around the world.
“I wish I’d been here to see him on the news,” Tormod said, sighing. “But I was still in Purgatory then.”
It had been the same for Bartol, but Emily had been helpful enough to show him the video on YouTube. She’d likely shown Tormod as well, but it didn’t have the same impact as if they’d had the chance to see the action live. It was more like watching an event from the past the way he’d done to catch up on other events over the last hundred years. He still found computers daunting, but he’d learned how to do a few things—mostly searching for videos. There were quite a few featuring cats, which he found strange.
Norbert shook his head. “Life hasn’t been the same since we were brought into the open.”
Bartol couldn’t agree more. He would have found the world a dramatically changed place when he returned to Earth regardless, but supernaturals being out in the open after hiding so long made it even stranger. This trip was only highlighting how much he’d missed.
“Could you show us the other two bodies?” Caius asked.
“Of course.” The mystic turned and unveiled the next two—both men.
There was nothing more that stood out about them than the first, except in how they died. Each had the same symbol carved into their chest, and they all appeared to be young adults.
Bartol looked at Norbert. “Did the victims have anything else in common?”
“They lived within a mile of each other, so I’ve concluded the attacker isn’t straying far.”
“You think he’ll do it again?” Bartol asked.
“The bodies have been appearing about every three days, but he’s late this time, so perhaps not,” Norbert replied.
Caius gently pulled the sheet back up on the victim he stood next to. “Maybe three was all that was required of him. One thing I do believe—the demon didn’t do this.”
“I agree,” Bartol said.
“But that means there’s still a killer out there,” Tormod pointed out.
The mystic covered the next body. “I’ve been reporting my findings to the local master. Now that you all have looked these victims over, I’ll add your own assessment. We’ll find him.”
Bartol would have liked to stay and help on the hunt, but they had a bigger target to find. “Keep us posted and let us know if you need anything else. We’ll do what we can.”
“Thank you.” Norbert dipped his chin. “But I’ve heard what the demon has been doing, and now he’s got followers helping him. You have to stop him before this gets worse.”
“That is our goal,” Bartol said, giving his partners a grim look.
The stakes had just been raised even further.