The Demon Hound: Chapter II

[evillurks]

Chapter II
Unexpected Moves

Located in one of the older districts, the bookshop is a small, older building with a second story for living space. Although The Shadow arrives early in the evening to study the building and surrounding area, the shop itself is closed already and no lights show in the windows above. Neighbouring store owners depart as he watches from across the street, but the area is a quiet one of dilapidated private businesses and empty spaces with for lease signs. By the time full darkness falls and the Spartan streetlamps come on the area is very quiet. It seems plausible that Derring is either out stealing yet another occult volume, or simply lives somewhere other than above his store. A darker patch among the shadows, he slips across the street and up to the front door, picking the lock in a matter of moments and muffling the bell as he steps inside.
Decades of working in the night streets have honed his vision in the darkness, and the dim light of streetlamps through grimy glass is enough for him to make his way through the shelves. There is light from deeper within, some lamp left on a desk further inside. It could be a sign the owner is in and working late, or it could simply have been forgotten when he left. As The Shadow glides silently between the shelves he listens for some clue of presence, the sound of turning pages or shuffling feet. The shelves he passes through are dusty, the books relatively standard fare. When he positions himself for a clear view of the light source, there is no one in sight. He moves warily closer, and studies the desk and the books on it. Either Derring is a very clumsy thief without fear of recrimination, or the desktop has been laid out as a trap. Several of the stolen books lie just beneath papers and diagrams of arcane symbols. In the very center of the mess, surrounded by pages of notes, sits a thick tome bound in dark, heavy leather. The cover is blank, but the spine of it has a single unfamiliar word embossed in gold that has nearly worn away: Lemegeton. A gloved hand reaches to open the cover and see what mysteries were worth the risks, but The Shadow hesitates to engross himself in the answer to that question until he’s checked the rest of the place.

The Shadow silently ascends the rickety staircase at the back of the shop, keeping close to the wall where the old wood is less likely to give warning creaks. His gloved hand slides lightly along the railing and he listens intently for any sign that the owner might be home above. All is dark but the air in the second level feels thick and warm, heavy with some kind of incense. Worried about what the cloying scent might contain, he keeps his breathing slow and shallow. A brief investigation reveals a nondescript washroom, a kitchenette, and a disheveled bedroom strewn with books. There is a single remaining door upstairs, locked, but no light shows from beneath this door. All his senses reveal no one waiting behind the door in the room beyond, but the simple fact that it is locked makes it worth investigating. The Shadow extracts the pick again and sets to quick work, and the ordinary household lock yields easily under his efforts. He hesitates, putting one hand to a holstered automatic as he opens the door, warned of danger by some sixth sense.
The scene within what should be a small storeroom is one he has never looked on before. Arcane symbols are inscribed upon the floor, a circle within a triangle, heavily wrought within and without with complex signs. The candles that surround this scene are cold and dark, but before he has more than a split second to take in the scene the danger he sensed arrives. It does so from behind. His first warning is a heavy blow to the head from behind, the blow from a massive book, wielded at close range. Never before has an attacker managed to get so close to The Shadow without his awareness, and the shock of that fact makes the blow count for double. Staggering, The Shadow whirls away into the room and draws one gun, putting his back to the wall just beside the door. As he does, the book thuds against the floor from bouncing off his head. The man who attacked him is nowhere to be seen, yet the sound of breathing reveals him to be in the doorway itself. The dim light from the hall reveals nothing and no one. The Shadow is concealed within the darkness of the room, studying the apparently empty doorway with his head whirling. This invisibility is of a power beyond his own.
Thus focused, The Shadow is taken by surprise a second time in less than a minute. A sudden fire whirls into existence inside the room with him, close by the circle marked upon the floor. Flickering orange light traces the shape of a massive head and slavering jaws. It is a doglike head, but larger than any dog alive, and framed by wings that rustle and fill the remaining space of the small room. Faced with this threat, The Shadow chooses the more comprehensible of the two. He assumes whatever he’s just seen, it is controlled by a human force, as is every evil he’s ever encountered. With a carefully aimed lunge he thrusts the invisible man out of the doorway and up the hall. The force of his push is sufficient to fling them both bodily to the top of the stairs, and a clattering thud tells of the other man’s tumble down them. The fiery figure licks flame at The Shadow’s heels, and he makes a more controlled dive down the stairs. At the bottom, an unassuming man gets groggily to his feet, bruised and battered by his fall, and visible. This time it is he who looks surprised, as The Shadow sweeps past him and draws his guns. The crackling orange menace bears down on them both from the stairs, and he is caught between it and The Shadow. Rather than flee, he braces himself with an alarmed expression, trying to ward off the blaze roaring down the stairs. “Fire-No! The books!”
Before The Shadow’s incredulous gaze, the fiery figure pauses, and rumbles and shrieks with an incomprehensible voice that makes him tempted to drop the weapons to cover his ears. Flame coalesces into a more corporeal form; that of a massive dog with unfurled wings. A bright tongue runs over a mouthful of teeth as big as daggers, then the impossible beast leaps clear over the head of the shopkeeper, straight for The Shadow. His shots have no effect, and his dodge comes too late. Still dazed, he is at a severe disadvantage. The Shadow narrowly escapes a vicious bite that could easily take his arm, but as he whirls the crushing teeth catch on a significant swathe of coat, including the pocket that contains his PINpoint. Light crackles and flares around the locked combatants, and over the shopkeeper some feet away.
With a hard bump they land in cool and damp, and even the daemonic beast is surprised enough by the jolt to briefly let go. Unfazed by the change in scenery, The Shadow rolls away to his feet, takes aim, and fires at the bewildered man. The massive dog intervenes with a whirl of wings, harmlessly taking the bullets. It grins, wide and mad, and rends the air with another horrible gargling screech. With a flurry of wings it bounds past The Shadow and away, the force of it’s passage flattening ferns and flinging the dazed crime fighter against a tree. When he recovers to look, the unfamiliar woods are dark, and the shopkeeper is gone with his fiery companion.