seymoure | Chapter 21

Chapter 21
“The Legend”

Harriett Dante did not panic. Ever.

But, if she did, this would be the time.

She went home, as her ectoplasmic aid filled her in farther.
Pontiac said that Kane was not human, and was not a demon. In fact, he came from a realm beyond the demon realms. His home was a realm where beings terrorized the demons like the demons prey on humans.

Kane was one of the few of those beings who ever reached this far from his home, and none of those creatures left this world without creating major havoc.

He also told her that the entire history of Damien Kane on this world was a lie. He had arrived here less than four months ago, and everything recorded about him, news reports, urban legends, everything was the most elaborate glamour ever cast.

Only the dead knew, and most of them were afraid to say anything. Think about that, the dead feared him.

The last thing Harriett heard Claus and his crew had invoked Kane’s name to escape an attack, and were now about to investigate his “death.”

The detective returned home and tried to get a land line call through to Sebastian Claus, since her cell was useless, and she couldn’t even get the hotel to pick up.

When she got home the land line attempt ended no better. The hotel would not pick up. She immediately booked a flight to London and packed a bag with a change of clothes and a lot of weapons. Luckily nothing in her bag would be viewed by airport scanners as threatening.

She would have one stop on the way to the airport, and for that she picked up a handkerchief she had borrowed from young Screed. He had been in a hormonal gentleman mode, and would have given her a car if he had it to give. She would use it in a way neither of them had expected.

Well, he wouldn’t have expected. She always had an undercurrent motive for accepting things from allies.

She jumped in her buggy and tooled over to Gemalgrin’s bar. It was, fortunately, on the way to the airport.

She walked in with the look on her face that chilled any strangers who might have tried to strike up a conversation.

“Hey, Dante. . .” Binger, the bartender, started to say as the P.I. stomped by him.

Harriett held up the handkerchief as she walked by and said, “Methaal!” She walked past him as he nodded.

Dante walked through the room and into one of the five back rooms of the bar. She sat for a moment at the only table in the private room. There was something large under an antique comforter sitting against the wall.

She pushed the handkerchief under the comforter until she felt it touch Methaal’s base.

She waited a moment and then pulled the blanket off the mirror.

Methaal was a lady who had been a psychic in life, and now resided in the mirror. If you touched a personal item to the base of the glass then the mirror would become the mirror that was closest to that person at that moment.

What Harriett saw would chill the blood of a vampire on fire.

She saw a communal room in the Threadneedles. She recognized the four humans from Claus’s crew, plus a woman that looked vaguely familiar. They were talking, but did not seem overly stressed.

They obviously could not see what Harriet saw.

Running around the room, giggling in evil glee were a regiment of small red things. The things were almost stick figures. Not one of them would weigh more than 10 pounds, though they stood a foot and a half to two feet tall.

Each of the things was carrying a shimmering blue blade, and would slash tiny gashes in the clothing of the humans in the room.

The first hundred cuts only slashed cloth. But now they were beginning to hit blood. In moments they would start doing some real damage.

The truly frightening thing was the conversation going on in the room. They were totally unaware of the damage being done to them.

Before she could get there they would be dead.