“I’m not sure.”
“You’re lucky I’m a level headed guy, Blake. Able to check myself, question what I’m feeling and why. But if I had to describe it, I’d say I feel like my wife acts when she has P.M.S., being around you.”
“Lovely,” the woman by the window said, rolling her eyes. I took it that she wasn’t his wife, from the tone and attitude. “Does she pull a gun on you?”
“She’d be tempted to pull the trigger,” Shotgun said.
“You’re irritable, twitchy?” I asked.
“A bit.”
“I bound an imp yesterday. He was making animals and people feel that way. Act in ways they normally wouldn’t. Now… well, now he’s not affecting them anymore, though traces linger.”
“You stopped it?”
“For now,” I hedged, “I’m not sure what tomorrow will bring.”
“Ah. Like I said, I don’t know much about diabolism.”
“I don’t either,” I said. “I wouldn’t be too surprised if you knew about as much as I did.”
“If you’re binding imps, then you know more than we do. I’m afraid we’re not sharing names. Call it paranoia, if you must.”
“I might have to,” I said.
“Can we trust you, Blake? I think that’s the bigger question right now.”
“I can’t lie,” I said.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I’m going to be blunt and honest here,” I said. “And I’m going to hope you don’t all fuck me over too badly, as a result. Conquest is twisting my arm, metaphorically speaking, to get me to clean up some of the local messes, and he’s sent me your way to get some answers on one of those messes.”
“We know this, Fell said as much,” Shotgun said. “Skip ahead to what you said to me outside.”
“Well, that’s only a small part of why I’m here. I’m thinking you probably don’t have a lot of answers about that demon in the factory. The real reason I’m here is that I’m looking for some allies. Because I’m not sure anyone wants Conquest to finish sending me on errands and start using me for something more serious.”
“Demon stuff,” Shotgun said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“What if I shot you?” he offered. “You could stop worrying about being used. You’d be dead.”
He said it in such a friendly, casual way. Like he was offering me a ride.
“Conquest wouldn’t be too happy with you.”
“He’s sending you after that demon,” the guy sitting under the window said. “I don’t think he cares a whole lot about your well being.”
“Point taken,” I said. “But there’s a difference between me dying because I wasn’t able to hack it, and his subordinates interfering.”
“You’re big on making distinctions, aren’t you?” Shotgun asked.
“Don’t we have to be?” I asked.
“How’s that?”
“You know… dealing with Others? Avoiding getting snared in a verbal trap?”
He shrugged. “Or you can just minimize contact with the things.”
I frowned a bit. “I’m going to need a few more details on who you guys are. And names would really help.”
“We’re the Knights,” Shotgun said. “Can’t call ourselves just ‘knights’, or we’d be treading on toes, so our full title is ‘Knights of the Basement’, kind of an in-joke.”
“Makes me think of board gamers or something.”
“Close enough.”
“And?” I asked. “You focus in? You do…”
“We dabble. All of us dabble. We’re with the council, because it means we don’t get blindsided if something comes up or changes, easier access if we want to check it’s okay to grab a certain demesne or get a familiar. Maybe once in a while we can do a favor for a bit of knowledge or a trinket.”
“You’re dabblers,” I said, “As in… you don’t have much firepower?”
He glanced down at his gun.
“Firepower that’s going to matter to someone or something like Conquest?” I clarified.
“Not so much,” Shotgun said. “Not against someone like… that.”
The way he’d avoided Conquest’s name made me think it was maybe better to not keep saying it. I could call Fell, just by establishing that connection, and maybe I didn’t want Conquest to know I was talking about him.
Damn it. I couldn’t help but feel a profound disappointment, with a hint of panic. I’d found an in, possible help, and they didn’t have any muscle. I was running out of time, and I didn’t have any meaningful allies. I was actually losing progress in terms of allies, if I counted losing Rose.
“But you have a grudge against the man in charge?” I asked.
“Grudge?” Shotgun asked. “Not so much. But, well, he’s… what he is. Not exactly looking out for anyone’s interests. Has a way of demanding things and not giving anything back.”
He glanced at his buddies, as if looking for confirmation. I saw some nods.
Mostly, I just saw glares leveled my way.
Shotgun continued, “Part of why we attend the meetings, from time to time. Gives us a chance to see how he’s acting, if we need to clear out for a bit, keep our heads down. Sometimes all it takes is a periodic visit to bow our heads, show proper respect.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Then… I’m guessing you’re not exactly willing to put your lives on the line? He’s an inconvenience, as you said, not an enemy.”
That got me a slow shake of the head, and a very casual, “You’re pretty much on the mark there.”
I sighed, leaning against the counter.
“Can I offer you anything?” Shotgun asked. “Very possible we don’t have anything to offer, but I can offer food and water. Tuna and egg sandwiches aren’t bad, in the fridge over there. Or candy bars and coke, if you’re wanting a snack.”
“A sandwich would be great,” I said. “And a coke, sure.”
The guy sitting by the window got up from the table to walk over to the fridge and grabbed the stuff.
“On the house,” Shotgun said.
“The hospitality is recognized for what it is, thank you.”
He nodded a little, circling around the counter to take a seat by the register. He glanced up at the television on the wall. Sports news.
Not many straight answers to be had here, as far as names or capabilities went. They were small fry. Dabbling practitioners.
“Is it normal, to be…” I searched for a word.
“Low level?” the kid asked.
“To work within such a small scope,” I said, a little more diplomatically.
“Not sure,” Shotgun said. “We only have the locals to compare ourselves to.”
“Can you tell me about them? It might help me figure out where to concentrate my efforts.”
“We’re new, so I don’t know much of the history. Sisters of the Torch, as I understand it, they were a sorority or club at the University, got their hands on something. Built themselves up. Each new year the group would select a few worthy members of their club or whatever to join the core group. Nine parts secret society to one part practitioner. They’re more likely to give you a special discount on real estate or help you ask for a favor in local government than do anything fancy, if you get me?”