“Take us to the demon,” Samuel Hunter ordered, as if he was addressing a dimwitted servant.

The girl, maybe ten years of age, chirped at him in a short, hysterical laugh. “You can’t find him unless he wants you to.”

“That’s why I be here, lassie,” Andrew O’Sullivan reached out to comfort her, but the girl shied away from the Irishman, wrapping her torn light wool frock against her chest. “We be here to kill it.”

The girl stared at Andrew as if his mind was addled. “It can’t die,” she murmured.

Samuel chuckled. “Who said that?”

“The demon did.”

Without another word, she turned and fled into the forest.

 

 

A MESSAGE HAD ARRIVED AT SAMUEL’S office on Boston Harbor begging the two demon hunters to come at their best speed to a small town north of the city called Essex. The few families who lived there had unearthed a demon from before the time when the Americas had first been colonized. While plowing a new field they disturbed a stone crypt that had unknown inscriptions carved into it. By the time they realized it was a binding spell imprisoning a demon it was too late, the creature had run rampant killing several men and women.

The demon had kidnapped most of the children and kept them alive to lure unsuspecting victims into its grasp but that was not the worst of it; the children were forced to watch while the demon eviscerated the adults, often their parents. This information had come from one young boy who had escaped.

Local officials sent word to the Boston police and even a few of the Great Houses for help, but the only message the townspeople received in response from the police read, “False Reports Will Be Dealt With Harshly.”

They were on their own.

When Samuel and Andrew arrived in Essex before dark, every house they saw was abandoned except for a large two story brick building in the center of the small town. Samuel, an ex-Pinkerton detective, was handsome in a way that grew on you. His hazel eyes squinted at the palisade the locals erected around the building noting it was made of a mixture of stones, bricks and timber. A small maze had been constructed leading up to the wood-and-metal door of what Samuel assumed was the town hall. Two steam-powered buggies were positioned at the entrance and exit of the maze, blocking entry. Terrorized, the town had imprisoned itself.

Samuel and Andrew’s horses plodded through the mud, then stopped just outside the palisade. The horses carried axes, ammunition, guns, traps, and Andrew’s box camera. Samuel was glad he had had the foresight not to drive his steam-powered buggy as the spring rains had turned the road into a bog. He surveyed the scene and saw several guns were aimed in their direction through strategically placed holes in the walls. He gestured to Andrew to get off his horse without making any sudden moves.

The Irishman complied, but his shorter, stockier body was far less nimble than Samuel’s and he landed in the mud with a thud. He trudged forward brushing his graying red hair out of his eyes.

Though Andrew O’Sullivan was older than Samuel by at least twenty years, he had the stamina of those half his age and the wits of a man educated on a knife. Andrew immigrated to the Americas as a young man with his wife in tow in search of a better life as many before him. What he found was a soot and rat-filled tenement that most of his kind were destined never to leave. Andrew knew he never would, but he had hope for his young daughter, Caitlin. Unlike most of Boston’s Irish, Andrew had a gift that allowed him to make a good wage; he was a Medium with the ability to draw out demons and ghosts. He used his unique knowledge of photography and his psychic abilities to make demons visible to a normal human.

A raspy male voice cried out from within the building, “Who goes there?”

“Samuel Hunter! You sent for me.”

As the door to the town hall opened, the first thing Samuel saw was a gun barrel aimed straight at him. Two armed young men fanned out on either side as two others pushed the buggies back just far enough for Samuel and Andrew to negotiate the maze. An older man with a heavy gray beard poked his head out and gestured for them to come in.

“Don’t dawdle!” he snapped at the two demon hunters.

Samuel and Andrew entered as the young men closed off the maze using the buggies, then shutting the doors behind them.

Sealed up tight inside the building, the stench of many scared and unwashed bodies and smoke from the fireplaces permeated the room. Samuel pulled out his handkerchief and held it over his nose while Andrew’s eyes watered. Men, women, and a few surviving children huddled in family groups. Pews were stacked up against the walls to make room for the remaining inhabitants of Essex. Samuel noted that even with the distance from Boston, a few of the townsfolk had copper and brass woven into their hems or their jacket lapels, indicating this town wasn’t poverty-stricken; they simply saw no need for ostentatious finery.

Right after the House Wars, the Great Houses had started a new fashion of adding metal appliques to their clothing. The Middle District adopted a similar style since they could afford it. However, what began as a fashion trend became a statement of class and entitlement imitated around the country.

Samuel soon found himself face-to-face with the owner of the raspy voice; an older man whose rheumy eyes and stooped posture didn’t belie the fact he was the one in charge.

“You took long enough. I’m Jonah Beckett, minister and mayor of Essex. And this is?” He peered at Andrew.

“My medium and spirit photographer. Andrew O’Sullivan.”

Jonah glared at the Irishman. “There are no spirits here. Only death and the tears of the living.”

“He can capture images of the demons which others cannot. We use it to study them later,” Samuel explained.

“Leave it to the Irish to carry the devil’s mark no matter how useful.” Jonah dismissed Andrew with a glance and turned his attention back to Samuel. “My son found that damnable crypt and was the first to die. His wife soon after protecting my grandchildren I imagine. We’ve lost eight more since I sent you that letter.”

“Do you know if your grandchildren still live?” Samuel asked.

Jonah shook his head. “I pray for it, but there is little hope for any of us unless—”

From outside, a young girl’s voice crying for her mother interrupted their conversation. A pale young woman, her face raw from weeping ran toward the door, calling the child’s name. A few of the men stopped her before she did something rash. Samuel deduced the woman was the girl’s mother. Apparently, this was how the demon lured the adults out to kill them.

Samuel knew they needed to put a stop to this. “We need to go—now,” he hissed.

 

 

THOUGH THEY LOST SIGHT OF the girl, Samuel and Andrew followed her trail through the muddy landscape. She made no attempt to hide where she was going. The better to lure those who thought to save her, Samuel suspected. Each step produced a sucking sound in this barren and lifeless woodland. Both men were exhausted yet they still had a demon to kill.

Samuel noticed small signs of early-spring growth: a budding tree branch, blooming crocuses, and the occasional daffodil. The only thing that marred the hope of an impending spring were the traces of blood swirling in this morass.

Samuel loaded his 12-gauge, multi-barreled gun with ammonia-laced salt crystals and glass shard ammunition as they followed her trail. On his back he carried several sized axes, cables made of brass and copper, and a short multi-barreled gun for close-quarters fighting. He noted that Andrew had the traps out and was anchoring his camera on his chest, using straps to secure it over his neck and around his waist.

It didn’t take them long to discover the demon’s lair; a cave with a stream running through it provided the damp living space demons favored. Human bones and body parts were strewn near a handful of children caged in a makeshift wooden box by a stone outcropping. They stared at the two men.

Samuel could see the tension rise in Andrew’s face as the older man fought against his instinct to run over and help them. Samuel was just as angry as his partner over their plight, but they had a job to do first. They could not afford to alert the demon to their presence. Otherwise, it might jeopardize their lives and those of the children. It was better to wait.

Both men studied the lay of the land for a few minutes noting the best spots to set up their traps; the main egress into the cave as well as trails made by demon tracks were always good. The traps could restrain or kill any demon they had discovered so far, but not wanting to take any chances he double-checked the 12-gauge and made sure he could reach the axes strapped to his back. Samuel brought regular bullets, but found that more often than not they just irritated the supernatural creatures. He hid behind a tree a good fifty feet from the cave entrance while Andrew ducked below fallen logs closer to the children. Samuel considered himself prepared, but having the older Irishman as his partner was crucial.

When Samuel nodded to Andrew, the Medium closed his eyes and prepared to summon the demon. Unlike ghosts, the act of summoning a demon revealed their physical presence to a normal person. As soon as Andrew sensed the creature was near, he backed off, waiting to snap a picture of it to add to their growing collection. It wasn’t long until the demon attacked.

Over eight feet tall, the demon had arms knotted with sinewy muscle, its skin glistened a pale yellow in the torchlight. Its long fingers undulated as a huge talon emerged from the insides of its wrists and the backs of its ankles. It reeked of carrion, which forced Andrew and Samuel to step back. What was most disturbing was the creature’s face. Angelic, it held a beauty reserved for ancient Roman statues.

“Andrew! Get the children out of here!” Samuel called out, but Andrew had already run to the cage to do just that.

The creature stomped forward sure Samuel would be its next kill, but stepped into one of the traps. The steely teeth locked on to its ankle, tearing flesh and crushing bone. Never making a sound, the demon acted as if the trap were a minor impediment. It grasped the trap and attempted to pry the bloody springs apart.

Samuel fired rounds of salt into the creature’s neck and torso. The demon abandoned its effort to free itself from the trap writhing and clawing at its wounds every time Samuel shot it. Guttural screams erupted from deep within its chest as it twisted around.

As Samuel grabbed one of his axes to dart in to make the kill, he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, then felt a searing pain slice through his back. Samuel screamed but still ducked just as one of the talons flew through the space his head once occupied. He threw himself forward driving his shoulder into the demon’s gut shoving it off-balance and hacked at the creature’s torso. The demon swung at him again, but this time he used the ax handle to block the blow.

With the demon’s foot still caught in the trap, Samuel stayed just out of its reach. He ducked and weaved, edging closer and closer, while keeping a careful eye on where its talons were. He knew that if it were not for the trap, he would have little chance of killing it.

A slight breeze against his cheek was all the forewarning he had as the creature launched another attack. Samuel twisted his body to avoid the blow, but he wasn’t fast enough. The demon’s talon slashed through his shoulder like a fish-hook taking flesh and bone with it. Samuel knew he could not fight much longer, so he stayed just out of the demon’s reach dancing in and out waiting for an opening. When he saw one, he leapt up swinging the ax at the demon’s neck. It connected, but lodged in between the its neck and clavicle. Weaponless, Samuel jumped back but was too slow; the talon skimmed across his face next to his left eye. Blood poured from the wound as Samuel staggered back.

A flash of light blinded the demon. It roared in frustration.

“Are you daft! Get in there!” Andrew yelled at Samuel while holding on to his camera with one of his new-fangled flashbulbs spent. Behind him, the children hid under several fallen logs.

Samuel ignored the blood streaming from his eye as he raced toward the demon. It threw its arms around hoping to rip something apart. He flew in feet-first, knocking the creature to the ground with a huge thump. Samuel stood on the creature while it flailed, yanked the ax out of its neck then with one mighty swing took the demon’s head off. Gore oozed from the hole where its head had been and evaporated. Soon after the creature’s entire body melted and absorbed into the earth.

No longer under its control, the children whimpered then sobbed.

Andrew walked over to Samuel to steady the younger man. “You be getting a wee bit slow there, laddie.”

“Andrew.” Samuel blinked a few times. “Shut up.” Then he passed out.

 

 

SAMUEL WOKE IN THE ROOM next to his office he used as a bedroom. Ship horns echoed outside as the Boston fishing fleet made its way out of the harbor as they did every morning except for Sunday. Andrew slept in an unvarnished oak rocking chair next to Samuel’s bed. Sparse and utilitarian, the room gave no hint Samuel used to be married. Not long after Elizabeth’s death, he had sold their house and moved back to his parents’ old warehouse. How Andrew had gotten him there from Essex was another question.

Samuel touched the bandage around his eye gingerly, but even that small movement was enough to awaken Andrew.

“Don’t be touching that,” the older man groused. “You lost a lot of blood, but it looks like you’ll get to keep the eye for all the good it’ll do ya. Though I reckon there’ll be a scar to scare the children.”

“Speaking of which…did they get home?” Samuel asked.

“Aye.” Andrew nodded. “As soon as that beastie lost its grip on the young’uns they ran all the way home. Mayor Becket gave us a cart to get you back after they patched you up.”

“Gave?”

“That tight bastard took it out of our fee.” Andrew made a face.

Samuel tried to laughed, but the pain in the rest of his body put a quick stop to that. “Fine. Have we got another case lined up?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow at him. “There be no more cases 'til ya heal. I be getting a bit tired of hauling your carcass around every time one of those beasties takes a piece out of you. Besides, there be things that need a-changing around here.”

“Other than your attitude?” Samuel responded without a hint of irony.

Andrew sighed and gave Samuel a hard look. “Laddie, it’s time you found yourself better weapons.”

“And I suppose you know where I can get them?”

A hint of a smile crossed Andrew’s face. “Aye. But you’re not going to like it.”

 

 

THE MIDDLE DISTRICT WAS HOME to the vast majority of the people of Boston. Each neighborhood which surrounded Beacon Hill served as a protective ring and was responsible for its care and feeding; for here lived the tradesmen, shop owners, skilled house staff, and laborers who supported the Great Houses. There were social and economic layers within each ring that were sometimes obvious while others were more subtle. Most of the inhabitants agreed on one thing, however; they looked down upon the Irish of the South Side.

Samuel had stopped the steam-powered buggy at the corner of Beach Street and Harrison, one of the unofficial dividing lines between the white and Negro sides of the Middle District, to allow traffic to pass by. The locals called the Negro neighborhood Liberty Row even though it took up eight square blocks and stood a few blocks north of the channel. One could look across the street and see the same brownstones, window boxes, and flowers on one side as the other. The white families who resided across from Liberty Row were much like their neighbors; many were skilled workers or owned their own businesses. Neither side displayed family emblems nor had guards or doormen at the entrances as in Beacon Hill. Horses and steam-powered buggies shared the road though there were more horses here than in Beacon Hill which was many blocks and a large park away.

It was rare to see a white person venture across the street to the Negro side though every day Negro men and women crossed over to the white side to work. Therefore, it was very unusual for two white men to drive a buggy not only across this invisible dividing line, but past it for four blocks before stopping.

Andrew helped the still-recovering Samuel exit the vehicle as Negros made a wide berth around the Irishman. Even here prejudice against the Irish ran strong, which annoyed Samuel, but he knew this was neither the time nor place to have an argument. As he shut the door to the buggy, he caught a whiff of the smoke that drifted across the channel from the coal mines on the South Side where most of the Irish worked. They spewed a horrific combination of soot laced with chemicals that if it landed in your eyes burned for hours. For most of the Middle District and those on Beacon Hill, the ocean breeze forced the acidic air out to sea. However, if the wind shifted, those who lived closer to the South Side closed their windows and brought their children inside to play.

Andrew gestured for Samuel to follow him toward a well-maintained brownstone in the middle of the block. Behind a six-foot tall wrought-iron fence, where morning glories had woven intricate patterns between the bars, sat a small yet delightful garden filled with blossoms and butterflies. On the side of the building ran a long alley, revealing a much larger house than one would have thought at first glance.

More wrought-iron fences protected the building, which was four stories high and held several garages in the back. Even the lower windows were covered in decorative iron bars that were twisted into geometric patterns. Though elegant in design, they had a more practical purpose—protection. None of these people could afford the fortified rooms constructed inside the Great Houses of Beacon Hill, but they could do something else to protect themselves in case of another House War.

Though over thirty years had passed since those violent times, none of the inhabitants of Liberty Row were wont to forget. Many of them still remembered being slaves in the Southern Houses and the capriciousness of their Northern counterparts. Their freedom was not won by a philosophical or moral conviction slavery was wrong, but a belief that it was an inefficient way to do business. In simpler terms— it was not profitable.

Everyone who lived in Liberty Row knew that what the Northern Houses gave, they could take back. Those who lived here did two things: protected themselves and their property as best as they could and made themselves integral to the economic success of the larger white community. It was a different kind of slavery, but at least it was one that kept families together and afforded more choices than they would have had otherwise. No one discussed it with strangers, but it was every Negro family’s dream to accumulate enough wealth to establish a Great House of their own. All they had to do was survive long enough to make it happen.

Samuel limped after Andrew, who he led him towards a gate installed in the iron fencing protecting the garages. Several Negro gentlemen walked by and tipped their hats at Samuel never giving Andrew a passing glance.

They stopped at what appeared to be the pedestrian entrance to the garage. The door on the other side of the gate had no doorknob and after a brief inspection, they discovered it was locked from the inside.

Samuel glanced around for a bell or a buzzer, but couldn’t see one. He studied the door for a second and frowned. “This is a dummy door, isn’t it? Is there a secret passage hidden somewhere?” he asked, half joking.

Andrew grinned. “Aye, laddie. You’ve a good eye.”

The older man stepped sideways, reached his hand through the iron bars, and slid his fingers along the outside edge of the knob-less door. Samuel watched as Andrew pressed his fingers in three different places. After a moment, the gate slide open and a portion of the interior wall swung back, revealing another entrance.

Samuel smiled and nodded in appreciation. “I want one.”

“If you be lucky, he might build one for you.” Andrew gave him a sly wink as he pushed the door open.

They both walked in to see a staircase that was steep and narrow with high brick walls that went up for at least two stories. Samuel noted that any attack on the building would force men up the staircase single file with no cover. As he walked up he noticed there was no wiring to the small electric light bulbs attached to the walls.

“It be behind the walls. The wiring, that is,” Andrew remarked. “I wondered the same the first time I came here.”

“And how did you find this place, or should I say person?” Samuel asked. “This is a little off your beaten path.”

“Those new-fangled flashbulbs I used in Essex?” Andrew stomped up the stairs. “This gentleman invented them.”

“Wait…I thought Edison—” Samuel said before a high chirpy voice interrupted him.

“Mr. Edison is a liar, a cheat, and a scalawag.”

Samuel and Andrew looked up to see two small feet wearing pink shoes hanging over the wall at the top of the stairs. Soon after, a dark-skinned girl maybe ten years old wearing a long pink-and-white cotton dress peeked over her knees to give the men the once-over. A lovely girl who wore her long, dark hair pulled back into a braid, Samuel was surprised to see copper filaments were woven through it. He had not thought that the people of Liberty Row had the audacity to display any wealth.

Her eyes lit up when she saw Samuel, but when she got a good look at Andrew her eyebrows scrunched together in a frown. “You don’t belong here, Irish,” she pretended to spit at him, removing any hint of beauty from her countenance.

“Sarah!” a male voice boomed from above them. “Don’t be rude.”

“But Uncle Gran, it’s that Irishman again.” She pouted. “He doesn’t belong here. Ma said so.”

A disapproving male voice with a tight edge to it said, “Apologize, right now, young lady, or you’ll be banished from my workshop.”

Samuel and Andrew kept walking up the stairs under the watchful eyes of the young Miss Sarah.

“If you say so, Uncle Gran,” she said with a huff. Sarah stood up and without one ounce of sincerity gave them a short curtsy. “My apologizes, good sirs.” She called back to the yet-unseen man. “Can I still call Mr. Edison a scalawag?”

“Yes. Now go fetch some tea.”

Sarah swept her skirt around her imitating the snootiest Beacon Hill girl, then ran down the stairs past the two men like the ten year old she was.

When Samuel reached the top, he was surprised to see a massive workshop that took up the entire floor. Every tool he had ever seen and many more he had not filled half the work-space. Half-completed steam engines, a cupboard lined with chemicals bottled and labeled in alphabetical order, as well as more commonplace fixtures and appliances in need of repair took up the other half. Rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves were interspersed throughout the room, each one stacked with metal parts and pieces from machinery he had never seen before.

Samuel spied different types of steam engines that ranged in size from a small box to a large travel trunk attached to cables an inch in diameter. Those cables disappeared into the walls. Samuel assumed they were what powered the lights. The engines puffed away as their gears churned in a smooth, rhythmic fashion. Photographic developing curtains hung from the ceiling isolating one corner of the room and numerous daguerreotype photographs were clipped on a string from one side of the room to the other.

Though it was impressive, Samuel wondered why Andrew had brought him here.

The Irishman cleared his throat. “Mr. Granville Woods, sir. I’d be pleased to introduce you to Mr. Samuel Hunter.”

From behind one of the shelves emerged a Negro man in his mid-forties with skin the color of Ceylon tea. He wore clothes that were at the height of fashion where even the lapels on his black woolen suit were woven with silver and brass as were the cuffs on his jacket and trousers. His hair lay on his head in loose, but small black curls. Perched on it was a multiple-lens eyepiece that sat a bit askew, but otherwise not a stitch was out of place. In his hand, he carried a series of interlocking gears no larger than his palm.

Samuel extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, though I’m at a loss as to how Andrew knows you and what this place is. I’m looking for weapons, not the latest in steam engines and other contraptions.”

Granville gave Andrew an annoyed look as he put down the device he held before shaking Samuel’s hand. “Then maybe you’re not as good a detective as you think you are.”

“There’s no reason to be rude,” Samuel replied.

“I think Andrew made a mistake. As you can see I have no weapons here.” He turned his back and walked over to a workbench.

“Please, Mr. Woods, sir,” Andrew pleaded, “you need him as much as he needs you.”

“I see we’re not welcome here Andrew,” Samuel said. “Let’s go.”

Just as Samuel reached the top of the stairs, Granville spun around to face him. “Tell me, Mr. Hunter, has Andrew ever lied to you?”

“What are you talking about? Of course not.” Samuel fumed, the idea was so absurd.

“Then why do you think he’s lying now? If he said I had weapons, then don’t you think I’d have weapons?” Granville crossed his arms as he regarded Samuel.

“I’m not here to play games.”

“But you’re giving up so easily,” Granville taunted. “Seems contrary to your usual behavior.”

Samuel glared at Andrew. “What did you tell him?”

“Andrew told me nothing. Though I asked him not to bring you here, I suspected he would anyway,” Granville remarked. “So I did a little detective work on my own.”

The tension in the room rose.

“Samuel Hunter. Former Pinkerton detective, left for reasons unknown even though he was heralded as a hero in some parts. Though you are from the Middle District, you married into one of the most powerful Houses in Boston. How you managed that must be quite the story.” Granville raised his eyebrows, then continued. “Elizabeth Weldsmore, your wife, died under mysterious circumstances a year ago. And now, sir, you are on a quest for vengeance. My condolences on your loss.”

Samuel stepped forward, his fists clenched, his lips thinning as a snarl came out of his mouth. “You sir, have overstepped.”

“Have I?” Granville dropped his arms to his sides. “You wouldn’t think that if I were a white man. A Negro has no right to interfere in your business, but you seek to interfere in mine.” Granville’s voice took on a hard edge. “I have the right to know who I’m doing business with just like any man.”

Samuel let his anger subside, then unclenched his fists. “You’re right, you do. My apologies.” Samuel clasped his hands behind his back. “Mr. Woods, I’d be most appreciative if you’d show me what weapons you’ve invented.”

Granville studied Samuel for a moment. “That would depend on what you’re hunting.”

“Demons. In this particular case.”

“Follow me.” Granville gestured to the two men as he walked over to a wall and pushed on a darker wood panel. A section of the ceiling lowered revealing a narrow wooden staircase. The mechanism that controlled the staircase was connected by series of small intricate gears made of brass. Their fine teeth were so smooth they whispered when turning.

Samuel watched in awe. “I’ve only seen something similar in the Great Houses.”

Granville stepped on the first step, then paused. “Please do not touch anything unless I hand it to you. No sense in anyone getting hurt.”

Samuel felt insulted, but kept his feelings in check.

The three men marched up the stairs in single file. By the time Samuel’s head poked through to see another workroom, they had climbed not one story, but two. He realized the outward appearance of the brownstone must be an illusion. It made him wonder how large the house truly was.

By the time they reached the top, Granville had turned on the electric lighting powered by the steam engines two floors below. The room lit up like a theatre curtain rising. As Samuel’s eye adjusted, what he saw took his breath away.

Overhead, electricity surged through netting made of copper filaments that draped across the ceiling reminding him of fishnets waiting for a catch. They glowed and sparked in undulating waves. On the walls hung compound bows of various sizes and types. The bow-strings appeared to be made of a composite metal with a rosy hue. Next to them were arrows which Samuel had never seen before. He leaned over to inspect them and saw they were an inch in diameter and had a spring-release mechanism at the tip. Samuel reached out his hand to pick it up, but Granville grabbed his wrist.

“No touching,” the inventor said as a gentle reminder.

On another wall hung various typed of firearms: Single-and multi-barrels along with multiple ammunition reloaders. Gun parts were scattered on top of one table which had an old Henry rifle attached to toggle clamps. A makeshift telescope was mounted on top.

A small steam engine sat atop another worktable. Cables a half inch in diameter ran from the device to the netting on the ceiling. In one corner sat an apparatus that Samuel found puzzling; it stood taller than a buggy with wooden base and multiple polished copper cylinders secured to the bottom. Attached in between each of the cylinders were numerous levels of gears with numbers imprinted on the side. On top of the massive device were additional gears, each with a handle attached, which looked that if moved the entire mechanism might rotate.

“Is this a weapon?” Samuel pointed to the large mechanism.

“It could be,” Granville responded. “It depends on what you use the calculations for.”

Not understanding the engineer’s cryptic response, Samuel walked over to the rifles and admired them. “Who have you sold this to?” Samuel asked.

“No one,” Granville replied. “I made the mistake of showing my telegraph switching devices to Edison as a courtesy, and he stole the patent. After a rather tedious lawsuit, the patents reverted back to me.”

Samuel nodded. “I’m impressed.”

“Because I’m a Negro?”

“Well, yes. Shouldn’t I be?”

Granville grinned. “In the world we live in? Yes, I guess you should.”

“Is that why young Miss Sarah is allowed to call him a scalawag?”

Granville laughed. “I’m afraid my niece has read Treasure Island over ten times. She wants to be a pirate when she grows up.”

“Didn’t we all?” Samuel grinned back.

Andrew relaxed when he saw the two men share a brief bit of common ground. “Mr. Woods, sir. Why don’t you show the laddie here what we be talking about last time?”

“How many times have you been here, Andrew?” Samuel gave the older man a curious look.

Andrew gave both men a grin. “We Irish be good at keeping secrets.”

“Fine.” An irritated Samuel turned to Granville. “Mr. Woods, would you be so kind as to demonstrate which weapons you think could destroy a demon? I promise I will not steal your inventions as I have a feeling I wouldn’t understand how they worked anyway…with the exception of the compound bow.”

Granville walked over to the wall of bows and removed one. He then leaned over a workbench on which the large arrows rested and picked one up. Granville inspected the tip making sure it was sealed tight. Walking over to the far side of the room, he gestured for Andrew and Samuel to back up.

It was then Samuel noticed a blackened and burned bull’s-eye on the far wall in front of where the engineer stood.

“Do you have any experience using a compound bow, Mr. Hunter?” Granville asked as he examined the feather fletching.

“Yes. I used to go hunting with my ex-father-in-law. He taught me how to use one.”

Granville drew the bow back and nocked the oversized arrow. His eyes narrowed as he inhaled, then exhaled, letting the arrow fly. Right before it hit the target, the tip of the arrow split off and the same copper netting that hung from the ceiling ejected, spraying outward in a circular fashion, enveloping the target like a ravenous jellyfish. It sparked and whined, causing a metallic odor.

Samuel nodded, impressed. “Have you tested it on a demon?”

Granville hesitated for a moment before he lowered the bow to his side. “Most of us think demons and ghosts are the stuff of fairy tales and nightmares…or the random acts of perverted men. I tend to think they are the white man’s burden.”

“So there’ve been none seen here in Liberty Row?”

Granville paused before speaking. “No.”

Samuel noticed.

“I’ve been using something similar to those”—Samuel pointed at the multi-barrel guns—“with salt and ammonia for buckshot and glass as shrapnel.” He dropped his arm. “Though I usually have to finish them off with a sword or an ax…or two.”

“Doesn’t sound terribly efficient,” Granville remarked, frowning.

“It gets the job done,” Samuel replied with a hint of resentment in his voice.

“I think we be here ’cause what we be doing may not be good enough anymore. There be different types of demons out there. Some be smarter than others.”

Samuel nodded in agreement, then pointed to the rifle with the small telescope mounted on top. “What about that? What type of ammunition does it use?”

“It’s not finished yet.”

“Then I’ll take two of the bows and twenty-five arrows. Though I’ll need practice before I use one of them. It’s been a few years.” Samuel admitted.

Granville lowered the bow to his side. “I’m more than pleased to demonstrate, but none of these are for sale.”

“I don’t understand. Then why am I here?”

“Mr. Woods, please. The last beastie came a wee bit too close to killing him. We need better weapons than what we got,” Andrew pleaded.

“I respect you, Andrew. Truly I do. But the answer is still no,” Granville insisted.

Samuel eyed Granville. “There’s more to this, isn’t there?”

The engineer nodded with a hint of smile on his face. “You may be an honorable man, Samuel Hunter, but there are those around you who would steal my inventions without compunction. I cannot allow that.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” An exasperated Samuel threw his hands into the air. “People will die unless I stop these creatures.”

“And when you and those like you kill all the demons who’s to say your next target won’t be Liberty Row?” Granville fired back. “I will not allow my weapons to be used against my own people.”

Samuel stood back aghast at the implications of what Granville had just said. “I… I… my God. Even if you’re correct, I wouldn’t permit anyone else to use the weapons I bought from you.”

“Tell me, Mr. Hunter, what could stop Jonathan Weldsmore, your ex-father-in-law, and those like him from coming in and taking the weapons from you? Can you answer that?” Granville demanded from him. “Can you?”

“No, I can’t.” Samuel sagged, knowing that others would do as Granville said if given the chance. “I’m sorry. You have brilliant weapons here. If you ever change your mind, let me know.”

Samuel gave Granville a curt little bow, then headed toward the staircase.

After seeing Samuel’s head disappear below the floorboards, Andrew whirled around to face Granville. “I respect ya greatly, Mr. Woods, but you be making a mistake not taking the boy up on his offer.”

“He’s not a boy, Andrew. He’s the ex-son-in-law of one of the most powerful men in Boston, and he has a history of violence. What guarantee do I have he won’t turn on us if they asked him?” Granville loomed over the Irishman, but the older man did not shrink away.

“I give you my word,” Andrew declared.

Granville shook his head. “With all due respect, that’s not good enough.”

Andrew’s eyed narrowed as he peered around the room. “Don’t think he didn’t notice these weapons stacked up around here. There be a demon problem, Mr. Woods. And sooner or later, you goin’ be calling us and Samuel knows it.”

Andrew turned on his heel and followed Samuel.

His face betraying nothing, Granville gripped the bowstring and ripped it out.

 

 

“UNCLE GRAN! UNCLE GRAN! IT’S time for dinner,” little Sarah called out to him as he walked through a door hidden in the wall to the second floor of the main house. Granville and his father had worked for years building false walls and concealed doorways to protect their family in case political tides turned. Unlike many of the other residents of Liberty Row, Granville’s father had never been a slave, but he had seen the emotional and psychological toll this peculiar institution took on the human body and spirit. He vowed his family would never be subjected to that and built a home to protect them in good times and bad. His son having a college education was part of the plan even though Negro men were forbidden to attend. However, Granville made friends with several white engineering students who were more than happy to exercise youthful rebellion and snuck library books out for him to study. If their parents had discovered their antics, there would have been hell to pay, but their subterfuge worked and no one was ever caught.

Granville followed the cheery voice of his niece as he sauntered down another flight of stairs to the first floor where the kitchen and main dining room were located. Sarah, unlike her mother, knew every nook and hiding place in the house, so when she played hide-and-seek, it fell on Granville to find her.

While the exterior of the house was constructed of brick, the interior was built using stout cherry wood with maple trim. Elegant and functional, it had many of the same conveniences of the best homes in the Middle District. Electric lights were powered by a steam engine in the basement, and they had hot and cold running water and a bathroom on every floor. Plain but well-made wool rugs graced the hardwood floors, and there was even a small chandelier in the dining room, which hung over a rosewood table that seated eight. In truth, Liberty Row was much more affluent than anyone outside of the neighborhood knew, and the residents preferred to keep it that way.

The smell of beef stew wafted up the stairwell as Granville made his way to the kitchen. Modern for the times the main wooden worktable sat in the middle of the room and big pot-bellied stove set up against the back wall. It still relied on wood to heat it, but the idea of designing an electric one held a certain appeal to him. Off to one side was a smaller table where the three of them ate their meals. Copper pans hung not far from it on hooks within easy reach of his petite sister, Grace.

Though she had the same skin color as her brother, the resemblance stopped there. Where Granville was on the robust side, Grace Woods Stevens had a tiny waist and tiny feet. Often mistaken for a child, she corrected that misperception with a quick wit and a stunning smile. She had become the matriarch of the family after their mother had died of consumption. Their father, broken hearted and distraught, could not cope with the vast number of relations living in the house at the time so she had urged their cousins, aunts, and uncles to head elsewhere in search of a different life. Boston had been good to them, but they were smart enough to not put the proverbial eggs in one basket, so the family headed out West with a few even going to the Continent. Grace now had only two people to take care of, and she did it with her heart and soul.

With an apron tied over a light-blue cotton-and-wool dress, she gestured to Granville and Sarah to sit while she scooped out heaping portions of stew into ceramic bowls. Biscuits stacked into a pyramid sat in the middle of the table along with a dish of honey and butter. Sarah had a glass of milk while Granville and Grace drank coffee. He always liked his with cream, but he noticed it was missing from the table. That was when he noticed his sister was humming.

“You seem unusually chipper,” he remarked.

“Just a good day, is all,” Grace replied, buzzing around the kitchen cleaning up.

“Leave the cleaning for later. Come sit and eat,” Granville insisted.

“Don’t bark at me, Granville Woods. I’ll eat when I’m good and ready. We’re having a guest tonight, and I want things to look… well… nice.” She sighed.

Granville knew this could mean one thing; Randall Parkes was dropping by this evening. Not that he minded, he just did not want to see his sister hurt again. Grace’s husband, Marcus Stevens, had been killed after being run over by a woman who had lost control of her buggy. Granville wondered why anyone would let a woman drive, but he had no say in such things. No charges were brought even though it was evident from her breath and her speech she had imbibed too much wine. Granville suspected his sister would have received a stipend if Marcus had been white but since this was not the case, his death was ruled an accident.

Now Randall Parkes had come courting, and Granville thought the man was sincere in his affection for her. She had longed to fill up this big house with children before tragedy had struck. She was still young enough to give Sarah brothers and sisters, so Granville hoped Grace could find happiness with Randall.

Granville dipped into his stew just as Sarah bounded back into the room and slid into her chair. “Where are your manners, young lady?”

“I know, Uncle Gran,” Sarah whined as she grabbed her napkin and threw it into her lap. “Will you pass the biscuits, please?”

“Granville, would you watch Sarah tonight? Randall and I are going to Joshua Gordon’s home this evening to hear his aunt play Chopin’s piano sonatas,” Grace said while straightening her apron.

Granville shook his head. “I’m sorry. I have to go out.”

A flash of disappointment ran across her face, which she covered up with her usual sweet smile. “Every night this week you’ve been out. Is there something going on I should know about?”

“Two white men came to see Uncle Gran today,” Sarah piped up in between slurps. “And one was Irish.”

Grace raised her eyebrows and put a hand on her hip as she leaned against the sink, waiting for an explanation.

“It was business. You know that,” Granville said attempting to make it sound casual.

“Remember the last time you had white men in your workshop?” Grace reminded him.

“Scalawag!” Sarah shouted.

“Young lady, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Grace dropped a soup-crusted pan into the sink.

Granville stood up, walked over to his sister, leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Grace, I need you to take Sarah with you. Keep her safe.”

Grace stopped scrubbing, her face taking on the visage of someone realizing something awful might happen. She lowered her voice to match his. “Is this about what happened to Old Joe?”

Granville nodded.

His sister sucked in her breath. “Go to the police. They found the one who murdered those girls.”

He shook his head. “This is not the same. They won’t come for this.”

“Take Randall with you. He’s a good man. He’ll help.”

“I’m not going to risk someone you care about.”

Grace sighed, then nodded. “Eat, Sarah. We need to get you dressed and ready to go.”

“But I want to play in Uncle Gran’s workshop after dinner. He promised to teach me how to fix a steam engine,” Sarah declared.

“You did what?” Grace glared at her brother. “Ladies do not fix steam engines.”

Granville chuckled. “I do not see why not. They just shouldn’t be driving anything larger than a scooter. Now do as your mother says, Sarah.”

Grumbling, Sarah leapt out of her chair and headed toward the door. “May I wear the auburn dress with the brass beading, Mama?” The question echoed back as she skipped out of the room.

Grace shook her head and smiled. “One minute she wants to fix steam engines. The next she wants to dress like some Beacon Hill debutante. What will become of that girl?”

“I seem to recall a little sister who stole the pieces to my model ships so she could build one of her own,” He motioned for her to go. “She’ll be fine. Now go get ready for Randall. I have work to do.”

Grace took off the apron and handed it to him. “Not until you do the dishes.”

He swept his arm across his body in a grand gesture, Granville bowed. “As you wish, my lady.”

Grace snorted at his absurdity, then gave him a hard look. “You take care of you, Granville Woods.”

“I fully intend to.”

 

 

ANDREW WATCHED AS SAMUEL EASED himself onto the bed in his office. The former detective unbuttoned his jacket wincing at every move. His shoulder wounds had bled again, staining the white cotton-linen shirt. This was not a good way to end the day.

In his dark-gray woolen suit with silver threads running through the cuffs and the lapel, Samuel looked every inch the Middle District gentleman with his short, dark hair and narrow face, but as Andrew peeled back the younger man’s shirt, exposing his shoulder and torso, it became apparent Samuel was not your typical middle-class Bostonian.

Jagged scars ran down his well-muscled pectorals and shoulders, and now it looked as if the last fight would leave a permanent scar across his left eye and his jaw.

The Irishman shook his head as he unwrapped the blood soaked bandages and prepared to put on new ones. “With a shoulder like that there be no sense in getting a bow. You wouldn’t be able to pull on the damn thing let alone shoot an arrow for a good while.”

“We need those weapons,” Samuel said as he grimaced. “And he needs us if what we suspect is true.”

“Between the rumors and those weapons I be betting there be a demon in Liberty Row. But those people keep their troubles and their business to themselves,” Andrew stated, sure of his knowledge.

Samuel chuckled. “You know most people refer to the Irish as ‘those people,’ not the other way around.”

“Aye, but the Negros and the Irish be more alike than not. ’Tis shame that no one seems to see that bit.” Andrew wound a cotton bandage around Samuel’s shoulder numerous times, then secured it with a clasp pin. “Sure you don’t want to be seeing no doctor?”

“They ask too many questions.”

Andrew nodded as he cleaned up the bloody bandages, then stood up. “Need me to help you into bed?”

“No. I’ll be fine. Go home and see that daughter of yours.” Samuel hauled his feet up onto the bed. He sighed in relief. “Shouldn’t she be married by now?”

The Irishman guffawed. “Not bloody likely. She’s just a lass. Barely sixteen. I’m not letting her get married until she finishes school and finds herself a position as a teacher.”

“Very ambitious. If I can help in any way…” Samuel’s closed his eyes.

Andrew took a deep breath and swallowed as if he was gathering his courage. “As a matter of fact, there might be….”

The sound of snoring resonated from the bed.

Andrew leaned over and pulled a blanket up around Samuel, draping it across his body and over his shoulders. “Later, laddie. We’ll be talking later.”

 

 

GRANVILLE PULLED HIS ANKLE-LENGTH WOOLEN coat around him, hoping to hide the long, narrow box containing a bow and a quiver of arrows underneath it. He knew he looked suspicious wearing it this time of year, but he hoped as it got later the night air would cool down enough to make him look less odd. Not that it mattered much; there were few people out strolling even though it was a pleasant evening. Weekdays were quiet, but it was Friday and more people should have been out. Liberty Row was a haven for good music and good food, and the locals were not wont to pass up an evening out after a hard week’s work, but tonight were different. A dread feeling permeated the air laying heaviness on one’s chest like the onset of a summer thunderstorm, which made wearing the coat that much more uncomfortable.

He walked in measured steps toward the place where the neighbors had found the body of Old Joe.

A few weeks ago a woman leaving early for her job on the other side of the Middle District had tripped over his foot sticking out of an alleyway. The rest of his body had lain stuffed in a trashcan. Her scream had awakened half the block.

The police had come and gone, figuring it for a revenge murder. When the locals had tried to explain that Old Joe did not have an enemy in the world, the police shrugged it off and told them to call if it happened again. However, it wasn’t as if they did not care. The Boston Police had caught the man who had murdered eight children two years back, and he had hung for it. Two of the children were Negro, but by then the people of Boston just wanted the murderer caught.

Granville had been here before, and he’d seen Old Joe’s body. The slices and cuts had not been made by a knife or ax, but from claws. Large ones, he estimated, maybe six inches long and an inch in diameter at their bases. The poor old guy’s entrails removed with precision leaving nothing but an empty cavity. Then there were the bloody footprints that the police never bothered to look at. Close to thirteen inches long and each appeared to have three toes on each foot.

He opened the lid to one of the trashcans and pulled out an oil lamp he had secreted there earlier in the day. Granville put down the box then lit the lamp and adjusted the wick. He examined the walls and the area around where the body was found. Granville wished to do more investigating in the daylight, but there had been too many people around.

Peering at the wall above where Old Joe’s body had been eviscerated, Granville saw deep gashes in the brick shaped like claw marks. His eyes lit up when he noticed what appeared to be a piece of the creature’s talon. He pulled out a pen-knife and worked it out of the mortar. He inspected it and confirmed what he already knew: a demon had come to Liberty Row.

Granville stood up and pondered his next move. He was not a Medium or a detective, but he knew this neighborhood, and there were a finite amount of places a demon could hide. The trouble was, even if he found its hiding place, the creature would be on him before he knew it. He continued searching to see if he could find a clue as to where it resided. In his research, he had learned most demons liked to hide in small, dark places with limited access and running water.

He searched the basements in this block first. Most of the locals knew him, so he thought he could talk them into letting him inspect their basements on the ruse he was running scientific experiments.

So began the tedious task of knocking on doors, smiling and telling the same lie over and over again. After the fifth or sixth time the words tumbled across his lips with little effort. Most welcomed him and wanted to chat. Several of his neighbors insisted on entertaining him before he ventured into their basements or storerooms. A few were not at home, so Granville made a note to come back to those houses later.

Not long after midnight and with four blocks covered, Granville decided he had enough tea and cake to last him until next week. Though not heavy, the box with the bow and arrows had dug into his shoulder. Worse than that, his feet hurt. He wondered how Samuel and Andrew managed with the cumbersome weapons they used. Granville had developed decent upper-body strength through years of twisting and re-working metal, but he now discovered that walking long distances on cobblestone and brick was harder than he thought. He needed better shoes.

After inspecting over a dozen potential lairs and finding no sign of the demon, Granville decided it was time to go home. Sarah and Grace would be back by now and he didn’t want to worry his sister. He shifted the strap to the box to his other shoulder, and he started off. By this time he had stopped hiding it and explained to those who asked that it contained sensitive measuring equipment. His reputation was such that no one bothered to question him.

He had not traveled a half a block when he knew he was being followed.

Granville took the box off his arm, knelt, and laid it on the sidewalk. He opened it, paying particular attention to any movement or noise. At first there was nothing, then he heard it: fast, labored breathing, and a footfall. A whisper echoed between the brownstone buildings then rose above him like smoke through a chimney flue.

He yanked out the bow from the box, grabbed an arrow, nocked it, and spun around toward where he thought the noise had originated. Granville stared down a dark alley very much like the one where Old Joe was found. Droplets of sweat traveled from his scalp and across his nose, pausing for a moment before they continued on their journey. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move.

“Come forth, creature!” Granville cried out. “Or are you too scared to show yourself to a human?”

Silence answered his call.

Granville tried to provoke whatever lay hidden in the darkness. Not being a Medium, he couldn’t force the demon to reveal itself. All he had were his wits and the hope that whatever it was had an ego to bruise. “Do you just kill old men and children?”

He heard a scratching sound behind him. His breathing quicken as he prepared for the worst. Granville whirled around pulling back on the bowstring, ready to fire. His fingers were about to let the arrow fly when Granville stopped. There before him stood a whimpering and shivering young boy.

“Please, Mr. Woods, sir! Don’t kill me!” Tears streamed down the poor boy’s face.

Granville lowered the bow in relief. “Peter Travers? What are you doing here? You scared me to death!” he barked.

The boy didn’t move. “Please, sir. Don’t hurt me!”

Granville knelt and reached for the boy. “I won’t hurt you. Now let’s get you home. Your mother must be terribly worried.”

The boy stared at Granville’s hand for a long moment then grabbed it. As Granville stood up, the child wrapped his arms around the man’s waist and held on for dear life.

“Peter? Are you all right?” Granville asked feeling jittery as his adrenaline rush dropped to nothing.

He shook his head. “Don’t let it kill me.”

Granville hugged him back. “I won’t let anything happen to you, son.” Prying the boy’s arms off him, Granville looked Peter in the eye. “What are you doing out so late?”

The boy wiped his tears from his eyes and used his sleeve on his runny nose. “Augustus, Michael, and Jefferson were playing hide-and-seek. I asked if I could play and they said yes. Then they told me to go hide, but they never found me.”

Granville patted the boy on the head to comfort him. He suspected the boys in question never looked for Peter. He had no doubt they thought it would be funny to leave a little boy out alone after nightfall.

“That’s because you were too good at hiding.” Granville smiled. “Come along, let’s get you home.”

Granville packed up the bow and arrow, then slung the box over his shoulder. He grasped Peter’s hand in his and walked out of the alley.

After they left, something slid out of the shadows and scurried after them, always keeping a discreet distance.

 

 

SAMUEL DRESSED WITH A GREAT deal of difficulty the following morning. His shoulder and back throbbed though both were healing well enough. Each time he reached behind him to put his arm into his shirt sleeve the motion caused him agonizing pain and he yearned for the days when he had servants at his beck and call. Not that he was accustomed to affluent living prior to his marriage to Elizabeth.

Born near Boston Harbor, Samuel was the son of merchants who ran a “ship chandler” as it was known among seamen that sold pea coats, lanyards, canvas trousers, rope, and hooks of every size and shape, as well as the traditional blunt-nose seaman’s knife. His mother managed the finances while his father dealt with sales. By the time Samuel was eight, they owned a successful small warehouse on the harbor. Well respected among the seafaring community, it wasn’t difficult for his parents to make sure Samuel attended a decent school, expecting him to take over their business when he came of age.

Samuel had other ideas.

Not one to settle down and become a tradesman, Samuel joined the crew of a merchant ship that sailed the East Coast right after his eighteenth birthday. Born right after the end of the House Wars, he had watched the Great States of America rebuild and re-imagine itself. By the time he reached adulthood, commerce was booming both in the Americas and abroad. Opportunity had beckoned, and he had wanted to be part of something greater than himself. Others used those same opportunities to cause mayhem and murder.

Samuel made port in Charleston, North Carolina one day and took leave with the rest of the crew in the boisterous city. Most of them headed toward their favorite brothels, Samuel included. Now twenty-two with a strong back and even a stronger will, Samuel worked hard and played even harder. Charleston, being a bustling commercial port, brought in people looking to make money or take it from others. Resentment from those loyal to the defeated Southern Houses still simmered beneath the surface of welcome and congeniality. However, one particular night that bitterness manifested itself in an ugly and twisted way.

A prostitute was found mutilated and murdered in a room one of Samuel’s shipmates had just frequented. He swore he was innocence, and although the police did not believe him, Samuel had.

Samuel had taken it upon himself to investigate the murder, examining the room and the body, questioning the other girls and whoever else had been there. The police took exception to this and threatened to arrest him, but he just would not let it go. With three days to solve the case before they shipped out again, Samuel knew he had to work fast. Samuel pieced together the disparate and conflicting stories and saw a pattern, or rather a flaw in the pattern. He had discovered that a local man, jealous his favorite girl saw other men, had crawled through her window and murdered her right after Samuel’s shipmate had left the room. The man had taken a locket she had cherished and given it to another prostitute. It had been his undoing.

Police still did not believe Samuel’s evidence until an older patron who frequented the same brothel stepped forward and introduced himself as a senior Pinkerton detective. He told the police he thought Samuel’s case was sound and they should pass it on to their superiors. Not wanting to take the word of two men they considered to be outsiders, they refused. However, it was not long until Samuel received a message from the police captain to present himself without delay. It appeared the Pinkerton detective had more political clout than the local police had thought.

Samuel’s crewmate returned to the ship a free man but life was to change for young Samuel Hunter. Impressed with Samuel’s ability and doggedness without any training, the detective offered him a job. Samuel accepted.

Many years later, Samuel had left the Pinkertons and had taken a position guarding Elizabeth Weldsmore, the heir to one of the most powerful Houses in Boston. They had fallen in love and married, much to the distress of her father.

Living in one of Boston’s greatest Houses had been both a burden and a revelation. Samuel soon learned that servants attended to every little detail of everyday life. He never had to deal with anything as mundane as laundry, cleaning, shopping, cooking, or even dressing. His wife Elizabeth had grown up with it, but he could never get used to someone waiting on him hand and foot.

This particular morning he would have liked to have had his old valet back. Even more, he wished Elizabeth were still alive.

“You have that look about ya, laddie,” Andrew piped up as he wobbled into the room. “Memories be good, but not if that’s all you be thinking about.”

Samuel waved the shirt at him with his good arm. “My memories are my own. Now, would you please help me with this shirt? And why are you limping?”

Andrew pursed his lips, took the garment, and helped Samuel struggle into it. “Erin saw fit to throw a pitcher or two at me.”

“What could you have possibly done to warrant that?” Samuel inquired, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“The usual. My lass Caitlin has a mind of her own, and her ma will have none of it.”

“And you got in the middle?”

“Aye. That be the long and short of it.” Andrew buttoned up the jacket, straightened the lapel and made sure the sleeves hung just so. “There. You look like a proper peacock. Now where do you think you be going today?”

“I thought I could manage walking ten feet over to my office. Think you can handle making tea? There should be left over biscuits and hard-boiled eggs.” Samuel headed to the door that led to his office.

“Gah. A fine man like you needs to be eating better than that. Especially if you expect to get well any time soon,” Andrew remarked following him.

Samuel nodded as Andrew walked over and opened the cooler. Easily mistaken for a simple pine dresser, it stood three feet tall with brass fittings and shelves made of zinc. Andrew had never liked the contraption, always complaining that the gas inside would leak out and kill them all. He knew better than to press Samuel about it, though, as it had been a gift from Elizabeth before electricity had been installed.

Samuel eased himself into his desk chair as Andrew put together a semblance of a meal for them.

“Have there been any messages? Any new jobs?” Samuel asked in a hopeful tone. He wanted nothing more than to take his mind off, well…everything.

“Aye,” Andrew responded as he carried a container of honey and two plates laden with hard boiled eggs, biscuits, and a slab of butter to the desk and set them on the table. “But no one’s going to fight any demons or ghosts until you can swing an ax without dropping it on ya foot.” Andrew picked up a blue-and-white ceramic teapot from a small wooden stove and poured a dark robust tea into two matching cups. “Now not another word.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“If that’s what it takes for you to sit on your arse a spell, then so be it.” Andrew bit into a buttered biscuit.

Samuel studied his egg as he peeled it. “So what are we going to do in regards to Mr. Woods? We need those weapons. You know him. What do you think it would take?”

“He be a right proud man, but I thought for sure he’d sell us a bow or two. I guess you can’t be too careful when folks be stealing your stuff.” Andrew used a knife to dip into the honey jar, then smeared it on the remaining biscuit. “Maybe we can offer him a trade.”

“Trade our services for his?” Samuel pondered this. “With the number of arrows and other weapons he’s got up there, I’m thinking he already knows he needs us.”

“Or he just can’t bring himself to do it. Pride be a damnable thing.” Andrew winked at Samuel. “There be anyone you know who be like that?”

The younger man gave Andrew a scathing glance. “Very funny. The weapons could be for something else. You know that, don’t you?”

“Aye. If there ever be another House War, Liberty Row will be arming itself.” Andrew stared into his tea as if he could see the future. “No one wants to be a slave.”

“The people of Liberty Row will be slaves to fear if I’m right about the demon.” Thinking, Samuel tapped the egg on the table. “Get the police reports from one of your old contacts. See if anything out of the ordinary has been reported. I want to know for sure if there’s a demon living there.”

“I’ll get on it, but my gut tells me there be one,” Andrew agreed.

“Then I hope to God Mr. Woods doesn’t wait too long to ask for our help.”

 

 

GRANVILLE WENT OUT AGAIN THE next three nights searching for the demon’s lair, but came up empty. More rumors circulated about strange sounds and ominous figures lurking in the night. The once-boisterous and lively neighborhood had become silent and foreboding. Everyone held their collective breath, waiting for something bad to happen.

Darkness crept through Liberty Row like a slow leak when Granville heard someone pounding on the front door with more urgency than normal. Grace had taken Sarah to have dinner with Randall’s parents, so no one else was home. He hurried to the door thinking something was wrong with Grace or Sarah only to be faced with the worried faces of Mr. and Mrs. Travers—Peter’s parents.

Their son was missing again.

After Granville had brought him home, Mr. Travers had laid down the law to his son. No matter where Peter was or who he was playing with, he had to be home an hour before dark. Mr. Travers recognized the other night was not his son’s fault and made that clear to the parents of the boys who left Peter out as a practical joke. They were forbidden to play outside for two weeks, but Mr. Travers had seen fit to give Peter some leeway. The whole episode had scared their son, so Mr. and Mrs. Travers were not concerned about him disobeying their instructions. When he didn’t return on time, they went looking for him.

Granville grabbed the box with the bow and arrows and headed out with the parents who enlisted several other neighbors to assist in the search. Even the police who patrolled Liberty Row joined them when told of the problem. Most of the local coppers had been posted here because they saw Negros as part of the community and they had a soft spot for children no matter what their skin color was.

It took a good three hours to search two square blocks, and there were six more to go. More people joined once they knew what was going on. A few ventured that Peter may have crossed Harrison Street into the white section of town either on a dare or a lark. His parents protested that he would never do such a thing without their permission. After they calmed down, Granville told them to at least make inquiries.

By midnight, there was still no sign of Peter.

On a hunch, Granville hurried back to the alley where he had found Peter two nights ago just to make sure he had not missed anything. He tore through trash, empty boxes, and even an old carriage with a missing wheel, hoping to find a boy playing hide-and-seek.

Instead, he heard a scream he would never forget for the rest of his life. It was the cry of innocence being ripped away. The sound possessed a terror so primal yet so heart-rending, his eyes filled with tears before he even realized it. Then he ran. Ran as fast as he could even though he knew he would be too late.

By the time he got to the end of the alley, all he saw was blood and the fractured body of Peter Travers. The boy looked like a rag doll tossed into a pile of trash.

A hissing sound caught his attention. Granville looked around, searching the darkness for any sign of the creature that had done this. A click, click, clicking noise moved across the sides of the building. Granville threw open the box, yanking out the bow and a quiver of arrows. He feared he would lose track of the demon, so Granville left the box and ran.

As the hour was late, the streetlights were dimmed to save energy. Granville silently gave thanks that Liberty Row warranted streetlights unlike the South Side, which had none. He watched how the lights reflected off the windows to see if any shadows crossed them. A demon could choose whether it became visible to the human eye, but it still made a shadow. Since Granville had become aware of this threat he immersed himself in demon lore and mythology and learned demons were not exempt from the laws of physics. Even though many kinds of demons existed, the one thing they had in common was that their skin could bend light rendering them seemingly invisible. He suspected a chemical component in its makeup was the reason they could do this. The fact that Mediums could force them to appear made him wonder if the shock of a psychic intrusion altered their chemistry, compelling them to become visible. He knew he would never learn the truth unless he caught one.

Granville kept running toward the sound until it stopped. He threw himself backward against a wall hoping it would provide cover as he nocked an arrow and raised the bow. His eyes tracked to the tip using it to help his aim. Granville concentrated on slowing his breathing so the shot would not go wild. After a moment, he calmed himself and decided to wait the demon out.

A scraping sound of nails on glass caught his attention. He hoped to see the creature’s shadow when a shoe dropped out of nowhere and landed next to him. It belonged to a small boy’s. No doubt Peter’s.

Granville shook as the rage built up inside him. What once had felt like a furnace boiling deep within him now exploded. The thing was taunting him; luring him into a trap. Granville did not care anymore. In a rage, he fired.

The arrow soared high into the air up the side of the building. It broke apart just before it reached the apex of its arc spraying the copper netting on to the brick where it sizzled and sparked. Granville thought he had captured his prey, but the netting lay flat against the wall with nothing underneath.

Granville drew another arrow out of the quiver and nocked it while scanning the surrounding buildings for any sight or sound of the creature. Sweat poured into his eyes, but he blinked it away, not taking the chance that if he moved, he might miss some sign of the demon. Another scratching sound echoed across the street. He ran toward it.

Frightened faces watched through the windows he passed, but withdrew behind their curtains. No one wanted to know what lurked in the shadows.

A bottle shattered next to him spraying glass shards everywhere. Granville grimaced in pain as several pieces gouged his leg. The creature had doubled back. Granville swung the bow up ready to fire, but it was too late. He saw a shadow swing from window ledge to window ledge three stories up. It was on the move again.

Granville attempted to run, but his leg throbbed from the glass shards, and he knew he could not keep up the pace for long. He ran, then jogged, then hobbled over the cobblestone road. The streetlights grew brighter, which could mean one thing -- Harrison Street lay just ahead.

As he neared the unofficial dividing line between Liberty Row and the rest of the Middle District, a horrible thought came into his head. What if the demon’s lair was not in Liberty Row?

Granville raised the bow, searching for any sign of the creature as he ran to the end of the block and onto the sidewalk. When he stopped under a bright street-lamp he realized something else. He, a Negro man, stood at the dividing line carrying a weapon. In these circumstances, that could be even more dangerous to him than a demon.

He lowered the bow as a steam-powered buggy chugged past containing late-night party-goers. Two police officers walked on the sidewalk with their backs toward him. Granville stepped backward out of the light. He peered across the street and had his worst fears confirmed.

The demon emerged from between two buildings to reveal itself smiling a toothy wide-mouthed grin. Its obsidian skin glistened whenever the street lights hit it, giving it an iridescent sheen. Spindly of body, the creature used the three claws to beckon, even mock Granville. It wanted him to cross that invisible dividing line, knowing full well what would happen to him.

Granville glanced across the street to see where the police were, then back at the demon. A breeze wafted around his face, bringing with it the stench of sewage and rotting offal from the demon. The creature stuck out his tongue at him. It was red with blood, and the demon wagged it as if it were a sick dog in heat.

Granville raised the bow again, but the police had turned around and were heading in his direction. Forced to contain his rage, he lowered the bow gripping the metal cable until his fingers bled.

The demon vanished from sight, rendering itself invisible again.

It took all of Granville’s self-control not to race across the street to follow the creature deep into the white side of the Middle District, but he knew it would get him killed. To find the demon’s lair would require help.

It would require Samuel Hunter and Andrew O’Sullivan.

 

 

EVEN AFTER A WEEK, SAMUEL could still feel the wounds the Essex demon had inflicted upon him. They were healing, but not fast enough to his liking.

Andrew walked into the office carrying two axes: one small and one large. He threw them on the desk, scattering the few papers that lay there.

“Try the small one first. Don’t want you to be ripping them fine stitches I sewed.” The older man grinned at him.

Samuel sighed in annoyance. “Next time I’ll get the local seamstress to do it.”

“Next time you’ll be going to a proper doctor.” Andrew gestured to the axes. “Now get to it.”

Samuel hefted the small ax in his right hand. He tossed it in the air, flipped it in a full circle then caught it by the handle. Samuel flipped it again, but this time when the handle hit his palm, he pulled his arm back behind his head and in one fluid motion extended his arm, throwing the ax across the room. As soon as it left his hand, he faced the floor and placed his hands on his knees, letting the pain wash over him. He heard the hard thump of the ax blade striking into the wall.

Andrew cleared his throat. “Samuel?”

“What? Did I miss?” Samuel looked up to see the door of the office open and Granville Woods standing there. In the wall next to his head was the ax.

A look of horror crossed Samuel’s face. “Mr. Woods! My apologies. Are you all right?”

A calm Granville eyed the ax stuck near his head then cocked an eyebrow at Samuel. “Is that the target, or did you miss?”

Andrew chuckled. “That be the target, sort of.” He gestured to the numerous other gouges in that section of the wall. “He has had bad days though.” The older man pointed to the ceiling where an ax appeared to be lodged.

The three men glanced at each other, not knowing what to expect next, when Granville burst out laughing. Samuel and Andrew joined him. After a few moments the laughter died and a serious tone took over the room.

“Obviously, you have a reason for being here.” Samuel motioned for Granville to take a seat. “It’s not every day a renowned scientist shows up at my door.”

Granville sat in a chair in front of the desk while Samuel eased himself into his chair behind it. Andrew perched on a stool next to a row of filing cabinets.

“Flattery isn’t really in your nature,” Granville observed.

“It’s not,” Samuel replied. “I made a statement of fact. You might not be welcome on Beacon Hill, but don’t make the mistake of assuming the Great Houses don’t know who you are and what you are capable of.” He leaned back in his chair. “I do my homework even if it’s a little belated.”

Andrew grinned. “He be a right fine detective when he’s not killing beasties.”

“Then you are already aware there is a demon in Liberty Row,” Granville stated matter-of-factly.

Samuel nodded. “And you want us to kill it.”

“No.” Granville leaned forward, staring Samuel straight in the eye. “I’m going to kill it… with your help.”

“That’s not how this works,” Samuel replied. “Andrew draws them out and I kill them. The less people involved the better.”

Granville shook his head. “You want my weapons? You do it my way.”

“And what exactly is your way?” Samuel grew suspicious.

Granville settled back in his chair, feeling more self-confident. “I believe the demon’s lair is on the white side of Harrison Street, but it’s feeding in Liberty Row. I want you to lure it out, force it over to Liberty Row, expose it, then I’ll kill it.”

Samuel pursed his lips. “So, you’re using us as bait.”

“Aye, he’s certainly doing that, laddie,” Andrew interjected, not looking as amused as he did before. “And here I be thinkin’ we all be on the same side.”

“We all come at this from different angles,” Granville said as his eyes narrowed. “It just so happens this time our angles intersect.”

“So what do we”—Samuel gestured to Andrew— “get out of it? That is, if we don’t die in the process.”

“Unlimited access to weapons as you need them.”

Andrew whistled, then nodded in approval.

“Unlimited access to weapons as we need them—and two of the compound bows with twenty of those special arrows as payment for our services,” Samuel countered.

Granville opened his mouth to answer, but Samuel was not finished.

“I know you think we’re out to steal your inventions, but consider this….” Samuel stood up, leaning on his desk for support. His voice took on a harsh, guttural tone. “Somewhere out there is the thing that killed my wife. And no one is going to kill it but me. No… one… but… me. Understand? I will do whatever it takes to make that happen, even if I have to steal those weapons from you.” He studied Granville. “I’d rather not. So, do we have a deal?”

Samuel extended his hand.

Granville stared at it. “You get one bow and fifteen arrows after we kill the demon. Not before. And I’ll supply you with whatever I feel you need for this particular job.”

Samuel fumed as he considered the offer, then nodded. “Deal.”

After that, the three men discussed what little they knew about demons. From what they could piece together, demons had black, yellow, or reddish skin, but all could render themselves invisible at will. The ones they had seen had either three or five fingers on each hand. Some had claws while others had talons, but they had one thing in common: they liked to live in damp, enclosed spaces.

So they poured over maps of the Middle District and Liberty Row, trying to determine the best places a demon could hide but came up with too many probabilities. They had to narrow it down. Based on what Granville saw and somewhat similar demons Samuel and Andrew had encountered, they chose the five most likely spots a demon of this type might call home. None of them were pleasant as this creature appeared to be hiding in the sewer.

They agreed to track the demon before it killed again. Samuel insisted he be allowed to use Granville’s bow and arrows while on the white side of the Middle District. Granville refused. They were to force it back into Liberty Row where Granville would finish it off.

“You’re still not going to give me any weapons?” Samuel threw his arms up in exasperation, then winced at the sudden pain he caused himself.

“I’m going to give you what you need to force the demon to the Negro side of Harrison Street.” Granville gestured to Samuel’s arm. “Besides, you’re in no shape to be handling a bow.”

“After Andrew draws it out, you want me to blast the thing with salt and ammonia, hoping it’ll run in the right direction? Of course, with the noise of the gun and a screaming demon, the entire Boston Middle District police force will be breathing down our necks.” Samuel glared at the scientist.

“Not to worry. I have a better idea.” Granville smiled.

Samuel grumbled and glanced over at Andrew. The older man shrugged.

“Fine,” Samuel sighed in resignation. “Andrew and I will check these five spots after dark. Wherever we find it, we’ll herd it in your direction.”

“That will be Ash Street. It parallels Harrison, but we’ll need to meet before dusk so I can give you the pokers,” Granville replied.

“Pokers? As we be poking this beastie with a stick?” Andrew looked incredulous.

Granville laughed. “It’s more than just a stick. You’ll see.”

“We’ll see you before dusk then, Mr. Woods.” Samuel wondered what he had gotten himself into.

 

 

THE DEATH OF PETER TRAVERS devastated the people of Liberty Row. Black ribbons were draped across windows and doors to acknowledge the loss of both Old Joe and the boy. The police were informed, but until their investigation turned up something substantial, they refused to add any additional patrols. Local authorities hated child killers, but no one was willing to stick their neck out until a few more bodies showed up. Local men patrolled from dusk 'til dawn, but it did not do any good. When another man’s body was found stuffed between two buildings, eviscerated just like the other two, a sense of terror seized the neighborhood. No one left their homes unless necessary. Liberty Row became a self-made prison.

When Granville returned home, he found Grace crying in the kitchen. Sarah sat curled up so tightly in a chair he thought she might roll off, but one look at her face told him she was in shock over the news of another victim. He wrapped his arms around the little girl and held her close.

“Grace, I want Randall to come over here and stay until we catch whoever is doing the killing,” Granville told her. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“And where will you be?” she asked, wiping the tears from her face.

“Taking care of the problem.”

She shook her head. “No, not you. Let someone else take care of it. The police--”

“Are not equipped to handle this. I’ll call Randall.” Granville released Sarah, who insisted on holding his hand. “Sarah, you’ll have to let go.”

She grasped his hand even tighter.

“Fine. Come with me, then.” Granville turned to leave the kitchen. The only telephone in the house was on the wall off the main entrance. Half of the homes in Liberty Row owned a phone. When they had become available to the public, the community pooled their resources to make sure everyone had reasonable access to one. It was one more way Liberty Row had sought to protect themselves from outsiders. Communication was essential for survival.

“Wait! What do you mean about ‘taking care of the problem’? What are you going to do?” Grace’s frowned in worry.

“Not in front of Sarah.” Granville looked at the girl, who was now gnawing at her knuckles. He pulled her hand away from her face. “Stop that.”

“She has every right to know what foolish thing her uncle is planning on doing,” Grace shot back.

He hesitated, but the look on his sister’s face told him she would not take any nonsense from him. “I know what’s going on and I hired someone to take care of it.”

“What?” Grace flew into a rage. “You brought in outsiders? How could you?”

Granville let go of Sarah’s hand and grabbed his sister by the shoulders. “Grace, listen to me. This is too big for me. Too big for any of us. We need them.” She shook under his grasp. “You have to trust me on this.”

“Do you trust them?” She challenged him.

“Up to a point…that’s all. I promise.”

 

 

RANDALL’S MOTHER AND SISTERS PRETENDED that their overnight stay was nothing more than a long social visit. They believed that through sheer force of will they could keep this sense of foreboding from entering their domestic fortress, even though it permeated every choice they made. What clothes to bring? Toiletries? Books? Games? Even food choices were based on distraction. No matter what happened, these women were convinced they could make those around them feel safe and happy.

Granville was grateful for their effort.

As Grace got the women comfortable in their rooms, Randall approached Granville as he headed towards his workshop.

“Granville, what’s happening? Why did you really ask us here?” A tall, angular man a few years younger than Granville, Randall wasn’t stupid. The only reason Granville allowed him, a single man, to stay overnight even with his mother and sisters present was because something serious was about to happen. The veiled attempt at propriety was a ruse at best.

Granville sighed, studying the man. “Randall, you’re a good man, and my sister has a fondness for you.”

Randall looked embarrassed at Granville’s directness. “Well, I hoped…I mean…I have a fondness for her as well,” he stammered at first, then lowered his voice. “I know there’s something out there killing us. Let me help you hunt it. Let me prove myself to you. And to Grace.”

“You have.” Granville put a friendly hand on Randall’s shoulder to reassure him then turned away.

“Granville,” Randall called after him. “I’ll protect her to my dying breath.”

“I know.” Granville’s mood turned grim. “That’s why you’re here.”

 

 

ANDREW LEFT FOR AN HOUR to walk Caitlin home from school. Samuel did not mind as it was one of the few times Andrew saw her since they worked at night. From what little Samuel knew about Erin, Andrew’s wife, she had worked as a house cleaner for several Middle District Houses. He’d been to the South Side and seen how the rampant poverty stole pieces of one’s soul bit by bit. It frustrated him, knowing he paid Andrew a good enough wage to find a place to live in the Middle District, but the older man refused to leave. Andrew never discussed it, but Samuel suspected Erin had a hand in keeping them there.

As he waited for Andrew to return, Samuel gathered up a few small axes and his pistol-sized multi-barrel gun loaded with enough ammonia-laced salt ammunition to at least get the demon’s attention. He might not be able to handle the larger guns yet due to the recoil, but these would be easier to conceal in a canvas bag. Samuel knew he could not just go wandering through the Middle District carrying guns without drawing unwanted attention toward himself and Andrew. He threw in rubber sea boots, sturdy gloves, rope, and a couple of scarves to tie around their faces. No sense becoming ill breathing in the stench of the sewer.

Andrew returned and gathered up his camera and the fancy flash bulbs he had bought from Granville. Samuel watched him for a few minutes, sensing the man was distracted.

“Everything all right, Andrew?” he asked.

The older man gave Samuel a haunted look for a moment, as if he to impart a great secret, then thought better of it. “It be nothing, laddie. Let’s be about our business.”

Samuel sighed, then nodded. He knew the Irishman’s mood must have been affected by his wife. No one else put a damper on his spirit like that woman did. She must have been home when he left for work. Samuel hoped whatever had happened would not affect his work tonight.

They gathered up whatever else they thought they needed and headed out.

Samuel drove his steam-powered buggy from the wharf through the heart of the Middle District then parked two blocks away from Harrison Street. This left them equidistant from the buggy to each of the main sewer entrances on the map. He also didn’t want to be sitting so close to Harrison Street as to bring unwanted attention to themselves. They had agreed to meet Granville at an underground sewer junction so he could hand over the “pokers.” Samuel was dubious how useful they could be, but he’d seen the man’s workshop and had been more than impressed. He hoped his ability to trust his own judgment wasn’t compromised by his desire to find the perfect weapon to kill his wife’s murderer once he found the creature again.

The sun had just begun to set when he parked the buggy. People were going about their business as they did every evening. Men hurried home after work. The smell of roasted chicken wafted from windows on a soft spring breeze. Children’s laughter punctuated the air as their mothers’ soft voices told them to wash up. It would all have been perfect except there was a monster living beside them, hiding deep below the streets waiting for darkness to fall. Or was it hiding in plain sight? Samuel wondered how much these people chose to ignore because it was easier to do. Or maybe it was because they did not want to acknowledge that there were demons living among them, both human and supernatural.

Once he could lie in Elizabeth’s arms and forget the pain and suffering he had caused. Now, the only way he could crush those feelings was to do the jobs no one else wanted to. That was why he was here tonight.

Samuel pulled the canvas bag out of the buggy while Andrew picked up his camera and belts. “Ready, old man?” Samuel asked him.

Andrew nodded.

The sewer junction Granville had chosen for the meeting was under Harrison Street, but each of them would walk through at least a half-mile of sludge and muck before they met up. There was no way Granville could bring anything resembling a weapon across Harrison Street without someone calling the police. One would think anybody who saw Samuel and Andrew pry up a manhole cover would be curious, but no one would ever question an Irishman doing dirty work while his Middle District supervisor watched over him.

Samuel assumed being treated this way gnawed at Andrew, but the older man never uttered one word of complaint. He wondered why. Though Samuel was an excellent detective, he made a point never to probe into Andrew’s life. Thinking about it now, he thought that might have been a mistake.

After raising the manhole cover, Andrew climbed down with his camera on his back. When he reached the bottom, Samuel dropped the bags to him and followed. As his head dipped below the street, Samuel reached over and dragged the manhole cover over the entrance enough to leave a slight gap making it easier for them to get out if need be.

By the time Samuel reached him, Andrew had already pulled out the electric torch Granville had given them. Samuel did not believe they would work, but when Andrew tightened the bottom of it as Granville had instructed, the thing lit up a good portion of the sewer tunnel. The electric torch was a fiber tube a foot long with brass end caps and a bull’s-eye glass lens on one end. Samuel soon decided it was a handy piece of equipment to have around. They tied the scarves around their noses and mouths, strapped the rest of their bags on their backs, and headed down the sewer tunnel to meet Granville.

They scoured the tunnel walls for any sign of the demon, just in case they were wrong about its whereabouts. The only thing they found, though, were rats and a disgusting amount of sludge that had built up over the years when there had not been enough water to flush the system out.

The stench increased as they approached Harrison Street. Andrew gagged, and even Samuel’s eyes had begun to water. He used the electric torch to light up the ceiling and saw an increasing number of cracks. Whoever built the sewer in this part of town had done a shoddier job than deeper into the Middle District. Samuel was not surprised. Political power and money got things done, and Liberty Row may have money, but its residents had no political power to use it.

Samuel and Andrew trudged on.

A light beam reflected off a wall ahead of them. It was Granville with a scarf tied around his nose and mouth as well.

As Samuel and Andrew walked up, they saw he carried two large wooden poles with six narrow spikes attached at their tips. Cables the thickness of a woman’s pinky finger were connected to the spikes and wrapped around the staves until they met a small box attached three-quarters of the way down the pole. Strips of braided leather were wrapped at the bottom, which Samuel assumed was the grip.

Granville held out the poles to them. “Here. Hold them below the box. There’s a switch inside to turn it on. I put the box over it so you wouldn’t accidentally electrocute yourself.”

Samuel and Andrew took their respective weapons, inspecting each of them with great interest.

Granville gestured to the wires. “They’re electrified. You stab the demon with the wires sticking out from the top. Just be sure you turn them on first.”

“I think we understand that part,” Samuel remarked, doubting his confidence in Granville. “But this thing doesn’t look like it’ll stop much of anything.”

Granville pointed to a rat scurrying by. “Use it on that.”

Samuel opened the box with his thumb, then flipped the switch and felt a slight vibration run up through his hands. He eyed the rat, stalked it for a minute then stabbed it. The rat sparked, squealed, died, then burst into flames.

Samuel turned off the apparatus, then used his foot to shove the dead rat off the spikes. He nodded in appreciation. “This will get the demon’s attention.”

“Aye, laddie. That it will.” Andrew ran his finger across the wires. “What will this do to a man?”

“I don’t know, but let’s not find out. In the meantime, I’ll head back to Liberty Row and wait for you at the corner of Beach and Harrison Street.”

“Will you be able to get a clear shot if it climbs the building or uses the roof-tops?” Samuel asked.

Granville nodded. “There are fire escapes on each side if I need to get there.”

“Guess the powers-that-be saw fit to give Liberty Row such things,” Andrew mused. “There be none of those in the South Side.”

“We put them in ourselves, Andrew,” Granville replied with a hint of sadness. “Maybe after this is over….”

“Don’t be bothering yourself with the likes of me,” Andrew interrupted. “Let’s get this thing before it kills any more young ‘uns.”

Samuel nodded. “We’ll meet you up top.”

Without another word, Granville headed back toward Liberty Row.

 

 

IT WAS A GOOD HALF an hour by the time Granville got back to the sewer entrance on the Liberty Row side of Harrison Street. When he slid the manhole cover off, the sun had set. Streetlights were lit, but the sidewalks were barren of people. Fear had gripped Liberty Row, and no one dared to be outside except for the few locals who patrolled. The patrols were useless, but they gave people a sense of control although in reality they had none. Granville glanced around to make sure no one saw him before he crawled out, then took off the scarf and breathed in fresh air. He looked at his clothes and saw specks of sewage around his cuffs and up the side of his pants. He would have to burn them when the night was over.

After sliding the manhole cover back into place, he glanced around again, hoping no one had seen him. Granville would have liked to drape his copper netting over every street in Liberty Row, but he did not have enough for that, so he had placed all he had over an alley off Albany Street two blocks south of Harrison in the hope Samuel and Andrew were successful in driving the demon out of the sewer and into Liberty Row. He had no doubts that when the demon surfaced, he could lure it over to the alley and kill it. Even if the demon got out of the netting, he had the bow and arrows in reserve.

He stood up and gathered his equipment. Walking the three blocks over to Albany Street, each step became quicker as he imagined all sorts of things going wrong, but when he arrived, everything was as it should be. The netting was still stored under a stoop and looked undisturbed. He dragged it out, opened it, and began the process of deploying it across the end of the alley. He had chosen this place because it was the only dead end in Liberty Row. Granville tugged on a cable that dangled across the side of a building and watched as another piece of netting slid into place between the two roof lines at the end of the alleyway. He attached the cable to one of his small battery-driven generators, then double checked to make sure it had a full charge.

Satisfied that everything was in order, Granville took out the bow and a quiver of arrows, and hid behind a stoop. Now came the hard part. Waiting.

 

 

SAMUEL AND ANDREW BEGAN THEIR sweep of the sewer system in a methodical and practiced manner. They started from the eastern-most section where there were alcoves large enough for a demon to build a lair, then worked their way west, making a few side trips to areas where it might have tucked itself away during the daylight. After a few hours, they stumbled upon bits of human entrails. It got gorier each step they took. A piece of a human kidney, a liver, even a section of a human heart led the way to their prey. They knew the demon would not be far now.

Samuel knelt and examined the bloody mess without touching it and frowned.

“Why wouldn’t the demon eat this? Why leave it out for anyone to find?” Samuel muttered.

“Maybe the beastie figured no one would look here for it?” Andrew ventured a guess. “Or maybe it wanted a treat for later.”

“An over-confident demon?” Samuel wondered out loud. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” He gestured toward the sewer tunnel. “We’re in the perfect position to drive it toward Liberty Row.”

Samuel and Andrew both stopped talking when they heard the sound of teeth tearing into flesh around a corner up ahead. Each flipped on his poker and turned off their electric torches. With their backs flat up against the wall, they inched their way up to the corner of the tunnel.

Samuel mouthed, “One… two… three.”

On “three,” Andrew closed his eyes and concentrated. His brow furrowed as he used his ability as a Medium to make the demon visible to Samuel. If there were time, he would get a picture of it, but for now he had other things to attend to.

His body shook and sweat dripped down his face as the effort took so much of a toll on Andrew that he almost lost his grip on the poker.

Then he felt as if a light exploded in his brain, and he could see through his eyelids even though they were closed. In his mind’s eye, he saw what the demon looked like, but not where it was. Its oily, black skin made him shudder. He forced open his eyes to see Samuel watching him with concern and awe.

Andrew motioned that they should proceed.

With even more stealth than before, they readied themselves to leap out at the demon while it enjoyed its gruesome meal.

Samuel made the slightest gesture with his head, and both men jumped out with the poker, ready to drive the demon out of its lair. He pointed the electric torch at a mound of filth and entrails, but all they saw were the beady eyes of a swarm of rats.

The demon was not there.

“Oh, hell,” Samuel muttered as he swung around to see the demon behind them. Blood-tinged drool dripped over its jaw while a grating sound emanated from the back of its throat. The thing was laughing at them.

It swung one of its spindly arms forward with its three claws aimed at the detective’s head. Samuel swiveled around and leaned backward. The demon missed his head, but slammed into his injured arm. In agony, Samuel dropped the poker and cried out in pain. Andrew stabbed the creature, causing it to growl and jump back. The demon’s skin sizzled and sparked where the spikes had impaled it while its body jerked. Samuel scrambled for his poker then jabbed the demon again and again. Its spasms became less intense each time they hit it. The demon backed away far enough that they had trouble reaching it.

For a moment the creature stared at them then turned and fled— in the wrong direction.

Samuel grabbed one of his axes from the bag and threw it at the retreating demon, but it was too far away and missed.

“Andrew! Come on!” Samuel yelled at him.

They tracked it through several tunnels, missing it once when it appeared to double back. The rain had been moderate this season, so there was just enough sludge for them to see fresh footprints. Samuel and Andrew still hoped to drive it toward Granville. It soon became apparent the demon was paralleling Harrison Street, staying two blocks away from Liberty Row.

Both men were aching from exertion and out of breath when they stopped to figure out what to do.

“I can go up top, run in front of it, then drop down back into the sewers.” Samuel’s chest heaved as he leaned against the tunnel wall. “That way we can flank it and drive it back towards Liberty Row.”

Andrew shook his head. “You can’t be running around Middle District covered in that filth. Someone be calling the police.”

“Nor can you,” Samuel spat out in frustration. “We’re going to have to head over to the Liberty Row side and tell Woods we’ll have another go at this tomorrow night. God, I hate that.” Samuel slammed his palm against the tunnel wall.

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to start over, laddie,” Andrew assured him. “We’ll find the beastie.”

“Damn right we will. I think we’ve run it ragged enough it should stay—” Samuel opened his mouth to continue talking, but a scraping sound distracted him.

They looked at each in horror, realizing the sound was a manhole cover being opened not too far from them.

The demon was going hunting.

 

 

STIFF FROM HUNCHING BEHIND THE stoop, Granville stood up and stretched out his arms and legs He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Samuel and Andrew were late -- very late.

Granville paced around the stoop then checked the time again. Something had gone wrong. It was his fault he had sent those men to face the demon without enough weapons to kill it. Granville packed away the bow and the quiver of arrows, threw them on his back, and jogged back toward Harrison Street.

Checking each manhole in case he missed them, he slowed as he approached the thoroughfare. He leaned against the side of a building, hiding in the shadows. Granville peeked around the corner and saw two police officers strolling toward him on his side of the street. He ducked back into the shadows and waited until they passed, grateful there was no one else out at this late hour.

The closest manhole entrance to where they had met was across Harrison Street and up a block. If Samuel and Andrew had run into trouble, that was the fastest way to reach them. Granville crouched waiting for the police to get far enough away so he could run across without being seen. If he had not been carrying weapons, he would not be worried about it, but they would insist on opening his bag. He had never been arrested and did not want this to be the first time.

Granville was just about to dash across the street when he heard a scream echo through the buildings. It pierced the air like a wild animal clutching at the last bit of life. Granville ran across the street without thinking where the policemen were. He knew they would have heard it too, but he needed to get there first.

Granville rushed along the block aware he was a Negro man carrying a weapon. If he found Samuel, Andrew or anyone else dead, the authorities would blame him, but he could not turn back. Granville had brought those two men in to help him and Liberty Row. He refused to leave them to die.

He pushed himself until his chest ached; his throat tightened. The bow jabbed him in the back through the bag, but it didn’t matter. He had to keep going.

Granville ran around a corner to see Andrew bloodied and unconscious on the ground next to a stoop while Samuel kept the demon at bay with the electrified staff he had given him. What horrified Granville the most was that the demon held a delivery man over his head like a sack of grain. Skewered through his chest and his groin by the demon’s claws, the man hung limp and lifeless. Blood trickled down the demon’s arms and body, pooling at its feet. The creature roared in triumph as it threw the body at Samuel hitting him full-on in the chest. The detective crashed to the ground, his howl of pain muffled by the deliveryman’s body.

Without wasting another moment, Granville yanked the bow and arrows from his bag, nocked one, and took aim.

“Stop!” a male voice yelled out from behind him. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

Granville glanced behind him and saw the two policemen from before aiming their guns at him. They were not as powerful as many of the weapons he had designed, but they could still kill.

“Don’t be a damn fool! Look!” Granville shouted at them as he gestured to the demon in front of him.

No longer caring if it was visible or not, the creature roared at them in defiance. The policemen looked past Granville and saw a living, breathing nightmare.

They fired.

Infuriated, the demon leapt over Granville, knocking him to the ground and sending the bow flying out of his hands. It then pounced on the officers, slashing and cutting their bodies to bits.

Granville scrambled to grab the bow, hoping to get a shot in before it killed the coppers, but he was too late. The creature had slit their throats.

He clutched the bow and arrow to his chest as he rolled over then staggered to his feet.

“Duck!” Samuel yelled at him while throwing the electrified staff into the back of the demon.

Granville slammed himself face first on to the ground as the enraged creature leapt over him and headed toward Samuel.

The detective had shoved the dead delivery man off himself and now was trying to pry the other electric staff out from underneath the man’s body. “Run!” he cried out at Granville. “Get out of here!”

The demon lurched over to Samuel and Andrew, salivating over the prospect of their deaths.

Bruised and shaking, Granville fumbled with the bow as he staggered to stand up. He found the arrow nearby, grabbed it, and nocked it.

The creature loomed over Samuel ready to strike.

Granville raised the bow and aimed. “Get down!” He fired.

Samuel threw himself over Andrew’s body as the arrow flew toward its mark.

The demon turned just in time to see the shaft of the arrow explode and deploy the netting which encased it, propelling its body backward into a basement stairway. The netting sparked, whined, and burst into flames around the edges.

Granville ran over to the stairway while drawing another arrow, preparing to fire again. He looked down from the sidewalk and saw the demon struggling against the netting. It shrieked in fury and agony, but the voltage on the netting was too much for it. After a long moment it stopped moving. Granville waited before lowering the bow, wanting to make sure it was dead. Much to his dismay, the demon disintegrated before his eyes. All hope of testing its skin and learning more about it disappeared without a trace.

Granville heard a noise behind him and swung the bow around to face Samuel half-carrying Andrew, who used his electric staff as a crutch.

“We need to leave.” Samuel’s eyes bored into him. “We need to leave now. My buggy isn’t too far from here.”

Granville nodded then grabbed what remained of the netting. As he ran back up he saw lights going on in a few of the homes and heard voices approaching. He took one last look around and saw the blood-bath the demon had left in its wake deciding Samuel was right, they needed to go.

The scientist hurried after the detective and the Medium as they led the way.

 

 

SAMUEL SHOOK GRANVILLE AWAKE THE following morning. He had slept on an extra cot they had found buried in the back of the warehouse. Andrew was still nursing his injured leg, so Samuel had taken it upon himself to make tea and pull together breakfast. A famished Granville sat up and took the tea Samuel offered him.

“Thank you again for saving our lives last night.” Samuel grimaced after he took a sip and he realized he’d forgotten to add sugar to his tea.

“You were right. I should have given you the bow and arrows to begin with.” Granville shook his head in disgust at himself. “Then you wouldn’t have been in that position in the first place.”

“You be wrong about that, Mr. Woods,” Andrew chimed in. “Things went to hell in a hand-basket down in them tunnels. There be no time to use it.”

“He’s right,” Samuel agreed. “This was a three-man job.”

“Well.” Granville took a sip of his tea, forcing himself not to spit it out once he had a taste. “I’m glad the demon is dead.” He put the tea cup on a small table. “But I should be heading home. If you could take me as far as Harrison Street, I’d be much obliged.”

Samuel and Andrew glanced at each other.

“About that. What do you think about working with us on a regular basis? We could certainly use your expertise. And you handled yourself well in a nasty situation.”

“What you want are my weapons.” Granville looked him straight in the eye. “I wouldn’t do it just for you. What do I get out of it?”

Samuel glared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Besides killing demons? I imagine that workshop of yours is expensive. I’ve got money and I can supply you with almost anything you need.”

“Really?” Granville’s eyebrows rose as he gestured around the Spartan room. “This isn’t exactly the peak of luxury.”

Andrew chuckled. “Mr. Woods, sir. Not everything is as it seems.”

“You can move in here. Use as much of the warehouse as you need for a workshop, storage, experiments, whatever you want. Except….” Samuel paused. “Your first priorities are building weapons. Anything else is secondary.”

“And what about Liberty Row?” Granville asked.

“They will get whatever they need,” Samuel replied. “Demon killer or just a regular detective.” He gestured to Andrew. “And a first-rate Medium.”

Granville stood up and considered the proposition. “I have to think about it. Now, if you would take me home, I’d appreciate it.”

“Take your time.” Samuel nodded. “Let me know either way.”

 

 

GRACE THREW HERSELF AT GRANVILLE when he returned home. She cried and berated him at the same time. When she stopped yelling at him long enough to notice the way he looked and smelled, that set her off on another rant.

Sarah giggled and held her nose at her unkempt uncle.

Randall smiled and shook his hand.

After a long, hot bath and luxuriating in clean clothes, Granville set off to his workshop. He noticed the tenor of the house had changed. Some second cousins of Randall’s, around Sarah’s age, had come over to play; laughter and the sound of running echoed up the staircase. Women’s voices murmured in the kitchen, giving a sense of serenity he had not felt in a long time. He saw Randall skipping up the stairs until he caught sight of Granville. Embarrassed, Randall gave him a serious look, but he failed. The man was just too damn happy.

“Granville, I’d like your permission to marry your sister,” Randall blurted out.

“What does she say about it?”

Randall dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a ring box. He opened it to reveal a small, but very elegant diamond ring. “Hopefully, yes. It’s not too much, is it? The ring, I mean.”

Granville nodded in approval. “I think it’ll be just fine.” He turned to walk up the stairs, but Randall touched his arm.

“I have a favor to ask.” he looked sheepish.

“Other than asking for my sister’s hand in marriage?” Granville teased him.

“My sister, May. She and her husband and children are down south. Near Charlotte.” His face grew serious. “Life hasn’t been good for them there, and I’d like to move them to Boston, but….”

“You don’t have anywhere for them to stay,” Granville finished his sentence. “And you want them to live here.”

“Just for a while. Until they get settled. It’s just you have so much room here….”

Granville heard his sister laugh and leaned over the banister to look into the living room. Sarah played with her new friends, and Grace looked happier than he had seen her in ages. She glanced up and waved at Randall and gave Granville a big grin. He realized that she needed to care of her own family. That no matter how much he loved her, he was holding her back from having a life of her own. It was time for him to go.

He shook Randall’s hand and smiled. “Of course. I think that would be a wonderful idea.”

Randall shook Granville’s hand, then bolted down the stairs.

Granville continued on to his workshop, pondering how in the world he was going to pack and move all of his things.

 

 

SAMUEL STROLLED ACROSS THE WHARF, trying to dispel the malaise that haunted him. He was surprised when he saw two large horse-drawn wagons right outside the warehouse. Negro men busied themselves with unloading while sailors walking by either gave them a wide berth or stopped and stared. Granville was easy to spot among the working men wearing his usual immaculate suit. Andrew chatted with the scientist while directing the workers on where to take Granville’s equipment.

It appeared the scientist had agreed to his proposal.

This should have made him happy, but instead it gave Samuel a sense of foreboding. Forces were gathering both within the world as he knew it and an evil one that hovered just beyond it. The two men in front of him would be his partners in a war he knew was coming. Samuel hoped he would not fail them.