The Ivory Devil [1]
Virginia Drake is a paranormal investigator. She is used to dealing with ghosts, poltergeists, and errant spirits. Her newest contract, however, has sent her out into the eastern forests of Leurain. There has been talk of a beast prowling the hallways of an abandoned castle, and now, a young girl has been found murdered with strange markings on her neck.
— —
It was neither a dark nor stormy night but rather a dismal gray with a misting drizzle that fell in gentle sheets. By the nature of the job, it was a fairly consistent setting; evil beings and frightful spirits rarely frequented sunny holiday retreats.
As far as paranormal locations went, the quaint town of Southlark was a poster child case. The cobblestoned streets were near-empty save for a few lurking drunkards. The only color in the twilit scene was the yellow glow of streets lamps. Curious and cautious eyes peered through curtained windows.
Virginia Drake was used to the stares. It, too, came with the job. She clicked her tongue to her horse, urging the beast to plod along the uneven road a little faster. As the last remaining dredges of daylight faded away, so did the rest of the day’s warmth. Her destination sat like a squat toad at the end of the street, its crumbling roof sagging beneath the weight of its own decay and mildew. The Olive Goose inn. Virginia wrinkled her nose in distaste but pressed on. She had stayed in far worse accommodations.
The inn was cheerier inside, a crackling fire bringing a life to the place that the rest of the town seemed to lack. A few patrons were scattered throughout the small common area, and their conversations lulled as Virginia pushed her way in from the misty grips of the night.
At least the woman behind the bar seemed to recognize her, if only for the strange curve of Virginia’s wide-brimmed hat and the odd weapon strapped to her hip.
“Ah!” the bartender cried and hurried from behind the bar to greet Virginia. “You are the beast-slayer, I take it?” She gripped Virginia’s hand and shook it vigorously.
Virginia pinned on a wan smile and extracted her hand from the woman’s. “That would be me. Virginia Drake, best paranormal investigator my employer has to offer,” she introduced herself. The patrons’ gazes felt sharper at the words.
“Excellent,” the bartender said. She grabbed Virginia’s hand again before she could pull away and all but dragged her to the bar. “Come, I’ll tell you about the beast that’s been plaguing us over a nice glass of the valley’s finest wine. On the house, of course.” She released Virginia’s hand to go scurry behind the bar and fix the aforementioned drink.
“I’m more of a whiskey gal, myself,” Virginia put in. Her words fell deaf on the woman’s ears. Virginia sighed and settled herself on the nearest barstool. Hopefully, the wine was as good as the woman touted it to be. Moments later, a glass was pushed in front of Virginia, filled with an ample helping of dark crimson wine. Virginia gave the liquid a sniff before sipping at it. It could be worse, she considered.
Her host was silent, and Virginia looked up from the glass to find her staring expectantly. “It’s good, thank you,” she said. The assessment pleased the woman, and she dipped her head with sudden bashfulness. The moment passed, and the woman was back to her friendly self. She settled herself against the bar, perched up by her elbows.
“Now see,” she began, “it started probably five years ago, although some folks will tell you it’s been a decade. There’s an old, really big castle about an hour up the northern road—just about the only thing up that way really—and it used to be the shining jewel of the valley. All the noble court gathered for parties and lavish galas that us common folk weren’t privy to, ‘cept for servant business. But, as I said, about five years ago, something changed and now there’s nary a soul up there.”
She paused to let the words sink in. Her eyes searched Virginia’s face. Virginia chewed at her lip and allowed herself another sip of the wine. “So, like a ghost or a spirit moved in?” she asked.
“Well, not quite,” the bartender hesitated, “I said nary a soul, but I guess there’s one soul—unless you believe the rumors that it’s a devil living up there.”
Virginia cut in with a raise of her brow, “Devil?”
The bartender hummed in assent. “I don’t quite believe those rumors myself because people like to talk and you can’t always take those words at face value. But one day they were having parties and next thing you know, everyone’s gone and there’s a beast roaming the halls. Some say it’s a big ol’ bat, crawled straight up from the Down Below. Others’ll tell you it’s a blood sucking devil. Like I said, I don’t believe the devil rumors myself, but recently, well, people have been telling tales of being attacked of late. Near midnight, in the dark alleys where they can’t see two feet in front of them.
“They’re always telling of a sharp pain, like a needle straight through the skin, and waking up hours later woozy like they’ve been drinking. But they all swear that they’d not touched a drop of the stuff.” She pointed at the wine in Virginia’s hands for emphasis. Virginia grimaced, suddenly struck by the desire to set the drink aside. “And of course there were skeptical folk. Hell, I didn’t believe the half of it. Not till that poor girl was found.”
“Alice Greneth, right?” Virginia set the wine down and pulled out the little journal stashed in her shirt pocket. Finally, they were getting to the part of the story she was familiar with. Young girl found dead behind the old paper mill, throat cut clean through.
The bartender nodded. “The butcher looked her over before they buried her. Said that she had these awful markings on her neck, little pin pricks everywhere. Suddenly everyone was believing the folks about getting attacked. If there is some beast or devil up in that castle, I’d bet money on it that it’s the thing to blame. That was about a week ago, and folks are getting real antsy now that the beast’ll strike again, now that it’s got a hankering for killing. That’s why I wrote to your employer. Soon as I heard about you people, I knew I had to reach out.”
Virginia wrote down the new information and beneath it scrawled: demon? vampire? She snapped the journal shut and placed it back in her pocket. “Would the butcher be available to answer some questions in the morning, do you think?” she asked.
“Oh, most definitely. We all want this beast to be dealt with as soon as possible. Her place is just down the way on Hill Street. Corner shop, you can’t miss it.” The bartender rocked back on her heels. “And if anyone gives you any trouble? Send them my way. I’ll knock some sense into them.”
Virginia gave the woman a smile. “I can take care of myself, but I’ll keep that in mind, thanks. Do you have a name I can call you by? In case I have any other questions?”
At the question, the bartender beamed. “Rose, but everyone calls me Rosie.”
“Rosie,” Virginia repeated and downed the little wine that still resided in her glass, “I’ll keep you updated on the investigation, but for the meantime, do you have a room open for rent?”
Morning came with little fanfare and even more misty drizzling. Virginia spent the hour after waking reviewing the notes in her journal and nursing a steaming mug of tea beside the inn’s fireplace—at Rosie’s insistence. The butcher did not usually open shop until mid morning, so Virginia burned a few hours before she dared out into the dismal weather.
Virginia tucked her hat onto her head as she stepped out into the drizzle. Much like the emptiness of the inn, the streets were devoid of life. A few people scurried between the various shops. Their steps were hastened as they passed by the yawning alleyways. Only the cheerier individuals greeted Virginia as she passed, although it was little more than a curt nod. Sure as Rosie had said, the Hill Street sign came into view, and just beyond it, nestled on the corner of the cobbled street, was the butcher shop. Thick billows of smoke arose from the chimney stack; the owner was in.
Virginia pushed open the shop door and was instantly greeted with the smells that accompanied a butcher shop. The scent of curing meats and woodsmoke filled the little front room. The counter was empty, but a brass bell sat beside the register. Ring for service! the placard beside it read. A shrill tinkling rang around the room as Virginia pressed the bell, and a shout emerged from the back room.
“One moment!” An ox-like woman bustled up to the counter, wiping the back of her hand across her cheek. She swept her gaze up and down Virginia. “What can I do you for?” she finally asked.
“Are you the butcher?” At the woman’s nod, Virginia continued. “I’m here about the… devil.”
“Ah, I heard Rosie was calling in an exterminator. Good, we don’t need that kind of thing around here. Bad for business.” She paused. “And for lives.”
“Rosie told me that you examined the body. Is there anything you can tell me about the markings on the neck?” Virginia pulled out her journal, pencil held at the ready.
The butcher considered the question, her gaze wandering to a corner of the shop as she fell into thought. “They were definitely odd. If it weren’t for the big knife cut going across the poor girl’s neck, I would’a considered the punctures to be what kicked her off,” she said, “Lots of them, real thin, like a needle—”
“Or a fang?” Virginia looked up from her writing.
“Yeah, now that you mention it.”
“And what do you know about the castle?”
“The one north of town?” The butcher huffed. “Nothing much. I’m a bit of a newcomer to Southlark; came here two years ago. It’s always just been some haunt to me. The rest of the townsfolk tell me that’s where the devil lives. I take their word for it and stay away.” She returned her gaze to Virginia. “Why, you thinking of going there?”
Slipping the journal away once more, Virginia shrugged. “If needs must. This job tends to take you into the belly of the beast.”
“Sounds like one hell of a lifestyle,” the butcher said, “I’d tell you to keep safe, but I’ve got a feeling it won’t amount to much.”
Virginia cracked a half smile. “I’ll take what I can get.” She bid the butcher goodbye and exited the shop. Outside, the misting rain had lessened, and a few watery rays of sunlight reflected off the sodden cobblestones.
“If that’s not a sign of luck, I don’t know what is,” Virginia muttered to herself. She headed back towards the inn. In the morning light, it looked a little more presentable than it had the night before. The roof tiles were still molding and drooping off the eaves, but the white plaster walls were almost cheery, and wildflowers and weeds cluttered up the overgrown garden beside the stables. Virginia said hello to her horse, promising to be back soon, and entered the inn.
Rosie greeted Virginia as she neared the bar, pausing in her vigorous scrubbing of a cup. “How did it go at the butcher’s? I know Harriet can be a bit… well, uncouth. Can’t hold it to her, though. She spends most of her day with dead things rather than people.”
“You make her sound like a gravedigger,” Virginia chuckled and admitted, “It was rather refreshing. Most people dance around death. It makes it hard to get information out of them.”
Rosie smiled. “I’ll remember that for the next time I’m being questioned about a murder.” She paled and ducked her head. “Sorry, now I’m sounding uncouth.”
Virginia waved off her concern and sat on a stool. “Uncouth doesn’t bother me,” she said.
Rosie tittered something between a mumbled thanks and another apology. She cleared her throat. “So, where next for you?”
Virginia leaned against the bar top, eyeing the little coal oven behind the bar. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food. “Lunch first, then… I’m off to a haunted castle.”
Rosie stilled her hands on the cleaning rag, and she worried at her lip with her teeth. She opened her mouth then closed it. She brushed off whatever she was going to say, instead saying, “Be safe, I suppose is all. Nothing good has come from that place for a long while. People don’t tend to return when they go knocking; the one man that did came back stark raving mad.” Bit spoken, she turned half on her heel before pausing again. “I’ll go get you a bite to eat.” She strode off to the larder.
A tension had grown in the inn, cold and fragile, and it only thickened as Rosie set a plate of steaming potatoes and a small helping of stew before Virginia. “I’ll add it to your tab,” she said and walked off before Virginia could get in a word of thanks. Virginia stared after her, confused by the odd shift in attitude from the once-talkative bartender. At least the food tasted good despite the discomforting atmosphere.
Virginia could not find Rosie again before she left. She left the empty plate on the counter, letting it act as a paperweight for a little note she tore out of her journal. Be back by tomorrow night - V, she wrote.
After saddling and mounting her horse, she picked her way to the northern edge of the town. The northern district was scattered with much more lavish buildings, and they were all in some state of disrepair. The only people she saw among the crumbling window frames and ivy-shrouded alleys were squatters. As the castle had gone quiet, so had the noble district, it seemed. Virginia urged her silver mare to go just a little faster.
The town fell into wild country and abandoned farmland the further northward Virginia pressed. Autumn had stolen any color from the trees, and now as winter drew nearer, the forest that bordered the northern road stood barren and gray. Any sight of civilization was as dead as the northern district of Southlark had been. A blight had swept across the land, and the castle was at its heart.
The afternoon drew into evening as the forest finally split into rocky moorland. The meager sunlight that had graced Southlark’s streets earlier was hidden behind thick clouds, and the angry dark gray of sky promised weather more torrential than just a drizzle. Hopefully, the castle was not far off. Virginia wanted to reach it before the storm broke.
As if summoned by her thoughts, the ground grew rockier until it built into a craggy hill. Perched like a crooked raven on the hilltop, built of weathered stone and gates of iron, was the castle.