A Victorian Demon’s Guide to London, Love, and Being a Hero (Time for Monsters)

Jack

London, 1880

“There ‘e is! A son of old ‘imself!”

“Look at ‘is ‘orns!”

“Look at ‘is ‘ooves!”

Well.

A fine thing, isn’t it? You’re going about your business, hunting the little human meat sacks that fall into your midst, and then boom, zap, you’re suddenly in theirs, naked as a spawn and subjected to the most grating vocal qualities. What’s worse—they don’t seem to realize what they’ve got. Not at all.

“‘Ere! Beelzebub or Lucifer, or whatever your name is. We summoned you up, and now you serve us!”

I look at the three men in this dark, dank little room. It smells horrible.

I think it’s them.

I hope they taste better than they smell...

“Do you think ‘e understands us?”

“You! Oi! Ol’ . Do you understand?”

“I’m willing to try,” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I feel underdressed, and I hate it. In my realm, no one wears clothes, although we know of them. There’s also very little opportunity to see others in my realm, so I don’t suppose modesty would matter much, even if my kind did want to bother with garments.

“We drew up the sigils, and now you’re ours to command. You’re going to make us rich, and then we’ll let you go, all right, demon?”

The one man is very tall and well-dressed compared to his companions. He talks with a sneer and a laugh, pointing at me like I’m some slave sent to do his bidding. He points to some paint on the floor.

A doorway to my realm—but I’m no demon. I’m a Flameheel, a monstrous hybrid that lives between Hell and Earth. I believe we used to be gatekeepers, but since humanity has gotten so awful, we’re out of a job. Souls shoot straight down all the time, and we don't have to try to sift them. I doubt we could these days. Like I said—there aren’t many of us where I come from. Living humans do wander in on rare occasions—and they’re our favorite meal.

They’re are only meal.

I smile at the man. I don’t like him, and I have the amusing idea that he thinks this dab of paint is going to keep me in place.

“Oh, yes? Rich how?”

“You’re gonna rob a bank with us. Rip the door right off the vault! You demons are strong, aren’t you? And evil?”

“Evil... What is evil, in your definition?”

“Larry... Why do you think he speaks so well? I thought you said they would only grunt and howl like animals?” The second little man has wide eyes and cowers back.

Oh, dear. This one’s actually clever. He’s figured out something is wrong.

Arrogant Larry hasn’t. “Demons know all the languages of the earth! It’s in the Bible, Will!”

I’m pretty sure he’s right about the languages—not so sure it’s in the Holy Writ, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m not bound by either code. No laws of Heaven or Hell exist in the Middling. We are law unto ourselves, and the only law is to survive.

“Evil is evil. Like sinning. Breaking laws. Stealing, killing, all that.” The third man, scruffy and smelling the worst of the three, steps forward.

The fool of the lot, it seems. I try not to smile, but my claws itch, and I feel a familiar burning in my hooves as my muscles tense to spring.

Let him come right to the edge. The others will think he got too close, and then—oh, their faces when I step out and grab them...

“I suppose I’m evil. I could be persuaded to kill and rob.”

“Persuaded? ‘Ark who’s talking! Aren’t you a proper little lord of the manor, persuaded ,” Larry scoffs.

Will whimpers and shakes his head. “You don’t know who this is, Larry! Maybe you did get some lord! A prince. Don’t it say there are princes of demons?”

“Cobblers, Will. You’re a coward. All right, Old , you do what I say, and we’ll let you out of the circle, and we won’t send you back to the pit for a fortnight. I bet you’d love to raise a little Hell in London, eh?”

It’s my turn to sneer. “Those who wish for Hell are fools and have never seen it.”

“This one has some lip on ‘im.” Short and scruffy wipes his nose and scowls at me. “Give me that poker, Larry.”

“You’re twice the idiot Will is! What are you going to do with a ruddy poker?”

I smile broadly now. “What indeed?”

“He needs to be shown we’re the masters!”

The tubby one steps over to me with his face going red and his eyes narrowing. Will, who I have decided I will only eat if I’m still hungry after the other two, flees. Clever boy.

“Master of me? Oh, I don’t think so.” I haul the first course in and bite into his throat, spitting out the skin.

I shudder. Unwashed. Rather rotten and oily in flavor. But the meat underneath is good, and I’m starving.

Larry, after some initial screaming and losing his tall black hat and long black cloak, is braver than I gave him credit for. He starts yelling incantations, but nothing happens. I imagine he only knows how to open doors to the Middling in one direction, poor overconfident fool.

“You—you’re going to regret that!” he spits in a quivering voice as I hollow out his companion, pulling meat from bones and discarding the skin.

“Am I? I would agree if I had eaten the outer layer, but once you’re peeled, you’re quite palatable.”

“Foul beast!”

“Well, yes. You wanted a foul beast, didn’t you? To rob some bank?” I ask between bites.

Larry is rifling through the little book in his hand.

I stop mid-bite, stepping from the circle they’ve painted to pluck the book from his hand.

His high-pitched scream is melodious. It’s a mix of shock that I’m out of my “prison” and terror that he’s next, with some fear-induced blubbering tossed in. “Is this place—London, full of humans like you?” I ask with a gory smile.

“Yes! Yes, you can have your fill!” Larry’s eyes shine with a second of hope before I dig my hands into his chest and break him down the middle. It’s a very efficient way to get to the good bits.

There’s a second where he’s alive and looking at me in horror. He thought he could lure me away by offering me others? I don’t know why, but I think I’m going to get a particular satisfaction from eating him. “Thank you. I just wanted to know since I’ll be here for a while.”

He tastes much better—and he was thoughtful enough to leave me his hat and cloak.

Tomorrow, I shall eat someone with an excellent set of boots to hide my hooves and impeccable taste in clothing.