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Coleridge himself deciphered, was that any paying customer was welcome in the
tavern.
Coleridge took a sip of the brandy and his face soured.
―So what brings you to my humble establishment this evening?‖ Benton
asked.
―Brandy.‖
―The finest in town.‖
―Indeed.‖
I smiled at the exchange of words. Coleridge was humoring Benton, playing
him for a fool just as Benton believed he held the upper hand.
Benton caught me smiling and snarled in my direction. Then he turned his
attentions back to Coleridge.
―How‘s the boy working out for you?‖
―Just fine.‖
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Demon Hunter
―He‘s a pathetic creature but useful with a scrub brush,‖ Benton laughed.
―If he gives you any trouble just take a riding crop to his hide. That‘ll take the
vinegar out of him quick.‖
I shuddered at that memory. If I had the opportunity I would‘ve enjoyed
marring Benton‘s grizzled face with his own bottle of watered down rum. But
my position in life did not allow me such luxury. I could only sit and fantasize.
―Seems as though you enjoyed those times when the boy got out of line,‖
Coleridge said.
―Hell sometimes I‘d turn the crop on him just for fun,‖ Benton told him. I‘d
been well aware of those times. ―It always put a smile on my face to hear him
squealing out like a pig.‖
Benton leaned on the bar allowing his pudgy arms to support his girth as he
engaged his conversations of torture with Coleridge. I‘d been forgotten
altogether as though I were an invisible soul. That seemed to be my lot in life. I
didn‘t even rank a drink.
As Benton continued his bellowing chuckle, Coleridge reached out to take
up his brandy. In a flash he bypassed the glass and instead took out both of
Benton‘s arms causing him to fall chin first upon the bar top.
The impact echoed off the walls of the tavern and once again the patrons
inside grew silent, all eyes on Coleridge. He stood and leaned over the bar
where he could more easily see Benton.
I stood as well, shocked and dumbfounded but rather pleased at the
situation. Benton‘s jaw was split and bleeding. His teeth were marred with
crimson and more blood gushed from his chin. He dared not make a move but
he seemed to be trying to mouth curses towards Coleridge.
―It seems you are the swine, perhaps you should be the one squealing like a
pig,‖ Coleridge told him before taking up his still full glass and dumping it over
45
Cynthia Vespia
Benton‘s prone body. ―And the next time I order brandy I want to taste it.‖ He
turned to me. ―Come Costa, let us leave this place.‖
Once again the sea of patrons parted at our exit.
As we walked back towards our housing Coleridge spoke freely.
―Mace Benton is ripe for cursing.‖
The words puzzled me. ―What do you mean?‖
―There are men and women in this world filled with such greed that they
are easily swayed by promises of power. Normal citizens who take on a more
deviant nature. Their dark hearts corrupt their very bodies literally peeling back
the flesh and leaving them withered and decayed...walking dead.‖
Even as his words washed over me I still couldn‘t fathom what he was
saying. I vocalized my disbelief.
―Such things truly exist?‖
―Aye, but fear not young Calabrese, relieve them of their heads and they
can do you no harm.‖
I‘d been walking pace-for-pace with Coleridge up until then. Now I pulled
back and allowed him to walk ahead of me as I tried to remember his words and
warnings. If such things were true then the world I thought I knew held secrets
to it that Coleridge appeared to have become privy to. Then again, perhaps
labeling his victims as ―cursed‖ made it easier for him when the time came to
end their lives.
The next morning, Coleridge did not emerge from his room. There were
times during the day when I could hear muffled shouts of hysterics coming
from behind the closed door. Part of me wanted to push through into the room
46
Demon Hunter
and come to Coleridge‘s aide from whatever was assaulting him. The other part,
the more sane and reasonable part of my mind, stopped me short. The man was
mad – better to leave him to his demons.
In the late afternoon when there were no more chores to attend to, and the
sun was just setting down behind the black mountains, Tuck came calling.
He was hesitant to step inside so he remained at the door, feet together at
the toes, hands laced in between the fingers.
―I haven‘t seen you in days,‖ he said in a shallow whisper.
―Master Coleridge has kept me very busy,‖ I replied.
―I feared that the madman had spirited you away in death,‖ Tuck said, his
voice becoming more audible.
―As you can see I‘m still able bodied.‖
A hopeful little grin spread across Tucks lips. ―In that case, perhaps we
could take on one of our little journeys today. We‘re past due for a good one.‖
I almost shut him down, citing my servitude as the reason, until I had
another look at Coleridge‘s closed door. It was silent now, no screams or
muffled grunts came from beyond.
I turned back to Tuck, my own smile showing again for the first time in
many days. ―Yes we are, aren‘t we.‖
We set out and took the turnoff path into Muir Woods the way we always
had when starting out on one of our adventures.
Gryphant had little else surrounding it but Muir, it only depended on one‘s
courage to see how deep into those woods one would go. On this day we
walked slow and methodical. The weather had turned during my time with
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