by Alex Zoubine

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Albert the Magnificent, tamer of dragons, scourge of Andalusia, Master of the Six Seals of the Blood Gate was grouchy. The incessant knocking at his front door, regular as a metronome, had continued for several minutes now, utterly defeating his efforts to focus on the delicate task at hand. His eyesight was not what it had been in his youth centuries ago and working with the tiny time-freeze orbs of his latest project was tricky business. He had no intention of bending the wrong wire in the scepter that contained them, freezing himself in place for the rest of the afternoon. But the noise was becoming too much.

“Oh, stop that racket. I’m coming!” Albert shouted, dropping his forceps to the table. The knocking stopped. Albert bit his lip, examining the scepter. In its unfinished state, it was liable to behave erratically, twisting time in unpredictable ways. He would need to deal with the unwanted visitor quickly so he could finish adjusting the orbs. Albert wrapped the glittering device in a green, felt cloth and shuffled to the heavy chest that crouched next to his overflowing bookcase.

Albert’s shelves stuffed with bric-a-brac gave life to the otherwise painfully beige apartment. Even the bulbs on the chandelier in the center of the room were crowned with paper shades that cast a tired, yellow glow over the outdated furniture.

Albert tucked the scepter in with a mélange of magical contraband that included a pouch of explosive sand and a jar of razor-mouthed larvae. None of this was exactly legal. But nobody cared what an old, retired wizard kept in his apartment anyway.

Albert groaned as he straightened, then grimaced when he saw his canes were back at his work table. The banging on his front door resumed. 

“I said I’m coming!” Albert snapped, shuffling back across his living room. “Who is it?”

“Hello mister DeLaire! It’s, ah, Jack!” came the sticky-sweet voice, pronouncing Albert’s last name closer to doll hair. “It’s time for your wellness check!”

How Albert loathed the man. 

“Hello Jack,” Albert muttered, cracking the door and peering at Jack through his spectacles. “Come back later.”

“I’m, uh, afraid not,” Jack piped. Everything about Jack, from his stained, misshapen sweater and baggy slacks to the rotting-fruit smell that oozed from him made bile rise in Albert’s gorge. Seeing the man twice in his long life would have been enough. Seeing the cretin monthly was almost intolerable. Checking on the greatest living sorcerer! The Scourge himself!

“Are you going to let me in?” Jack rocked back on the heels of his scuffed sneakers.

Albert had considered complaining about Jack to the building management but technically, a Miss Mildred Douthart was supposed to be living here, not him. It would take far too much time to explain how and why Mildred was enjoying her retirement in Bermuda instead of here, in the obscurity of a Columbus suburb.

“I suppose I must.” And the sooner he could rid himself of Jack, the sooner he could return to his work.

“Well that, ah, was easier than last time!” Jack pushed past Albert, waltzing across the faded carpet into the living room and immediately running his grubby fingers across Albert’s favorite lounging chair. “Maybe you’re, ah, starting to like me!”

“Maybe.” Albert slammed the door with such force that a small portrait flew off a nearby wall and crashed to the floor.

“Oh nooo,” Jack whinnied, trotting to the shattered picture. “What should we do? Do you want me to get this fixed?”

“I like it where it is,” Albert said, gripping his canes until his fingers turned white.

Jack glanced up at Albert, back at the portrait, then broke into laughter. 

“Oh, mister DeLaire—you’re a riot!” Jack said. “Are you eating well?” The so-called resident care worker pulled open the old kitchen fridge and stood there, running a finger over his full lips as he studied Albert’s leftovers.

“I’ve eaten better,” Albert said. Vaguely, he wondered if he could bribe Jack out of his apartment with snacks.

“Oh, you and your, ah, jokes,” Jack laughed.

It was like this every time: the snooping and the touching. It was only by dumb luck that the lunatic hadn’t yet opened a box containing something that would tear off his arm or blind him. Albert couldn’t help wondering how the man had survived into adulthood.

Slamming the fridge, Jack spun around and grinned at Albert, revealing a set of every-which-way teeth. “Maybe I can straighten a few things up for you. Last month we did your closets. How about I fix up your bedroom this time?”

“I don’t think so,” Albert said, suppressing a shudder at the thought of Jack pawing his bed and clothes. On the other hand, Jack might remain in the room long enough for Albert to secure the time-scepter and ensure it didn’t erupt without warning.

“Then again, I’ve been meaning to give it a good cleaning,” Albert said as he considered his options. “If you could take everything out of the closet, that would help.” The task was also likely to take Jack an hour or more. Enough time to put a patch on the scepter and tuck it out of sight.

“Someone is in a good mood today!” Jack said. Grinning, he marched down the cramped hall that led past the study and into Albert’s bedroom. The clatter of drawers yanked open and thumps of clothes dropping to the floor followed.

Just as Albert shuffled his way back across his living room, another knock sounded at the door.

Albert groaned.

If he wanted an endless parade of visitors, he would have remained at his post as a puffed-up magician-emeritus at the Barcelona Citadel. He had been the High Protector there, guarding the affairs of mankind longer than anyone in living memory. In that time, Albert had come to the conclusion that monsters and foul creatures could always be defeated. Petty bureaucrats and nosy staff, however, were eternal.

“Who is it? Can I get the door for you, mister DeLaire?” Jack called out.

“No need,” Albert huffed as he shifted himself to the door on his canes.

“Who are you?” Albert said to the woman he found standing on the other side.

Dressed in a dark, wool vest, professional pants and maroon overcoat stitched with silver thread, her sharp, clean appearance was a complete contrast to Jack’s.

“Good afternoon, your Wisdomness,” she said, using the honorific befitting for his high station.

“I am Fulmera Hoendorf, chief inspector of the Barcelona Citadel. May I come in?” As she spoke, she held out her dark, smooth hand and materialized a business card in a puff of blue smoke. What a showoff, Albert thought. He hadn’t heard of any Fulmera Hoendorf before but then, it had been at least a century since he had retired.

With all of his curios of dubious legality, Albert had little interest inviting this inspector Hoendorf into his apartment. On the other hand, it wouldn’t do to turn an inspector away. Still frowning, Albert shifted aside and motioned for her to enter. Fulmera strode into the living room and settled herself, stork-like, into one of the armchairs.

“I am here on a very unusual matter,” Fulmera said when it became clear Albert had nothing to say. “A very embarrassing matter for the Citadel, really.”

“The Citadel? Embarrassed? Imagine that!”

Albert was glad to be free of the scheming and politics that suffused the Citadel. Power struggles existed at all of the wizarding Citadels but Barcelona Citadel was among the worst.

Albert shuffled into his kitchenette where, with a wave, he set a kettle over enchanted flames to boil an herbal tea. If he was expected to play host to a horde of guests, he could at least have it over an afternoon digestive.

A crash emanated from the bedroom.

“Is there someone else here?” Fulmera asked, standing to glance down the hallway.

“Just a… caretaker,” Albert said. Even though he didn’t need Jack, he still found himself embarrassed admitting to the inspector that he lived somewhere that required a caretaker.

“I’m sorry Your Wisdomness,” Fulmera said coming nearer, “I must insist that your caretaker leaves before we speak. This is a very sensitive matter.”

“We could ignore him. I usually do,” Albert said. He meant it as a joke but Fulmera frowned.

“Jack—could you come here?” Albert called out.

Jack peeked his head from the bedroom, then scuttled to Albert’s side, shooting uncertain glances at Fulmera.

“This is my…”

“Great niece,” Fulmera finished for Albert. He admired how smoothly she had inserted the lie, like it was nothing at all.

“That’s right,” Albert nodded. “We were hoping for a few minutes of privacy to discuss family matters. Why don’t you take a break and come back in an hour?”

“But I—”

“I knew you’d understand,” Albert said as cheerfully as he could manage. Before Jack could come up with more questions, Albert ushered him out the door and closed it with a firm click of the lock.

“Now, where were we? The Barcelona Citadel is embarrassed?” Albert said, swathing the apartment in a muffling hex in case someone tried listening in at the door.

“A few days ago,” Fulmera said, settling herself back in the armchair, “the Citadel suffered a… breach.”

“What kind of breach? The Barcelona Citadel hasn’t fallen to attackers in eons,” Albert said, waving off the idea. Behind him the steaming kettle whistled off-key. Albert refused to believe The Citadel, whose towers and walls were twenty feet thick and armored in every protective hex known, could fall to attackers. Why, he had seen to many of the most fearful protections himself.

“It was not a direct attack,” Fulmera said. “We were infiltrated. By a thief.”

“A thief! In The Citadel? What did they take?” Albert poured the tea and floated a cup to one of the coasters scattered across his coffee table. The bright blue swirls of the cup did not go well with the burnt orange lacquer on the coasters but Albert wasn’t hosting royalty. It would do.

“They didn’t take anything. Oh god—what is this?” Fulmera sputtered, her professional demeanor shattered after a sip of the tea.

“It’s my own blend. Cures whatever ails you.” Taking a sip from his own cup, Albert noted it was a little bitter.

Fulmera took another sip, frowned again, then set the cup as far across the coffee table as politeness would allow. 

“So, Miss Hoendorf, if the thief took nothing, why are you here?”

Albert thought he heard the rattle of the chest in the corner of the room. If the scepter was about to erupt, he didn’t have long to deal with Fulmera. Soon, the remaining wires holding the time-orbs would give out and there would be mayhem. To Albert’s relief, the inspector didn’t seem to notice the thumping.

“You were the commander of the green-banner army that sealed the Blood Gate to the demon world, were you not?” she asked.

“I was,” Albert nodded. How the crowds had cheered! For a hundred years after he had closed the dread Blood Gate that had been the primary portal for all manner of fell beasts, he had been celebrated across the courts of Europe as a savior. The green-banner army had been his idea too: the first army of its kind in which mages and mortals fought together as equals.

“And as victor, you became Master of the Six Seals of the Blood Gate and Protector of the Middle Realms, if I remember correctly?”

“All ancient history by now, but yes,” Albert acknowledged. He flushed with pride that someone remembered his glory days.

“Then, perhaps you may know something about why the Blood Seals in the Barcelona Citadel vault were forgeries.”

“Forgeries? Impossible!” Albert laughed. “The seals were under the protection of powerful curses. I saw to that!”

“The thief managed to get past them,” Fulmera said, watching Albert. “They even killed two of our strongest guardians. Whoever did this is dangerous and determined. You may be in danger as well.”

Albert drummed his fingers on his teacup before setting it down.

“Why do you think the seals were fake?”

“The thief broke every seal. But the Blood Gate remains shut.”

“Maybe the gate is just stuck? It hasn’t been used in some time,” Albert said. Again, Fulmera showed no hint of a smile. Though perhaps, that joke was ill-timed.

“You are the last living person who certainly saw the genuine seals. We at the Citadel hoped you might help us find the real ones. Before they fall into the wrong hands.”

Before Albert could come up with a witty way to deny knowing anything, another knock rattled the door. He and Fulmera both looked at it with suspicion.

“Is that caretaker again?” Fulmera asked. The wall clock confirmed less than fifteen minutes had passed. Albert also doubted Jack could make a door jump on its hinges that way. The little man hardly had the strength to open a jar of peanut butter.

“Come back later,” Albert yelled at the door.

“This is the head resident coordinator, Mister DeLaire. I would like a word,” came a deep voice from the other side. Albert wobbled to the door, positioning himself at the peephole. Looking through, he found himself gazing at the stomach of what appeared to be an incredibly tall, fabulously rotund woman swathed in the same retirement community uniform as Jack, who stood cowering behind her.

Albert glanced at Fulmera, then into the peephole again. This was all getting very complicated. Why did everyone have to show up at once? The giant woman’s grimace was deepening, signaling she had little patience.

“Come in then.” Albert swung the door wide admitting the coordinator and Jack to his apartment, which now felt entirely too crowded.

The resident coordinator was even larger and more misshapen than she had appeared through the peephole. The yellow tinge of her eyes and the way her jowls drooped and waggled with each step reminded him of a bear trained to walk on its hind legs. He had never seen her around the community before, but he was not about to challenge her credentials. Albert only prayed he could get everyone out of his apartment soon.

“Who is she?” the supervisor hissed, glaring at Fulmera.

“That’s my niece,” Albert said, backing into his kitchenette and starting to pour tea as a matter of habit.

“I’m a sort of great niece, really. A distant relation,” Fulmera said breezily, pretending to ignore the inspector who continued to glower at her.

Just as Albert got the cups of tea together, the coordinator stomped nearer to him.

“Send her away,” she said, her voice low. In the wan apartment light, her skin looked stretched over her features like a plastic bag over raw chicken.

“I’m sorry,” Fulmera said, sounding not at all sorry, “but my matter with mister DeLaire is quite important. Perhaps you can return later.”

Fulmera looked as though nothing short of a volcanic eruption would move her.

“You will leave now! This is my domain!” the woman growled. It was an odd but appropriate way of putting it, Albert thought. The residence coordinators ruled the building with iron fists.

“I will do no such thing.” Fulmera glared back.

“Have it your way. Jack! You foul waste of flesh—remove the wench!” the coordinator barked, rounding on the trembling man.

“But what if—”

“Disobey and I shall have you flayed,” boomed the towering woman.

Jack blanched.

While Albert agreed on the point of Jack’s incompetence, flaying seemed excessive. Not to mention against some kind of worker rights, he assumed.

As the coordinator puffed in rage, her skin stretched and split revealing slick, bruise-purple flesh beneath. Snarling, she shredded the rest of her sagging skin and clothes, her true nature bursting forth. She was a dark, cloven-hoofed demon, muscle-bound and frothing with fury.

Albert should have known it was a bad omen to have so many unannounced guests show up at his apartment in one day. He should have never answered the door. In fact, he should have just stayed in bed.

“If you cannot handle the woman, secure the wretched old man!” the demon roared. Jack, who hunched as though expecting a blow, scuttled towards Albert.

Positioning one of his canes like a wobbly lance, Albert repeatedly blocked Jack from getting close enough to grab him. Each time Jack switched directions, Albert adjusted as well, turning their movements into a bizarre, shuffling dance. The demon, watching this, growled and charged at Albert.

Just as Albert braced himself for impact from the demon, a blast of blue fire sent it reeling sideways. Fulmera, now on her feet, sent volley after volley of hexes and curses at the towering beast. Without preparation or amulets, most of what she threw at the demon bounced off its speckled skin in a shower of sparks. But the attack evidently confused and pained the monster and it retreated back towards the door, blocking their only exit.

“It’s a trap! Jack, you imbecile, you did not tell me the woman was a warrior!” the demon howled, parrying another wave of attacks.

So typical of a demon, Albert thought. Even when they made plans, their kind rarely planned for resistance.

Taking the offensive, the demon launched a cursed flame that missed Fulmera’s head by inches and bounced off the living room wall’s protective charms. It was a relief his charms had held. He had let his renter’s insurance lapse a couple months back. Still, if this escalated, Albert might not have an apartment left before long.

While Fulmera and the demon continued to trade blows, Albert whipped a cane at Jack’s left ankle. The man let out a scream and tottered backwards clutching his injured limb. If he wasn’t so sure that Jack and the demon were planning to do something awful to him, Albert might have felt sorry for Jack. 

Stray curses shredded most of the sofa’s upholstery and the coffee table exploded in a cloud of splinters as the demon launched another blast of flame at Fulmera. He had to put a stop to this before things got out of hand.

Just then, Albert had an idea. If he could restrain the demon for a few moments, Fulmera, trained inspector and guardian of the Citadel that she was, should be able to incapacitate the beast in a way that did not end with burning the entire complex to the ground.

“Amplector!” Albert exclaimed, using a word of power and waving his knobby hand at the demon. The air around the demon solidified around it, constricting its arms and legs. The demon glared at Albert and let out a howl of rage. Albert wondered what the downstairs neighbors would think.

“Fulmera—I have it trapped. Bind it! Quickly!” Albert called. Fulmera nodded and spun an icy web, extending it over the creature’s upper body. Without a reliquary or anchor to hold it, Fulmera would have to maintain eye-contact with her spell, but it seemed like it would hold the demon.

“Jack, you worthless bilge-rat!” the demon bellowed. “Free me!”

“Yes, your dark lordship,” Jack squeaked. In his terror, Jack had lost his human form, revealing his real body: a skinny, green thing sporting two pairs of wildly curling horns that protruded asymmetrically from his forehead. 

Turning away from Albert, Jack threw himself at Fulmera. Evidently, whatever Fulmera would do to him could not compare with the horrors the demon-superior could devise.

In the ensuing tussle, Jack attempted to claw and crush Fulmera under his weight, trying to break her eye-contact with the sparkling web. The pathetic demon even tried a few pesky hexes: launching blistering cinders from his finger-tips. Weak as Jack was, fending him off and containing the demon proved too much. Fulmera broke eye-contact. Albert’s entrapment charm crumbled as well, rebounding against the old wizard and throwing him backwards against his cabinets.

“That was foolish, old man,” the demon-superior sneered. Pieces of furniture crunched under its cloven hooves as it approached him. Albert coughed from the smells of burnt fabric and sulfur choking the air. Pain throbbed all through his body. And as he contemplated the possibility of his own death, he couldn’t help but wonder if the neighbors had called the front office to complain about the screams yet.

“Let’s put an end to this,” the demon-superior said, grabbing Albert by the shoulder and pulling him upright against a wall. Albert felt the warmth of his own blood starting to drip from the gash the demon’s claws had sliced into his flesh.

“Tell me where the Blood Seals are! You were their guardian! You must know!”

“The Seals…” Albert wheezed.

“Leave him alone. He doesn’t know!” Fulmera shouted. She and Jack had deadlocked, each gripping the other’s arms so that casting a spell was as likely to injure themselves as their opponent.

The demon-superior smiled a toothy grin and let Albert drop to the ground. The monster crunched its way across the shattered living room, snatched Fulmera from Jack’s grip and manifested a hideous dagger.

“I think he knows,” the demon hissed, glaring at Fulmera. It grabbed her and pressed the blade to her throat.

“Tell me now, old man,” the demon said, looking at Albert with its flaming eyes. “Or she dies.” Scraped, disheveled, and at the monster’s mercy, Fulmera still kept a brave face. Albert could not let her die.

It was a cruel irony that after spending his whole life collecting magical weapons, not a single one was within reach. Even the unfinished time-scepter was tucked safely in the chest, which was just behind the demon-superior. Albert glanced at the heavy wooden box, wondering if he could somehow summon its contents before the demon harmed Fulmera.

The demon, watching Albert, frowned and glanced at the box as well.

“Jack—the wizard is looking at that trunk. The Seals must be there! Take it to the Blood Gate now!”

Jack scurried to the trunk, wrapped his skinny arms around it and disappeared in a puff of acrid smoke.

“Foolish old man. Evil will always triumph in the end.” The demon-superior grinned at Albert, thrust the blade into Fulmera’s side, then vanished as well. Fulmera collapsed with a moan into the ruined furniture.

Wincing against the pain coursing through his own body, Albert forced himself to his feet. Every moment that passed brought Fulmera closer to death. Albert cursed his slow shuffle as navigated around disemboweled couch cushions. Reaching the inspector, Albert eased himself down with what little grace he had left.

“Fulmera—drink,” Albert said, summoning a cup of his tea across the room. The effort of using even that magic made his head spin.

“I don’t need—”

“Just drink it,” Albert said. “It cures whatever ails you.”

She did not argue further. After two sips, the bleeding from the gash in her side stopped. A few more and the skin began to knit together. Fulmera, though pale and nauseated by the tea, would live.

“Did the demons really get the Seals?” Fulmera asked. She would be weak for a while yet.

“Of course not,” Albert said. “But that chest did have a faulty time-scepter in it. I suspect if you take a team of sorcerers to the Blood Gate, you will find two frozen, rather angry demons at your mercy.”

“I don’t think I could handle a mosquito that was at my mercy right now,” Fulmera said, brushing dust and chips of furniture off her clothes as best she could.

“Nevertheless, I’m sure you will want to capture the creatures before they can cause more harm,” Albert said to which Fulmera agreed.

“May I ask a favor?” Albert asked after a few minutes of rest. “Perhaps you won’t mention where the demons got the chest?”

“What else is in it?” Fulmera asked with suspicion.

“A few… trinkets that have interested me over the years. A few of which maybe I should not have had,” Albert said.

 “I’ll see what I can do to make sure the chest does not raise too many questions,” said Fulmera. “Your Wisdomness—”

“Call me Albert,” he said, waving her off.

“Albert, thank you for saving my life.”

“I would not let a guest die in my house,” Albert said, nodding his head gravely. A few guests had certainly come close before, but none had actually died in his care.

“I should go,” Fulmera said after a companionable silence. “If you think of anything that would help me track down the Blood Seals, please do let me know.”

“I shall do what I can,” Albert said.

“Take care.” Fulmera got to her feet, gave Albert a brief bow, and winked out of the room. He was alone again, swathed in silence.

After a spot of tea to lift his spirits, Albert began the task of cataloging the extent of his loss. Much of his furniture had been reduced to splinters and many of his less valuable books had been singed. But that was not what concerned him most.

Albert dug through torn fabric and shattered wood, pushing aside the remains of his antique coffee table searching for something far more important. Something that rarely left his sight.

Then, at last, he sighed in relief. Scattered under the remains of the couch, Albert spotted all six of his ugly, orange coasters. Five appeared undamaged. On the sixth, a flake of lacquer had chipped away. A grimacing demon face twinkled in the feeble apartment light.

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