Page 70 of Helsing: Demon Slayer
It used to be different. Architecture had been his lens, his way of imposing form on chaos. Before Mihàil had offered him a greater purpose, he’d thought in steel and stone, shape and shadow sculpted in space. Raw materials provided by man and nature, neatly arranged under his direction.
Now? Now, it was all harmonic planes intersecting the real world—music shaping matter. Frequencies piercing heart and spirit, stitching the tangible and intangible together like an unseen thread.Thathad become his reality ever since he’d joined theElioudfour years ago.
After he’d lost Eva.
Eva. Just the sound of her name in his thoughts resonated a world of pain and loss, though it had grown softer, more muted as he immersed himself in this new world of harmonic healing, as he worked to craft methods and instruments to care for troubled individuals, the sick of body as well as spirit.
Grabbing a heated towel from the harmonic drying rack on the wall, he raised his temperature enough to dry his skin as he drew the towel over it, capturing any stray moisture. The plush material absorbed the droplets, its warmth radiating back into his skin like a second layer of heat. He paused, noticing that he now rubbed his neck with heated fingertips, unconsciously sending low-level harmonies into the taut muscles, relaxing them.
He was no fool. He knew that the admonitionphysician heal thyselfheld true for him more than most. But he also knew that to do it, he needed to accomplish it through service to those more gravely in need.
Like Mihàil, who remained in the ICU in his new clinic, the one he’d prioritized over the tactical operations centerandthe chapel. The one who’d prepared to sacrifice himself, despite his wife and baby daughter, for his sister-in-law and her friend, both virtual strangers to him.
And like that friend, a young woman named Germaine, who lay in a special harmonically shielded suite on the top floor of the clinic, possessed by the terrifying and unheard-ofdaemonicinfluence of Abaddon, Angel of the Abyss. Even Eva hadn’t suffered in the way that Germaine suffered. Continued to suffer despite the best care that medicine andElioudharmonics could provide.
Finishing his simple grooming routine with a quick shave and hair comb, Willem dressed in a black polo and tan chinos—not nearly as fashionable as he’d been as an architect at one of the most prestigious firms in Amsterdam. But he couldn’t think of a better uniform for his new role developing and testing music therapy that sought to align the disordered harmonics those here in this world with the celestial realm.
The last item he donned was a pendant, simple in shape but intricate in meaning. Crafted from polished metal, its center bore the image of St. Michael standing resolute against the forces of darkness, his armor gleaming in detailed relief. Encircling the archangel was an engraving of Van Gogh’s starry night sky, each swirl and star etched with care—a quiet tribute to Eva and their shared connection to the divine. Beneath its artistry, subtle harmonic resonances hummed, tailored to soothe and shield Willem, reminding him with every breath of his commitment to protect and heal, to honor both her memory and theElioudmission.
When he arrived at the clinic, he nodded at the staff behind the main desk tucked in the corner of the lobby. He allowed himself only a cursory glimpse of the spacious first-floor entrance, its walls lined with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, allowing mountain vistas to enter the sightlines of anyone working or visiting.
On the main wall, a central mosaic blended Albanian motifs of suns, stars, and eagles withElioudharmonic designs, symbolizing the clinic’s purpose as a bridge between Heaven and Earth. The limestone walls, marble floors, and beechwood rafters and furniture, upholstered in cream, ivory, and soft rose, lent a soothing air, their cushions embroidered in faintly shimmering thread with subtle flowing patterns that evoked the music of the spheres. The patterns had also been etched in copper light fixtures, whose frosted glass filled the interior with a soft, diffuse light.
At the shielded suite, he paused to center himself, breathing carefully to align his own harmonics with the grounded ones here. Beneath his feet, the stone shifted subtly as if alive, something only anElioudwould sense, accommodating and embracing his weight. Then he touched a fingertip to the St. Michael pendant, feeling the grooves of its stars and swirls, before placing his palm on the harmonic signature scanner at the suite’s entrance. The quiet thrum of the scanner resonated in the air, its tone a gentle invitation to step forward.
He stepped into the outer room, designed to look like a small apartment with a round chestnut dining table positioned in the far corner with a sitting area next to it. There, a loveseat and two comfortable easy chairs, all upholstered in brocaded sage, silver, and cream sigils infused with healing harmonics, a low coffee table in the same rich color between them, beckoned with access to bookshelves, art on the walls, and reading lamp. Behind him was a small kitchenette, ideal for one. Floor-to-ceiling windows—glass so clear as to be invisible—opened up the entire wall between dining area and kitchen, making the tiny space feel larger and welcoming.
Not like the prison it was.
Well, perhapsprisonwas too strong a word.Asylum.Sanctuary.Refuge. Those terms better suited the genteel restraint intended for the person lying inside the inner room, the one whose physical body now acted as a vessel to one of the most powerfuldaemonsknown toElioudand humanity alike. Or more precisely, it waited to act as a vessel. A shell, a pale shadow of its former animated personality.
A slow shudder coursed down Willem’s spine. For a moment, he couldn’t move. He almost didn’t breathe.
He pictured the once-vital young woman inside, her fine, light-brown curls now lank and plastered to her cheeks, red scratches and cuts vivid against their wan skin, her body wracked with fever that he struggled to keep down with a constant flow of harmonically cooled air.
And then he squared his shoulders, pressed his lips together, inhaled the harmony programmed into the very materials of the carefully constructed apartment, and stepped forward to the panel hidden in the wall next to the dining table. When he pressed his hand against it, it came alive under his palm like liquid silver, steadying his own sudden, discordant nerves.
It also illuminated the mirror-like sheen of the framed panel next to the table, revealing a two-way mirror into the bedroom where Germaine Grimes, a 29-year-old research scientist from the U.S., lay writhing continuously on her bed, held in place by invisible and silent harmonic bonds to keep her—and the rest of the world—safe.
For a moment, Willem stared at his reflection in the panel, his features ghosted over hers. He erased the image with a blink and shifted focus, scanning the diagnostics that translated her fractured spiritual state into an intricate tapestry of frequencies and metrics.
After he studied the patient’s baseline harmonic signature, he didn’t trust himself to listen to its corrupted melody unaided. Instead, he cleaned up the distortion with controlled swipes over the sound-engineering submenu, aligning it with the angelic frequencies known to theElioud.
He wasn’t prepared for the result.
A pure, sweet sound washed over him like fresh rain in April, lifting his spirit. He briefly closed his eyes and let it fill him like a depleted reservoir.
When he opened them, he was shocked to see Germaine awake, her pale blue eyes gleaming intensely at him from her ravaged face as if she could see him through the opaque harmonic panel separating them.
Willem sucked in a breath, his own heartbeat erratic against its hard bone cage, pinned and displayed like a butterfly against dark-blue velvet.
He placed a fingertip on his St. Michael pendant. His harmonics steadied, and his breathing eased. He buttressed them from the well of higher frequencies stored in the suite’s reserve, itself grounded in the very bedrock of the mountain from which the clinic emerged.
Then opened the door to the inner room and stepped through the metaphoric looking glass to approach the beautiful young woman for the first time since snatching her from the clutches of the Angel of the Abyss.
Germaine no longer nailed him with a preternatural gaze. Instead, she shifted on the double bed, her movements increasingly energetic and exaggerated. As Willem approached, she growled and barked as she thrashed, her head rolling against the gel-cooled pillows in rapid denial of his presence.
Pain lanced Willem through the pendant on his chest like a bolt of lightning.
