A Grimoire Dark

by D. S. Quinton

  Her heart dropped when she saw the flames. She wondered if this had something to do with the strange man, but let the thought pass out of her head as she sprinted towards the house. If Del was in there, she would need help.

  Frank and Armand had just entered the smoke-filled kitchen when the front door of the house was flung open. A water-logged girl had just run into the house, but the sudden gust of wind caused the small fire in the hall to leap to the ceiling and crawl towards the back of the house. The two men were knocked back by a hot blast of air that slithered like a night-demon over the ceiling.

  “Mama D!” Frank yelled. “Wake up! We got to get out!”

  Armand was frantically throwing water from the sink at the door of the parlor, which had been shut tight during the trancing session. A piece of the nun’s habit had fallen off there, and the fire had quickly climbed up the old wooden door. The water had no effect.

  Frank, seeing no possibility of stopping the fire at this point—for he assumed the top floor was burning also—pushed Armand aside and with one large heave of his shoulder broke through the burning door of the parlor, landing hard on the parlor floor.

  Jo and Armand quickly followed, and all were stunned to see Mama Dedé still sitting calmly at the table while Del laid on the couch, both oblivious to the fire.

  Frank went to shake Mama D, but remembering her words from earlier in the night, Armand grabbed Frank’s arm and said, “The bell!” then ran out of the room.

  An instant later, three loud frantic rings could be heard from the back doorbell. Mama Dedé instantly opened her eyes and started coughing.

  “Oh lawd! What happened?” she said wearily.

  “Never mind,” Frank said, pulling her to her feet. She was weak from the long trancing session, and had to lean her great girth onto him.

  Jo was trying to wake Del up as Armand ran through the door. “Don’t!” he yelled. “Just grab her feet. I’ll get her shoulders.”

  Frank led Mama D out the front of the house. Armand and Jo followed closely, carrying Del.

  Flames had crawled across the entire ceiling and were inching down the walls. A wild gust of wind sent them blowing into the middle of the hall in a last ditch effort to stop the group’s escape. A long hot flame licked at Jo and caught her on the left side of her neck. She screamed in pain, but never let go of Del’s legs.

  The group stumbled down the front steps and tumbled into the small yard just as the upstairs windows blew out. The house was completely engulfed in flames. They got into Frank and Armand’s cars, still parked in front. As the group drove away into the night, they watched as the roof began to cave in. The St. Augustine Transitional Home for Girls was no more.

  Jo watched out the back window in shock as they drove away. Amidst the hellish scene, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a shadow that darted away from the house. About the size of a large cat, she thought, but the gooseflesh on her arms told her it was something different.

  Chapter 51

  Armand settled the weary group into the spare rooms of his house. The open second floor—primarily used for his research—was surrounded by more rooms than he could ever use.

  He lit a fire in the upstairs fireplace and poured brandy for himself, Frank and Mama Dedé. Jo was attending to Del, who had been laid in her own room.

  The group sat in silence for several long minutes, replaying the events of the evening.

  “What we gonna do now?” Frank said, breaking the silence. “How da hell we gonna kill dis thing?”

  Armand twisted his mustache delicately, puffed his pipe, then said, “Somehow he knew it was a trap. How did he know?”

  “He’s tricky,” Mama Dedé finally said. “Da Gris-gris man is bad tricky.”

  Jo joined them at the fireplace, took a cup of tea and quietly said, “She’s still sleeping. She’ll wake up soon.”

  Each person cast a look around the group; none were confident this statement was true.

  “Did he really know it was a trap, or did he just suspect?” Frank asked.

  “Does it matter now, mon ami?” Armand said. “Maybe he knew, maybe he got lucky, regardless, he knows we’re after him now.”

  “Where did the nun come from?” Frank asked.

  “What nun?” Jo said with wide eyes.

  “I’m pretty sure dat was Sister Eulalie from da orphanage,” Frank said. “I hate to think how she got involved with these unholy doin’s.”

  Jo sat in silence, wishing the conversation to go away, or at least that no one would send a question her way. Her mind was spinning with the implications of what she had done.

  Mama Dedé turned her girth towards Jo and said, “Honey, what was your name again? And how did you get tied up in this mess? What were you doin’ out so late?”

  Jo shuffled her feet and swallowed hard, hoping no one detected the nerves that she felt shimmering across her face. “Me? Uh, my name is Jo. Josephine, really. I was… I… I’m a friend of Del’s from the orphanage. I snuck out and was coming to see her.”

  Mama Dedé eyed the girl and thought back to her visit from Captain Guillaume. Wasn’t Josephine the name of one of the people who had gone missing? The woman knew that someone wasn’t telling the truth, but at this point couldn’t be sure who.

  Frank leaned back in the large chair, causing it to groan. “Seems like a lot of people been sneakin’ out of dat orphanage,” he said, watching her closely.

  Realizing that she was still under interrogation, Jo said, “Oh, uh, yeah, I guess.”

  “Or go missin’,” Mama Dedé added.

  “You know anything about Sister Eulalie?” Frank asked Jo. “Der seems to be more to her… well, der was more to her than people seemed to know.”

  Jo shuffled her feet again and sipped at her tea. “Yeah, I guess there was.”

  “And that poor little Jimmy boy, he gone missin’ too,” the older woman continued, watching Jo closely.

  “What? Jimmy is missing?” Jo asked with dismay. Her stomach turned at the thought of her own implication. “When?”

  Mama D continued, looking straight at Jo: “Yeah, been missin’ about…” she thought back to the morning visit from Henri, “a day and a half now. I hope nothin’ has happened to dat boy. Del would be fit to be—”

  A strong wind suddenly burst through the room, causing the candles to snuff out all at once. Smoke flowed backwards down the chimney and blew into the room; sparks flittered like angry fireflies onto the hardwood floor—dying an uneventful death.

  Armand jumped up to address the errant window, but the look on Mama Dedé’s face stopped him. She stared in fear down the dark hall.

  The old woman stood slowly, but motioned for everyone to stay seated. “Quiet,” she whispered.

  Each person turned and followed her gaze. They all saw a faint, shimmering apparition, but each would remember it differently: Armand would claim to have seen a very faint orb, glowing in the dark; Frank would claim to have seen an eye, oblong and pulsating, forever searching; Jo saw a fiery, white void, dangerous and beautiful; but Mama Dedé was the only one to see the truth: a radiant, terrible face, morphing from one state to another, struggling for existence.

  She spoke quietly. “Del, is that you?”

  The quivering apparition slowed in response to the old woman. It pulsed an unnatural light that flowed along the walls like a quicksilver tide.

  “Can you hear me?”

  “You speak,” the thing said.

  Mama Dedé prayed silently then said, “Yes, I do. Who are you?”

  The thing considered this for a moment. “I am Del.”

  Jo began to whimper. Mama Dedé stared to the two men to keep the girl silent.

  “Del, honey? Where are you?”

  The thing hovered silent for several seconds, then sputtered, “I was Del, I was Del, I was Del, Del, Del.”

  Mama Dedé crossed herself and breathed a slow, shuddering breath as the apparition shifted in front of her.

  “Where is De
l now?”

  A murmur emanated from the cloud: “I am Del.”

  Armand quietly relit the candles and stood watching as another vision of Del appeared in the dark hall, a more physical form that appeared behind the doppelganger cloud.

  The flickering candles, drawn by the powerful gravity of the physical Del, excitedly cast their warm glow her way, illuminating her shimmering form in the cold night air.

  The group saw a beautiful and disturbing site; the teenage Del was no more; emerging from the dark was a woman—still the same biological age, but infinitely older in spirit—that appeared to stand out from the night by an unnatural force. Her physical form cut against the dark shadows, as if the forces of the world had no effect on her. She appeared to float down the hall, drifting on a wind of great knowledge.

  Del stared into the open space where the others sat, looking past their existence to something far beyond them. Each member of the group was but a fleeting image in a giant tapestry that Del now saw.

  Upon laying her in bed, Mama Dedé had rummaged through the old closets and chest of drawers and found an old white nightgown that she had changed Del into, removing her smoke-tainted clothes. It was the shimmering night gown and soft tread of her bare feet that now gave Del an otherworldly appearance.

  Her hair was pulled back by on old silk scarf—a makeshift tignon that fell gracefully to one side—which helped highlight her high cheekbones and glowing brown skin. An unseen wind ruffled at her nightgown, accentuating her lithe body, and giving her a look of constant movement.

  “Del,” Mama Dedé whispered.

  Jo clamped both hands to her face and stifled a gasp. Tears of happiness and fear sprang to her eyes.

  “Del, honey,” the woman said, “are you back?”

  Del saw the faces looking at her and heard the voices, but they were part of a fabric that didn’t seem whole. She was unsure if she was still trancing, or if this was another trick she had to avoid.

  She stared past the group and into the deep shadows of the room. She wanted to fall back into those shadows, where it was dark and safe.

  Armand poured a cup of tea and walked to Del, who stood at the edge of the room. He saw in her eyes that she was still lost. He wondered at that moment if she would ever fully return.

  “Here,” Armand said, handing her the cup. “Drink this and come sit with us. We’re glad you’re feeling better.”

  Armand looked at Del and, in that moment, knew she was different. How, he could not say, but he felt that if he looked at her for too long, her eyes would pull him into a deep void, and he would be lost. He imagined that he saw the beautiful silver droplets with black stains floating deep within her eyes; a dark and terrible power coalescing behind a beautiful face—a deadly combination.

  Del sat quietly holding her cup of tea, not drinking. She stared into the fire and watched the flames. The tapestry of voices continued to speak around her, but the words came in tatters.

  Mama Dedé finally took the cup from her and set it on the table.

  The group asked her questions and she nodded and replied “yes” and “no” when they asked if she was well or needed anything. Finally, when Armand mentioned the house burning, Del’s mind engaged.

  “The house burned?” she asked calmly.

  Mama Dedé nodded. “Da whole thing. But you don’t worry about—”

  Del turned to Jo. “And Jimmy?”

  Jo looked around at the others, then said, “We’ll find him Del, we’ll—”

  “‘And they become like Gods,’” Del said to no one.

  A long silence dragged out as each person looked to the other for an indication of how to respond to the odd statement. Finally, Armand broke the silence and said, “Yes, that’s right Del. Otto the Younger wrote that in his diary before… well, that was one of the last things he wrote. Why do you say?”

  “Someone mentioned it recently.”

  “Who?” Armand asked gently. “The… man?”

  “He’s not a man. But yes.”

  Armand looked around the room again for support on what to say next.

  “He’s creating a family,” Del said. “I don’t know why, but it’s a family that he wants. I know now that I have to kill him.”

  Frank’s cigar drooped down again for the third time tonight. “Watchoo mean honey? We done—”

  But the look of calm detachment from Del’s face stopped Frank’s words from forming any further.

  “Why do you think he wants a family?” Armand asked gently.

  “Because he told me. We are the same, he and I. He wants each of us in his family… in some form or other. Somehow we are the same, and I have to kill him.”

  She looked from one person to the next, and no one spoke. She saw a different level of horror on each face as they considered the possibility of becoming a member of that unholy family.

  Each person saw something different when they looked back at Del: victim, savior, monster, but they all felt the same thing: Del was different, and would never be the same.

  “I have to sleep now. In the morning I’ll trance, then I’ll know what to do. I’ll need your help. I’ll know more tomorrow.”

  Frank looked at the clock. It was nearly 3:00 am. He started to protest, but let it die as Del stood up and walked back to her room.

  She was preparing to meet the Gris-gris man.

  Chapter 52

  A Late Hour

  Alas, the hour grows late and here we are.

  * * *

  We are so very close now.

  * * *

  Yes, I feel that we are very close to the end of our journey, yet… for one of us…

  * * *

  That is to say, I fear we will not end at the same place, you and I, for my essence is...

  * * *

  Oh, fearful mind! Cowered, I am. Hanging on the words of a stranger.

  * * *

  A kind soul you are, yes, for guiding me so. A sinful soul? Well, who can cast the first stone, really? But a stranger that has helped ca—

  * * *

  Alas, I dare not speak further of it, for it is a tenuous thing. I fear the slightest breath may cast it away.

  * * *

  But soldier on you must. Yes, if I, by some unfortunate fate, cannot continue our journey, you now are the only one who can soldier on.

  * * *

  I believe it to be fate, and…

  * * *

  You must do it for Del.

  Chapter 53

  The beast limped into the swamp camp and lay down heavily on its right side, nursing its torn left shoulder. The mutant Toth, pressed into the mud by the pressure of the long needle, lay silent. It did not miss its right foot, as it was not aware of its parts.

  “Poor Mr. Sandgrove,” the strange man purred as he stroked the beast. “What have they done to you?” He laid a hand on the heaving side of the beast and felt the ragged wound that had torn flesh not an hour earlier.

  The strange man shivered as he drank in the pain. The reflection in the mirrored blue glasses momentarily went out of focus as he vibrated with intensity.

  “And Toth,” he continued, “your foot is missing. Alas, you haven’t been using it much lately, but you simply don’t look whole without it. Let’s see what we can do about that.”

  Rooting around in the abandoned nest, he found the remnants of a big toe. “This will work just fine,” he said. Pulling a small needle from a gris bag around his neck, he pierced the rotting toe, sprinkled it with powder from a separate bag, whispered a quiet prayer, then shoved it onto the meaty stump of Toth’s leg.

  Smoke rose from the end of the leg, then the toe bubbled and hissed around the edges as it merged with the body of the mutant. Soon it was not only permanently attached, but completely covered with the same brown leathery bumps of mutant skin.

  Turning his attention to the laboring beast, the strange man grabbed a handful of mud from the swamp floor and put it in his mouth. He inspected the taste—appreciatin
g the age of the swamp—then took powder from a gris bag and a long, stringy piece of sinew and swallowed them all. He chewed the mixture thoughtfully. Finally, he leaned in close to the ragged wound and with a sudden convulsion, vomited brown, sticky acid over it. The wound sizzled and popped, singeing the hair wherever the acid landed. Slowly, the wound closed over from the meat-patch saliva.

  As the beast lay panting a labored recovery, the strange man struggled to his feet. The trees quivered with worried anticipation; the abominations—only four now, he knew—felt the pain flow out from their paternal source and gnashed at the night air with a mewling whine. He sensed the weasels were close; he could feel them, but they hid in the dark shadows, feeling the loss of one of their own. His family was suffering.

  “We need nourishment,” the man said to the creatures of the swamp. “Just a few more family members and we’ll be whole again. I feel that we shall find our precious Del soon, and the blank one. The others, well, we’ll find places for them all. Yes, they will all have a place in our family; some will nourish us completely, and the others… the others will join us forever.”

  Jimmy sat behind an abandoned building and sang his song. This was the same song that had played over and over in his head ever since he’d left the orphanage. It was a strange song with no music. He didn’t understand the words, but felt it was important, so he tried very hard to remember it.