A crack of thunder—far off but echoing near—announced the coming of the strange man and his family of abominations. Things had been set in motion now that could not be undone.
Del suddenly felt rushed. Things weren’t supposed to happen this fast, she thought. She still needed time to get fully into her trance. She looked around and saw that Mama Dedé was already standing quietly in the center of the dead, swaying slightly in the wind, chanting to herself. She had to hurry.
She closed her eyes and concentrated. An instant later she was hovering above her own body, and could see the ghostly horrors of the cemetery. The dead were coming out to watch.
The dead of the cemetery showed themselves in fits and starts—long dead fireflies from another time, blinking in and out of existence. Barely visible to Del’s powerful inner sight, they looked like bleached, tattered leaves—ancient and fearful of something worse than death—skittering around on the last day before winter. Brittlely dry, their life-well long run out, they chittered at the night and clung with fragile hope to the life-breath that Del and the others expelled, hoping desperately for one last taste of the living.
A dark raven manipulated the rising winds and lit on the bust of the grotesque that would watch forever in silence. The raven would hear its song once more before the night was through.
Del watched as the tattered spirits jockeyed for position just outside the magic circle of dust. Her trancing vision was different this time. She saw the strong aura of her friends pulse from their bodies in real time. It was as if she was looking at them with her eyes and mind at the same time. The heartbeat of their essence pulsed white, but with the faintest red-blue shift depending on if they were swaying by millimeters towards her or away. She was hyper tuned to every movement around her.
A low rusty creak announced the opening of the cemetery gate. The Gris-gris man had arrived.
The low, fat clouds twisted in anticipation of unleashing the storm that was building. A rumble, or growl, began low in the ground and rippled upward through the old cobblestones and escaped into the waiting clouds. The shock wave sent dust flying and vibrated the grains of red brick dust, distorting the shape of the protective circle. For now, it held.
Del began to spin in her mind, slowly at first, cautiously checking her newfound power. This allowed her to watch in all directions at once; the Del-orb, like a three-dimensional radar, sampling the life forces around her many times a second.
“Good evening, Delphine… …elphine… …evening… …elphine.” The voice echoed and bounced off the hard edges of the crypts and disoriented the group.
“Thank you for calling me… …alling me… …thank you… …alling me.”
Frank and Armand turned in a slow circle around the trancing women, looking for the source of the sound. They held torches in one hand and pistols in the other. All they saw was the black swirling mist.
“Thank you for bringing your friends to me… …to me… …bringing your friends… thank you for bringing…”
“Don’t listen to him,” Del broadcast into the minds of her friends. “He’s lying and trying to trick you.”
“On the contrary my dear… …the contrary… …my dear... I was clear with my deal… …honest… …clear with my deal… Three souls for the price of one… …price of one… …three souls… …and you get Jo back… …Jo back… …you get…”
“That’s not true! He’s lying! Don’t listen to him!”
“My dear… …my dear… You’re wearing gris bags… …gris bags… …the same as I… …same as I… …gris bags…
“But alas… …alas… Mine don’t have… …don’t have… …the hairs of my friends… …hairs of my friends… …don’t have… …lying within… …within…”
The Del-orb spun, watching the scene unfold below her. She saw the Gris-gris man at the main gate of the cemetery, but he looked different from the auras of her friends. In her trancing mind he looked not like a person, but a cloud of competing light; images struggling with each other for domination. He was a menagerie of souls, the essence of many, trying to take a dominant position within the vessel they were bound to. His essence was chaos.
Del saw the blue shift of his essence a fraction of a second before it split into pieces. One second, he was a cloud of competing color, the next, he had split into two: a man-sized shape and something slightly smaller, but in many ways more deadly. The strange man and beast formed out of the split and began to walk the cemetery.
Frank saw the beast first and raised his pistol, but the unholy thing faded back into the cloud that protected it. They now had a special relationship, Frank and the beast. One killing the other tonight was the only option.
Armand saw the mist swirl on the opposite side of the cemetery. They were being surrounded. A man-shaped figure hung just beyond the unnatural clouds. He could make out a silhouette; a hunched man leaning to one side; a walking stick in support; an old hat; blue reflections where the eyes should be. How strange, Armand thought. Man… hunched man… dog? No not dog… beast? Yes, beast… Voodoo… spirits… Egypt? Maybe… Africa? Yes… Oh, what fools we have been.
He feared they had made a terrible mistake.
Chapter 58
Mama Dedé searched and searched but couldn’t find Marie. She was trancing alongside Del. She knew what was beginning to happen, but she had to find Marie and the unbinding spell. She couldn’t understand why it had not been given to Del, unless… No, Del would never betray them. She knew the Gris-gris man was tricky; she had been warning them all along. Del wouldn’t betray them.
Del was trancing differently than she had been taught. Mama Dedé only knew of one way, but Del’s mind was in two places at once. She could see the silver droplets of Del around the cemetery scene that she herself was trancing on, but also knew that Del was simultaneously in another place. Where that place was, she didn’t know.
The massive Del-orb she had seen reforming the day before was truly beautiful and terrible all at once. She just hoped that whatever powers Del had suddenly found didn’t completely overwhelm the person she had been.
Mama Dedé turned her attention back to the cemetery scene just as a blue-shift formed around the Gris-gris man—something was about to happen. Even though she knew Armand was looking in the right direction, she caused a small light to flash in Armand’s mind at the feet of the man, pulling his attention down. Just as she did, Armand saw four nearly invisible shadows fall from the man and scurry into the darkness. Armand heard a faint tica-tica-tica-tica in his mind as the abominations skittered into position. He gave a mental Thank you. He assumed that Mama D could somehow sense his appreciation.
A crack of lightning split the dark clouds somewhere over the Jean Lafitte swamp, briefly illuminating the dark cemetery. Armand looked to his right and the image of the ugliest gargoyle he had ever seen was silhouetted and burned into his mind as if from a camera flash. The gargoyle, perched on top of the oversized crypt Del had knocked on, seemed to be watching the unholy scene unfold, and for the briefest second Armand imagined that the eyes glowed slightly with an unnatural lust.
Somewhere in the dark the beast breathed its ragged breath. Frank thought he could make out steam trails floating up from its back, despite the cold, heavy mist that weighed against it. A large head hung low and huffed at the ground. Long trails of slobber hung glistening from its jowls as it anticipated its next meal.
“Delphine, my love… …my love… …elphine…
“It doesn’t have to be this way… …doesn’t… …this way…
“Join back with us… …join back… …your family is waiting… your family… …for you to come back… …come back…”
“Don’t listen, honey,” Mama Dedé said to everyone. “He’s a tricky ol’ bastard! You ain’t part of his family.”
Del spun faster, watching the spirits come and go. She had no idea why they had all gathered there, but the cemetery was full of them. It was becoming difficult to tell which spirits ha
d been buried there and which were from the Gris-gris man.
“Oh, but she is, you see… …you see… …she is…
“Marie and I had become one you see… …become one you see… …offspring… …yes, offspring… …yes… was spread across this land… …offspring spread…
“Over the years the sibling lines crossed… …over the years… …yes, the lines crossed… and Del became the one… …yes, became the one… Del is the one…
“Who can harness the power… …the power… …she can harness… from both of us… …she can harness… …is the one…
“For we are elemental… …elemental… …for we… and become like Gods… …we become like Gods… …are elemental… …like Gods…”
Mama Dedé felt a heaviness grow over her as she watched the scene. Every time the words echoed on the wind, Del’s essence quivered and changed by the slightest degree. The silver droplets of Del were as liquid, highly sensitive to the man’s words, and responded in an unconscious way. The black streaks were a permanent part of Del now. Whether they were trying to surface or not, the woman couldn’t tell.
A frantic skittering sound drew Armand’s attention to the left, then to the right. He saw fleeting glimpses of the weasels as they ran from one shadow to the next. Their slender, six-legged bodies squeezing around corners and between stones as if they had no structure. They gnashed their sharp beaks at each other when they collided, then gnashed at the cobblestone. They were claws and beaks with a rudimentary brain stem.
Frank tracked the beast the best he could, but was distracted by the Gris-gris man’s words. Del was the descendent of both him and Marie? What sort of cosmic alignment was needed to bring the lines of brother and sister—or more likely, half-brother and sister—back together after several generations to create the perfect Voodoo priestess? And what sort of inherent evils came with the bloodline? The wind howled an answer and stung Frank’s face with sharp bits of debris and sand in reprimand of his blasphemous thoughts. And they become like Gods, Del had said once without knowing why. The Gris-gris man had just said that. Maybe they were more aligned than Frank realized. He wanted to shoot and kill every supernatural thing in this cemetery, but didn’t have the ammunition or time. He felt his opportunity slipping away. Another crack of lightning lit the cemetery. The ground shuddered and Frank watched as the protective circle of brick dust vibrated again, scattering the grains slightly further apart. A few more vibrations like that and the circle would be unrecognizable. He wasn’t sure how much power the brick dust had, but decided he didn’t want to wait until it was completely gone to find out. Mama Dedé saw his blue-shift movement right before he made it. She yelled a warning, but he was still fast for his age. The pistol shot rang out, and an instant later Del fell to the ground. The lifeblood of Del the Spirit Hunter dripped into the dry lifeless bricks of the St. Louis Cemetery #1.
The Del-orb wobbled from the wound, but continued to spin, caught by surprise by the unexpected shot. The spirits of the cemetery and the weasels of hell smelled the blood—for it was upon the wind—and went into a frenzy. They gnashed at each other, at shadows, at the wind, and skittered toward the fresh blood. The red brick dust held its own. The insane weasels ran straight for Del, but were repelled with the faintest shock of static electricity by whatever force the old woman had coaxed into the circle of dust. They gnashed their beaks at the surprise, ran back to the cover of shadow, then ran at the circle again, only to be repelled with a faint flash of light. Each flash of light produced a mild electric shock that singed the unholy flesh of the abominations, and the smell of burnt flesh drifted on the air. Frank couldn’t see the other spirits, but felt their plan was quickly unraveling. The ground trembled again as the bellowing laughter of the Gris-gris man shook the night air. Hell was opening upon the cemetery.
Chapter 59
The beast howled an angry warning and stood on its hind legs. Slamming its heavy paws onto the cobblestones, Frank had the ludicrous thought of a child’s toy gone mad; a possessed rocking-horse with a deformed doll strapped to its back. Only the doll appeared to come to life each time the beast slammed its paws down. A strangled, glottal sound squeezed out of the mutant thing; first a glla-glgu-glla followed by a ngyihng, ngyihng as the thing sparked to life each time the beast lurched forward.
Frank fired again, this time hitting the stony ground in front of the beast. The bullet ricocheted and nicked the leg of the beast, sending it into a wild frenzy. The beast leaped straight into the air, landing on all fours, and screamed a blood-curdling howl. The energy from the beast surged up through the long needle, sparking the mutant to life, and sent it spinning crazily on its metal axis. The mutant screamed its mad gibberish into the night air, spewing ancient and foul curses. At the same time, Frank noticed another small doll—even tinier than the mutant—that swung wildly under the beast’s neck. The tiny, broken doll with one open eye seemed to come to life with the violent energy that pulsed off the beast as well. The red-headed Sharon-doll screamed at the night and everything that had been done to it.
All the dead things were screaming.
Mama Dedé saw that Del had fallen, and came out of her trance. She moved to her side and inspected the wound.
“Frank, what’d you do?” she yelled.
“Where da hell is dat spell?” Frank yelled back. “Da brick line is failin!”
Mama Dedé had known the brick line was failing before Frank had announced it, but didn’t have the spell. She lied to him and said, “It’s comin’ Frank, but what—”
“Watch the weasels!” Armand yelled and fired a ricocheting shot at a moving shadow. The hellish thing scampered sideways with the speed of a spider, legs lightning fast, then skittered a sideways path around the dust circle. The abominations chittered to each other, looking for a break in the dust circle.
The wounded body of Del lay in the center of the chaos as the Del-orb spun faster and faster, trying to get ahead of the melee. She felt the spell was coming, but couldn’t understand why it hadn’t been given to her directly.
“You’re bleeding my love… …my love… …you’re bleeding…
“Your friend shot you… …your friend… …tried to kill you… …kill you… …friend shot you…
“I’ll punish him for you Del… …punish him… …Del I’ll punish… …if you send him to me… …send him to me… …punish him… …you have the power… …the power… …you have the power… …don’t forget the hair… …his hair… …send him… …send him… …send him…”
Frank heard the ominous commands and spun around, looking wildly into the night. The wind howled the haunted voice and carried it like a plague. The foul breath of the hellish spirit was upon the wind, and it stank like death. The living in the cemetery shrank from the stench; the dead reveled in it.
The beast watched the confusion pass through the small group and stalked closer.
The Gris-gris man circled the group slowly, fading in and out of the fog. Blue mirrored glasses wavering with tremors of excitement.
The weasels skittered in and out of the dark shadows, waiting for a chance to pass the circle. Waiting for a chance to feed.
Eddie vibrated silent signals to his master. The fear in the group was sweet and pungent.
Then someone spoke the words:
“Hellish spirit hear me clearly, grant you now full use or nearly,
Of my soul for use and toiling, at the work of evil lore.
This damned soul is ripe for taking; in its core with trembled shaking,
Hunger-lust pang never slaking, begging at your ghostly door.
Use me spirit, just tonight, that I may unlock Abgel’s door;
Just tonight, no less, no more.”
“Who said that?” Mama Dedé yelled. She was no longer trancing and couldn’t tell. “Armand?”
“I hear it, but I don’t know where it came from,” he yelled. “It’s a different voice.”
Eddie vibrated on high. “Sing,” came a
raven-voice in his head, and Eddie’s stone mouth sang in unison with the wind-voice.
“I call to you, by way of chanting—lest a demon voice be ranting,
Ranting in my wretched mind, to call you up from days of yore.
I summon you to evil deed, your voice as one my mind will heed,
Seeking someone sure to bleed, to right a wrong done to my core.
Use me spirit, just tonight, that I may open abGel’s door,
Just tonight, no less, no more.”
The Del-orb spun through a thousand scenarios. Scenes of red and blue flew past her mind. She searched for the right combination, but there were too many choices. Too many things were happening at once, and she didn’t know which to choose or who to control. She was losing the battle.
The wind picked up the words and now several voices sang in unison. The third stanza of the unholy spell was spoken.
“With demon-will I wholly bind, your tattered soul, black heart and mind,
To me you see, for I am kind except to those I doth abhor.
Evil things were done to me, but no worse evil can there be,
To that which I will die to see, unleashed from beyond abgEL’s door.
Unlock it spirit, I beseech, for I deserve revenge galore…
Just one night? Not evermore?”
As the third stanza was set upon the wind, a deep groan let out from the oversized crypt. The ancient granite shuddered and rumbled; the dust of the dead was caught up in the hell-wind and thrown away; tension twisted in the old stones until the seal gave way. With an explosion of rotting death air, the chamber door opened.
Peering into the crypt, Armand only saw a dark void. Its sheer blackness felt heavy and empty, as if a great gravity lay just beyond; a gravity that you could never escape from.
“There he is!” Mama Dedé yelled, pointing to a different part of the cemetery. As the others followed her finger, they saw the source of the new voice. On top of the cemetery wall stood Henri Guillaume. He was reading from an old grimoire as he held Jimmy by the collar.
A Grimoire Dark Page 27
