Last Exit

by Catie Rhodes

  “You don’t need your physical muscles for the fight.” Priscilla’s voice seemed to come from nowhere.

  I turned a slow circle, holding one hand over my aching middle.

  Orev perched on a small tree nearby.

  “Use your head, or you’ll never make it through this.” Priscilla’s voice came from his beak.

  My raven took flight to the top of the hill. His caws drifted back to me.

  Come on. Come on, they seemed to say.

  Both Orev and Priscilla were right. It was time for me to face what was up there. I walked the last few yards, sweat snaking down my back and sides. The top of the tree became visible at first, its lower limbs coming into sight with each step I took. A corpse swung from one of the low branches. Orev cawed a greeting.

  “Pappy?” I asked the bird.

  He cawed.

  The wind kicked up, and the dead man swayed, noose creaking. His tattered clothes fluttered around what was left of his body. Pappy had been dead a while. Most of the muscle and skin from his bones was gone, probably eaten by predators. A wide black stain had spread on the dirt underneath the hanged man.

  Communicating with a spirit didn’t faze me the way it would have only a couple of years ago, but my instincts held me back. Something was wrong here.

  For one thing, the well-decayed corpse hung from a new rope. Bits of old, rotten rope scattered the dark stain below the corpse’s skeletal feet. A coil of new rope lay against the tree. I couldn’t make sense of it.

  I opened my third eye and took a better look at the corpse. Magic pulsed from the dirt through my feet. The mantle flipped over and pressed at the scar tissue, too cramped to really stretch. The black opal heated on my chest.

  The corpse slowly raised its head to stare at me. The empty eye sockets filled in with black eyeballs just like the ones I’d seen back at Freakazoid Ranch. The mouth opened, displaying rows of sharp teeth. A hiss came from a not-there throat.

  A voice spoke in my head. Why do you come?

  “I’m looking for the soul of Oscar E. Rivera, also known as the Coachman and Lord of Babylon.” I spoke in a firm, clear voice. I called it my spirit-dealings voice. They tended to get unruly if I wasn’t clear about what I wanted.

  I know where that is. One skeletal hand went up and pulled at the noose. Let me down, and I’ll tell you.

  The wind on the hill picked up, whispering against my skin. The hanged man swayed with it, rope creaking, waiting for his answer.

  Let me down. He yanked at the rope around his crooked neck.

  My heart picked up speed. I could control a ghost, but Pappy wasn’t a ghost. Though decayed, the thing in front of me lived.

  As if to prove my point, Pappy gave his noose a harder yank, his long, yellowed fingernails digging into the rope’s rough fabric and making it creak.

  Please. I’ll tell you everything about Oscar Rivera. I’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know. Just let me down. His voice sounded reasonable, nicer than anybody back at Freakazoid Ranch.

  I looked around for Priscilla. She’d know what to do. My great-great-great-grandmother’s ghost crouched in the tree, watching me like a big animal ready to pounce.

  “What do I do?” Standing well clear of Pappy, I tilted up my head to address her.

  “If you had full control of the Gregorius Witch mantle, you’d know.” She gave me another Mona Lisa smile, eyes glinting with equal measures of malice and amusement. She shook the branch, making it rain bark and leaves into my face.

  Young witch, you have nothing to fear from me. Pappy locked his bony fingers in a pleading gesture. Let me down.

  Light fingers danced in my head. He was reading my mind. Straining so hard my head ached, I slammed down my defenses.

  I can tell you how to gain the full measure of your power. You want Tanner Letts back? I can tell you how to get in touch with him. Pappy had started to sway in his excitement.

  Priscilla chuckled from somewhere above. She was enjoying this little shit show.

  Just let me down… The light fingers moved around in my head again. …Peri Jean Mace. Let me down, and I’ll tell you when your first child will be born and the sex.

  I glanced again at Priscilla, silently begging for help.

  She shook her head. “You don’t want my knowledge to be part of you. Let’s see how you do without it.”

  I’m the only way you’ll find Oscar’s soul in time, Pappy babbled in my head. If you don’t defeat him before the Samhain, he’ll be too strong.

  That did it. “How can I get you down?”

  He pointed one bony finger at the ground. Underneath the rope is a knife. Hand it to me, and I’ll cut myself down.

  Sounded easy enough. I did what Pappy said, standing on tiptoes to get the knife into his hand. His smell filled my senses, dusty, like dried flowers in an antique shop, mixed with maybe rosemary. Pappy snatched the knife. I backed away.

  Legs kicking, Pappy cut the noose. The desiccated corpse landed on his feet in front of me. His knees bent to catch the fall’s impact. His power brushed against my skin, far greater than it had been while he hung from the tree.

  Fear seized my heart and squeezed. I backed away, realizing too late that I’d messed up and wondering how long it would take for my mistake to bite me in the ass. Turned out, it wasn’t long at all.

  The corpse threw his hands over his head and stretched. His bones made cracking sounds. He turned to me, black eyes assessing. My pulse pounded harder.

  Pappy bowed at the waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. It’s been far too long since I’ve had a break.”

  My mouth went dry. Wrongness beat at my temples. But it was too late for that now. Pappy came closer, reaching for me. I backed away.

  He stopped. “You said you want to know where to find Oscar Rivera’s soul. Is that not true?”

  I forced myself to nod. There was no choice but to play this out.

  Pappy took another step toward me. “I have to touch you to put the images in your head. They don’t make sense to me.”

  I focused on a piece of tendon dangling from one brown, skeletal hand. My skin crawled. Maybe it wasn’t too late to say no. But maybe it was. Pappy hadn’t put down the knife he’d used to cut himself out of the noose.

  He watched me assess him. “Either you want the information, or you don’t.”

  At last, I took a step toward him, indicating willingness. Pappy closed the distance between us faster than I’d have thought a skeleton could move. He put one hand on each cheek, bones pressing into my skin.

  “No,” I whimpered. Another bad move. I really knew how to screw up.

  As soon as my mouth opened, so did Pappy’s. His black, shark eyes locked on mine. A sound like a dozen devils screaming all at once came from Pappy’s mostly fleshless skull. It shot into my mouth before I could get control enough of myself to snap it shut.

  Nighttime. The thunder of horse hooves. Oscar and his huntsmen ride through flat, moonlit country, the inky sky a blanket of stars. The hounds run alongside them, their bounding strides eating up distance much faster than the horses.

  The huntsmen’s shouts and laughter echo over the plains. The hounds bay in answer. Night predators run into the darkness, hackles raised. These things are greater, more evil, than any simple night predator. Even the ones with big teeth.

  The troupe passes by my line of sight. For the first time, I see them not as fleshless creatures, fashioned from bone and metal, but as they’d been while alive.

  Oscar Rivera comes first, his sloe eyes and thick lips as arrogant as ever. My mother rides next to him, swaying with her horse’s movement, her spine arched. Of course. Good old Barbie never settled for anything less than the boss man. The moonlight plays over her beautiful again face. Even as a ghost, she’s still far prettier than I’ll ever be.

  Joseph Holze, a man who tormented me most of my life, finishing with the flourish of attempted murder, comes next. Joey is healthier than I ever remember him,
his broad face and slightly protruding eyes set into a grimace of disgust.

  Tim McSwain, my ex-husband and tormentor, rides behind Joey Holze. In death, he is restored to his glory as a bearded hippie messiah. But now I see the cruelty shining from his eyes, cruelty I should have noticed the first time he smiled at me.

  Michael Gage comes next, his dark, handsome features filled with vicious pleasure. A far cry from the night I forced the blood vessels in his brain to explode.

  Nash Redmond follows close behind his father. Now that I know, I see the resemblance. The leading man’s square jaw. The dimples. The two exchange smiles.

  On the backs of the next two horses are two faces I’d hoped to never see again. Camden DeVoss, finally free of Nazareth, Texas, in death, throws his head back to howl like a coyote. The real coyotes don’t dare make a peep. Camden turns to Colton Starr, easily the most handsome man I’d ever met in person, and smiles at him. Colton pretends not to see.

  What had happened to Colton? I’d watched him taken away by police for the murder of Shayne Turgeau and for trying to kill Dean Turgeau’s ex-wife and me. Prison must not have agreed with him.

  Veronica Spinelli brings up the rear. Gone is the road whore I watched Dean Turgeau shoot to death. She’s a golden goddess on horseback, eyes alert and searching the landscape.

  The troupe comes to a small grouping of darkened, disintegrating buildings. The horses slow to walking speed, and they pass through a gate.

  I follow, pushing my spirit self as fast as it’ll go. A cemetery. They’ve passed into a cemetery. I strain to make out the words on the archway over the gate. They’re in German. I don’t know German.

  But I do remember Linus’s discovery of Oscar’s early life, his being raised by a German witch in a German-speaking settlement. Linus had dismissed the information, but it had been the one useful thing we’d discussed. Of course.

  I break off my thoughts and hurry after the specters. They ride to the center of the cemetery. Next to it hulks the tattered shape of a deserted church, its crooked steeple stabbing at the night sky.

  Oscar dismounts next to a tombstone shaped like an obelisk and kneels next to it. He speaks, his voice pitched too low to hear. His shoulders shake. He’s weeping for someone from his growing up years. Something almost like pity tightens my throat. I push it aside. I do not want to feel sorry for something as evil as Oscar.

  Oscar stands and extracts something from his cloak. It sparkles in the moonlight.

  Even though I can’t see it clearly, I know it’s his soul. I creep forward. This is what I need to see.

  Oscar wheels around. “Who’s there?”

  His statesman’s voice echoes over the tombstones. I hold my breath, even though I am only spirit right now, and pray he doesn’t see me. Seconds crawl past.

  “Gage!” Oscar calls. "See what’s out there.”

  A horse wheels around and gallops in my direction.

  Bony hands yank me from the vision.

  I came back to myself on the hill with Pappy’s skeletal hands still cupping my face. I took a step away from him.

  His hands tightened. “You’ve not paid for my service.”

  Priscilla chuckled from above. My face heated. She was right. I didn’t think to negotiate. I was too busy worrying about Tanner Letts, my aching guts, and not wanting to lose myself to the Gregorius Witch mantle.

  Panic seized my throat. I fought for control. This was no big deal. I might have been at Pappy’s mercy, but I could still negotiate.

  “What do you want?” I managed to choke out.

  “A taste of your blood.” The warmth left his voice. Now it sounded cold and amused.

  “No. If I do that…” I didn’t really know what would happen. I just knew it was a big deal, not to be taken lightly.

  “I’ll know all about you, all your secrets. Secrets are my trade.” Pappy’s black eyes stared into mine, his consciousness rifling freely through mine.

  I reached out for Priscilla, now desperate enough to beg for her help.

  Her voice came from within my head. You aren’t willing to take on all I have to offer? You can’t have any of it. Our connection broke with a pop.

  Pappy let go of my face and seized my left hand. I tried to yank away from him, but it was no use. He twisted my arm at a painful angle, forcing me to my knees. I barked a wimpy cry for help. Priscilla’s cruel laughter answered.

  Pappy stabbed the dirty tip of his knife into one of my fingers. A blackened, withered tongue crept from his mouth and scraped across my fingertip like sandpaper. Revulsion shivered through my heart.

  Pink, healthy flesh began to fill in Pappy’s cheeks. He opened his mouth and lunged for my hand, as though to take a big bite. I jerked away from him.

  Pappy, now a young man with waves of long, dark hair cascading down his back, widened his stance, knife held loosely in one hand. He laughed, rows of shark teeth flashing white.

  I glanced down at the hand he’d licked. The tip of my finger was black and withered. Black veins formed under the skin and crawled up my forearm. The rot spread over my hand.

  “Get him hanging again. Or die. Your choice.” Priscilla’s voice came from next to me. A puff of wind and the rustle of her long dress marked her leaving me to my fate. Screw her. I’d figure it out.

  Pappy and I circled each other. He hissed laughter, every so often feinting at me with the knife. I dodged away. Each effort sent a tear of pain through my midsection. I backed away, holding my stomach like the guts might fall out.

  I had to face facts. There was no way I could physically fight Pappy. My body was still healing. Magic was the only answer.

  I should have guessed that in the first place. Priscilla was a wise old spirit. She knew exactly when I’d need her help and when to withdraw from me. When it would count.

  Pappy feinted at me again. I dodged away, tripped over my own feet, and hit the ground. My teeth clicked together. Agony shot through my stomach. Pappy hurried in for the kill.

  The mantle jerked to life, instinctively sensing a threat. Heat rushed to the surface of my skin. Magic tingled at my fingertips. Golden sparkles filled my vision.

  Pappy raised the knife to stab me.

  An invisible force yanked me into the sky. My organs reacted to the change in force with a sinking sensation. My ears popped. Then I realized what had happened. I was levitating.

  Pappy ran underneath me, realized he’d missed, and raised his head. Those flat, emotionless eyes latched onto mine.

  My energy ebbed, and I dropped gently to the ground. Pappy ran at me again. This time, a blast of fire hit him in the chest. It knocked him onto his back. His shirt flamed for a second, releasing the odor of burning garbage. He got back up. I hadn’t hurt him a bit.

  The static of fear filled my mind. I fought against it. If fear took over, I wouldn’t be able to think. If I couldn’t think, Pappy would eventually outsmart me.

  I brushed away the thoughts. The frenetic lines of illogic, all incomplete and unusable, died down. What weapons could I use against Pappy?

  As a spirit medium, I had experience binding and banishing spirits. Though Pappy didn’t qualify as such, binding still might work. But how? I didn’t have supplies to draw a circle. I didn’t have incense.

  Priscilla Herrera chuckled in my head. I ignored her.

  I pushed my consciousness against the mantle, stoking its fire, and concentrated on binding Pappy. A stick caught my eye. I grabbed it and an overgrown strand of grass. I poured magic into both until the air around them wavered.

  I held up the stick. “I name this stick Pappy.”

  Pappy, who’d been trying to sneak up on me, halted, face still.

  “Pappy, I bind you from hurting others.” I wrapped the blade of grass around the stick.

  Grass pulled itself from the ground, roots dangling, wove together, and circled Pappy. He slapped at the green rope, but it looped over his arms and pulled them to his sides.

  “Pappy, I bind yo
u from doing evil.” I made another loop around the stick.

  More grass wove together and joined the green rope already squeezing at Pappy’s arms. He strained against it, cords standing out in his neck, long, black hair whipping side to side. The muscles in his neck bulged as he strained against his binding. The grass rope held him fast.

  I went to the coil of rope next to the tree. Rough fibers of the rope chafing my fingers, I fashioned it into a noose. Now all I had to do was put the noose over Pappy’s head. Easy as herding armadillos.

  I approached Pappy, feet light on the grass. His head rose. His black eyes stared into mine, full of depth and mysteries. I couldn’t look away. The light fingers tapped against my brain again.

  “Dimittis me,” he whispered.

  My bowels went loose and hot. My vision wavered and darkened at the edges.

  “Dimittis me,” he whispered again.

  It meant release me. The mantle knew. The command took root in my mind, spreading roots. My hand rose on its own. My index finger, the one turning black and necrotic, pointed at the grass rope. I watched stupefied, no more in control than a kid watching a movie. My index finger curled in a come-along motion, and the grass rope separated and dropped to the ground.

  Pappy’s knife arm rose. He lunged at me, screaming another word I didn’t quite catch.

  The mantle lashed inside me. My paralysis broke with a snap. I clambered out of Pappy’s way, a scream pounding in my throat. He ran a few feet and spun with an enraged roar.

  I backed away, heart leaping. Why couldn’t I just carry a gun like Hannah? I could have shot Pappy and run. Oh, wait. I didn’t carry a gun because I had magic. But it hadn’t worked on Pappy.

  Spit forming at the corners of his mouth, Pappy stalked toward me.

  This was it. Everything I’d gone through, and I was going to end up dead on this hill, killed by a monster with ugly teeth. I didn’t even know what he was.

  “You don’t have to.” Priscilla’s voice came from all around me. Her freezing finger pressed against my breastbone.

  The mantle worked its way out of a thin spot in the scar tissue and spread. My ribcage ached with the pressure. Hot, vibrant energy burned through my veins and snaked into my brain.