Princess of Wands

by John Ringo

  There was a tall, thin man in a white lab coat and a larger man, both taller and much more heavyset, in the room. The lab tech, or doctor or whatever, was sitting very straight and still while the other had sprawled in his chair, hands behind his head. He sat bolt upright, though, as first Barbara and then Janea entered the room.

  “Dr. Hannelore, Agent Donahue, Barbara Everette and Doris Grisham,” Halliwell said. “Miz Grisham prefers to be called Janea.”

  “Mrs. Everette,” Donahue said, standing up and taking their hands. “Janea…” he continued, looking her up and down for a moment and then shaking his head. “I’m going to be working with… you two?”

  “Better assignment than you expected?” Janea said, archly, sitting down and crossing her legs so they were in clear view of everyone on her side of the table.

  “Uh…” Donahue said, his mouth open for a moment. “Yes, as a matter of fact,” he continued as he regained the capability for speech. “I was expecting… I dunno. A couple of little old lady psychics.”

  “Guess again,” Barb said, placing her purse on the floor and then rolling her chair up to the table. “What do you have for us, Special Agent?”

  “Dr. Hannelore?” Halliwell said, passing the ball.

  “Seven victims,” Hannelore replied, dimming the lights and bringing up a picture of a young woman on the projection monitor. “Each of them killed by having her throat cut. Indications of sexual assault and ligations from binding. Each with these symbols,” he continued, showing a close-up of a stomach covered in a strange script, “marked on various portions of the body. We sent the symbols to an expert in these things and he identified them as…”

  “A prayer to a Hebraic shedim,” Janea interjected. “Originally a Persian daevas called Remolus. Might be related to the brood of Tiamat but seems to be a lower ranking daevas than that. The writing appears to be early Fars but it’s not quite right. Hints of Sanskrit or maybe latter Sumerian. We hadn’t seen this particular script before but it’s interpretable according to our sources. I’m no expert in it myself. And clearly a summoning; he’s trying to summon Remolus and is probably channeling from him at the very least.”

  “Remolus,” Halliwell said, stepping over to one of the workstations and typing. “It says here that he’s got no priors during our period of control of this area. ‘The Soul Eater’?”

  “All demons are soul eaters,” Janea said, shrugging. “And the translation’s a bit off. Remolus’ major secondary name comes from an Aramaic inscription that translates as Soul Drawer or possibly Soul Sucker. As far as we know, there is no way that purely through necromancy he could possibly gather enough power to summon Tiamat. That takes enormous power. Although, if he did, that would be bad.”

  “How bad?” Halliwell asked.

  “Tiamat is a gate and the key to the gate between the worlds,” Janea said, frowning. “Effectively, if she stays in place for any significant time at all, and she is very difficult to kill, then you have a fully opened gate to… call it Hell. Demons can come through in swarms. Of course,” she added, looking over at Barbara, “the heavenly host is supposed to be manifest to battle them directly upon earth. However, the power levels would be so high…” She paused and shrugged. “It might be better to have a nuclear war.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Barb said, softly.

  “As you say,” Hannelore replied, looking at the dancer in interest. “The bodies had not been killed at the location. There is significant exsanguination. We’re not sure what was done with the blood, whether it was kept for necromantic purposes or dumped.”

  “Probably burned as an offering,” Janea said, musingly. “That’s a common method with daevas. Properly there should be an effigy of the god or godling with a fire in the belly section and an open mouth. When the fire is hot, the blood is poured into the mouth, raising a fragrant offering to the god.” She paused and shrugged at the looks that got. “It’s a common motif. Any parts missing?”

  “No,” Hannelore said. “The bodies were intact.”

  “Odd,” Janea said. “Generally organs are added to the offering. It might be an indication of squeamishness on the part of the necromancer.”

  “We have two of the bodies here in our morgue,” Hannelore said. “We’d appreciate it if you could… use your abilities to see if there’s anything you can tell us.”

  “Of course,” Janea said, standing up.

  “Can I get something straight?” Donahue asked. “Which one of you is in charge? I’d assumed it was Mrs. Everette, but…”

  “I’m the more experienced,” Janea said, looking over at Barbara. “And I’ve had more training. But Barb is… the more powerful.”

  “I think we’re both wondering that,” Barbara admitted, grabbing her purse and standing up as well. “Maybe by the end of the mission we’ll know.”

  “That’s… a problem,” Halliwell said, seriously. “In a crisis, you have to know who is in charge. In the event of power manifestation, control of the situation automatically shifts to you two. Who does Donahue look to for decision-making?”

  “If it’s informational, Janea,” Barb said.

  “And if it’s…” Janea paused, not sure how to go on.

  “Tactical,” Barbara interjected. “I guess that would be me.”

  “Great,” Janea grumped. “And I’m the Asatru in the room. But, yeah, if it’s tactical, I’m going to just back Barb up. Not that she’ll need much help.”

  “By tactical you’re referring to direct power fighting?” Hannelore asked, interestedly.

  “And any other,” Janea said, shrugging.

  “I’m sorry, I have a problem with that,” Halliwell said. “I don’t think a civilian should be engaging in any sort of direct combat. Among other things, it’s illegal.”

  “Sir,” Hannelore said. “Case A-1674, the Bayou Ripper?’

  “Oh, damn,” Halliwell said, closing his eyes. “Sorry about the language, Mrs. Everette. And sorry for not making the connection.”

  “You’re… aware of that?” Barbara asked.

  “Who do you think cleared you to get out of the hospital?” Halliwell said. “And sent Germaine to you. Yes, we’re aware of that. I just hadn’t made the connection. I concur. In a Special Circumstances tactical situation, control devolves to you, unreservedly.”

  “Excuse me,” Donahue said. “What does… ?”

  “You’re not cleared for that compartment,” Halliwell answered the unspoken question. “I’ll probably kick it open and see if I can clear you for the mission report. Let’s just say that if Mrs. Everette says: ‘Mine,’ back off and let her handle it.”

  “Agent Donahue,” Hannelore interjected. “Mrs. Everette was previously involved with a Special Circumstances investigation in Louisiana. The analysis, for obvious reasons, had to be done carefully. HRT handled the combat analysis. Let me just say that one portion of the analysis stated that HRT was, quote, impressed by the combat training, armed, unarmed and of special nature, of the subject and would, unreservedly, accept subject for entry to HRT based upon analysis of combat actions. End quote. I don’t think I’ve broken any regulations by telling you that much.”

  “Oh,” Donahue said, looking at her again.

  “I’d like to make a point,” Janea said. “What we are dealing with, almost assuredly, is a person, a human, who is gathering power to create a manifestation. The person may have power, may be able to channel, but should not be truly ‘supernatural’ in nature. He may, however, be able to use powers to control an unshielded person, such as Agent Donahue. That is what we have to be cautious of.”

  “Understood,” Halliwell said. “Did you get that, Greg?”

  “I’m trying to,” Donahue admitted. “But what are you talking about, exactly?”

  “Oh, something like this, perhaps,” Janea said, closing her eyes and smiling.

  Donahue felt himself overwhelmed by an unstoppable wave of lust. What was bothering him the most was that it wasn’t even directed
at Janea, but at Mrs. Everette. He closed his eyes and tried not to fantasize about what she would look like with her hair spread on a pillow, quite unsuccessfully. After a moment the feeling faded with only a lingering trace. He opened his eyes again and shook his head.

  “That wasn’t exactly going to stop me from doing anything,” he said after he regained the power of speech.

  “It was an aspect of my goddess,” Janea said, smiling. “Her control methods are more… subtle than some.”

  “That was anything but subtle,” Greg said, glancing at Barb and blushing.

  “The point I’m trying to make is that if the person uses power on you, you may not have any control,” Janea said. “You could be held against your will, at the very least, unable to take action to defend others. Or, possibly, depending upon the person’s level of power and control, forced to use your weapon against others or even yourself. Self preservation is a very deeply held instinct, though. It is hard to overcome through direct means. However, you are unshielded. If you feel control slipping over you, simply work your will as hard as you can to prevent your own death and let Barbara and me handle the rest. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Donahue said, glancing at Barb again. “Are you still doing it to me?”

  “No,” Janea said, sighing. “But, unfortunately, the effects can have some lingering effect.”

  “Thanks so very much, Janea,” Barbara said, acerbically.

  “For the effects to last there has to have been some prior emotion,” Janea said, coyly. “Now, I think we were going to view a body?”

  Chapter Seven

  It was the same young woman that had been in the pictures. Despite those, Barb, who had until recently never seen a dead body before other than at a viewing, was surprised by the waxen pallor. The young woman looked more like a yellow doll than a corpse. She held onto that thought as the sheet covering her was drawn back. It seemed grotesque to be viewing the poor girl’s naked body like this, especially with the two men standing there, just looking at her as if she was a slab of meat or something.

  “Okay, Barb,” Janea said, gently. “I know this is rough for you. But I want you to put your hands over her and open your channel. Search for feelings that aren’t yours.”

  Barbara watched Janea place her hands over the girl’s midsection and close her eyes, then followed suit, holding them about six inches over the girl’s flattened chest.

  “Can you feel it?” Janea asked, quietly. “I can, faintly. Like a trace of rot.”

  “Like the smell of vomit,” Barb said, softly. “God be with us, it’s so strong!” She opened her eyes and drew back her hands, wiping them on her skirt to remove the ephemeral foulness.

  “You felt it that strongly?” Janea asked, opening her eyes. “I could barely sense it.”

  “I can feel it from here,” Barbara said, backing up. “It’s horrible.”

  “Unfortunately you have to face it,” Janea said. “I’m sorry it’s so strong for you. But you have to feel it, sense it, taste it. If you felt it again, would you be able to recognize it? As distinct from other odors of foulness?”

  “I’ve never felt anything like it before,” Barb said, shaking her head. “No, I have. From Almadu. But… that was stronger, filling me until the Lord came to my aid. Like this but… maybe not the same… scent.” She stepped forward again, holding her hands over the girl’s chest for a moment, her eyes closed and face twisted in a grimace. “I can’t do that for long,” she said, stepping back and rubbing her hands on her clothes again, unthinkingly. “But… I think I’d know it again.”

  “We were wondering if you could perhaps go to where the bodies were found,” Halliwell said. “We know that wasn’t where the girls were killed. But if you can… feel anything that might help…”

  “She was killed in a room,” Barbara said, her eyes unfocusing. “An unfinished basement, I think. There is a smell of mold. And… a gas flame?” She paused and shook her head. “I’m sorry, this is all very new to me. God has given me these gifts, but they are new and untried. I don’t know if I’m truly sensing something or if it is my imagination playing tricks on me.”

  “You’ll learn,” Janea said, reaching across the body to touch her shoulder. “Let’s get out of this environment.”

  “Wait,” Barb replied, looking around. The morgue had drawers for bodies on both sides of the room and she walked to the other, her hand out to the drawers until she stopped at one. “There is another who was killed by the same methods in here.”

  “Yes, that is the other body we’re holding,” Hannelore said.

  “But…” Barbara continued, walking down the row. “There is another…” She paused at one and gestured. “Here. Similar. Not… exactly the same. But… very similar.”

  “Really?” Hannelore asked, confused. He went to the drawer to get a number and then brought the case up on a computer. “Hmmm… Case J-17389. Ohio. A male. No signs of sexual assault although there are ligations. And no symbols on the body. There was removal of organs, but that was assumed to be sexually predatory even without signs of sexual assault. And the throat was cut. But the MO wasn’t linked. It was brought here because we’re doing an analysis of the ligation marks and trying to get any minor DNA contamination that might have been on the body. You’re sure it’s the same?”

  “The feel is the same, similar anyway,” Barb said, opening up the drawer and pulling it out. She paused when she saw the young man’s face. He could have been an image, slightly older, of her own son. “I am sorry for this, my son,” she muttered, holding her hands over the body. “Very similar,” she concluded after a moment, stepping back. “Not as strong, but very similar.”

  Janea walked over to the drawer and held her hands over the body, shrugging after a moment.

  “There’s a trace of necromantic residue,” she said. “That’s all I can tell. It is definitely a Special Circumstances killing, but more I can’t say.”

  “The body was found a month before the first killing in Case R-143,” Hannelore said, musingly. “An early kill?”

  “I think the killer hadn’t settled his devotional method,” Janea said. “Of course, the trace has faded over time. But I would guess that he didn’t find his true ceremony until recently. But I’d be surprised if it wasn’t the same killer, based on what Barb feels.”

  “We’ll put it as possibly linked,” Halliwell said, nodding. “Based on MO and secondary, unspecified, evidence.”

  “J-17389 was killed by a serrated edge,” Hannelore said, distantly. “Sawn down. The R-143 cases are all a long bladed, non-serrated edge, inserted on the left side of the neck and then cutting out with drawing strokes. Our killer has refined his killing technique, if they’re linked. Right-handed, by the way.”

  Barbara suddenly felt it, being raped and the point of the knife entering the side of her neck to kill her. She reached up to touch it — the feeling was so intense she expected her hand to come away bloody — and shook her head.

  “I need to get out of here,” she muttered, stumbling to the door.

  Janea found her outside in the corridor to the lab, head bowed and hands clasped so hard her knuckles were white. She waited for the obvious prayer to finish and Barb to raise her head.

  “I was calling for strength from the Lord,” Barbara said, lowering her hands. “I knew I shouldn’t have. This is something for which you have to find the strength within you. I don’t know if I have it. If this is what the minor touch of necromancy does to me…” She stopped and shuddered, shaking her head.

  “Well, yes, in there,” Janea said. “You were opening yourself to the feelings. When you get into battle with the Enemy, your… sensitivity level goes down almost automatically. Or that’s what I’ve been told,” she added, shrugging. “I mean, I’ve never had to really face an enemy before.”

  “Well, I need to get further away from the morgue,” Barb said, striding down the corridor. “I need to get out of this building. To take a shower. Slimy doesn’t b
egin to describe it.”

  She exited the double doors to the morgue and then sat in a chair in the laboratory as the activity continued around her, willing herself to either ignore or suppress the continued miasma of evil. It was easier here but still seemed to be present and she wondered if she’d picked something up. She wanted to throw up, as if from sympathetic vomit.

  “First time you ever saw a dead body?” one of the techs asked, grinning.

  “That is not my problem,” Barbara snarled, then caught herself as anger welled up in her soul. “I’m sorry,” she added, trying to be calm. “But that is not my problem.”

  “Are you all right?” Halliwell asked, coming through the door and closely followed by Hannelore. At the sight of the Special Agent in Charge and the director of the lab the grin slid off the tech’s face and he hurried away.

  “I need to get out of this building,” Barb said as calmly as she could. “For a while at least. I’m sorry but… that was much more unpleasant than I could possibly have imagined. Or explain.”

  “We were pretty much done here,” Halliwell replied. “Agent Donahue can take you to the sites that are near here.” He looked at Janea for a moment and shrugged. “You might want to change your shoes.”

  “Whatever for?” Janea asked, batting her lashes. “They help keep me on my toes. Is Agent Donahue driving?” she asked, batting her lashes again.

  “No,” Barbara replied. “I am. You can sit in the back. This time, wear your seatbelt.”

  * * *

  “There,” Donahue gasped, pointing to a narrow dirt road. “On the left.” He grabbed his seat with his left hand and the handle of the door with his right, anticipating the slew turn.