Princess of Wands

by John Ringo

“Yeah,” Allison said, keeping her head down.

  “So what did you do?” Barb asked.

  “Nothing I want to talk about,” Allison said, turning to look out the window.

  “Allison, I want a straight answer,” Barbara said, sharply. “Did anything wrong happen?”

  “No, Mom!” Allison answered, looking up at her. “It was just what the coach was talking about. We just… went for a walk and… talked.”

  “Just walked and talked, huh?” Barb said. “So why were you crying?”

  “I wasn’t,” Allison said, looking away again. “I just got something in my eye.”

  “You’re a lousy liar, honey,” Barbara said, softly. “You get that from me. Why were you crying?”

  “Well…” Allison said then shrugged. “We were talking about things that bother us. It was, like, therapy, I guess. That was why I was crying. That’s all, Mom, honest.”

  Barb started to reply and then decided it was the wrong time.

  “Are you going to have another one of these ‘team-building’ exercises next week?”

  “No,” Allison said. “Next week is spring break, remember?”

  “Yes, I’d remembered,” Barbara said. “I was hoping that Coach Sherman had.”

  * * *

  The season started up with a bang after spring break with two games in three days, both of which the team took. So far the Algomo Middle School Girls’ Softball team had a series of straight wins and the magic of Coach Bobby Sherman seemed to be rubbing off on his new team.

  The coach had scheduled two more “additional team-building” exercises that week, however, and the hours that the girls were putting in was starting to tell. By the end of the week, Allison was getting bags under her eyes from late night team-building exercises combined with her homework load, cheerleading and gym classes. Then she came home with a permission form for an “all day team-building exercise” on Saturday. The girls were to be dropped off at noon and picked up at midnight.

  “This is too much,” Barb said, waving the form in the air as she practically screamed over the phone to Cindy. “Is he nuts?”

  “You’re the one that’s always pushing for the girls to do better,” Cindy said, unhappily.

  “They’re fourteen,” Barbara pointed out.

  “Barb, I’m with you on this one,” Cindy said. “But Coach Sherman’s making these things mandatory for continuing in the team. I’m thinking of pulling Brandi, frankly. She’s getting really worn down.”

  “So’s Allison,” Barbara said, bitterly. “And I’m not all that happy about a man I don’t know very well spending all this time with my daughter in conditions in which parents are not welcome.”

  “Well, call him,” Cindy said. “You’d be better at that than I am. And I’m pretty sure we’re not the only ones that are getting tired of all this ‘team building.’ ”

  Chapter Two

  Coach Sherman was surprisingly hard to run down. But she’d managed to contact his wife, a colorless woman on the phone, and arranged a meeting at the Hazelwood Mall Starbucks. The coach, as it turned out, worked in the Claire’s Boutique in the mall, which eliminated “a better job” as the reason for the move. Unless he’d worked at a McDonald’s in Mobile.

  Sherman was middling height but gave the impression of size. He had broad shoulders and strong looking arms as if he’d been a serious athlete when he was younger. Over the years, though, he’d run to fat and had a large beer gut. His hair and skin were dark with a look of either Hispanic or maybe Native American in his features. He had dark eyes that were remarkably piercing, though. Barb had only ever seen him from a moderate range and hadn’t realized how startling his eyes were. She could see why Allison would have dubbed him “creepy” when she first met him. He also had a small, blurred, tattoo on the web of his right thumb. Barbara couldn’t quite make it out.

  She suspected that some women would find him very attractive. Barb was not one of them. He came across far too much the “macho man.” Barbara counted among her friends both members of special operations groups and Special Circumstances operatives who faced death from both natural and supernatural causes, often on a daily basis. This guy wasn’t even in their class.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Coach Sherman,” Barb said, standing up from her table and shaking his hand.

  “My pleasure, I’m sure,” the coach replied, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was looking at her chest. She’d dressed conservatively for the meeting so there wasn’t even cleavage on display. But his eyes went right to the breasts. After a long moment’s perusal he looked her in the eye and winked. Then when he withdrew his hand from hers, reluctantly, he ran his thumb across the palm of her hand.

  Barb had had the trick done to her before and, as always, it gave her a shiver of sexuality. She also thought it was about as low a trick as you could play on a female; the reaction was entirely involuntary and had little or nothing to do with actual attraction. It was the equivalent of a goose in her mind.

  Barb realized right then that she wanted Allison off the team. Wins or no, this guy was a predator. He wasn’t just flirting, he was making an overt move on her. Given that she was married and a mother of one of the girls on his team, he either had to be crazy or he thought it would help his case. Which was just as crazy.

  Furthermore, he gave off the “seducer” feel. He had a bag full of tricks that probably worked on women or girls who had never been up against a seducer. Barb had been to far too many company parties, and had far too many covert and overt offers when she was selling real estate, to be even slightly interested. Teenage girls were something else.

  “I wanted to talk to you about all these extra practices,” Barb said, ignoring the wink and the thumb. “Some of the parents, and I’m among them, feel that the girls are getting a little worn out by all the time they’re putting in. Among other things, most of the girls are involved in more than one activity. Spending all this time on softball alone is wearing them out.”

  “I realize that, Mrs. Everette,” Sherman said, leaning forward to look her in the eye and sliding immediately into “professional coach” mode as if the original “lounge lizard” had never existed. “All I can say is that these methods work. My job, my mission, is to have a winning team. Not just this year but every year. I’ve honed my Focus-On-Win program and I know that it works. I’ve proven that it works. If the parents want just a regular team, win a few, lose a few, it all evens out in the end, I’m not your coach. If you want a team that wins, then they have to stick to the program. And that program is not an easy program. I put that in the information sheet when I sent it out with the girls at the beginning of the season. If Allison wants to quit the team, that’s up to you and Allison. But if she wants to play, she practices when I schedule a practice. Or a team-building exercise. The mind is as ten-to-one to the body in sports. The girls have to get their minds around Focus-On-Win. To do that they have to be cleared of all the detritus that people pick up and see themselves, and their teammates, clearly. They have to know their personal strengths and weaknesses and those of their team. And they must be a team. Every step of their training, every practice and every team-building exercise is for the purpose of building on those points. Batting and catching come after the mind is prepared, as automatically as breathing.”

  He leaned back and nodded, picking up his mocha with a very straight posture as if daring Barb to debate him on his area of expertise.

  “I can see that,” Barb said, sipping her decaf vanilla latte. She’d decided on decaf since she was pretty sure she didn’t want to lose her temper in this meeting. “Can I ask a couple of questions?”

  “Sure,” the coach said, warily.

  “Why’d you come up here from Mobile?” Barb asked. “Mobile is a much bigger league and you were a pretty big fish. You didn’t move for the job, so…”

  “I’m ambitious,” Sherman admitted. “Yes, Mobile is a bigger and more noticeable league. But the high school positions are
all filled with people that, however, incompetent, are in there for life. It’s very much a good-ole-boy network, no outsiders allowed. I want to be a professional softball coach and to do that you have to get into one of the colleges. Any college will do. To get to college you either have to know some rich alumni or you have to have been successful at coaching high school teams. Really successful. I looked at a lot of areas and I really liked the Sirens. This team. I want to coach them this year and then go on to coach at Algomo High School. If I can take this team, and the girls that are following them, through high school I can take state. Not just one year, but several. And if I do that I can get into a college spot. And the bottom line is that my methods work. Some people say it’s about learning to play the game. Bullshit, pardon my French, ma’am, but it’s about winning. And if you let me, your girls will win. And if they can’t take the heat, they’re not going to make it as high as I intend to take them, anyway. Up to you.”

  Barbara had to admit that the coach had her number. Barb believed in winning against any odds. If she didn’t, she’d be a skeleton in a Louisiana bayou.

  The flip side was that she didn’t trust this guy as far as she could throw him. Of course, it was a bad analogy; he’d be surprised as hell just how far she could throw him.

  Take a different tack.

  “I can see that as well,” Barbara said, nodding her head and not letting that piercing stare apparently affect her at all. “There is one small problem, though. This is… not the fifties. There are understandable concerns about males spending significant private time with, frankly, susceptible young girls.”

  “Which is why I’m never alone with any single girl at any time,” Sherman replied, nodding sharply. “I have never had an allegation of sexual harassment laid against me, Mrs. Everette. Not one.”

  Barbara believed that about as much as she believed the rest of the spiel, but she didn’t let it show on her face. On the other hand, it was possible. Especially if he was threatening enough. Vast numbers of sexual predation reports waited years until someone was willing to break the code of silence surrounding them. She hoped that Allison would come to her if anything happened. But it was better that nothing happened in the first place.

  “So what you’re saying, Mr. Sherman, is hang everything else,” Barb said. “If we want the girls to win and win big, we have to go with your program or our girls are out of the team.”

  “That was in the introduction sheet,” the coach said, nodding sharply, again. “If you want the girls to be guaranteed to win, you have to go with my program. And I do guarantee it.”

  “Nothing is guaranteed, Coach Sherman,” Barbara said, softly. “Except the End of All Things. Even death is not immutable, as the Lord Jesus Christ proved in the case of both Himself and Lazarus. Taxes, admittedly, are close,” she added with a slight smile.

  “I hadn’t realized you were… that staunch a Christian, Mrs. Everette,” Coach Sherman said, uncomfortably.

  “I don’t wave a Bible, Mr. Sherman,” Barb replied, quietly. “But faith in the Lord is very strong in me.”

  “Faith in Jesus doesn’t win softball games,” Sherman replied.

  Barbara tried not to furrow her brow at the reply. There had been a very slight emphasis on the name “Jesus.”

  “Faith can work miracles, Coach Sherman,” Barb said, her eyes narrowing.

  “Well, on that we agree,” Sherman said, obliquely. “So are you going to oppose my practices? I get the feeling that if you do, there’s not going to be a team.”

  “I’m going to discuss it with the other parents,” Barbara said, her face poker blank. “For the girls to continue at the current pace will require them to drop other activities. That’s a major change.”

  “If you do, if you stay with my program, we will win,” Sherman said. “If you don’t want that, then make up your own minds. I know what wins. Despite our wins, this is a tough league. Maggie Anderson at Shipman is one of the best pitchers in her age group in the state. If we’re going to win the championship, it’s going to take more than faith in Jesus, Mrs. Everette.”

  * * *

  “Foundation for Love and Universal Faith.”

  “This is Barbara Everette, could I talk to Sharice, please?”

  “Hold a moment, Barb, I’ll transfer you.”

  “Sharice, May the Lady Bless.”

  “Sharice, it’s Barb,” Barbara said, biting her lip as she weaved through traffic with the cell phone clamped to her ear.

  “How are you, Barb?” Sharice asked. “Is the family well?”

  “I think so,” Barbara said, accelerating and cutting left in front of a semi, just missing the bumper of the car in front of her, which was slowing. She hadn’t been thinking about the maneuver, she was driving in alpha state. “I need some information for something that has me worried.”

  “I see,” Sharice said, slowly. “Barbara, I take it from the background you’re on a cell phone?”

  “Yes,” Barb admitted.

  “Perhaps you should talk to one of your friends in the area about this, dear,” Sharice said. “I’m sure it’s a private matter and you wouldn’t want anyone with a scanner listening in.”

  “Oh,” Barbara said, her face coloring as she cut back into the right-hand lane and then slid sideways to make the exit. “I suppose I should.”

  “If it’s a very important matter, I’m sure someone can come talk to you right away,” Sharice said.

  “Not at this time,” Barb said. “It might be nothing. Just a bad feeling about someone.”

  “I can tell you that there are no issues that the Foundation is paying attention to in your area,” Sharice said, obliquely.

  “What about last year in Mobile?” Barbara asked.

  “Hold on a mo, dear.”

  Barb checked left and pulled out in a cloud of tire smoke so she wouldn’t slow down the oncoming truck. By that time Sharice was back.

  “I think you should probably talk to a friend, dear,” Sharice said. Barbara could almost see her forehead crinkling in perplexity. “We were tracking an issue in the Mobile area last year but the local chapter didn’t turn up much. If you have a bad feeling and it relates to Mobile, it might be wise to discuss it with a friend.”

  “Got it,” Barb said, pulling in at a convenience store. “I’ll do that.”

  “Lady bless and keep you, Barb,” Sharice said.

  “And may the goodness of the Lord be with you as well, my friend.”

  * * *

  “Good day, Mr. Patek,” Barbara said, picking up a packet of chewing gum and tendering a five-dollar bill.

  “Good day, Mrs. Everette,” the Hindu said, nodding at her. “May Vishnu light your way.”

  “And may the Lord be with you,” Barb said as the convenience store owner slipped the note behind the five into his register.

  * * *

  Three of the girls left the team rather than keep up the pace but Barbara and Cindy both kept their girls there, pulling them out of gymnastics and dance, respectively.

  And the team continued to win. There had been more “team-building exercises” and Barb continued to worry about Allison, who had gotten less and less communicative about the “extra practices.” She was also bothered that she hadn’t heard anything from the Foundation. She’d had to turn down one assignment when Mark had thrown a fit about going out of town for another week. A call she’d gotten, from Julie Lamm, indicated that the investigation had turned out to be nothing but a “normal” serial killer with delusions of grandeur. Other than that, she hadn’t heard anything.

  Late one Saturday, however, she had passed a stop sign near her house and seen a small Maltese cross sticker on it. She’d just dropped Allison off at a late “team-building” activity so she had more than enough time to stop by the Fast Mart.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Patek,” Barb said, picking up her usual stick of gum. She didn’t chew it and since she didn’t like the kids chewing, either, it was given to Mark or, more oft
en, thrown away.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Everette,” the proprietor said. “I wish you well. I have the pamphlet on the similarities between Vishnu and Christ you asked for.”

  “Why thank you,” Barbara said, taking the folded pamphlet with a cross and a picture of Vishnu sitting on a lotus on the cover. “That is very nice of you.”

  “May the High Ones preserve you, Mrs. Everette,” the Hindu said, making change for her.

  “And may the Lord bless, Mr. Patek.”

  Chapter Three

  Barbara stopped in the Wal-Mart parking lot, comfortably close to the front of the store, and read the information printed on the inside of the pamphlet by the interior light.

  Broad rumors of a Satanist cult associated with a girls’ softball team in the Mobile area were picked up by the FBI and Mobile police. Mobile police declined to investigate but local Special Circumstances personnel performed a cursory investigation. The leader was reported to be a Satanist High Priest named Robert Sherman who had struck a deal with Lower Powers for wins in softball, offering the young women of the team as acolytes and potential sacrifices, some certified to be virginal. One young woman of the team was reported missing, however no trace of her was ever found and her disappearance appeared to be unrelated to the rumored Satanist activity. There was a note left that indicated unhappiness with home-life and police treated it as a normal runaway. No trace of otherworld emanations were detected by the operatives in the area, but they were first level operatives with limited field experience.

  The rumors came about after a championship softball game when some of the winning girls bragged about “making a deal with the Devil.” Questioning by teachers and school psychologists revealed that Sherman had done something involving “special team building” with the girls but none of them were willing to divulge the nature of the activities.