by John Ringo
Robert Sherman may be a person using the pseudonym of Monereaus who was involved in a low-level Satanic cult in Central Florida. Reports indicate that he has background in Santeria and has a small tattoo of an angel, indicative of Santeria and Marielitos sympathies, on the web of his right thumb. The particular tattoo is indicative of a member of the Cuban underground with a specialty in entrapping young women for immoral purposes. This leads to the suspicion that Robert Sherman is an alias. The Central Florida LeMayean cult was not noted for Special activity and appeared to be purely mundane. There are no current reports on the whereabouts or activities of Robert Sherman.
“There are, now,” Barb muttered to herself, furiously. She ground her teeth and tried to control her temper. If that bastard had—
“The Lord is with me,” Barbara said, quietly, controlling her breathing. “I shall not descend into the abyss of hate and anger.” She used her Christian faith to control the temper that was bequeathed to her with the strawberry-blonde hair. Her mother called it “The Irish Side” but Barbara was pretty sure, after dealing with Janea, that it was more like the Viking side.
The question was what to do with the information. Technically, she should call the Foundation and report the “whereabouts and current activity” of one “Robert Sherman.”
The problem was that the report specifically stated that there was no hard evidence of Special Circumstances. If they were actually working on raising a Lower Power, the emanations would be detectable. And Barb hadn’t felt anything from Allison. Her gut told her that something very bad was happening, but that might just be a protective mother’s instinct.
Well, she was a Third Level Adept… darnit. She should be able to conduct her own investigation. As Daddy said, it was always easier to act first and ask permission later.
She pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the out-of-the-way ballpark.
* * *
Mark and the kids had never asked about the blue and yellow bag in the back of the expedition. It was the sort of bag that was used for work-out clothes and Barbara certainly had enough activities in that area. But the bag never left the back of the Expedition for the very simple reason that Barb never knew when she might need it. She’d been caught out once. Never again.
She slowed down the Expedition as she approached the park, looking for the road she’d noticed on previous trips. It was a service and supply road for the Welcome Center that avoided the main road into the park. She didn’t intend to even take it all the way to the Welcome Center for that matter.
She checked her watch as she pulled to a stop and nodded. More than enough time to do a penetration and reconnaissance before she was supposed to pick Allison up. If Mark wanted to know where she was, she’d just tell him she was having an affair. No, that was anger talking. He’d probably never notice she hadn’t come home as usual.
She got out of the Expedition after turning off the interior light, and went to the back.
The black-toned digicam coverall went on over her street clothes. The digicam had crosses subtly added to it, a mod that had cost the European branch a pretty penny but that had surprised the Hell out of more than one supernatural entity. The material was also flame proof, which occasionally came in handy, and had an attached hood and mask that could be pulled up if needed. Next to the folded garment were Eagle tac-boots which zipped up the side for easy on and off by the undercover operative.
Then the body armor came out. It was useless against the supernatural, but it sure came in handy if the perp had a weapon. The particular body armor was heavier than normal, for that matter, since it included a layer of mail plated with silver, courtesy of Hjalmar.
Then the tactical armament. The .45 in attached thigh holster, short-barreled shotgun with five rounds of 00 buck up the tube, holy water mixed with silver nitrate one-shot thrower, silver-plated knife, one-shot stake thrower. The one-shots were small and tucked into the back of her vest. She didn’t carry a bell, a book or a candle since nobody in Special Circumstances had ever found a use for any of the three. Last, a long “cold iron” custom knife the size of a short sword that hooked on the left side. The Murasaki blade was sitting in her bedroom closet at home. If she needed it for this mission she was going to be really sorry it was there.
“Lord bless me this night,” she said, looking into the dark woods. “Bless and keep my daughter as well and give me the strength, courage and knowledge to do Your work. Amen.”
With that she slipped into the underbrush like a gray phantom.
* * *
“Lord Satan, bring to us your strength!” Coach Sherman intoned.
Allison bit her lip and tried not to cry. She had a hard time figuring out how the whole team had gotten this far into nightmare. It had happened so slowly, so subtly, that she couldn’t tell exactly where they’d all crossed the line. At first the “team-building exercises” had been just that. Going out on walks and sitting around fires and getting to know each other better. Coach Sherman had said that that was just the first step to being a really winning team and there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with that. Then the talks had gotten deeper and stranger and the coach explained that there was only one way to be sure they would win. That it was secret and that they’d all have to take oaths not to talk about it.
The coach had told them that the power he was calling would make them better players, make them a better team. And it seemed to work. Without much more practice than she’d already been doing, she’d just done better. She could catch better, she could bat better and she could keep concentrated better. Everybody talked about it, quietly. It had to be an external power, they all knew that. And it didn’t seem wrong. Then.
But, when Corine and Cheryl and Shelly left, they’d gotten deeper into the “mysteries.” The coach had finally told them where the “power” was coming from. Now there didn’t seem to be any way to turn back. She was a good Christian girl, well, okay, a fairly good Christian girl. She wasn’t like her mother that damned saint, but she didn’t fool around and she tried to be nice to people. And here she was trying to call in the power of the Devil to help them win some stupid softball game.
And the coach had brought a cat. She’d thought it was, like, his familiar or something. But he was going to sacrifice it. He was just going to cut the poor little kitty’s throat to “raise the power.”
It wasn’t right. But try as she might, she just couldn’t open her mouth to protest. Nobody else was, either. They’d said too many things, made too many oaths. She felt like her soul was already lost. They might as well just do it and get the power. If her soul was already lost, winning the softball game was at least something to show for it.
The coach was babbling in some language, maybe Latin but a lot of it sounded like Spanish or even just gibberish. He’d tied the feet of the cat together and had it pinned on a log.
She had to turn her eyes when the knife came down but she could hear the squall that was cut off in a horrible gurgle and the crunching of the knife.
“The way is opened,” Coach Sherman said, raising the bloody knife to the full moon. “Let the power flow through this circle, Lord Satan, that your powers can bring us victory over our enemies!”
* * *
Barb paused at the edge of the clearing, letting her eyes adjust to the firelight without looking directly at the fire. The girls were in a semi-circle vaguely facing her. Which was problem one. Oh, not tactically, magically. She’d studied enough rites at this point to know that anything that Sherman was going to do using this type of rite would require a full circle. The whole team was there though, and she saw Allison’s head, as well as others, turn aside as the knife came down.
She could see what was happening but what she couldn’t do was feel a thing. And that was problem two. There was a miasma over the whole group, but she’d come to realize that was more on the lines of empathy through her channel than anything. There wasn’t a touch of power. Nothing. This guy had just killed a poor little b
lack cat for nothing.
She froze as the coach raised the bloody knife and then said something to the girls. Some of them shook their head but a few came forward hesitantly. When he dipped his finger in the blood, though, she had had enough.
“This stops right now,” she muttered, striding into the red firelight.
* * *
Allison’s eyes flew wide as a ghostly figure just seemed to appear in front of them. The person, a woman from the voice, was clad from head to foot in some sort of camouflage that just seemed to blend her into the background. It was hard to even look at and she felt her eyes start to water.
“In the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ this farce will end now!” the woman said, striding determinedly up to the “altar.”
“You have no power here!” Coach Sherman said, but there was a quaver in his voice.
“That is what you think, you impostor,” the woman said. “You don’t know the first thing about power! There is no power here. You’re no more a High Priest than I am the Virgin Mary. This isn’t a rite, this is just some idiot butchering poor defenseless animals!”
The girls started to back away from the fire but Allison stood rooted. She could swear she knew that voice…
“What do you know about power, Christian,” Coach Sherman spat. “Your God is weak! All you do is sing hymns and-”
“Weak?” the figure hissed. “I have fought demons from Hell manifest upon this Earth, you poser. I’ve defeated monsters that would freeze the blood in your veins, you loathsome imbecile. And I’m not about to let you use your pretty stare and seducer ways to twist these girls!”
Allison could swear there was a blue glow forming around the woman as she stepped to the altar and picked up the still dripping cat.
“Lord,” the woman said, dropping her head and holding the cat in front of her, “this is as much a battle for the souls of these innocents as any that I have performed for you in the past. I ask You, Lord, for the power you have given me in battle. Fill me, this night, Lord, that these children can see the light and the beauty of God and His only begotten Son, the Lord Jesus Christ. Let the Holy Spirit fill me, Lord, as it has filled me in battle against Almadu and Remolus.”
There was no question about it, now. The woman, her mother? was surrounded by a blue-white glow that was beginning to wash out the light from the fire. Allison turned her head away as the glow became too bright to look at.
* * *
Barb cradled the cat to her chest, unsure even of what she wanted. She just knew that she had to show these girls, and Allison especially, that God was stronger than any machinations of the Enemy. She could feel the power flowing through her and it seemed that she could feel every vein and sinew in her body straining in the rush of power to do something. She could also feel the cat, not as a light weight, but as a live thing that… could be again.
Something seemed to ask a question in her mind, an important question. She wasn’t sure of even the nature of the question, just that it was terribly important. She was being asked to give up something, something vital. She was asked for a sacrifice. But in this place, with the example of the Lord and Savior, she could do no more than acquiesce.
She felt every part of the cat now as something reached through her and knit flesh and veins, closed the gaping wound and even cleaned the blood from the fur. Then she felt more as life seemed to flow from her veins into those of the cat. Last there was a terrible wrenching, as if something had been pulled out of her heart, her head, her whole body, a bit of her very essence, the central core of her soul, and flowed out of her and into the creature in her arms.
She opened her eyes and looked across the tree stump at the “High Priest” as the recently dead cat in her arms first sat up, then mewed quietly, then climbed up onto her shoulder.
And she watched as Coach Sherman fainted.
Epilogue
Barb looked at the note in her hand and nodded.
Barbara,
The time has come to resume God’s work. A ticket has been prepared for you to Chicago. Delta Flight 386 from Jackson to Chicago on Thursday. You must be there, E Nomine.
Augustus
She got out of the Expedition and let Lazarus climb up onto her shoulder, then walked into the house.
Allison was washing the dishes and Brandon was sweeping the kitchen floor as she walked through. She’d never spoken to Allison of the night in the woods nor did she intend to any time soon. And while her face had been covered, her voice was impossible to disguise. Then there was Lazarus.
For whatever reason, the teenager no longer complained about going to church, or even Sunday school. And did her chores with remarkable speed and efficiency. She was even learning to control her temper and manage the younger kids. She was, in other words, trying to be as much like her mother as possible.
Which told Barb all she had to know about that night in the woods.
* * *
Mark was parked in front of the TV watching Fox and she sat down, letting Lazarus slip into her lap.
“I hate that cat,” Mark said, glancing over at her and then back at the TV.
“Nonetheless,” Barbara said, smiling faintly, “he is here to stay.”
“He’s spooky,” Mark said, not looking at the black cat calmly watching him from her lap. “I don’t think it’s right for us to have a spooky black cat in the house. The neighbors think it’s funny. And he’s always following you around or hanging on you. He even acts like you. It makes you look like a witch.”
“Mark, I have to go out of town,” Barb said, ignoring the ongoing argument.
“Not that again,” Mark said, angrily, as he turned away from the TV. “It was a complete disaster when you left the last time.”
“Mark, this is the work of the Lord,” Barbara said, quietly but firmly. “I’m going to be leaving on Thursday. I’ll explain to Allison what has to be done in my absence. But I must go.”
“This religion thing is getting out of hand,” Mark snapped. “I go to church, too, you know, but I remember my responsibility to my family! You can’t just go off at a whim. I swear, Barb, sometimes…”
She paused and waited for what the “sometimes” would be, but when it was clear he was finished, she simply nodded.
“I’d better go pack,” she said, standing up.
“That’s it?” Mark said, surprised. “I said I didn’t want you to go!”
“God does,” Barbara replied quietly. “You may be the lord and master of this house. But I am, first and foremost, a Servant of God.”
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-ac48f8-61b2-9a46-ec92-1f1f-9748-2df2ca
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 28.09.2010
Created using: Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor 2.4 software
Document authors :
Verdi1
About
This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.
(This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)
Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.
(Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)
http://www.fb2epub.net
https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/
line-share-buttons">share
