Demon Dance

by Brian Freyermuth

  “She’s soaked through, but otherwise fine. She’s following in her car.”

  “I know I’m going to regret this, but tell me where you’re heading. I’ll figure out how to get there.”

  “How’re you going to pull that off?”

  He said. “Let me worry about that. Are you going to your place?”

  “No, it’s too small, and the kid is too freaked out.” Not that I blamed her, I added with a mental sigh. “So I’m heading to the mother’s house. Hold on.”

  I called up front to get Beth’s address. She recited her address in a voice flat and distracted, like a woman watching someone else’s life pass her by. Not good.

  I relayed the address to Jake.

  “Good. Now stay put, and for God’s sake stay out of trouble for at least an hour! I swear some gypsy cursed your whole damn bloodline.”

  I grimaced a bit as the car hit a rough patch of freeway. “I’ll make sure to tell the demons to stay away for an hour. Maybe I could put a number dispenser out front.”

  “Smart ass. I’ll be there when I can.”

  I smiled against the pain. “No promises on whether I’ll be there. That Vegas idea is sounding better and better. Thelma and I could grab a show, head back to the hotel…”

  Jake snorted. “There’s a limit to the joking, my man. She’s still my sister.”

  “Point taken. See you when I see you.”

  Jake hung up with a grunt. I stared at the phone and tried to figure out why I had let him get involved. Bad enough I had put Thelma in danger, but now I had added Jake to the list. He was one of my only friends up here, no matter how much he grumbled. And I don’t make many friends.

  I stared out at the angry lake that surrounded the floating bridge. The setting sun reflected off the distant shape of Mount Rainier. The volcano sat in the fading sun, pretending to be a dormant and peaceful mountain, without a hint of the molten violence underneath.

  It was a good analogy for Jake. He was a Houngan, a practitioner of the white voodoo arts. And not the bastardized kind you see in shopping malls these days. No, he had learned it from a man down in the Caribbean, who had learned it back in his native country in Africa. What was his name? Baron Samedi? No, that was someone else. I didn’t remember the name, but I remember Jake telling me about the man’s eyes. His skin was almost black, but his eyes were the color of emeralds…

  The minivan hit a bump, sending my ribs screaming. I snapped out of my doze and heard the turn signal. I must’ve fallen asleep because jagged water was now jagged hills and dense pines.

  Northgate was a small suburb that lay at the feet of the surrounding city of Bellevue. Bellevue itself had risen from an almost nonexistent rural area to a place that now threatened the supremacy of Seattle across the lake. The growth also harbored an almost elitist view of the places around it, as if the others were just areas to gobble up in Bellevue’s quest to be more.

  Northgate was one of those areas. It lay in a strange limbo between a city and a suburb. Most of the people who lived there were wealthy, but not everyone, and that divide was pretty apparent in the schools and the houses.

  Adam turned off the freeway and headed up into the hills. The steep roads and the thick walls of evergreens made the darkness stifling. It was always strange going from Seattle to…well, almost everywhere else in Washington. From concrete forests to tightly packed evergreen forests. The change was startling, especially when you sleep through the transition.

  Beth’s house sat on the lower steps of the mountain, and you definitely wouldn’t call her the new upper class that populated most of Northgate. Baby blue with lime-green trim, her house looked permanently stuck in the seventies. A carport, sagging from too many years under the assault of rain, sat on the far left of a driveway that curved like a horseshoe around the front.

  Adam pulled the minivan into that side of the horseshoe, aiming for the carport. When the vehicle descended down the steep embankment, I had the sudden image of plummeting over the crest of a roller coaster. A coaster that I couldn’t see the end of.

  As we pulled under the carport, I glanced out the back window and watched Thelma park her Beetle on the street above us. I wished she hadn’t come. I was nervous enough trying to figure out how to protect Beth and her child in my condition without having to worry about her as well.

  Especially with her limited supplies. Her holy water was gone, as was the coffee grinder. Apparently Shabriri’s scream of outrage had shattered the poor thing. I had no clue demons could direct their rage like that.

  There was no sense in complaining now. Thelma didn’t seem the type to take orders, even if I wanted to give them.

  I stepped out into the cold. Shadows drenched the towering trees. A little spider of anxiety tap-danced across my scalp. It was probably the stress of the day catching up to me, but my gut told me otherwise. A glance at the house gave me the origin of my unease.

  A man leaned against the cracked plaster. His black hair sucked in the night, and his swarthy skin made him a brother to the shadows. The man pushed himself away from the wall and stepped into the headlight beams, showing off his police uniform.

  “Evening, folks,” he said. For a brief moment his shadow on the wall split in two, spreading out from his shoulders in dark, feathery wings. A blink and the shadow returned to normal, but the image remained with me.

  “Officer,” Adam greeted the stranger as he went around the right-hand side of the van. He helped Beth down and then ducked into the back to get Amanda. I was surprised that Adam was too weary to ask why a policeman was standing in front of Beth’s house.

  “Can I help you, Officer?” Beth asked. I smiled a bit. At least she wasn’t too tired.

  “I’m here to talk to Mr. St. James,” the man said. A faint smile played over his lips, and surprisingly it reached all the way to his eyes. Beth returned his smile and nodded, not questioning.

  I was a little offended. “What do you want?” I asked, taking care not to mention his name.

  “I wish to speak to you in private, Mr. St. James,” the man said. He nodded toward the side of the driveway that lay in darkness.

  “As long as I get to sit down soon,” I muttered. The man frowned at me and simply walked away, as if knowing I would follow. Of course I did.

  “How goes the search for Azazel?” Michael asked when we reached the darkness away from the others.

  “I’ve been a little busy,” I snapped.

  I knew I shouldn’t be pissy to the commander of Heaven’s armies, but at that moment I didn’t care. My ribs hurt, my shoulder ached, my head felt like it was stuck between two sumo wrestlers, and all I wanted to do was curl up in a bed and sleep for a year.

  “Your troubles do not concern me,” Michael said coldly. “The chief of the Grigori—”

  “Is a nasty fellow, I get it. But you’re not the one with a demon hunting your ass. So unless you’re willing to find out who’s trying to kill me, I suggest you back the hell off.”

  “Who do you think you are speaking to?” he whispered. Pressure built in my head. My night sight began to dim, and my ears popped.

  I took a deep breath to center myself. “I’m talking to someone who obviously needs my services, and getting all scary isn’t going to endear you to me.” I stared deep into his dark eyes. “So back off.”

  Suddenly the pressure was gone, and I could breathe again. I hadn’t realized until that moment that my adrenaline had spiked, which wasn’t good. I needed protein, and I needed it soon.

  “I can see why Baal likes you,” Michael muttered. “You have no manners, no respect, and no faith.”

  I took another deep breath. “Welcome to free will,” I told him.

  “Yes indeed.” Michael glared at me, and I took a step back. There was no power flare-up, but the stare grabbed me. “Just remember that free will only goes so far. You will contact us if you find any new information about Azazel.” It wasn’t a question.

  If he wasn’t asking a q
uestion, I sure as hell wasn’t going to give him an answer. He turned without a word…and almost ran over Adam.

  I frowned, and so did Michael. Obviously neither of us had heard him approach, which was surprising considering what we were both capable of. The tall policeman stared at the homeless man. Adam tensed, and Michael sniffed two sharp inhales, like a tiger scenting prey. The angel then shook his head and continued up the driveway.

  “What was that all about?” Adam asked as he watched the policeman climb the steep slope and disappear onto the street above.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know,” I told him.

  “You have the strangest friends,” Adam muttered. He then turned and walked toward Beth, who was standing by the front door holding her sleeping daughter in her arms.

  “You have no idea.”

  I stayed there until the police car drove off, like a mouse waiting breathlessly for the cat to fall asleep. When the sound receded in the distance, I scurried into the warmth of the house, away from the threatening night.

  <><><>

  The moonlight drifted across the sleepers. For a moment I could see them bathed in silver light, and then the clouds would darken the bedroom, and I’d pop in my night sight. Beth lay with her arm curled protectively around her daughter even in deep sleep. Amanda lay with the peace of the innocent, content in the certainty that she was safe, that her mother and the others would keep her well.

  I wish I could say the same.

  I shifted in the wooden chair next to the bed. I felt weary to the marrow of my bones. Even my hair ached.

  My first task after entering the house had been to grab a package of raw hamburger from the fridge before anyone could see. You ever taste raw meat? Definitely not something you’d want to order, even at a five-star restaurant. But the Hunger had rushed at me hard and fast. I had pushed myself too far, too quickly, and red meat was the only staple that could stave off the oncoming tide.

  I finished the entire package while hunched over the bathroom sink. Water swirled, washing away the crimson stains of my hunger. Twice I almost vomited it back up, but my stomach wouldn’t let me. Finally I slumped down on the tile and waited for the Hunger to pass.

  It took a good ten minutes for the shakes to stop and then another ten for my muscles to stop cramping. Thelma knocked once and called out to me, but all I could do was grunt. Finally, when I could stand again, I decided to join the living once more.

  Beth’s house was a modest one-story place, with hardwood floors clacking under my heels. A plush, second-hand couch slumped next to a recliner that looked like it had used a DeLorean to travel to the present day. The same went for her old television and entertainment center, both of which originated back in a time when Nixon and civil rights had ruled the airwaves.

  The furniture might have been on the verge of falling apart, but the true treasure lay in a small bookcase behind the couch. Books of all shapes and sizes filled the shelves, some even taking up temporary residence on the floor. The Cat in the Hat and The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, tattered and worn from a multitude of story-times, spilled over the bottom shelves, all within easy reach of inquisitive minds. Shakespeare shared the top shelves with Isaac Asimov.

  I didn't have time for light reading. Beth had passed out in bed, and I had to wake her up so Adam and I could pull the worn bed away from the wall. Thelma used simple table salt from the kitchen to pour a circle around the bed, and with a swift exhale of breath she snapped it closed. The circle radiated a tiny bit of power that added to my headache, but I was relatively happy at the protection it gave.

  Beth simply gave me a long hug and whispered, “Thank you.” She then lay back down with her daughter. Amanda never even stirred.

  And now I sat, watching the moon slide over Beth and Amanda and feeling the urge to crawl onto the floor and join them in oblivion. I rubbed my eyes and stood up. If I sat there much longer I would follow them.

  So I took stock of the room. I made sure not to touch the circle of salt around the bed as I made my way to the dresser. Half a dozen pictures in various frames crowded for attention on top. It was like watching a still frame documentary of Amanda’s life. Baby to toddler, toddler to child. Amanda in the pool, with big orange swimmies attached to her arms; Amanda laughing while standing in front of a lake; every picture a memento to stave off the rushing tsunami of adolescence that loomed in every parent’s future.

  My smile slipped a bit as I stared at the last picture. In it, Amanda held a fishing rod in front of a descending vista of lake water and mountains. It looked recent, with the girl dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, the rod over her shoulder. I recognized the smile behind the eyes.

  The thing is, I recognized that smile from another, older photo.

  I went back through the pictures. I assumed Beth was the one taking the shots, because I never saw a father, not even at Amanda’s birth. In fact, Beth had never mentioned Amanda’s father. A thought began to form in my head, one that began to tie it all together. I had to talk to Beth when she woke up. Her secrets would be the death of us all.

  “Whatcha doing?” a soft voice asked.

  I put the theory out of my head and turned back to the bed. The moonlight showed bright eyes and a serious face.

  “Hey.” I smiled as I walked over to the little girl. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

  Amanda wiggled out from under her mother’s arm. She sat up, with Beth snoring softly beside her, and clutched an old stuffed dog to her chest. “I’m thirsty,” she said.

  “That’s a good reason,” I told her. “Stay here for a minute.” Beth had a master bathroom, which was good. I wasn’t sure the girl could handle me leaving her and her mother and going into the kitchen, so I stepped into the lavatory and poured her a small cup of water. I turned off the bathroom light.

  “Keep it on,” Amanda said, almost too soft to hear.

  “Ah, smart girl. You know, a whole lot of bad things get banished by the flick of a light switch,” I told her. I turned the switch back on and closed the door until a sliver of light stretched across the bed.

  She carefully put down her stuffed dog and gripped the cup with both hands when I handed it to her.

  “Are you scared?” I asked as I sat back down.

  She nodded wordlessly.

  “There’s nothing to be scared about. You have your mommy right here, and there’s Adam and me and Thelma. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

  She just drank her water in wide-eyed silence.

  “What’s his name?” I asked with a nod to the stuffed dog.

  “Mr. Snuffy,” she said after handing me back the water.

  I put the cup on the floor and looked at the stuffed animal. “May I?” She nodded again and I reached down.

  To say the dog was well loved was like saying Lake Washington was a watering hole. The tan fur was hugged down to basic cloth. One eye was made of bright red thread, the other green, making me picture late night surgeries with Mom and a sewing kit. The dog’s happy smile, made from a thick line of yarn, looked like it was about ready for another emergency repair. Yet it was the repairs and the imperfections that gave the simple thing life. If you loved an object enough, sometimes that love stored away inside. I’m not overly sentimental, but I could feel it in my hands.

  “Mr. Snuffy is a great name,” I said with a smile. “And you know what you can do with a dog like him? Sometimes you can tell him all your fears and your worries. You can take your fear and put it right into him. You know why? Because Mr. Snuffy isn’t afraid of anything. He’s here to protect you.”

  A soft smile flitted onto her face as I handed back her dog. She settled down on her pillow, clutching the dog to her chest.

  “And I’ll be here. Nothing’s going to happen to you on my watch,” I told her.

  “You promise?”

  “Cross my heart.” I smiled. She watched me in silence with bright, trusting eyes. Without even thinking about it, I bent do
wn and kissed the top of her head.

  Soon those eyes closed, and I waited until her breathing became regular and steady before heading toward the door. Amanda still clutched the small dog as I left them to their slumber.

  My raw meat binge had taken the edge off the Hunger earlier, but I could feel it waiting for the moment to flood the levees again. My ribs especially hurt whenever I twisted the wrong way. Or moved too quickly. Or breathed.

  So I walked back into the living room, but didn't see anyone inside. Someone had been kind enough to make a steak and leave on a plate in the kitchen. Thank you Thelma. I grabbed the plate and headed to the large glass doors leading out to the backyard.

  While her house might be small, Beth's real passion was outside. Majestic pines lined the nicely manicured lawn, with a gingerbread-ish path that led to a white gazebo in the back. Somewhere in the darkness I heard the cheerful bubbling of a fountain.

  Adam and Thelma sat around a plastic table on a wooden porch overlooking the yard. A metal porch swing creaked in the breeze while rain spattered against the glass awning. Adam sat on the swing and Thelma in a wicker chair. As I came out they looked up from their conversation. Thelma smiled and sat back.

  I carried the dish full of leftover steak and sat down in another wicker chair next to her. A sigh escaped my lips as I sank into the deep cushion. An old croquet set sat next to the chairs, and both mallets looked like they’d seen lots of use.

  “How are they?” she asked.

  For a moment I thought she meant the mallets, but then my exhausted brain caught up to her meaning. “Amanda took a bit to get to sleep, but my charming personality won her over. Either that or I bored her to sleep.”

  “Your life is a lot of things,” Thelma said, “but I wouldn’t call it boring.”

  She handed me a mug of coffee. Earlier Thelma had seen me take the raw meat but hadn’t said anything. Now as I started in on the steak I could see the questions in her eyes, but they would have to wait.

  “Someone should be at their side,” Adam said from his place on the swing, making as if to stand up.