When we passed the third stop sign, I slowed down and turned on my lights. Mab, who was peering out the back window, swore softly. Mephisto leaned forward between the two front seats, nearly jarring my elbow as he did so.
“Yippie! We escaped the police! Why were they chasing us? Did we get my staff?”
“No, Mephisto, and they were chasing us because we broke into a warehouse. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Can you imagine what would have happened if I got arrested? The C.E.O. of Prospero, Inc., a multinational corporation, nabbed breaking into a warehouse like a common crook? I think I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. Mab, what is going on back there?”
“I can see ’em, Ma’am, the barghests. They’re after us, and they’re running pretty darn fast.”
“Oh, no!” I cried, adding more rapidly, “Holy Lady, be my shepherd. Guide me to a safe fold.”
Like a bright beacon in the darkness, a warm certainty urged me forward, directing me where and when to turn. Obediently, I drove and turned as I was bid. We passed down narrow country roads. To either side, tree trunks gleamed, half-illuminated by our headlights. Mab watched the road behind me, cursing and swearing as the barghests gained.
“If they reach the car, they’ll probably be able to get in, and we’ll have to fight them. I doubt this vehicle has been properly warded,” Mab said. “That’s not my biggest worry, though. It’s what happens if they reach the motor that really frightens me. Natural laws and the supernatural don’t mix well. The engine will probably cut out.”
“Well, do something! I don’t want those ugly dogs slobbering all over me! Hey, Miranda, where’d all that blood on your face come from?” Mephisto said.
“Those slobbering dogs.” I spoke the words automatically, my thoughts on our path and the road.
“Why don’t you do something?” Mab snapped from the backseat. “You scared them away quickly enough in your fiend form. How’d you do that anyway?”
“Do what? What’s he talking about, Miranda?” Mephisto called.
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Mephisto sat hunched in the backseat, his face contorted by confusion, as if he struggled to remember something unpleasant.
“I don’t think he remembers, Mab,” I said softly.
As we continued barreling through the night, I fought a growing sense of dread. Mephisto’s strange transformation disturbed me. I had been certain, considering the terrible things my family had witnessed, that none of us would ever traffic with demons. It was quite a blow to learn that one of us might be a demon! Still, I held onto the lingering hope that Mephisto might have some reasonable explanation. Perhaps, if we questioned him later, under less stressful circumstances, he would be more forthcoming.
On the other hand, maybe there was no more palatable explanation. I remembered my moment of sympathy with Mephisto in Vermont, when I wondered how sane Mephisto might feel about the crazy one. If I lost my reason or, worse, my rank of Handmaiden, I would be desperate to regain it, though not desperate enough, I hoped, to give in to the lure of forging a deal with Hell. What of my brother? Might he have given in to such a temptation and made a pact with dire powers in hopes of regaining his sanity, even if only temporarily?
We were driving through the outskirts of town. Once, then twice, the car pulled suddenly as, according to Mab, the barghests seized the bumper in their teeth. Soon, we found ourselves on a busy street, passing diners and neon signs. Mab cried out, pointing at a passing pool hall.
“Stop there! Pool halls always have chalk for their cues. We could step on the stuff to grind it down. I bet it would work. Stop! Do you hear?”
“No.”
“No? Has your brain left your noggin? Stop!” Mab cried.
The car jerked again as another barghest gained our bumper. Mephisto shrieked. His voice shrill, he cried, “Miranda! Listen to him. These barghests are about to eat us. I don’t wanna be puppy chow!”
I glanced at the neon sign hanging sideways along the pool hall. Mab was right, such a place would have chalk. Chalk alone, especially of the poor quality we’d find here, would not allow us to banish the hounds. However, the pool hall sign indicated they sold food, so they probably had salt too. A circle of salt and chalk would keep the barghests out. If we could stay put until morning, the sunlight would force them away until the next evening. By then, we certainly could find what we needed.
I considered stopping. There was not only myself, but Mab and Mephisto to consider. Yet, the beacon of my Lady’s light led onward. I pushed aside the gnawing fear in my stomach and shook my head again.
“No. That is not where Eurynome wants us to go.”
“Has anyone told Her about the barghests?” Mab asked.
I kept driving. Mab stared morosely out the back window at the receding pool hall. Mephisto sat shivering, with his arms around his knees.
“Ah, Miranda, something happened to these clothes you gave me. Do you have any more?” he asked plaintively.
The car gave a thump. Blood-red wolf-like eyes peered in the back window. Pale fangs gnawed at the glass, slobbering at it with a faint black tongue. Mab swore, and Mephisto screamed. As I rounded the corner, following where my path was leading me, Mephisto perked up.
“Oh, goody, a mall!”
Sure enough, we were in the middle of a massive parking lot. A bright sign of blue and pink read “Landover Mall.” Led by my Lady, I parked under a street lamp. When the barghests drew back, confused by the light, we made a break for it, leaping from the car and running for the mall’s entrance.
“A mall? Oh, this is great, Ma’am! Just excellent,” Mab yelled sarcastically as he sprinted for the door. “What does that horse-brained Lady of yours expect us to find here?”
“Her brain is made of lightning, Mab. Same as yours, or at least mine.” I reached the double doors and plowed through both the outer and inner set. Then I slowed. Panting, I said, “Perhaps, she knows something about malls we don’t. Perhaps they’re warded. They are the churches of the modern capitalistic creed, are they not?”
As I spoke, the first barghest passed through the glass and lunged at me. We turned and ran again.
“Warded church of the capitalistic creed, my foot!” Mab panted as he ran. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that the first creed of blessed capitalism is: sell to all comers? That means me and the barghests too.”
We raced pell-mell along the lower floor of the mall, passing staircases and kiosks, startling shoppers. The hallway led into a large open area. Above could be seen the stores of the upper level. There were three ways we could go. I glanced rapidly in all three directions. As I turned toward the leftmost corridor, a warmth touched my face, like the sweet breath of spring air. Instantly, I ran in that direction, calling for Mab and Mephisto to follow me.
The mall was decorated for Christmas. Bells and wreaths hung in store windows and along the railing of the upper level. Far ahead of us, a Christmas display had been set up, complete with fir trees, stuffed elves, and a Santa Claus to listen to the wishes of children. Many of the shoppers wore their winter coats. Some carried parcels wrapped in red and green paper.
Children screamed. Some pointed down the hallway, back the way we had come. Others cowered behind their parents’ legs. The adults stared blindly toward where they were pointing, seeing nothing amiss, other than three adults running. Several mothers lectured their frightened children, ordering them to be silent, apparently embarrassed by the attention their children’s wailing drew.
As we ran on, Mab called, “Where are we headed, Ma’am? Maybe we could find a mountaineering store. That chalk rockclimbers use works pretty well. Or maybe the food court? Or a place that sells drawing materials? Isn’t that an art store over there?”
I glanced in the direction Mab was pointing. My face felt instantly colder. I continued onward, following my Lady’s beacon.
“No. This way!” I replied with certainty.
Mab scowled. He gave the art store a last longin
g glance. Suddenly, an unarticulated cry of horror escaped his lips. “Ma’am! The barghests! They’re feeding on the crowd!”
The smoky hounds, unseen by the crowd, were leaping upon and rending the shoppers. I saw a barghest bite the leg of a thin woman in a burgundy coat. The woman sagged suddenly, her face becoming tired and pained. She grabbed her leg, massaging her calf, where— to my eyes— the barghest lapped up her blood. Another man had a barghest gnawing at his throat. Eyes dazed, he looked for a place to sit. A small child had fallen to the ground. Two smoky hounds licked blood from his bleeding cheek. His angry overweight mother, oblivious to the barghest, dragged him back to his feet and slapped him for crying.
The sight was terrible; I felt sick to my stomach.
“You should have stopped at the pool hall, Ma’am,” Mab said between gritted teeth. “At least, there wouldn’t have been any kids there.”
“Oh, Mab!” I cried out, shaken.
The lead barghests were nearly upon us. As we ran again, I prayed aloud. “Holy Lady, take not from others the safety and sanctuary that I have asked be granted unto us.” The warmth of Her beacon did not waver. I ran, following it. Behind us, the barghests bayed.
Then they were among us, barking and yapping and howling. Fear gripped me. Whatever sanctuary my Lady envisioned for us, we would not reach it before the barghests devoured the lot of us. Just a few days ago, I might not have cared about the welfare of the shoppers, but I thought again of my aging brother with his wrinkled and careworn face. He did not look so different from the old man by the stairs, or the man near the ice cream store who was trying to comfort his frightened wife. All of these people wanted to live at least as much as I did. How terrible if we were to perish now and leave the innocent shoppers prey to the denizens of Hell.
Maybe Mab had been right. Perhaps I should have stopped at the pool hall and not trusted my Lady to take human needs into account. That thought took me aback. Did my Lady usually take the needs of those around me into account? I could not remember. I realized with growing chagrin that I had never noticed.
A sharp stinging pain shot through my ankle. A great shadowy beast clung to my leg. I cried out, kicking it and slashing at the beast with the polished shaft of my flute. My leg came free. Desperately, I threw all I had into one last sprint, running directly toward the warmth that guided me.
Suddenly, there was a small, white picket fence directly in my way. It was only a foot and a half tall, but I did not have time to react. My leg struck it. I fell sprawling, arms flailing before me.
I tumbled onto something soft and white. A green-and-white object tumbled over with me. Rapidly, I threw my arm up before my face, waiting for the attack.
None came.
Slowly, I sat up, clutching my flute. I was sitting just beneath a large Douglas fir, among the soft cotton snow of the central Christmas display. A jolly stuffed elf lay toppled beside me. Just beyond the tilted picket fence stood the barghest. Its red eyes glowed hot with anger. It growled and snapped, showing teeth as white as bone. So substantial had it become from drinking blood that the shoppers stopped and pointed at the angry dog. However, it did not cross the tiny picket fence.
I lay cushioned by cotton, gazing up at fake pine needles. Before me, the shadow dog leapt and slobbered, but each time he approached the fence, he cringed, drawing back. I was aware of him, and yet it was as if we were worlds away from each other. The fear I had felt when the dogs were chasing me fell away, and now I felt enveloped in an aura of safety and cheer, as if nestled against my Lady.
Mab and Mephisto had run toward me when I fell. The barghests assailed them. Mab, blood-streaked and gasping, backed toward me, warding off the dogs as best he could with his lead pipe. Mephisto had collapsed to a crouch. Cowering, his hands before his face, he shouted for the barghests to leave him alone. Leaping to my feet, I called to them.
“Mab! Mephisto! Over here!”
A large hand came down my shoulder, bringing with it a sense of peace. Behind me, a deep voice spoke.
“Madam, are you harmed?”
I turned and gazed up into a familiar face that was wise with age. The man who regarded me had bushy white eyebrows, keen blue eyes, a proud and kingly nose, and a long bushy beard. His red velvet hat and robes were trimmed with white fur and clasped about his middle by a shiny black belt. In one hand, he held a tall staff of yew wood hung with bells that rang softly. He smelled of peppermint.
“Father Christmas!” I breathed in amazement. As Mab and Mephisto came vaulting over the picket fence, I glanced toward the empty chair where the mall Santa had sat. “Is it really you?”
“Indeed, Miranda,” he spoke in his deep booming voice. “Many years have passed since last we met, have they not? But you must excuse me.”
Father Christmas strode past me. Just inside the picket fence, he stopped and raised his left forearm, laying his staff perpendicularly atop it, forming a horizontal cross between arm and staff. Throughout the mall, the barghests froze. They looked up from their victims and turned their blood-red eyes toward Father Christmas. The majority of them began to back up slowly, their heads lowered, their tails between their legs. A few braver hounds growled and began to creep forward, hackles raised.
Father Christmas pointed the iron tip of his belled staff straight between the eyes of the largest beast. In a tremendous booming voice, he said. “Begone! I revoke your invitation.”
The entire pack of barghests howled. Turning, they fled. Some ran down the corridors toward the doors and the night beyond. Others vanished into the shadows, under staircases or behind store displays. In a blink of an eye, not a single barghest was left.
About the upper and lower levels, the crowds of shoppers, startled by the loud noise, turned weary faces toward Father Christmas. Among them were the barghests’ victims, still bleeding from yet unnoticed wounds. The hostile gaze of the crowd took in Father Christmas and the three of us who stood beside him. Mephisto slowly backed away and hid behind a pine tree. Mab’s hand reached into his pocket and closed about his trusty lead pipe.
Father Christmas raised his staff and shook it. The bells about the top jingled and rang.
“Merry Christmas,” he boomed, “Merry Christmas!”
The shoppers straightened. Fear and tension drained from their faces. The plaintive cries of children changed to laughter and shouts of joy.
I watched my hands and ankle heal until nothing was left of the bloody bites and scratches but tiny, almost imperceptible scars. A sense of awe filled me. The barghests were spiritual creatures. The wounds they made must have been spiritual, too. When our fear changed to joy, they were undone. Elsewhere, the wounds of those who had been injured in the crowds also healed, though where the more substantial shadow hounds had damaged clothing, the rents remained. Apparently, the cloth was not affected by Father Christmas’s holiday cheer.
Father Christmas strode around to the other three sides of his small enclosure, shaking the bells on his staff and spreading holiday cheer. On both the upper and lower levels, the shoppers smiled. Children hopped up and down, waving. Many pulled at their parents’ coats and pointed. Even at a distance, I could make out that their happy mouths were forming the word “Santa!”
Mab took off his battered hat and stared after the dignified figure in scarlet and white who stood waving to the children crowded around the railing of the upper level, an expression of awe on his craggy blood-caked features.
He turned to me and said, in a subdued voice, “I beg your pardon, Miss Miranda. I guess that Lady of yours really knows her stuff.”
“She does indeed!” I laughed.
“What are the chances that Santa would be right around the corner?” Mab marveled. “Seems almost eerie.”
“Had we asked Her to lead us to Father Christmas and he turned out to be right around the corner, that would have been eerie. We just asked for a safe place, and this happened to be the closest one,” I replied. When Mab continued to look dubious, I added,
“Surely, you know there are supernatural beings scattered throughout our world. My Lady led us to the nearest friendly one.”
“That’s right!” Mephisto stuck his arm around my shoulders. “That’s what having a Handmaiden for a sister is like! Everything goes better when she’s around! Kind of like Coke.”
“Ya know,” Mab scratched his stubble, “Come to think of it, magic does attract magic. There may be a reason why the real Father Christmas showed up near where the demons have a warehouse. Their presence may have made it so that it was okay for him to come here in whatever cosmic Big Book of Score the Powers of Good use to decide these things.” He made a note in his notebook. Then, his eyes drifted back toward Father Christmas. I touched his shoulder lightly. He started and blinked. “Huh?”
“Come on,” I said, smiling. “Help me lift this elf.”
We righted the jolly elf, removing some of the white cotton snow from its sharp pointed chin. Mab bent and peered into the figure’s narrow impish face. “What did you say this was supposed to be?”
“An elf.”
“Humph!” As he put his hat back on, he added under his breath, “Just goes to show how little humans know.”
FATHER Christmas finished his rounds and shut the gate leading to the enclosure, stopping to speak a brief quiet word to a little boy and girl who stood by the entrance. The boy laughed and the little girl stared up at him with adoring eyes. He handed them each a red-and-green peppermint stick, then returned. Taking his place in the throne-like chair set upon a dais amidst reindeer and three-foot-tall candy canes, he beckoned for us to join him.
We approached Santa’s Chair. A semicircle of Douglas firs surrounded the dais, forming a partial screen. In this small oasis of seclusion, away from the bustle of the mall, Father Christmas sat surveying the Christmas display, with its jolly elves’ workshop and its moving toy train, as a kindly father might survey his children’s playroom. His large hands, unadorned except for a single gold wedding band, rested regally on the arms of his chair. His eyes crinkled kindly as we approached.
Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I Page 18
