“Sounds like an episode of Downton Abbey around here,” I griped.
“Oh, put a sock in it, Harker. You’ve been a pain in the ass ever since we got here. What’s your problem?” Flynn asked. I could feel her concern through the mental link we shared, an aftereffect of me sharing my blood with her to save her life a few months ago.
“It just reminds me of home,” I said. There’s no point lying to Flynn; she feels what I say internally as well as she hears it.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this is a lot like the shitty little town north of London where I grew up. After the book and all that shit went down, my parents spent a lot of time avoiding big cities, for obvious reasons.”
“Makes sense,” Flynn said.
“So I grew up in places like this, but there aren’t any places like this left. And the same goes for most people I’ve known. It just bugs me sometimes, you know?”
“I do,” she said. She was serious, too. Unless we worked very hard to shield our thoughts and feelings from each other, we knew exactly what was going on inside the other one’s head. This was frequently very useful in high-tension situations, but just as frequently embarrassing in normal life.
“Let’s go talk to this candle guy,” I said, straightening my doublet and starting off down the path. The chandler’s shop was neatly arranged and smelled of scented wax and paraffin, smells I remembered from my childhood, when candles were a necessary part of everyday life, not just a scented trick to get men laid. The chandler himself was a rotund man of about sixty, with the reddened hands that come from having hot wax spattered on your skin for years.
“And how are you fine lovebirds on a dreary day such as this?” He greeted us with a grin.
“Not so much with the lovebirds, friend,” I corrected. “We’re looking into the hauntings for Strunin.”
The jolly man spat to one side at the PR man’s name. I didn’t blame him. Anyone who voluntarily wore his beard shaved into a point couldn’t be trusted. And really, mustache wax? How was I supposed to take the man seriously? Oh yeah, he was paying me three grand a day plus expenses, which meant I was due another turkey leg soon.
“Yeah, he’s a douche, but he’s the douche that’s paying me, so I’m kinda obliged to help get rid of his ghost, if that’s what it is.” News flash—it wasn’t.
“Oh, it’s not a ghost, Mr…?”
“Harker. And how are you so sure?” I peeked at the candle maker with my Sight, but other than a couple of protection spells hanging around his shop and a minor love spell woven into some of his candles, everything was normal.
“Oh, well, Madame Misteria told me it wasn’t a ghost, and she knows all about magic. She’s the one that does all the magicking of my special candles. Like that one, dear. That’s a good one.”
Something about the way he said “good” made me a little nervous, not to mention the way he was checking out Flynn’s ass while he said it. I opened my Sight and sure enough, it glowed with enchantments designed to make sure the folks who smelled the scent of the candle had a good night.
“Hey Flynn, you still dating Black Superman?” I asked, referring to the tall, dark and stupidly good-looking EMT she had dated a few months ago.
“No, we couldn’t make our schedules work. People kept picking inconvenient times to try and die or take over the world. Why?”
“Then you might not want that candle. It’s not for the faint of heart, or for those flying solo,” I said, letting a little grin play across my lips.
“What are you…oh, I get it.” She put the candle down and fanned herself a little. “I’m going to step out and get some air while you ask our friend here a few questions.” There was a lovely little flush playing across the flesh that her corset pushed up and out, and I watched her bounce out of the stall before turning to the shop owner.
“Those are some powerful candles, Mr….”
“Cruz. Santiago Cruz, at your service.” He swept his hat off with a florid bow. I nodded at him. This old white dude was as much a Santiago Cruz as I was Yao Ming, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was his information.
“So tell me a story, Santiago. What happened when you saw the ghost?”
“Well, like I said, it’s not a ghost. But when I saw the spirit, it was more just a glowing form passing through the woods near the washer-women’s clearing, down by Sherwood Stage. I followed it into the trees, hoping that it was just a couple of the Faire kids sneaking off to smoke a little weed or get frisky. I remember leaning up against a tree to rest my old knees for a moment, and the next thing I remember, I woke up in the center of the Sherwood Stage, lying right there on the wood. It was like I passed out, but I don’t drink, not even a drop!”
“Have you noticed any peculiar aches or pains since your encounter with the ‘spirit’?” Flynn asked from beside me.
You okay? I asked her mentally.
Horny as a high school boy on prom night thanks to that damn candle, but otherwise fine, she replied, and it was all I could do not to laugh out loud.
“Come to think of it, there is a lot more gray in my hair and beard, but I attributed that to nothing more than my advancing years,” Santiago said.
“Thank you, Mr. Cruz,” Flynn said. “And be careful who you sell those candles to. I wouldn’t want to have to come back and arrest you for pandering.” She gave the old man a grin and started down the midway.
I caught up to her after a few steps. “Where are you going?” I asked.
“I’m going to get a drink, then I’m going to the Sherwood Stage. We might as well stake it out. It seems to be the center of this whole mess.” I couldn’t argue with her there, so I just shut up and followed along.
Six hours later, with the October chill seeping into lots of places in my ridiculous costume, I remembered why I wanted to argue with Flynn in the first place.
“This sucks,” I said, shifting around trying to find a comfortable place to sit on the wooden stage.
“At least you can bend at the waist,” Flynn replied.
“I can help you out of the corset, if you need me to,” I said.
“You wish,” she shot back.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, then I realized something. “You’re in full period garb, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she replied, a slight blush coming to her cheeks that I could see even in the moonlight.
“So no bra?” I asked, giving her a closer look.
“Does it look like I need one in this thing?” She gestured at her corset, which was indeed doing a fine job of presenting all her charms for evaluation. I rarely thought of Flynn like a normal woman, especially since she had basically unfettered access inside my head, but the image she was presenting certainly took my mind down new avenues where she was concerned.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing behind me.
“I’ll stop ogling you, Becks, you don’t have to use cheap tricks,” I said, continuing to ogle her.
“No, really, asshole, there’s something glowing over there,” Flynn said, then reached around to the small of her back. “Help me stand.”
I got to my feet and reached down for her. Flynn came up holding a small pistol with a tiny flashlight mounted under the barrel.
“Where the hell did that come from?” I asked.
“I didn’t wear a bum roll for funsies, Harker. Now let’s get after this thing.” She pushed past me toward a glowing white form that seemed to flicker along near the craft stalls across from the stage.
We got closer, and I recognized the form. It was a woman, and she looked familiar. It was the woman who sold Flynn her bracelet earlier in the day, only now she wore a flowing gray cloak over her clothes. She peered in this stall and that shop, obviously looking for something. As she went in more and more stalls without finding whatever she was looking for, her movements became sharper, jerkier, like she wasn’t controlling her own limbs.
I motioned for Flynn to cover me, then st
epped up close as she ducked into a fudge shop. She came out mere seconds later, but I was standing by the door waiting for her.
“Looking for something?” I asked.
“Someone,” she said, and her voice had that disembodied nature that I recognized all too well. Stay back, Becks. She’s possessed.
How can you tell? Flynn’s voice echoed in my head.
After the first couple dozen exorcisms, you kinda recognize the signs. The blank stare, the hollow voice. It’s like trying to have a conversation with a Justin Bieber fan. Only there’s a demon involved. Wait, it’s exactly like trying to talk to a Justin Bieber fan.
The woman was right in front of me now, her eyes glowing with a dim red light. Another dead giveaway that there’s a possession going on. Humans don’t typically have glowing eyes, no matter how much they’ve had to drink.
“You look tasty. Smell good, too. Lots of life in this one, my pet. He’ll keep us fed for quite a while, won’t he?” She wasn’t talking to me. She was talking to the demon. Another bad sign. When they know they’ve got a demon on board, and they’re friendly enough with it to chat, it usually means they let the thing in willingly. Makes it a lot harder to get rid of.
“Look, dearie, why don’t you just have a little lie down over here on the stage and I’ll have a chat with the thing that’s riding inside your soul?” I tried for reason, because stranger things have happened, right?
Wrong. “There’s nothing wrong with my soul, sexy, but I’ll be happy to lie with you for a while. But don’t you think we’d be more comfortable there on the grass?” She gestured off to her left, and when I looked back at the woman, my breath caught.
She wasn’t the shopkeeper anymore. Her blonde hair had gone all auburn, and her features had sharpened as she’d lost weight. Her nose was longer, a bit longer than was attractive, and when she smiled at me, one of her front teeth was crooked. My breath stopped as I stared into the hazel eyes of a woman I’d felt die in my arms over seventy years ago, and I felt my chest tighten, almost as if my heart doubled in size and my ribs were too tight.
“Anna…” I whispered, and reached for her.
“Harker?” I heard Flynn’s voice, but nothing about it registered. I held out my hand and watched her reach back to me, the woman I’d lost and thought I’d only see again if Luke was right and there really was a Heaven.
HARKER! I dropped to my knees in the dirt at the mental slap Flynn delivered. When I looked back at where seconds before my Anna had stood, I saw an obese woman, nearly sixty with stringy gray hair, crammed into a glittering white corset. She reached for me with claylike fingers, and I skittered away on my hands and knees.
I heard the crack, crack, crack of Flynn’s pistol and watched as bullets smacked into the witch’s expansive chest. The bullets smashed flat and bounced to the grass, but it distracted my pursuer long enough for me to get to my feet. I took several steps back, putting myself between the possessed shopkeeper and Flynn.
I held up my left hand and cast a quick spell of warding, muttering “Custos Glorious” as I spun pure willpower out from my fingertips. A glowing disc of force appeared in the air before me, and I ducked behind it as I tried to figure out my next step.
“Something’s possessing her,” I said. “We need to find a way to drive it out.”
“Can it be possessing something on her?” Flynn asked.
“It could, why?”
“Because as soon as you broke her control, she turned ugly, in dirty rags and nasty clothes, like everything pretty about her was an illusion.”
“It probably was. Easier to make her look clean than to have her actually be clean, especially if the demon’s in a piece of jewelry or something,” I agreed.
“Something like a corset? The only article of clothing on her that’s still sparkling white?” Flynn pointed.
I opened my Sight, and sure enough, the magical energy radiating from our shopkeeper was centered on her corset.
“Hold this,” I said to Flynn, then handed her the physical manifestation of the shield I was hiding us with—my badge.
“What am I supposed to…” Flynn’s words trailed off as I gathered my strength and leapt straight up. I cleared a good fifteen feet before I rolled forward in midair and started to plummet to earth. Sometimes I think Flynn forgets about the physical benefits to having Dracula swap blood with both your parents before your birth. I don’t get old, can bench-press a small car, I make Olympic sprinters look like they’re running backwards, and it’s very easy for me to get behind the people I’m fighting.
I landed behind the deranged woman and flicked open my pocket knife. I started carrying a pocket knife as soon as my father deemed me old enough to have one, which was about age nine. I’ve barely ever been without one in the century and change that followed, and this was just another example of why a person needs to have a good knife on their person at all times. I reached out, grabbed a handful of lacing, and sliced open the corset straight down the back, saving myself valuable minutes of unlacing.
There are a lot of times when it’s worth it to delay the removal of a corset as a kind of special torture. None of those times involve demons trapped in the aforementioned support garments. I cut the laces and pulled the corset from the waist of the possessed woman. She shrieked, a high-pitched wail of loss and agony, and collapsed sobbing to the ground.
I threw the corset on the ground and held up a hand at the approaching Flynn. “Stay back,” I said. “It wants to possess a woman. If you touch it, it might get in.”
“What about you?” she asked, backing up but still putting herself between the sobbing woman on the ground and the corset.
“I’m a guy, that makes me its last resort. Plus I’m warded against possession,” I replied, touching a medallion beneath my shirt. I reached into a leather pouch at my hip and drew out a fistful of salt packets I’d requisitioned from the concession stands. I sketched a quick salt circle in the dirt around the corset, then tapped my magical reserves to invoke the circle. A blue flash around the edge of the circle, and I knew whatever was in the corset was trapped until sunrise or I broke the circle.
“Speak, demon. Give me your name and leave this place, and I won’t send you back to Hell,” I said. I was lying, of course, but I’ve never thought of lying to demons as a bad thing. It’s kind of expected. They lie to us; we try to make them do our bidding. It’s the classic mage/demon dynamic.
“Piss off, manling. Give me back to my human and I won’t rip your balls off and eat them in front of you.” The voice that came from the corset was all silk, with just enough hint of leather underneath to make you think about it. If you’ve never seen a demon have sex before, that is. If you have, then nothing will make you the least damn bit interested in that shit.
“Your call. Asmodeus, here we come.” I waved my hand and focused enough energy to make it glow.
“Wait! I hate that bastard,” the corset said. “I’ll talk.”
“Manifest first,” I said.
“Fuck you,” it replied.
“Not likely,” I said, hand glowing again.
“Fine!” it said, and in a flash of light, the circle was full of kneeling demon. She was naked, because succubi have always considered the universe clothing-optional, with cloven feet and the legs of a goat. The rest of her was very, very human, except for the spiked tail and the fangs, but I can get past a lot for a spectacular set of breasts. And this was one stacked demon, let me tell you. I was almost swayed to reach across the boundary of the circle until I saw the smirk on her face and the jet black irisless eyes staring at me.
“Like what you see, human? Set me free and you can have a taste for yourself,” the demon purred at me from within the circle.
“No thanks, love,” I said. “I prefer my girlfriends with a little more soul. Or maybe it’s that I prefer them to have a soul. One of those. Now, what’s your name and how did you end up in that corset?” I was genuinely curious about that second bit. I’d never
heard of a demon getting trapped within a material object before.
“My name is Ter’Valense, and I am an Arch Duchess of Beelzebub’s Army of the Seventh Circle. I have been trapped in that hells-forsaken garment for seven of your centuries, ever since my unfortunate encounter with the Grand Druid Myrrthin. Does that treacherous bastard yet live?”
“No, Merlin has been dead for so long that most people think he and the Pendragon were mere legends.”
“Pah.” She spat onto the ground. The grass sizzled where her saliva touched, and I was glad I’d managed to resist her charms. “He trapped me within that garment and doomed me to this plane until I repented of my so-called crimes or found someone willing to send me home. Will you free me from this torment?”
“You want to go back to Hell?” I asked.
“Of course not, fool! I want to wade through rivers of human blood, drinking souls like fine wine and swing destruction everywhere I look. But I doubt you and your oh-so-pure companion will set me free and let me wreak the havoc upon this miserable plane that it deserves.”
“Well, you’ve got that right,” I said. I raised a hand and looked over my shoulder at Flynn. “Step back, this could get messy.”
I opened myself to my Sight and tapped a nearby ley line for a little extra juice. I clenched my fist above my head and spoke an incantation in Latin. “Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Cernunnos,
Regna terrae, cantata Dea psallite Aradia. caeli Deus, Deus terrae,
Humiliter majestati gloriae tuae supplicamus
Ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate,
Laqueo, and deceptione nequitia,
Omnis fallaciae, libera nos, dominates.
Exorcizamus you omnis immundus spiritus
Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio,
Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,
Omnis and congregatio secta diabolica.
Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, dominates,
Ut coven tuam secura tibi libertate servire facias,
Te rogamus, audi nos!
High Fashion Hell Page 2
