What if there’s a church that wasn’t on the motel list? Should’ve checked the list against the phone book, dammit. What if Theron fucking Ware drew his pentagram different from mine, and he’s outside some church eighty miles away getting ready to tell every demon in Hell, “Y’all come on over!”
He kept these thoughts to himself. There was no point in messing with Libby’s head, and besides, there was nothing else they could do right now, except keep on keepin’ on.
Then at ten thirty-nine he saw Libby’s brake lights come on. A moment later, his phone rang.
“Yeah?”
“I think I’ve got something,” Libby said tightly. “I’m pulling over.”
Morris did the same, and noticed that they were on Maple Street a few hundred feet down from the First Presbyterian Church. He sat with the motor running and waited.
Libby’s voice came out of his phone speaker. “Definitely black magic. It’s fresh, and it’s close. I’m going to get out and look for someplace to set up for my anti-fire spell.”
“Okay, I’ll keep cruising,” Morris said. “Call me when you’re sure this is the big enchilada – if it really is.”
“Will do.”
Morris pulled into traffic, passed Libby’s parked car, and kept going. He did not look back, no matter how much he wanted to.
Sixty
LIBBY CHASTAIN DROVE into the parking lot at First Presbyterian, found a parking spot, and popped the trunk. What she always thought of as her “magic kit” was in there, all primed and ready to go.
Libby opened the large briefcase and took out a small bowl. Into it she quickly poured a mixture of ingredients she had prepared the night before. Then she picked up a wooden match she had made with her own hands, sparked it alight with a thumbnail, and set the contents of the bowl burning. Thin white smoke rose from the bowl, gradually filled the trunk, and spilled out of the sides. Libby opened a small book to a page she had earmarked and began to read aloud in ancient Greek. Every few minutes, she stopped, picked up a small bottle of clear liquid, and added three drops to the bowl, whose contents continued to burn, producing more smoke than should have issued from the small amount of materials involved.
Across the street, Theron Ware stood behind the counter at Wilson Tires and said, “Got our little friend, Elektra?”
She passed him the small metal cage they had purchased at a pet store the day before. Inside it, a black and white rat sniffed the air curiously.
Ware grasped the rat’s tail and lifted it out of the cage. “Begin!” he told the others.
As Elektra, Mark and Jeremy began to read the words they had practiced so often, Ware put the rat down on the counter. He grasped the rodent around the middle, picked up the sacrificial knife he was so used to employing on humans, and cut its throat. As the rat began thrashing in its death throes, Ware slit it open and, in one smooth motion, disemboweled it. The rat spasmed once more and lay still.
Ware would have preferred to sacrifice a clergyman again, but that wasn’t practical this time. The rat would have to do. But soon every clergyman in the world would be at his mercy – his and that of the Master he served.
He set up two slim black candles and lit them by simply touching each with the tip of his index finger. Then came a small silver bell, said to be made from some of the same coins paid to Judas Iscariot so long ago. Ware rang the bell five times.
Finally, he produced a slim black wand, forked at the tip like a snake’s tongue. As his minions continued the words of the ancient ritual, Ware stepped to the large window of Wilson Tires, which gave a clear view of First Presbyterian across the street. He pointed the wand at the building and said a word of power five times. That would set off the incendiaries inside the church. Soon he would be able to hear the screams. Remembering the fancy wrapping that hid the fire bombs, Ware stifled a giggle, along with the urge to sing a verse of “Happy Birthday.”
Now it was time to magically bar the doors. He waved the wand in a broad “X” pattern five times, said another word of power, and pointed the wand at the church again. All three doors were now sealed – and if any of the panicking fools inside thought to get out by breaking windows, they would find that a very daunting task, thanks to Ware’s spell.
Smoke should now be eddying out through the roof as the fire took hold inside. Ware looked upward – and saw nothing.
He stood watching for perhaps ten seconds then turned to his acolytes and shouted, “Stop!”
They looked toward him, shock on their faces, but did as they were told. In the quiet he should be able to hear the screams of people burning alive, and those about to be. Ware listened – and heard nothing.
His eyes bulged as he fought the fury that threatened to turn him into a raging lunatic. Now was not the time to give in to base impulses. He said to the others, “Something’s wrong,” and walked closer to the window. He scanned the street for the source of the interference, then looked over at the church building itself, finding nothing. His gaze continued moving right, to the parking lot adjoining the church – and in a moment, he saw it: a thin stream of white smoke coming from someplace out of his line of sight.
Ware was torn. He would have loved nothing more than to go over there and turn the interloper into a puddle of steaming goo, but he had to keep the spell going. The fire may not have started yet, but those doors had to remain closed. The last thing Ware wanted to see was those happy cretins cross the street leaving after the service concluded, oblivious of the doom that they had somehow escaped. He had to keep the containment spell in place – and as soon as the white magician was dealt with, the incendiaries would ignite and the barbeque – prelude to a much greater fire – would begin.
Ware turned to his minions, whose faces constituted three distinct studies in dismay and confusion. Pointing through the window he said, “Someone in the parking lot is blocking my magic, I don’t know who or how.”
Jeremy started to say something, but Ware’s hand slashing through the air silenced him. “Whoever it is, he can’t fight me and you at the same time. So go over and kill the motherfucker, then return here at once. Go on!”
“Where is he?” Elektra asked, ever practical.
“There’s a plume of white smoke in the parking lot – he’ll be under it.”
“But boss,” Mark said, “we ain’t got no weapons.”
“Then use your stupid fists!” Ware snarled. “Or pick up a rock and bash his fucking head in. Now go!”
As they started for the door, Ware said, “Elektra – take the sacrificial knife. If those two fools can’t get the job done, then cut the bastard’s throat with it.”
“Absolutely!” Elektra dashed to the counter, grabbed the knife, then followed the others out to kill the interfering magician.
Sixty-One
LIBBY CHASTAIN WAS focused intently on keeping her own spell going. She assumed that Theron Ware had already cast the spell to ignite the incendiaries she was certain were inside the church. If she relaxed her concentration for a second, Ware’s spell would get through and the conflagration would begin. Libby had another spell that was designed to put out fires, but it would take a minute or two to cast – and a lot can burn in a few minutes.
The part of her mind still attuned to her environment heard running footsteps approaching and closing fast. She had a protection spell ready, but to use it she would have to relax her protection of the building. She assumed that was exactly what Ware had in mind. On the other hand, if Ware’s creatures reached her, the spell she’d cast would stop with her heart.
Libby should have planned for this, but hadn’t, and it was hard to think while using so much of her mind and will to maintain the spell holding back the fire.
The footsteps were close now, and she could hear labored breathing as well. She had just decided to let the spell go and protect herself, hoping to quickly extinguish the blaze once it started, when she heard a wet sound of impact.
A man’s voice made a sound like “Uh!” and there was
the sound of a body hitting the ground only a few yards away. The other footsteps slowed, and a moment later the “thud” was repeated and a second voice, also male, gave a loud grunt. There came again the sound of something heavy collapsing to the pavement.
Silence for a second or two. Then more footsteps, moving fast and very close now and a female voice screeching, “Fucking kill you!” and the wet sound came again and Libby’s back and head were spattered with something that could only have been blood. Something heavy fell behind Libby, practically at her heels, and there was a clanging noise as a metallic object bounced off the pavement and was still.
Libby tried never to exult in the deaths of fellow human beings – for death was surely what she had just heard occur, several times – but she was relieved that the spell was still in place and would not have to be lifted, even for a few seconds. She would mourn the dead later – her job now was to prevent more people from dying.
Sixty-Two
INSIDE THE TIRE store, Ware had watched incredulously as the three dupes who had served him so well were gunned down by an unseen sniper. He’d heard no shots, which meant the shooter was either a considerable distance away or had used a silencer. From the angle the bodies had fallen, it was clear that the gunman was stationed behind the store and somewhere up high, probably on a rooftop. Ware had no intention of putting himself into the line of fire – but then, he didn’t have to. He would go outside and, using the building for protection, lob fireballs toward the white smoke until its creator was destroyed. Then he could continue with the final sacrifice. Once that was completed, the sniper, along with all humanity, would have bigger things to worry about.
Ware stepped out onto the sidewalk. He breathed in, gathering his power, and prepared to send the first ball of fire hurtling toward his enemy. Then a voice to his right said, “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”
Ware immediately pivoted toward the voice and saw that its source was a woman – a beautiful blonde in a long, expensive-looking overcoat, unbuttoned down the front, standing fifty feet away. She carried no weapon that he could see and yet seemed utterly without fear, or even tension. This was puzzling, but Ware had no time for distractions. He would incinerate this bitch and get back to his main task.
The fireball he’d been about to fling across the street went flying toward the interloper instead, who calmly lifted one hand, palm outward. She said a word of power that Ware recognized and the fireball was suddenly flying right back at him. He pointed a finger at it, said two words, and the fireball disappeared.
Ware made a slashing motion with one hand, and said a different word of power. At once a hundred knives, each razor-sharp, were hurtling toward the blonde with blinding speed.
The woman extended a fist, said something that Ware couldn’t hear, and the knives dropped harmlessly to the pavement. Then she pointed two fingers at his feet, said another word, louder this time, and the ground began to open right where he was standing. Ware pointed downward, clenched his hand into a fist, and said a word that caused the fissure to disappear.
Ware shunted aside the surprise and panic that threatened to grip him. He extended his left palm toward the woman, uttered a phrase in ancient Chaldean, and a bright bolt of energy, that would turn the woman to dust, shot forth from his hand. She lifted her own hand, palm outward, and another bolt of energy met his halfway. The two forces stopped, pushing against each other like evenly-matched football linemen, neither advancing.
Without dropping his hand, Ware focused his concentration for maximum power as he asked the interfering bitch, “What are you?”
Continuing to push against his attack with equal force, she said, her voice showing some strain now, “Ashur Badaktu, one of the fallen, demon of the fourth rank.”
Ware had a thousand questions about how one of his own kind had arrived here, and why she was opposing him, but all he said was, “Belial Frandola, demon of the fourth rank, at your service. Well, not really.”
“So...” she said musingly. “We appear to be equals.”
“That’s right, you fool, so stop this stupid game of yours. You can’t possibly harm me.”
“No, but I can,” said a voice behind him, and Ware had only begun to turn toward this new threat when Quincey Morris squeezed the Desert Eagle’s trigger, blowing the top of Theron Ware’s head into a hundred tiny pieces and sending his enraged spirit straight back to Hell.
The one hundred and seventy-nine people inside the First Presbyterian Church did not hear the shot, for the church organ was pumping and they were all busy singing, with gusto, “O God Our Help in Ages Past.”
They would never know the unlikely forms that such help could sometimes take.
Sixty-Three
“LIBBY, CAN YOU do anything about the bodies?” Morris asked. “I’m not sure the local law would find our explanation convincing, even if it would be true, and I’ve had enough jail to last a lifetime.”
Libby scratched her chin. “Discorporation would take a while, and there’s no way of knowing when the church service is going to let out. I can do a transportation spell, though – move the bodies someplace else.”
“Got any ideas where?”
“How about inside this place?” Ashley said, jerking a thumb at Wilson Tires. “Looks like Ware was using it as a base, anyway. Since I’m sure the good citizens of Oakley observe the Sabbath–” Ashley kept most of the sneer out of her voice “–the bodies won’t be found until tomorrow morning.”
Morris looked at Libby. “Gives us time to get out of Dodge,” he said. “Or Oakley, as the case may be.”
“All right, I’ll go get started.” Libby nodded toward what was left of Theron Ware. “Maybe you two could carry this one inside? It’s only a few feet, and quicker than magic.”
“I think we can manage,” Morris said.
“No carrying necessary,” Ashley said as she watched Libby head back to the parking lot. “Just open the door for me, and I’ll float him in. Keep the blood off our clothes.”
“Good idea,” Morris said.
A few minutes later, all four members of the Theron Ware cabal had found a temporary resting place behind several stacks of all-weather radials.
Morris looked at Ashley. “I assume the rifle work was Peters?”
She nodded. “He’s on the roof of an apartment building three blocks from here. Or he was. He’ll probably be waiting at the curb when we get there.”
Libby was scanning the street. “No surveillance cameras. I guess a town this small can’t afford them.”
“One less thing to worry about,” Morris said. “Let’s pick up Peters and get out of here.”
“I’ll ride with Libby,” Ashley said.
As Libby pulled the Buick away from the curb, Ashley looked at her and said, “So, Libby, when am I going to show you my secret to multiple orgasms?”
Libby smiled without turning her head. “I’m pretty sure I know that particular secret already.”
“Not the way I do it, you don’t.”
At the next red light, Libby looked at Ashley for a couple of seconds. “We both live in New York. I expect to be home in a couple of days – how about you?”
“Yeah, most likely.”
“Then why don’t you give me a call, later in the week?”
“All right,” Ashley said, and smiled. “I believe I will.”
Sixty-Four
PETERS SLID THE rifle case into the trunk of the rental Toyota before joining Morris in the front.
“Nice shooting,” Morris said, and pulled back into traffic.
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure how best to help out, but when I saw those three heading right for Libby, with one of them carrying this big pig-sticker, I figured I ought to discourage them.”
“I’d say you did that, all right.”
A few minutes later, Peters pointed off to the west. “Wonder what that is.”
Morris looked and saw a large plume of gray smoke rising from someplace a few miles distant
. “I wonder if that’s Ware’s diversion,” he said. “Bastard. Hope nobody else died – there’s been enough of that today.”
“It explains one thing though – no cops.”
“I hadn’t thought about them, but you’re right,” Morris said. “And speaking of things I didn’t think about – why didn’t you call?”
“When?”
“When you got my message.”
“You didn’t say to call – you said to haul ass way the hell out to Kansas, so that’s what we did.”
“I didn’t see you at the motel. Were they out of rooms?”
“Hell, we just got into town two hours ago,” Peters said. “Our flight out of New York sat on the tarmac at LaGuardia for over an hour and a half, and that made us miss our connection in Chicago. Ashley wanted to turn everybody in the control tower into toads, but I convinced her that it would only delay things even more.”
“Be kind of fun to watch, though.”
“I understood the impulse, that’s for sure. Anyway, when we found you’d already left the Buffalo Bill, we figured the action would all be in town, where the churches are. Guess we were right.”
“And just in time, too. Thanks.”
“Da nada. Stopping the end of the world was in our best interest too, you know.”
“You two are a good team,” Morris said. “And I meant to ask you – what have you and Ashley been doing since you got out of jail?”
“Living off the money and credit cards that Astaroth gave me when he sent me back to this side,” Peters said. “But Ashley’s starting to get restless.”
“Not a good thing.”
“She was saying that we ought to set ourselves up as occult investigators, kind of like you and Libby. I mean, who better to deal with the supernatural than a demon and a former damned soul, right?”
“Sounds like a perfect fit,” Morris said.
Play With Fire Page 19
