by Dana Donovan
“She did WHAT?”
“She brought Ursula back.”
“Back? You mean like she conjured up a good likeness of her in some smoky, phantom-ish apparition?”
“No, I mean like a real flesh-n-blood person.”
“Impossible.”
“Tony, you say impossible, but you know with Lilith anything is possible. So don’t shoot the messenger. I’m simply telling you what Dominic said and it’s all I know. Ursula is back and he’s following them to Salem.”
“Why are they going to Salem?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say, but I’m coming to get you. Are you ready?”
Tony was barely in the car when he started in on the inquisition again. To shut him up, I pulled out my cell phone and pushed send on speed dial before handing it to him.
“What’s this?” he said.
“It’s ringing. Say hello.”
He put the phone to his ear, and his end of the conversation went something like: “You’re damn right I am. What the hell’s going on Spinelli?”
I could hear Dominic’s voice in a stutter, but could not make out his exact words. I suppose it would have been better had I warned him before putting Tony on, but what the hell; where’s the fun in that?
“No, Spinelli, forget it,” said Tony, making a slashing motion with his hand to terminate Dominic’s ramblings. “Listen, where are you now? You still have them in sight? Uh-oh, what do you mean, uh-oh? Dominic, tell me what’s going on. What? Oh, great. Forget it. Stay there. We’ll get you.”
He handed the phone back to me and shook his head. “The little fucker ran out of gas. He’s stuck on the side of the road outside Salem.”
“What about Lilith?”
“She’s gone,” he said, which was about all I could say for Tony’s patience, as well.
We caught up with Dominic about fifteen minutes later. He had pulled over on the side of the road and was sitting on the hood of the car with his feet up on the bumper and his head on his knees. Tony wouldn’t even look at him. I gave a toot on the horn to get his attention. He hopped down in a sulk and climbed into the back seat.
I’ve got to say, sometimes Tony can bottle up his emotions, but he can’t hide the fact when he’s pissed. This time was no different. The tension between him and Dominic was as tight as I had ever seen it; worse than when Dominic screwed up at the train station by not radioing the northbound train to stop while Lilith was still on it. Listening to Tony, you’d have thought Dominic wasn’t even in the car.
“So, how far ahead of us is she?” Tony asked. I heard Dom clear his throat to answer, but got cut off when Tony added, “Carlos?”
I looked at him puzzled. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Dom—”
“I said how far?”
I glanced into the mirror at Dominic and saw him flash ten fingers twice. “Twenty minutes,” I said.
“Does she have a phone?”
Dominic shook his head.
“No. We retrieved it at the train station. It’s broken. Unless she has yours then—”
“No, she doesn’t. You say she’s with Ursula?”
This time he nodded.
“Yes.”
“You sure it’s not just some other woman she met up with?”
Another nod.
“Yes.”
“Has she got a weapon?”
A shrug.
“I don’t know. Is witchcraft a weapon?”
Tony took a deep breath and let it out with an audible sigh. “Did she mention where in Salem she might be going?” I looked into the mirror, but Dominic remained natural. Tony came back louder. “Did she mention where she—”
“Fuck you!” This from Dominic, words I had never heard him utter before in my life. I looked up into the mirror. He was looking at Tony.
“That’s right, Detective Marcella. If you have something to ask me then you just ask me. I’m not some fuck’n` shadow back here. I mean, look, I know I fucked up back at the train station. But that’s done. It worked out and you had Lilith back home. But running out of gas today was not a screw-up. I hadn’t planned on following anyone to Salem this morning. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t even know what Lilith was up to at this moment. At least now you have a clue, so back the fuck off. I’m a good cop, but I’m human. I have feelings, and I demand you treat me with some respect, Goddamit!”
At that point I had already slowed the car down to just above walking speed. I figured if anyone were to get thrown out (Dominic) then at least he’d have a decent chance of doing a successful pitch and roll, and maybe not get hurt too badly.
But Tony didn’t react like I thought he might; no small wonder I suppose. His return to prime had renewed the passion and excitability of his youth, but did not void the maturity of his years. I suppose that can be a difficult combination to deal with, especially with a hellcat like Lilith thrown into the mix.
When it became obvious that Tony had no more to say about that, I picked up the pace again and merged back into traffic. A few minutes later Tony said, “Head for Our Lady of Grace Church.”
I nodded, and I think I said okay, but after that, I said nothing more, and not another word was spoken between us for the entire ride.
Lilith Adams:
Ursula and I arrived at the church just as the last of the congregation was filing in. We parked the car around the side in a dirt lot and got out without anyone really noticing us. There, behind a dumpster, we slipped our gown-length Sunday dresses on over our tops and jeans. Then we tied our hair up into buns and capped them off in traditional cross-cloth headwear. I thought we came across a bit cheeky, but Ursula assured me we looked most Puritan, so long as we addressed one final detail.
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“Our boots,” she said. “We must take them off.”
“Why? What’s wrong with them?”
She hiked her hem up and frowned upon them as though they were made of shit. “They are not at all lady-like.”
“The hell they aren’t,” I scoffed. “They’re six-hundred dollar Pradas. I’m not taking them off for anyone.”
“Six hundred dollars?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What? You don’t understand dollars?”
“No. Is that a lot?”
“Yes, it’s like, I don’t know, three-hundred-sixty British pounds?”
She yanked her hemline back up, only this time extending her foot with toes tipped forward. “The devil you say. Prada? Why did you not say so? Let us continue. We have prayer to attend.”
Okay, I know she didn’t know what Prada was, but I have to hand it to the girl; she does learn quickly. We pulled our cross-cloth caps down low on our foreheads, closed up the v-line on our cleavage and with bowed heads and steepled hands, filed into church.
We took seats at opposite ends of the second to last pew, she on the far left, me on the right. The service had already gotten under way, and as I expected, the old magistrate was delivering the sermon. He stood behind the pulpit like an old gargoyle, his nostrils flaring with every mention of the words fire and brimstone, which incidentally, he mentioned often. But the congregation ate it up, gasping and sighing in all the right places; especially when he got to the part about demons, specters and witches infiltrating their everyday lives. I particularly liked the parts that rhymed.
“Yea, wickedness doth tempt us,” he began, “when lax our guard doth falls. The demon strikes unmercifully from within familiar walls. Whose specter borne of mortal bone shall fool the timid beast, he strikes most quick in light of day when thou expects it least.”
I know, what a riot. Before long his audience had worked themselves into a nervous twitter, with a Hallelujah here and a righteous Amen there. I almost hated to break up the party, but we were there to finish a job. I glanced over at Ursula and gave her a wink, letting her know it was show time. Then I stood up, pointed an accusing finger at the magistrate and
shouted, “Hark, for the devil hath struck thee with serpent’s tongue. Listen what lies he doth speak.”
“`Tis true,” Ursula shouted, taking to her feet and pointing from the other end of the pew. “For I saw with my own eyes the raven what suckles His Magistrate’s right hand.”
“Doth suckle where?” the man immediately in front of Ursula asked.
“`Tween his large finger and fore, I am certain. T`is the same raven what came to me today this morn`.”
“How came this raven to you?”
“He came by way of the mist.”
“Silence!” ordered the magistrate. “Silence this woman!”
The man returned to Ursula. “From what mist, say you young lady.” Now the entire congregation was looking back at her.
“From the meadow, for ought I know,” she replied, her demeanor sweet and honest in tone. “I heard the voice of Satan and the raven did appear. I opened my window and he spoke unto me.”
“Of what did he speak? Tell us as you think.”
“If I must tell I will, but I fear his wrath.”
“No. Fear not. You are among friends.”
“Yes,” said another heavy-set gentleman standing beside her. “You have not to fear but to speak the truth.”
The magistrate’s fist came down hard on the pulpit. “Enough,” he cawed. “Enough I say. Remove this woman now!”
“Look,” I said, pointing after casting a spell that summonsed a raven into the church where it landed on the pulpit deck in front of the magistrate, its long wedge-shaped tail fully fanned. “`Tis a sign. `Tis the raven what smites bucolic fools in pallid dens.”
“It is he!” cried Ursula, “The raven of the mist.”
“What does it mean?” an old woman in the front pew cried. “Tell us Miss, for only you know.”
“Aye, he beacons the wretched with hollow promises of fortune and vice. Ignore him as you would the serpent and the wolf.”
“Lies!” spat the magistrate, and when he leveled a crooked finger at the congregation the raven flew upon it. “Lies, for I know the demon doth wallow in the wicked of women as art thou.”
“See here,” I said, “what beast the magistrate befriends, and know what perch the raven doth mantle? He will have you all sign the devil’s book.”
“I will not sign it,” the old woman declared.
“Nor I, but die first I shall.” the fat man urged.
All eyes fell upon the magistrate then. Ursula spun her index finger in circles above her head, whipping up a pale white mist that swirled in lazy loops before following her finger’s point to the pulpit. There it hovered briefly in witness of a hundred pairs of eyes and settled heavy over the magistrate and the Raven like a slurry fog. Cries of indignation rumbled from the pews. The magistrate’s jaw dropped in frozen gasp, and with a dipteran spell I filled it with flies, which spewed from his parted lips in a black swarm.
“`Tis the devil in reckon,” I declared. “The magistrate doth have his presence. We must vanquish this unholy disorder, for it is thy curse.”
“`Tis thy curse,” the man in front of Ursula repeated.
“Thy curse!” the old woman up front howled.
A spontaneous roundabout chorus of similar cries swept through the congregation. The magistrate shook the raven from his finger and started from the rostrum in haste. The crowd, smelling fear in his retreat, moved in on him fast.
The younger men reached him first, cutting off his escape as the larger men took him down. The mist that had settled over the pulpit now swirled in a rush of agitated air like a meandering ghost threading tempers and paranoia. In the knotted huddle I heard shrieks of pain. Men were kicking; women were stomping and children in the fringes cried.
High among the rafters, the raven circled ominously. Then, as quickly as it all began, the entire congregation broke up and scattered, stampeding out of the church like cockroaches. I waited for the last of the vigilantes to hightail out before motioning Ursula to the door. There we stood, watching a traffic jam of vehicles jockeying through clouds of dust to keep from being the last to leave. As soon as it felt safe, we ran around to the side of the building where we peeled our ridiculous hats and dresses off and stuffed them into the dumpster. Just as we were getting into the car a voice called out.
“Leaving so soon, ladies?”
I turned sharply, half expecting to find the magistrate standing there with that confounded raven sitting upon his shoulder. Instead, I found the devil himself.
“Putnam,” I hissed. “I thought I killed you.”
He grinned smugly. “Well, you didn’t.” I guessed his smug attitude came compliments of the gun in his hand and the witch’s stone around his neck. “I want you both to step away from the car now.” He motioning with the muzzle of his gun toward a black van parked behind my car.
“And if we don’t?” I said.
“Then you can run and I’ll shoot the two of you in the back. It’s your call.”
“But you don’t want to shoot us, do you?”
He shook his head. “Not particularly. I’d much rather see you hang on Gallows Hill tonight.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s my calling: to root out witches wherever I find them and to banish them from the planet by the means of our forefathers.”
“I see.” I looked to Ursula. Her eyes seemed fixed on the witch’s stone. “I`m sorry. I can’t do anything,” I said to her. “You?”
“Nay.” She lifted her head, to nod at the stone. “For what his charm hath taketh from thee, it doth also taketh twice.”
“Shit, I was afraid of that. So, what do you think, go with him or make a run for it?”
“Run if ye must, for I shall follow and let his musket strike not thee but me.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t work that way, Ursula. He’s got more than one shot in his musket. He could drop us both.”
“Aye then, to fall presently is bested by the latter of two. I shall sooner wait till moonlight’s watch than forfeit now if that is thy choice.”
“Right, then I suppose we’re going for a ride.” I turned to Putnam and gestured toward the van. “After you?”
I think it’s safe to say he seemed none too amused. He herded us to the back of the van where he instructed Ursula to duct tape my hands behind my back. Next, he bound her hands similarly and pushed us into the van. He slammed the door and came around to the driver’s side. As he was getting in, I heard another vehicle pulling up beside us. Putnam turned in his seat, took aim at us and warned, “Not a word, or I’ll kill you both here and now. Understand?”
I nodded yes and Ursula mirrored my response. The car next to us shut off its motor. Immediately, three doors opened and then three doors closed, and that’s when I heard Tony saying, “Yup, that’s hers all right. They must still be inside.”
To which Carlos answered, “Let’s hope we’re not too late.”
“Look….” This from Tony again; I imagined him pointing to Spinelli. “Carlos and I will go this way. You take the back. The first one of us to see either of them should holler out. I want whoever the girls are after to know that we’re here too. You got it?”
“Got it,” said Carlos, and Spinelli echoed it.
Footfalls in the dirt told me that Carlos and Tony took off around the front of the church and Dominic went to cover the back. Putnam waited until they were out of sight before starting the van and backing away.
I guess that was when my gut really began to turn. I gave Ursula a look like we had better do something; and although we couldn’t see out the front of the van for the curtain dividing the cabin from the cargo end, we hoped that one of the guys was still within earshot. So like a couple of mules, we began kicking on the side of the van as hard as we could.
Spinelli, apparently unable to gain entrance through the locked back door, had turned the corner just in time to hear the racket. He pulled his weapon and ordered Putnam to stop the van.
What happened next is par
tly conjecture based on what we felt, saw and heard, but I think it’s how things went down. After backing up, Putnam dropped the van into drive and hit the gas. Ursula and I tumbled backwards through the van and ended up packed into a corner in a twisted knot. Spinelli, having jumped out of the way to keep from getting run over, began firing his .38 at the van, with one round hitting the windshield and several more punching holes in the canvas-thin wall just behind the driver’s door.
Putnam returned fire with his .357, carving out a new peephole in the church above Dominic’s head. I tried to sit up then, but the van again lurched as he hit the gas and crossed the lot in a crabwalk. The tires spun until we plowed into the back of my car, which sent us both flying forward into the passenger compartment beyond the curtain. From there I could see Spinelli; he had emptied his revolver and was reaching for his backup tucked in his ankle holster.
Putnam found a better angle, took aim at Dominic and squeezed off a round, but not before I managed to nudge his arm at the last second to force his shot wide. He tried again to take aim and so I threw myself on him, pinning his gun hand between me and the steering wheel and momentarily disarming him.
“Dominic, GET DOWN!” I yelled; my head poking out the window in the thick of gun smoke.
But Putnam wasn’t finished. He grabbed my hair by the fistful and yanked me off him. Then he shoved me aside with an elbow to the gut and squeezed off a second round. That one exploded in the dirt by Dominic’s foot. A third and a forth blast sent Dominic into a spill, rolling across the lot for cover behind a parked car.
Putnam’s last two shots peeled back the sheet metal on the trunk lid above Dominic’s head like two curly fries. At that point I expected Dominic to return fire with his back-up, having counted Putnam’s shots and knowing he was out of rounds. To my surprise, the bullets this time came from behind us in quick succession, blasting four new holes in the back doors and popping out both glass windows.
