At the Behest of the Dead

by Long, Timothy W.

  Glenda cleared her throat.

  “Okay. We kicked his ass.”

  “Lukan has the loudest voice and the largest pull. He’s demanding that you be handed over to them.”

  “Handed over? What is this? The dark ages again?”

  “No, but they are claiming an old writ. In the event of a guild leader’s death, they can ask for a trial against the accused.”

  “So I stand accused?” I tried not to let my voice shake but couldn’t judge how good my acting was. It was a long shot that I would be ‘turned over,’ though it was likely that the council would keep me here. In ’93 it was determined that our lands were to be left alone and our laws also left to us. At the time it was a brilliant move by the league. They promised to help the US government when they asked for it and we got to keep our autonomy.

  “No they haven’t accused you yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “It’s almost unprecedented,” Glenda interjected.

  “Is it?” I asked.

  “Hasn’t happened in at least four centuries. I checked the books.”

  I scratched my head. We had books about that kind of stuff?

  “Doesn’t matter. It happened once, so there is precedence. There is precedence, so they can ask for it and possibly get it. Of course, your guild will defend you … for the most part.”

  “What the hells do you mean, ‘for the most part?’”

  “I mean you’ve been away for a long time. Broke ties, left in a huff. Got your warlock panties in a knot. They remember that,” Glenda said.

  “The television stunt,” Collin muttered.

  I wanted to defend myself, but every word they spoke was true.

  I should’ve just run. Traveled north until I reached the necropolis and stayed there for a few weeks. See what Doc West was up to. He was about as old a necromancer as I’d ever met. He had a thing for zombies and AC/DC, the latter being the weird part since he was about nine hundred years old.

  A thought hit me. The necropolis. Why didn’t I think of that before?

  “Collin, buddy, look at me. Do I really look like a threat?”

  “As a trusted member of the guild no harm will come to you. You’ve done much good and I witnessed your actions. Still, there are old souls here who would see you stripped of rank and tossed on the other side of the cusp.”

  I gulped.

  “They wouldn’t really,” Glenda chimed in with my exact thoughts.

  “Can I at least defend myself?” I may have been injured and weak, but my temper was rising along with my blood pressure. I could force myself to be heard, call upon old friends to defend me.

  “It would go easier if you could find a reason for being summoned in the first place. We have many that can read the dead. As much as you have done for us over the years, your powers aren’t all that special.”

  “Gee, thanks, Collin. You’re all heart.”

  “I’m no different. Neither is Glenda. There’s no shame in recognizing our limits.”

  Glenda’s eyes flared to life. If there was no shame, it sure didn’t show on her face. She looked like she was about to take out a wand and roast Collin’s skin. I coughed to cover a laugh.

  “You’re just full of cheer today,” I said.

  “Yes, Collin. You are certainly full of something.” She jabbed him in the side with a finger.

  His only reaction was to crack that poker face and give Glenda a half smirk. She shook her head and crossed her arms under her breasts. The leather creaked as she rubbed the material together. Leather looked good but it was ungodly hot and noisy. Not something you wanted to wear on a job. I’d tried it once but regretted it the minute I left the house. Somehow I didn’t think Glenda had any issues wearing the material, or turning heads everywhere she walked.

  He leaned over and whispered something to her. She shook her head lightly then smiled.

  “Really?” I looked between the two of them.

  “Don’t look so scandalized,” Glenda said and intertwined one arm with his.

  Collin didn’t answer my accusation, but his silence might as well have been a giant flashing green neon light that said “Guilty!”

  “You have about six hours. I suggest you get dressed and go to Balkir’s room. Find out why he wanted you so badly. Find answers, and be quick about it.”

  “With all the suspicion, am I supposed to just walk through the hallways with my head held high?”

  “I suggest keeping your face hidden.” Collin pointed at the package he had tossed on the bed.

  “And try not to destroy any more of the building while you investigate,” Glenda quipped.

  “Thank you, Glenda. I’ll do my best. Now shouldn’t you get back to teasing--I mean teaching?”

  She wasn’t impressed with my last shot and left.

  “She likes peonies. Blood red, if you can find them.”

  “I’m not having this conversation with you,” Collin said.

  “Eye of newt is a favorite as well. Makes her – well, you know.”

  “Phineas!”

  “It’s true. Evens her out after the Sabbath.”

  Collin turned and left.

  Can I clear a room or what?

  After he stormed out, I unwrapped the brown paper.

  “Collin, you’re smarter than you look.”

  Chapter Ten

  I moved, unaccosted, through the hallways. The hood was indeed up and covered most of my face. What was visible was recessed in shadow. Men moved aside as I tried to remember which floor I was on. I was busy studying a door, thinking it looked somewhat familiar, when a voice asked if I needed help. I turned but it was just a novice. I didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. I gestured and he moved away with a loud gulp.

  Inquisitors were interested in the truth, and to that end their methods hadn’t always been a matter of simply asking questions. I won’t say that the Spanish Inquisition wasn’t a spin off, but I haven’t read up on the subject. I had asked Salazar at one time, but the look he had given me was enough to stop that query. However one thing had not changed: where the inquisitor strode, doors opened, and people did not ask questions.

  I wore such a robe now. It was white with red bands worked into the front to form a square. Flowery symbols surrounded the stripes, but if one looked close enough, as I had, those delicate flowers had very sharp thorns.

  The arms were long enough to hide my hands and the cowl deep enough to conceal my face. I’d left the chest piece in my room because I didn’t want anyone detecting it under my clothing.

  “Lost, sir?” another voice asked.

  I spun to find a familiar face, albeit one I hadn’t seen for some time. I had even forgotten the man’s name, though he was a demonologist, of that much I was certain. If he recognized me I was screwed six ways from the Sabbath.

  “Do I truly look lost?” I deepened my voice and threw a hint of menace in for good measure.

  “No, er, sir. I just thought …”

  I did my best to burn a hole into his head with my hidden eyes.

  “Name?”

  “Rigel, sir.”

  “Uh huh. And Rigel, to whom do you report?”

  “Balkir. Or I did, sir. Until that outcast Phineas killed him.”

  I nearly sputtered.

  “Be gone, Rigel. I have matters to attend to.” I added about as much menace as I could before I started to sound like a bad guy in a blockbuster action movie.

  Rigel didn’t say a word. He spun on his heel and walked in the opposite direction. His nervous steps continued until they found a corner and disappeared.

  I could get used to this.

  **

  I found the right floor after a few minutes of wandering. An elevator finally appeared, and when I entered the two warlocks on board looked at timepieces and left for whatever destination they had clearly forgotten about.

  Balkir’s door was closed and guarded. It looked like it was going to be a showdown. Me, my robe, and my wits against his
guardliness. But as I walked with purposeful strides, he moved aside while performing a quick head bob.

  I closed the door behind me and turned the lock as slowly as I could in the hope that it didn’t emit an audible click. It did. At least the guard didn’t freak out and start banging on the wood.

  Balkir’s room was organized into sections. His living quarters were through an opulent door of ivory. It opened on perfectly balanced hinges with just a touch. His bed was a mess, and the reek of saltpeter was so cloying I forced myself to breath through my mouth.

  An ornate chest coated in gold and gems lay at the foot of his bed. I avoided the obvious trap with disdain.

  I wasn’t looking for something hidden. I could spend all day here with a fortune in spell components and maybe learn that he kept a secret stash of fetish gear. Or maybe he dressed like a woman on the weekends. If that was the case, I didn’t think the council would care too much when I based my defense on garters and a flowery dress.

  I was looking for something else. Some hint. Maybe Balkir left a book lying around titled “Evil Plans to Fuck Over Phineas”.

  I looked under his massive four-poster bed but it was bare of all besides dust bunnies. The duvet looked like a summoning pentagram complete with tiny demons leaping out from the edges. I touched it and found down filling that deflated and quickly filled in again once I withdrew my hand. Demons were stitched into the bedspread.

  Bonus points for creepy.

  I didn’t touch the old man’s potion kit. Most of his vials weren’t even labeled. Was that what being that old was about? Remembering your spell components by sight? I was afraid I’d get a dose of Habius Cornette mixed with some komodo dragon pus and cause a rip in the space time continuum from which even Doctor Who would never be able to save the universe.

  I looked in drawers, peered under desks. I poked his computer keys a few times but it was locked, and no matter how good of a warlock I was there was still no spell for hacking past a PC’s password. I shifted tapestries, looked for hidden doors. I rifled through books that were stacked to the ceiling, felt along marble posts that held up the stacks of books. Felt along carpet edges, and even lifted the aquarium where he kept some kind of green and blue speckled egg that vibrated.

  After an hour of this, I grew weary and took a seat on his very comfortable couch. It was new and it wasn’t from Ikea. The massive leather sectional could comfortably seat at least six.

  I felt the cushions, running my hand across the surface. I poked, prodded, and pushed down on them until I found the one I had been looking for. It rode farther down than the other cushions, so I took a seat on this place Balkir was likely to have spent the most time.

  I stared, and that’s when it clicked.

  Most have something they look at during down times. I had a crappy TV with giant push buttons, and at one time it may have had a remote that probably relied on a click.

  What did Balkir do for fun? Did he play Parcheesi? Knit shawls? Surf Warlocks Anonymous?

  No. He sat in this seat for a reason.

  Balkir had chosen a tapestry as his object of affection. I sat in his seat and studied the giant black piece of art. An old man with a flowing white beard, who I had initially assumed was Balkir, fought a dragon with a long staff. It was the kind of thing you saw on a fantasy book cover. A single wizard against a nearly unstoppable force.

  I wasn’t interested in any of that, though. What I was interested in was what the man carried.

  A large, thick, white wooden staff. Then it clicked. The voice that had invaded my dreams while I lay in a daze. It had been my old friend Salazar. He had been trying to tell me something, or maybe it was just my subconscious. Either way I knew I had found my answer.

  **

  Salazar’s room was untouched, except that his body was gone. I hoped they treated it gently. I cursed Balkir, the old demonologist who had slayed him, once again. I wished he were here for some more friendly persuasion with my fists. Not the most elegant tool, but it had gone a long way towards making me feel better.

  I only had one run in on my way to Salazar’s room, and it nearly blew my cover. As I entered an elevator, I came face to robe with Lukan, who was muttering to himself. He had a large book in hand. So large in fact that he could barely hold it. He didn’t even bother to look up as I entered the elevator and took the corner opposite.

  He mumbled as the elevator sped down. Apparently I couldn’t read the arrows and had picked the wrong direction.

  “Inquisitor, I apologize. I was absorbed in writ.”

  “No bother.” I deepened my voice again. Slowed down my speech pattern.

  “You are here for the investigation, I presume? That man, that charlatan, he needs to be brought to us. To the demonologists. He must answer.”

  “I am considering all options.”

  Lukan tried to peer into my robe. His eyes narrowed at my words, but he didn’t dare challenge me.

  “Not much to consider? Fact: Phineas was the last one in the room with the head of my order. Fact: he summoned the demon that killed Salazar. Fact: he probably planned to kill the old man all along, and then Balkir, so he could take over.”

  “This Phineas sounds like a very powerful warlock. Summoning demons? Killing grand masters? My advice is that you steer clear of someone of his,” I paused and looked him up and down, “caliber.”

  Lukan was completely silent as I left the elevator.

  **

  The men outside Salazar’s room bowed but didn’t say a word. They wore the dark clothing of security and both had a full set of powerful glyphs wards etched into their robes. I wouldn’t want to take on one of them, let alone two. Thankfully, they moved aside and let me pass without question or demand for identification. Probably Collin’s doing. He might be getting into Glenda’s leathers, something I found myself oddly jealous of, but I had to thank him later for making this operation so smooth. I’d never really liked Collin, but my opinion of him was changing rapidly.

  They’d brought in plywood to cover the huge hole in the side of the building, and taped it shut, but air still managed to whistle in, making a forlorn sound like an animal in pain.

  I looked over the room, hoping to find something of the old man’s. I found his belongings where they should have been. His drawers were closed, his tomes on shelves, and I found his robes in order. Points to the old man for that. I hadn’t managed to keep one robe clean, let alone a closet full of them.

  I inspected the reclining chair I’d often found Salazar occupying late at night, and I paid close attention to the base. It seemed to be unmoved, so I proceeded on.

  As I walked around the room, hands behind my back, the same hint of dizziness come over me. I wandered near the summoning station and that’s when it struck with full force. While I stared at the metal runnels that lined the ivory insets and studied the lines of summoning, the wooziness came back.

  As I stared and stared, I felt myself sinking into the circle that made up the middle of the pentagram. It was getting closer, or maybe I was leaning over. Then it hit me. Something so strong it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I gagged as my breath was stolen away. I had to plant my hand on the metal rail to keep from falling over. I stayed this way, in a daze, for what seemed an hour.

  Then the floor shifted and I was falling. Fire rushed up to meet me. A massive conflagration of forces, a maelstrom of wind and flame. I screamed, but nothing came out because it was too hot to even breathe.

  Then I saw it. The cusp. It stood like a ring of foreboding. The thing that I touched every day was right in front of me. Closer than I had ever felt it before. I had visited the underrealm and even rode close to the cusp, but this was not the same.

  I wanted to reach out and scoop some of it out, and when I tried to open myself to it I nearly burned the soul out of my body.

  Power like I had never experienced rushed under my skin. I was on fire then I was freezing. A mix of emotions hit me, elation, fear, and anger.
I wanted to strike out at those that had caused Salazar to fall but Balkir was already in the pit, cast down, and experiencing the joy of the wards.

  I was here, alive, touching something new, and I was fine with never touching it again as long as I lived. Then it was like an electric shock rode my body. I burned with power as pulse after pulse suffused my being and strained to be let free. I knew that if I let it go, even for a second, it would consume me, and probably the entire building.

  I fought it, wrestled it down. How in the world was I touching this much of the cusp?

  My eyes watered as I battled. I strained to push it back where it belonged -- not in me. My eyes were stretched open just like my mouth, but no sound came out. I followed the curve of the cusp into the horizon and realized why it was so different.

  It was the curve. I was seeing it from the wrong side.

  I was somehow touching the cusp from the wrong side! I was in the wards!

  I pulled back with a howl and my soul snapped up and found my body once again. Then I was picked up, as if by a giant hand, and flung across the room.

  I landed on a sofa, but it was nothing like the one Balkir had planted his ass on while studying his talisman. Salazar had been a hard man in life and lived in only moderate comfort, so hitting his couch was only slightly softer than landing on wooden planks.

  I patted at my body, expecting the robe to be in flames. I was surprised to see nothing in the way of smoke. I sat back and tried to catch my breath.

  A pounding at the door brought me around.

  “Are you okay, sir?” one of the guards called.

  “Fine!” I yelled, and jumped up, expecting the door to burst open.

  I pictured the two outside the door, whispering, “Should we go in? No he’s an inquisitor!”

  I approached the pedestal again. As I got near, I felt the calling, so I backed away. I didn’t want another trip down that rabbit hole. It had been one of the scariest experiences of my life.

  I scanned the rest of the room and located the object. It had been placed upright in a corner. None would know it had been in Salazar’s possession and probably assumed it belonged in the room with all the other relics.