Dark Kingdoms

by Richard Lee Byers

  "—the fire," the child concluded.

  Alice wondered if someone's home was ablaze. But surely she would have seen the glow of the conflagration in the sky. "Please say that again," she said. "I didn't catch the first part."

  "Black fire," said the girl. "Strings and dots of it, floating all around."

  Frowning in perplexity, Alice said, "There is something nasty in the air. But it's just smoke from some factory. It can't hurt us."

  "I thought it would be worse inside," said the child. "Because the house has bad things in it, even if Mommy and Daddy and Brad can't feel them. A mean man hurt the girl who lived there before us. So I went out the back door when nobody was looking."

  At last Alice felt she was on familiar ground. "You slipped out without your parents' permission."

  "But it didn't help," said the girl. "The fire was just as bad outside. It burned me just as bad, and no matter where I went, I couldn't get away from it. After a while I tried to go home again, but nothing looked right."

  Alice nodded. "It's easy to get lost in the dark. But if you can tell me your name and address, it will be just as easy to get you back home."

  The girl began to shake more violently. "I walked for a long time, and then I saw the park. I came in because it was a place I knew, and it still seemed the same. But when I looked at one of the picnic tables, I saw...I saw..." Without warning, she threw back her head and screamed.

  Alice took the girl into her embrace. The child thrashed, trying to break away. "Little one, little one, listen to me!" the teacher said. "Whatever you saw, it's over and done with. Nothing can hurt you now."

  After a few seconds, the girl slumped inert in her arms, all but catatonic once again. Then blades of radiance slashed through the night, and running footsteps pounded the ground. Fearful that whatever had alarmed the child was now charging toward her, Alice held her breath until two masculine silhouettes emerged from the darkness, each gripping a flashlight.

  One of the beams flowed across the child and Alice, compelling the latter to flinch from the glare. "Ruthie!" cried a teenage voice, breaking on the second syllable.

  "Are you the child's family?" asked Alice. Laboriously—as usual after a workout, her joints had stiffened up as soon as she'd stopped moving—she hauled herself to her feet. "Thank goodness."

  "That's us," said another voice, deeper, older, and rougher. "I'm Tom Parker. Who are you?"

  Alice's mouth tightened at the brusqueness of the question, but perhaps the man she assumed to be the girl's father was too upset to be polite. "My name is Alice Mason. I was walking through the park when I heard your little girl crying."

  "Huh," grunted Parker, lumbering closer. With the light out of her eyes, Alice could see that he was a burly, moonfaced man with a baseball cap jammed down over a head of dark, greasy-looking curls. An oval patch on his coveralls said Shelby Brick Co. He bent over the child. "Ruthie, are you okay?" The child didn't answer, or even look up at him. He scowled at Alice. "What's the matter with her?"

  "I don't know," Alice replied. "She was like this when I found her, until I managed to coax her into speaking. What she said made very little sense but was quite upsetting to her, so much so that relating it made her hysterical. I assume you came running because you heard her scream. After that, she became withdrawn again. Is she under a doctor's care?"

  "No!" the big man answered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing derogatory," Alice said. "It's just that she seems confused, so I wondered if she had a history of similar problems."

  "Not really," said the teenager, a lanky boy with hands and feet too large for the rest of him. "Sometimes she says she sees things, but I always thought she was just playing. She's always had a big imagination."

  "Shut up, Brad," said Parker. "There's nothing wrong with Ruthie. She's a normal kid."

  "Then has she had some sort of shock?" Alice asked. "She alluded to bad things happening in your house. Another little girl being abused."

  "Are you accusing me of something?" Parker asked.

  "No," Alice said quickly. "What Ruthie told me was very cryptic. I just thought it might reflect—"

  "Because I don't even have another girl," the big man said. "Just Ruthie and her brother here. Isn't that right?"

  Brad nodded. "Yeah."

  "What's more," Parker said, "she was fine an hour ago. Playing with her Sailor Moon dolls, happy as a pig in shit." He hunkered down beside his daughter. "What's the matter with you, sugar cookie? You can tell Daddy."

  Ruthie didn't answer.

  "I don't know if it's a good idea to question her now," Alice said. "Even if you could get her talking, it might just agitate her again. Let's take her to the hospital. The emergency room. I'm sure they have a psychiatrist on call."

  "I told you, she isn't crazy," Parker said. He rose, lifted Ruthie in his arms, and handed her to Brad, who received her a little awkwardly. "Take care of her."

  "I didn't say she was mentally ill," Alice replied. The longer they talked, the stranger the big man's attitude seemed. She wondered if he had been mistreating Ruthie, but actually didn't think it likely. In her experience, abusive parents in fear of detection were far more likely to turn on the charm than to become hostile. "But it'f«obviOus she needs medical attention, don't you agree?"

  "Oh, we'll look after her," Parker said. "You can count on that. But first you're going to answer a couple questions. What were you doing here?"

  Puzzled, Alice cocked her head. "Walking home. I thought I told you."

  "The park is closed at night."

  "Then I suppose I'm a trespasser," Alice said impatiently. The irritant in the atmosphere stung her forehead. "You can alert the authorities if you think it necessary, though your daughter might still be lost if I hadn't happened along."

  "Yeah," said Parker. "But I'm thinking, if I wanted to carry a kid off somewhere and mess with her, I might take her to a dark, lonely spot just like this."

  The statement was so bizarre that for a moment, Alice thought she'd misheard it. Parker couldn't really mean what he seemed to be implying. "Are you suggesting that I abducted this child? Broke into your house and spirited her away?"

  "She Wouldn't go out at night alone without a word to anyone. She knows better."

  "Something frightened her. It may have had something to do with this nasty vapor in the air."

  Parker snorted. "Right. That sounds real likely. Stupid me, I was thinking that maybe a person scared her. Maybe even a person who got caught at the scene of the crime. And tried to throw suspicion off herself by making out that the poor little kid is crazy."

  "I understand how terrified you must have been when you discovered Ruthie was missing," Alice said. "I'm sure you're still distraught. But you're being ridiculous, I'm a teacher at Long Elementary. I sing in the choir at First Methodist. I'm an old lady, for heaven's sake."

  "That doesn't mean you can't he a pervert or maybe even a devil Worshipper," Parker said. "Kids are getting molested in schools and daycares all over the world. You see it on TV all the time. Hell, lately, everybody's going nuts. The crazy preachers and teachers and cops have just about killed off all the good ones."

  The contaminant folding the air seemed to be thickening. It coated Alice's mouth with a vile taste and tied a knot in her chest. "I'm not going to debate this any further," she said. "It's too silly, and more importantly, Ruthie needs to go to a hospital without any further delay."

  Cradled in her brother's arms, Ruthie murmured, "Needles."

  Parker lurched around toward her. "What?"

  "Needles," the little girl croaked. "The monkey man on top of the table was made of needles, and he stuck them in, one after another, until—" Her words dissolved into sobbing.

  Parker glared at Alice. "What did you do to her, yOu bitch?"

  The teacher struggled against the impulse to shrink before his anger. "Are you even listening to what the child is saying? In the first place, she talked about a monkey man�
�"

  "So you had a friend. With sense enough to run when Ruthie finally let off a scream."

  "No. Will you just think? Does it sound as if the child is describing anything real ?"

  Parker's massive form quivered. "I told you, she isn't crazy."

  "Fine," Alice said. "Believe whatever you like. Just get her to a doctor and then you can report your suspicions to the police. Make a jackass of yourself to your heart's content."

  "Sure," said Parker. "And by the time they come after you, you'll be in another state."

  "If you like, I'll stay with you until they arrive to take your statement."

  "Then I guess you're all in it together," Parker said. "They must like to hurt little kids, too. So I think we'll just settle this right now, by ourselves." He slapped his flashlight against the palm of his hand. The long metal cylinder landed with a meaty smack.

  Alice attempted to speak, but no sound came out. She swallowed and tried again. "This is ludicrous. I was at an exercise class until just a few minutes ago. Twenty people can vouch for me."

  "Oh, I'm sure your pervert buddies will give you an alibi." The flashlight whacked into his left hand.

  "Whatever you believe," Alice said, "you can't just batter a person. You'll go to prison."

  "It's dark, and we've got trees blocking the view from the street. I'm willing to take my chances." The flashlight thudded against his palm.

  "This is insane," said Alice. She gazed at Brad beseechingly. "For God's sake, do something!"

  The boy grimaced, hitched his shoulders as if his sister's weight was growing uncomfortably heavy, and finally said, "I don't know about this, Dad. We got Ruthie back safe, that's the important thing, isn't it? Whatever happened, there's not a mark on her. Maybe you could talk to the cops."

  "No," Parker said. "You're a good boy, son, but you don't understand. There's a sickness loose in the world, and now it's broken out here. You can just about taste it every time you take a breath. And until it runs its course, we won't be able to trust anybody outside the family. We'll have to protect ourselves, any way we can. Now you get Ruthie away from here. She doesn't need to see this."

  Brad peered at his father with troubled eyes, then turned his back. "No!" Alice cried. "Please, you mustn't let this happen!" The teenager walked away.

  Parker smiled, slapped the makeshift weapon into his hand, and lifted it over his head. Moving without haste, almost casually, he started forward.

  At first Alice simply stared at him, not quite able to believe that she truly was in mortal danger. She'd stopped to help Ruthie, and Parker had no reason to suspect otherwise. Then a surge of terror jolted her out of her daze. She wheeled, fled, and heard the big man break into a run as well. His feet seemed to shake the ground, but perhaps that was really the pounding of her heart.

  She sprinted past a jungle gym. Sensed Parker closing the distance between them, and fought the urge to look over her shoulder. Strained to run even faster instead.

  Then she lurched forward, her feet no longer beneath her, her balance gone, As she slammed down oft her ground, she thought she'd tripped. Then she belatedly felt g throb of pain in the back of her skull, and realized Parker had clubbed her.

  She tried to scramble back up, but a second blow caught her on the shoulder. The impact snapped bone and smashed her back onto the grass:,

  "Please," she moaned, "I didn't do anything."

  Parker dropped to one knee and grabbed her forearm, anchoring her in place. "Bitch," he gasped, evidently winded from the brief chase. The flashlight rose over his head. "Nobody"—the flashlight hammered down on her breasts—"hurts"— another blow smashed her glasses and crushed her nose—"my kids!"

  Alice; struggled to protect herself for as long as she could, but it wasn't long before she couldn't .even move anymore. Her lack of resistance did nothing to deter Parker; He went on beating her as savagely as ever. Her eyes full of blood, she almost imagined she could see the shreds of black fire Ruthie had spoken of, floating all around her. The tatters multiplied until they formed a single mass, an ocean of acid drowning and dissolving the world. She felt her heart judder and rip, and the darkness howled.

  Astarte rubbed her eyebrow. Her face felt strange with the steel jewelry removed from her piercings. He.ll, she felt strange clad in bright colors, with the spikes and magenta highlights gone from her hair. But Marilyn had thought it best that they come to the police station in disguise.

  Dressed as a man tonight, in a loud plaid polyester jacket utterly different than her usual elegant masculine attire, the Arcanist studied the four-story brick slab of a building on the: other side of the parking lot. "I guess it looks all right," she said at last.

  "It looks like a cop shop," Astarte said impatiently. "Are we going in or what?"

  Marilyn smiled sourly, "Apparently so." She pushed up the nerdy plastic black- rimmed glasses she'd donned to further alter her appearance. "Come on."

  They started across the brightly illuminated ring of asphalt encircling the station house. The amber lights atop the tall poles made Astarte feel exposed and vulnerable. With a twinge of sardonic amusement, she reflected that recent events had made^ her afraid of the dark as well. She guessed a girl knew she was really in trouble when she no longer felt safe; anywhere.

  Marilyn.led her companion through the public entrance into the reception area, a long, narrow room with greasy-looking gray linoleum and bilious yellow walls. Backless Wooden benches flanked the doorway. The dozen people sitting on them looked sick and weary in the harsh fluorescent light. The air smelled of cigarette smoke and disinfectant.

  A fresh-faced cadet behind the Information and Complaint Desk drew herself up straighter on her stool. Ignoring her, Astarte and Marilyn scanned the people slumped on the benches as if they were looking for someone, then sat down themselves. Looking disappointed, the cadet returned to the hefty criminology textbook she was reading.

  A round white clock with black numbers hung above the candy machine. The red second hand crawled around the dial with agonizing slowness. By the time it completed its fourth circuit, Astarte felt edgy enough to explode.

  "Can't we just go for it?" she whispered.

  "I'd rather not," Marilyn replied. "I told you, I'm not a mage, and assuming this trick works at all, it isn't going to function as it would in a movie. Let's choose our moment carefully, so as to maximize our chances."

  Six more minutes crept past. Then the door flew open and a voluptuous black woman staggered through, clutching her temple. Blood streamed through her fingers and stained the shoulder of her pink knit pullover. Several other people, some battered and bleeding also, rushed in after her. Charging to the desk, they all started jabbering at once. The senior patrol officer and his trio of cadets converged on them to sort out the chaos.

  "Perfect," Marilyn breathed. Slipping her hand into her hip pocket, she rose and ambled toward the door at the right-hand end of the desk. The sign on it read, Authorized Personnel Only.

  Astarte stood up and followed, trying to match the Arcanists air of nonchalance. She reached into her own pocket, took hold of the little cloth bag Marilyn had given her, and squeezed it hard.

  From her perspective, the results were less than spectacular. She didn't feel any surge of magic power sizzling through her flesh. She could still see her own body, just as she could still see Marilyn walking a pace ahead of her. But supposedly, if the charms worked, other people would tend not to notice them, particularly if some commotion was providing a distraction.

  Astarte held her breath as Marilyn opened the door, and cringed when the senior patrol officer glanced over directly at them. But the cop didn't appear to register their presence, or the fact that the door was now ajar. He just grabbed a clipboard and pen and turned back to the disheveled, babbling crowd in front of him.

  The intruders quickened their stride, hurrying past the Communications Center, a glassed-in area housing telephones, computers, radios, fax machines, and two harried-looking disp
atchers. Beyond that was a deserted hallway.

  Marilyn let out a long exhalation. "Thank God," she said. "If I'm not mistaken, we became visible almost as soon as we passed through the door. I was sure one of the dispatchers was going to look up and see us." Suddenly, to Astarte's surprise, the Arcanist smiled, not her former grimace of nervous resolve but a genuine expression of glee. "Still, it worked well enough, didn't it? That's sorcery, my dear, or at least a faint echo of it. How do you like being the one wielding the supernatural powers for a change?"

  "I like it a lot," Astarte said, grinning back. "It's what I've wanted all my life."

  The exhilaration in Marilyn's face withered abruptly. Now her features looked haggard and apprehensive again. "Well, we can savor the memory later. Let's do what we came to do and get out of here. I'm not sure the charms will work a second time, so don't use yours unless you feel you absolutely have to. Now that we've made it past the gatekeepers, we should be all right. Anyone who sees us will assume we have legitimate business in this part of the building. Just try to look as if you belong."

  Astarte scowled. "Right. We went over this already. Jeez, you treat me like I'm stupid, just like Frank—"

  At the mention of Bellamy's name, a wave of anguish swept through her. Her eyes burned, and a sob caught in her throat.

  Marilyn tried to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Astarte twisted away, avoiding the contact. "I'm okay," she growled. "Let's just do this."

  Marilyn nodded. "All right," she said softly. "According to my information, the Evidence Room is on the second floor. Let's find a way up."

  In a minute they came to a wooden staircase. Marilyn glanced back at Astarte, evidently making sure she wasn't having a nervous breakdown. The solicitude made her angry. She was afraid that if her friend kept fussing over her, she would fall apart. She glared and gestured impatiently. Marilyn started up the steps, which creaked beneath her scuffed Hush Puppies.