by Sharon Joss
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AN EXCERPT FROM VOLUME II OF
THE HAND OF FATE SERIES:
LEGACY SOUL
1
Twenty-seven minutes late, the number eleven bus to Shore Haven roared up to the stop in front of me, in a scream of air brakes and great rolling gout of black diesel. Even without the smoky bus belch, my eyes felt like they were on fire; I’d just gotten new contact lenses, and hadn’t gotten used to them yet. I muttered a silent oath and climbed aboard; my mood having already been poisoned by the unexpected and sudden demise of Trusty Rusty, my nine-year-old Honda earlier in the day. My bulky helmet banged against my leg as I made my way through the tightly-packed bus, looking for a seat, but of course at 5:45 on a Friday afternoon in mid-August, all the seats were taken.
Pressed tightly on all sides by a sweaty mass of humanity, I gritted my teeth and held on to the overhead bar as the bus swung out into traffic again. Five stops to go.
I called my half-brother Lance for a ride and a tow, but he wasn’t answering his cell. His auto body shop services all the city vehicles, and if I didn’t get Rusty out of the lot by midnight, the City of Picston would give me a ticket and impound it. Pretty ironic, since I’m a Picston parking control officer.
Three stops later, the number of people getting off far exceeded the number of people getting on, and the bus began to empty out. Gratefully, I slid into an empty seat for the three-mile ride to Shore Haven.
I smelled the djinn as soon as I sat down.
Djinn are unnamed djemons, or demons, as they’re more commonly known. In the djinn stage, they’re stinky little apparitions that are imperceptible to everyone but the person they’re trying to attach themselves to.
And me.
The reek of licorice tinged with a hint of sulfur is unmistakable. Once djinn attach themselves to a master and are given a name, the scent disappears, and they’re able to materialize in the physical world as real demons. But by that time, they’re yours for the rest of your life.
And I should know. I’ve got two baby djemons of my own.
I scanned the half-empty bus; looking for the source of the stink, but no dice. When the bus stopped at the corner of Third and St. Joseph’s, I stepped out into the humid afternoon, only to be hailed by a woman behind me.
“Excuse me, are you Miss Blackman?” The roar of the departing bus drowned out the rest of what she said.
As soon as I spotted the demon coiled around her neck I knew what she wanted.
As she spoke, a gust of soot whipped her frizz of reddish hair into a wild halo. “I’m looking for the Hand of Fate.”
2
She said I could call her Jane. Jane Jones.
Yeah, right.
She was desperate for help; the demon was ruining her life. She was terrified of snakes. She was a teacher, she explained—third grade. She’d lose her teaching credential if anyone found out she had a demon. She couldn’t sleep; couldn’t eat. The other two demon exterminators in town had recently shut their doors, and she’d heard I could get rid of it.
Yes.
The word was getting out. A few weeks ago, someone had cracked open a cave full of djinn and they’d been running loose in Shore Haven, attaching themselves to unsuspecting people just like Jane.
We trudged up the sidewalk toward my apartment, the smell of hot asphalt and diesel fumes adding to the grime of my already sweat-dampened hair and clothes. All I wanted now was a shower and a beer, but banishing her little guy would only take a minute.
She followed me up the driveway of my landlord’s house; a forgettable 1940’s detached avocado green split-level ranch with white trim and a big oak tree in the front yard. Up a narrow driveway leading around and behind the garage to the very back of the property to where I lived in a one-bedroom apartment above a 150-year-old stone stable. As we passed the garage, I stopped dead in my tracks.
More than a dozen people clustered in the paved area in front of my apartment. The only person I recognized was Miriam, “Mimsy” Wu, the manager of the House of Cards; a restaurant and gaming establishment in Rochester, which until recently, catered to my step-brother Lance’s gambling addiction.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“It’s about time you showed up. Some of us have been waiting here for hours.” Chopstick-thin Mimsy wears tiny, expensive-looking clothes that I’ve never seen at any of the places I shop, and if those eyelashes are real, I’ll eat a bug. “Where have you been?”
“My car died. I had to take the bus.”
She gave me a cat-eyed smile. Probably never been on a bus in her life. Her great-grandmother and mine were best friends, so I feel like I have some sort of screwy obligation to be nice to her. On the other hand, she probably slept with my boyfriend in the not too distant past; something I haven’t had a chance to do yet.
“Mimsy says you’re the new Hand of Fate,” a middle-aged woman in lavender seersucker capris appeared to be the self-appointed spokesperson. “Are you taking over Madame Coumlie’s appointments?”
Madame Coumlie was my great-grandmother. She died a few weeks ago and her abilities and legacy as the Hand of Fate passed to me. The whole Hand of Fate concept was still a bit fuzzy for me. So far, I’d banished a whole boatload of unnamed djinn, and one particularly nasty djenie.
“I can’t stand this thing one moment longer. You’ve got to get rid of it—right now!”
Sure enough, a grey-brown toad-like creature with three yellow eyes crouched at her feet. It’s only human nature to start referring to a creature who accompanies you everywhere by name; people can’t help themselves. And once a djinn has a name, they are forever attached to the person who names them. And once you’ve named it, it’s nearly impossible to stop yourself from talking to them or giving them commands. Before you know it, they’ve become a permanent part of your life. Until death do you part.
I wanted to change out of my uniform. “Just give me a minute--.”
“I’ve waited long enough! You have to help us.” Others in the crowd echoed her frustration.
I held up my hands. “Okay, okay.”
I’d been in exactly the same spot not so long ago, and remembered how desperate I’d been to get rid of Blix. Demon masters are legally required to register with the government. They track the size of your demon annually, and any signs of growth indicate you’ve been using it for presumably nefarious purposes. Say good-bye to air travel, and probably your job, too. And unless your spouse files for divorce, child protective services usually moves to remove children from the homes of demon masters. In the eyes of the federal government, anyone who consorts or otherwise engages in naming, harboring, or summoning a djemon is guilty of terrorist activities. You can be arrested and imprisoned. And if they discover an unregistered demon of any size, you could be arrested and held without bail—or even executed.
Nobody wants that kind of trouble, which is why they go to the Hand of Fate.
And now, that’s me. I am the last direct descendant of the goddess Morta, Queen of Death. Not exactly a super power, but having power over the non-living gives me the ability to banish pesky djinn and djemons.
I eased my way through the crowd to my front door. “I’ll take care of each of you as soon I can.”
There was a typed sheet of paper taped to my front door. An eviction notice. Great. The property had just been sold at auction, and I had to be out in 30 days. Not s
o surprising, really. My landlord had been jailed last month for having an unregistered demon, and no doubt needed to sell the property to pay for legal fees.
An old man peered over my shoulder. “I’ll bet Mad Otto bought it. He’s been buyin’ ever’thing between Third and Bayshore. Gonna tear it down to make room for that blasted new Marina.”
The old guy must’ve had chili with onions for lunch.
“Let’s get on with it, girlie,” chili breath grouched.
I crumpled up the notice and opened the door to my apartment. “The first two of you can come inside with me. The rest of you, please wait out here until it’s your turn.”
I climbed the stairs, accompanied by a pounding headache. After dropping my purse and helmet at the top of the stairs, I turned to face my first two clients. The first, a soccer mom, had a clear aura and deep maroon lifeline—sign of a normal human. On the other hand, chili-breath’s lifeline was black. Curious, but not beyond my experience. It meant he was either not-human, or not-alive. Or maybe both.
My about-to-be new boyfriend, Rhys Warrick, didn’t have a lifeline either. In his case, he was a djenie; a former djemon that had outlived his master. When his master died, Rhys was released from servitude and assumed a human form.
“Have either of you ever brought a djinn or djemon to Madame Coumlie to be banished before?”
They both shook their heads.
“Will it hurt?" Chili breath wore his long silver hair in a single thin braid that trailed down his back, past his waist.
“No,” I bragged, “Doesn’t bother me a bit. Piece of cake.”
“I’ll go get Mimsy,” the soccer mom said, and she left before I could protest. Great.
Lying at his feet, the old man’s djemon looked like a horned slug, and was about the size of a chocolate éclair.
“Come here little guy.” When I reached out to it, it reverse halumphed away from me, out of reach. Golden eyes glared at me from atop dark eye stalks.
“Are you going to kill it?” The old man looked worried.
“No, no. It’s not alive. It can’t die. All I’m going to do is banish it.” I took a deep breath, and shook out my sweaty hands. “Wait a second. What’s its name?”
Chili breath reddened. “I swear I didn’t name it on purpose. It—I started thinking of it as a Snot-wad, and before I knew it, that was ‘er name.”
Okaaay.
“Hear me and obey, Snot-wad. I am the Hand of Fate. I hereby banish you from all physical and metaphysical earthly planes, never to return.” I clapped my hands.
Nothing happened.
“I command it.” I clapped again. Again, nothing happened.
“You have to hold his hand.” Mimsy came into the room, accompanied by soccer mom.
“What?”
Mimsy grabbed my left hand and put it into the old man’s bony right. “Now say it again. You don’t need to clap.”
“How would you know?” I felt like I’d just been scolded my one of my teachers, and it came out all huffy and pissy. I already felt like a stupid cow next to Mimsy, and having her tell me I was doing it wrong didn’t help.
“Because that’s the way Madame Coumlie did it for me the last two times.”
She must have seen something in my face. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Hey, you gonna fix this thing or not,” the old man said. “I’ve gotta go to the can. I’ve been sittin’ around waitin’ for you all afternoon. I can’t wait much longer.”
“Sorry.” I gripped his hand. “Okay then. Snot-wad, I banish you from all physical and metaphysical planes, never to return.”
Immediately, an earth-shattering scream pierced the air. The windows rattled. We all put our hands over our ears, but Snot-wad’s shrill wails and convulsions went on for several seconds before she finally blinked out. The old man snatched his hand away from me and grabbed at his chest. The echoes of the djemon’s toe-curling squeals reverberated off the walls of my apartment for several long moments.
“Jaysus Mary of Morgantown. I thought you said it warn’t goin’ ta hurt. What in tarnation did you do? You some kinda sadist or somethin’?”
I stared openmouthed at the empty spot on the carpet where Snot-wad used to be. “I had no idea that would happen. They’re not supposed to be able to feel anything.”
“Feels like a piece been torn right outa me.” The old man hunched over, his eyes watering.
Maybe he was having a heart attack. “Are you all right?” I reached for him, but he pushed me away.
“Don’t know what yer tryin’ to pull, here. Miz Coumlie never hurt anybody.” He stumbled toward the stairs, muttering. “She never did no harm. Kept me comp’ny; me livin alone and all.”
Soccer mom and Mimsy stared at me with wide-eyed apprehension.
“I didn’t mean to hurt anybody,” I protested.
“That never happened when Madame Coumlie banished my djemons.”
“I don’t think you’re doing it right,” said soccer mom. She had a death grip on her purse.
“Do you want to come back later?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She pulled a scrap of newspaper out of the pocket of her jacket. “Have you seen this? It’s from today’s paper.”
FBI Announces New Security Monitoring Measures for Selected US Cities
AP/UPI The Federal Bureau of Investigation announced that their Anti-Terrorism Task Force is beefing up homeland security efforts with specially-trained dogs to detect invisible threats such as demons, hexes, curses, and in some instances, compulsions. The dogs will be used at major transportation hubs such as airports, major rail stations, and subways to inspect travelers, pilots and engineers for psychic interference.
“We’ve known for years that dogs could be trained to detect drugs, explosives, and even diseases such as cancer. It wasn’t a big stretch to train them to detect inhuman interference and demonic presence,” stated an FBI insider on the anti-terrorism task force, who spoke on the condition of anonymity.
New York Senator Bob Wise (R) agreed. “The safety of the American public is of critical importance. These dogs can detect psychic and demonic interference at comparatively little cost to the taxpayer. The public is already used to seeing these dogs at airports, so it’s not a big change. No one wants another incident like what happened in Europe two years ago. I for one, would feel much safer knowing that my pilot is not under the influence of some curse or demonic compulsion”
The first paranormal detection dog-handler teams were rolled out at the major international airports last year, but the FBI is also sending these specially-trained teams to selected cities where higher-than-normal incidents of supernatural activities have been reported. The FBI would not confirm or deny which cities have been targeted, but there are several small towns in Louisiana, Missouri, New Mexico, and upstate New York reporting recent spikes of supernatural activity.
I glanced to the top of the bookshelf, where my two own demons, Blix and Larry perched invisibly. They watched me with frightened expressions, their bulbous yellow eyes nearly popping out of their heads. So far, I’d managed to keep them hidden, but I wasn’t so sure they’d be safe from a demon-sniffing dog. Maybe I should have banished them when I banished all the other djinn, but they’d saved my life, and I didn’t want them to go.
“You think they’re coming here?” I asked.
“My husband is a realtor. Two weeks ago he was contacted by the FBI field office in Rochester. They’re looking for short-term rentals that will allow dogs.”
“Maybe it’s for something else,” I said. “Like search and rescue training or something.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. I want this thing banished right now.”
“Yes, but—.”
“If the authorities find out, I could lose everything! I have children. I can’t spend the rest of my life in hiding.”
I could feel the heat of her fear radiating off her. Her eyes shone with anxiety. “Are you sure?”
She stiffened. “Whatever it takes. Just do it.”
I looked at the lizard-thing crouched at her feet and swallowed hard. It had a single horn in the middle of its forehead. It was the first one I’d seen that really looked like a demon ought to. “What’s the name?”
“No names,” soccer mom said. “I don’t want anyone to know who I am. And if you see me on the street, act like you don’t know me. No one can know about this.” She wrung her hands.
“No, I meant, what’s your djemon’s name?”
“Oh.” She wouldn’t look at it. “It’s Barnaby. Can’t we just get this over with?” Already Barnaby was looking a little uncertain. His big yellow eyes flitted around the room, as if looking for a place to hide.
Poor guy. “Take my hand.”
As soon as she touched my hand, Barnaby started to squeal like a puppy. As I began to speak the words to banish him, the volume rose to an ear-splitting howl. A seizure gripped Barnaby, and a sour, scorched smell filled the air as he began to bite at himself, writhing in torment before he disappeared. It was an ugly, disturbing scene. Mimsy and soccer mom were both pale and trembling by the time the screams stopped. If there hadn’t been a crowd outside, I would have run away right then.
Soccer mom snatched her hand back like she’d been burned.
“I’m so sorry,” I gasped. I felt as if I’d just killed her pet. “Are you all right?”
She clasped her hands to her chest; tears streaming down her face. “It feels as if you ripped my heart out through my throat. It’s like he was connected to me, somehow. Oh this is horrible!” She glared at me. “You murdered him, you evil witch!”
I tried to explain that Barnaby wasn’t ever alive, but she only shook her head.
