Hill Magick

by Julia French

  The bedroom window.

  No good.

  Even if she were able to climb over the sill with her injured arm, she didn’t have the strength to make it across the back yard to the van in the alley. Every inch of her body screamed in pain, and in spite of the warmth of the room she was shivering. Her hands and feet were blocks of ice and she was getting colder by the second except for the warm spot between her breasts. The amulet was telling her she was still in danger, but how was that going to help her now?

  Something struck the bedroom door, but it didn’t sound like a fist, and she wondered what he was using for a battering ram. Another slam, and the door creaked under the impact.

  She closed her eyes, waiting for what was going to happen, what had to happen, and let her mind drift away from here and now. The all-seeing eye… Seeing eyes… Eyes were the windows to the soul, True had said, for they showed a person’s true nature even when there wasn’t any other sign… Nature… The true nature of windows… She wanted to escape, to fly out the window… She was too hurt to climb out, but if Mark thought she had, he would go away.

  The door shook with another impact. If only he would make some sound! The weird, determined silence terrified her more than any shouting or ranting. Rachel forced her body to move, and the effort made black sparks blossom around the edges of her vision. She ignored the sparks and grabbed the edge of the bed to steady herself.

  The door shuddered again, and the sound galvanized her into movement. The window was three miles away and each step took an hour, but she got there at last. She put out her hand and touched the glass of the panes, fumbled for the lock, heaved the sash up with her good arm. A chilly blast of air invaded the room, but she was too cold to feel it. She dragged a hand across her forehead and then the windowsill to smear a trail of blood. Another quivering impact upon the bedroom door made the hinges groan, and she knew that the next blow would be the last.

  She didn’t remember getting under the bed. She was simply there, her purse looped around her good arm, looking up at the striped underside of the mattress. The hinges screeched as the door wrenched away from the frame, and she held her breath in case he would hear her.

  His hoarse panting echoed in the room, and she smelled polished leather as the tips of his shoes came within inches of her bleeding face. The shoes turned around and around again as he looked about the room. The shoes paused, pointed toward the open window, took one step toward it. Then the shoes moved into the doorway. The echoes of his footsteps quickened as they faded down the hall—he was running. She heard the front door bang open and shut.

  Get out now. Rachel rolled her head, trying to force her body to obey her, but it refused to respond. It was too late anyway. Even as she heard footsteps again in the hallway, a misty gray veil descended over her and she knew nothing more.

  * * * *

  Something warm and wet lay upon her forehead. Rachel started to open her eyes, but the light hurt and she shut them again. She didn’t need her eyes to know who was in the room with her anyway, because she smelled the warm herbal-spice scent of his body. He must have put her in his own bed, for the mattress under her didn’t sag as badly as the one in the spare room. He was fussing with her shoulder now, and as the numbness of shock wore off each poke and prod increased her pain. She squirmed, and he murmured something that she didn’t catch. Then she felt him raise her arm and turn it palm-up. One brief, painful tug and it was over—she could move her left arm again.

  Whatever was in the cup True pressed to her lips was more powerful than willow bark. One sip left her feeling light-headed and dizzy, but she didn’t feel that she was falling asleep—only that the sounds and sensations around her blurred for a time and then grew sharp again as she came back to consciousness. This time she did open her eyes, but she was alone in the room.

  She sat up and lifted her arm, expecting more pain, but there was only a dull ache. Her forehead felt stiff. She put a hand on her brow and felt a thick crusted line where the edge of the cabinet had cut her. True had pasted the lips of the wound together with some kind of poultice, and he had done the same to the gash on the back of her head, parting her hair carefully instead of shaving the area, as a regular doctor would have done.

  How True had known to come for her she couldn’t guess, but it was enough that he had. Where was he now? Indistinct voices murmured from the living room. She rose, gathered the blanket around her, and crept to the doorway. Now she could hear the voices more clearly, a man’s raised in anger and True’s calm replies.

  The familiarity of the man’s voice sent her quaking with fear, but a powerful surge of shame at her cowardice cancelled it out and the trembling stopped. She craned her neck to peer around the corner and saw True, his back turned to her, standing guard at the front door. Neither of the men saw she was there.

  “You’re hiding her from me! I know she’s here.” Mark’s voice slurred. He had been drinking.

  True’s answer was deceptively soft, almost caressing, a coiled rattlesnake ready to strike, and Rachel knew he wasn’t talking to Mark, but to the Alien inside his skin. “Nobody’s hiding anybody. I’ll tell you straight out, Rachel’s here.”

  “Rachel, get out of there! You don’t belong with him, you belong to me!”

  “I don’t reckon she’s of the same mind as you.”

  “You have no right to keep her from me.”

  “Rachel’s here of her own free will, and I’ll keep her safe from you if I have to stand at this door a hundred years.”

  Mark waved a hand over True’s shoulder, they were standing that close, and for a moment Rachel thought True would strike him. “Who the hell do you think you are, sitting in judgment over me?”

  “I know who you are. You’re an arrogant, no-account, worthless mongrel dog that doesn’t know how to treat the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  Mark drew back a clumsy fist. “I’ll kill you!”

  True didn’t move. “You can start it, but I promise you won’t finish it.”

  “I’ll sue your pants off! I’ll ruin you…” Mark broke off, realizing his opponent didn’t have two nickels to rub together. “I’ll see your ass in jail!”

  “You come back sober and we’ll settle this man to man. Right now, you’re done. Go home and sleep it off. Get out of here!”

  A shadow moved away from the door, and Rachel heard a car door slam. She knew Mark would not return for a helping of what True had promised him. Excepting her signature on the divorce papers, her ordeal with Mark was over.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Should he masturbate? Joshua contemplated his erect penis, then drew the white robe closed. He was already fully charged and didn’t need the extra psychic energy that the sexual activity would generate.

  With a piece of yellow chalk he drew a large, sweeping circle upon the basement floor. Red was the usual color for summoning a negative spirit, but he had chosen yellow, the color of corruption, as more appropriate for his purpose and for the condition of Sevilla’s remains. Switching to blue chalk, he drew another, larger circle outside the yellow one. Blue would protect him against the entity he was preparing to summon and would effectively imprison the spirit inside the boundary of the larger circle. Iskus watched its master’s movements, head cocked to one side like a curious dog.

  Next came the pentagram inside the yellow circle. Joshua used white chalk this time, making sure that each point of the star touched the yellow chalk circle. Upon those five points he put five squat black candles. The candle at the southmost point sat unevenly, and he scraped the bottom of it with his thumbnail until it was level. After the candles were lit he dusted each flame in turn with a pinch of dried blood meal. The resulting odor, unpleasant to most people, would serve as an additional inducement for Sevilla Johnston to materialize in her physical body. Now for the last touch-in the center of the white pent
agram he placed the tarp containing Sevilla’s remains. Making sure he was standing well outside the chalk pattern, he picked up a very long, slender wand of birch wood.

  “Powers of the Earth, hear me. Powers of Water, hear me. Powers of the Air, hear me. Powers of Fire, hear me. Adamon, Jezeel, Bishara, Pozeli, I conjure thee to hear me and grant my request.” He paused to trace a pentagram shape with the wand in the air over the chalk pattern and the bundle of bones. “Re-animate these sundered bones, knit them well together, and restore the flesh to this thy servant in life, that she may give me counsel and answer my questions truthfully. Grant my request without harm to myself. Adamon, Jezeel, Gishara, Pozeli, hear me and grant my prayer.”

  One of the black candles went out, and he relit it.

  “Powers of the Earth, hear me! Powers of Water—” From somewhere in the room a chilly breeze arose. All five candles snuffed out, leaving him with the eerie glow of Iskus’s eyes. The breeze intensified, working its way into his robe and enveloping his nude body. Shivering with cold, Joshua raised the wand and traced another pentagram in the air, unable to see if he had done it over the remains inside the chalk pattern on the floor.

  The sound of breathing made him look toward Iskus. The eyes blinked ingenuously at him, and then he realized that the sound wasn’t coming from his right but ahead of him, where Sevilla’s bones had been before the candles had gone out.

  “Adamon. Jezeel.” His voice cracked. The breathing grew louder, and he thought he could discern a gasping asthmatic quality in it. A beige-colored light kindled inside the circle, rivaling the glow of Iskus’s ruby eyes. The glow elongated into a tall cylindrical shape and the sides of the apparition labored in and out visibly as it breathed. A roundish shape at the top of the shape became distinct, coalescing into a sad elderly face.

  Joshua flung the birch rod at the apparition.

  “Iskus! Lights!”

  The animal leaped up at the wall switch and the basement was flooded with incandescent light. The spirit of the elderly man threw its hands up in front of its face and Joshua’s lip lifted in a snarl.

  “You aren’t who you’re supposed to be,” he said to the cowering spirit, feeling a murderous rage flood his brain. “Who the hell are you? Don’t think I can’t make you tell.”

  “…wanted to leave…” The voice of the spirit was very faint.

  “And you thought you’d impersonate Sevilla Johnston and hitch a ride out of that church basement.”

  “…had to get out…that man shut me up…I can’t bear it.”

  It was the mountain man’s fault that his locking spell had driven the claustrophobic old man to desperate measures, but Joshua felt no sympathy for the elderly ghost. He would have to waste precious time persuading this spirit to give him more clues so he could locate Sevilla’s rightful remains. Immediately after he was finished with that task, he would send the hillbilly a calling card thanking him for his interference and giving him the heads-up that a slow and painful death was coming for him soon.

  “You deceived me,” he addressed the sickly ghost, who cringed. “You have no idea how unwise it is to fuck with me. You’ll tell me exactly what Sevilla Johnston was wearing when she died-her clothing—and don’t tell me you didn’t notice or can’t remember. Cooperate and I’ll grant you a quick dissolution. Lie to me, and this will be the worst day of your afterlife.”

  Joshua leaned over the circle and picked up the birch wand, and the old spirit’s face contorted with terror.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “He came because I was here. I’m sorry, True.”

  “It isn’t your doing.” True crumbled a piece of cornbread onto his plate. “That’s on his head.”

  “I was going to leave him. I rented an apartment in Yarwich.”

  “Good.” A piece of sausage on the end of his fork seemed to fascinate him. “How’s your shoulder? Is it paining you?”

  “It’s much better.” She found the green beans on her plate almost as fascinating as he found his sausage, and kept her eyes on her meal. “You’re a good doctor.”

  “I’m pleased that you’re mending well.”

  Why did she feel so awkward? Because things were different between them now. That’s why he’s fooling around with that stupid sausage, she thought. He feels it too. She picked apart a bean with her knife and studied the inside as though it was made of gold. “What about Joshua?”

  “I haven’t seen him or heard him since we went to the burying ground. The locking spell must have stopped him.”

  “When he discovers it he’ll be angry. Do you think he’ll do anything?”

  “My guess is he might, but let’s wait and see.”

  “It’s like a war, isn’t it? Between you and Joshua. A magic war.”

  True examined his slice of sausage minutely. “The witch man’s playing Big Fish Little Fish. Right now I’m the bigger fish because I’ve kept him from getting what he wants. If he wants to keep playing the game he’ll make another move, and we’ll keep on until one of us makes a mistake. Then it’ll be over for good.”

  “What’s Big Fish Little Fish?”

  “It’s a game the children play.”

  “Tell me how it works.”

  He looked over at her with the same odd, shy expression she remembered from when they had first met, but now she knew what it signified, and her heart beat slightly faster.

  “I’m a minnow,” he began, pushing his plate away. “You want to eat me for lunch. If you wanted to catch me and gobble me up, what animal would you turn into so you can catch me?”

  She thought a moment. “A trout, I guess, if they eat minnows.”

  “Well, I don’t want to be your lunch, so I believe I’ll turn into a shark, with sharp teeth.”

  “I don’t want you to eat me either, so I’ll be a giant clam on the bottom of the ocean so you’ll break your teeth on me.”

  “Then I’ll be a giant starfish with my arms going every which way, coming to open your shell.”

  “Then I’ll be a fisherman holding the fishing net that you get tangled in.”

  “I’ll turn into a fish hawk swooping down on your fisherman to scare him and make him drop the net and let the starfish go.”

  “True, how did you know to come get me?”

  “A moth told me you were in danger, and I knew you needed me. I love you, Rachel.”

  It was out in the open, too late to take it back, too late to pretend he hadn’t said it. True reached across the table and took her hand in his, and then they were standing and she was in his arms.

  “When I came to your house with the amulet, I knew he was a bad one. I should’ve done something then. I should have looked out for you. Don’t leave, stay with me,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ll keep you safe forever.”

  Rachel couldn’t reply but only held him close. His hands were on her, firm but gentle, and she opened to him like a flower in the sun.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Rachel snuggled closer into his arms and murmured something contentedly in her sleep. True couldn’t sleep. His happiness was too strong, so he lay holding her, feeling the comforting rhythm of her breathing. Everything that happened in the world, good or bad, served some purpose or other, and if he hadn’t nearly choked to death, Rachel might have died.

  The death’s head moth, almost as large as the palm of his hand, the flutter of thick, scaly wings, the fat gray and black body thrumming through the chilly evening air…last night he’d been unable to settle his thoughts and had stepped outside for some fresh air.

  When he thought of Rachel his lips had unconsciously parted and the insect, out of time and out of season, had launched itself toward his half-open mouth as if it had been waiting for that very moment. The insect had forced its hairy body against his lips and wormed its way inside his mout
h in a weird sort of frenzy, the hairy legs scrabbling against his tongue. He had almost swallowed the frantic ugly thing, but his gag reflex had forced him to cough up the terrible mouthful. Wet with his saliva, the moth hissed and squirmed at his feet, one wing bent to the side but the other intact, as was the distinctive skull-like pattern upon its furry back.

  Why had this well-known messenger of misfortune come to his door? Had it brought evil with it, or had it come to warn him of some calamity? True studied the moth’s movements, wondering who had sent the creature, and in a flash his intuition had divined the meaning of its visit-Rachel was in danger. He hadn’t wasted any time questioning the message, but had gone to Yarwich as fast as he could go and had taken her out of that place and that danger and put her safe into his own arms. It was fate, it was meant to be, he and Rachel together forever. The only thing missing was happily ever after, but while Joshua was alive neither of them could be happy or safe. Nobody within fifty miles of the witch man was safe, and True was the only one who knew how to stop him.

  If Rachel knew what he was going to do she wouldn’t understand, but if he did it now she would never know. True eased her out of his arms, slid out of bed, pulled on his pants, and padded silently out of the room on bare feet. He considered locking the bedroom door from the outside to protect her, but decided against it.

  His intuition told him that Mark wasn’t coming back, and whatever Joshua was planning for him and Rachel, no deadbolt would stop him. Neither would the guard hairs of a wolf, so True took the amulet from around his neck and tucked it into an empty tea canister in the kitchen for safekeeping.

  On the crowded table he cleared a space and set out two fat white taper candles he’d bought at the hardware store last week. The other things he needed weren’t in the kitchen. He’d last used the needle and thread to mend the pocket of his red shirt and he had sat on the sofa to do it, and they were still in the living room.