by Chanel Smith
Dammit! Amy thought.
Veronica burst out laughing at her mental outburst, gulping and choking at her mouthful of blood to avoid spraying it all over Amy’s kitchen.
Double dammit! Amy thought next, much quieter that time.
The fire burned bright white and the only thing Amy did was throw the bone fragments into it. There was no enchantment. She did not know any. No spells, nothing. She only knew one thing. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. That was the only thing she thought about. And she just had to hope it would be enough. They all had to.
Chapter Seven
“In the land of gods and monsters, I was an angel living in the garden of evil. Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed; shining like a fiery beacon!”
—Lana Del Rey, Gods and Monsters, 2012.
A week after she had left us in Sacramento, she came back. Or someone who resembled her came back. Veronica seemed to be worn down and stressed out. I could tell something had happened, but I already knew better than to ask.
Veronica came storming into the parlor of the mansion when Belle and I were spending some quality time together. She huffed angrily, looking at the both of us irritably. She kicked the coffee table, shoving it away from us and threw down her raggedy backpack on it. There was a distinct clunk as it hit the tabletop. She made a grimace at the sound and then she snapped at us, saying that she wanted us on the road by morning and then disappeared again.
Early the next morning we were in the car again, this time heading east. Neither Belle nor I knew where she was taking us, but we could guess. She was taking us back to Manhattan. It was there she had last seen the creature that was born from my dead Chelsea and it was probably there that she could find it again.
As we bought some gas in Sparks, Nevada, I got the first look at the New York Times I had had in weeks. In Sacramento, I had not felt the need to read it, so I had not bought it or asked for a copy. I had been sufficiently entertained with other manners, and it always seemed a shame to spoil that pleasant mood by reading through the news bulletins. But the headlines I saw shocked me.
The front page spoke of a serial killer. A psychotic blonde woman who did not just kill her victims, but seemed to take bites out of them too. The article described it as though she was a great white shark, someone who took a great bite out of human beings before deciding she did not like the taste. Yet time and again, the woman did it.
Several times now she had been seen, but never taken captive. Last time, she had killed a Wall Street banker in plain daylight and had run away, laughing before the New York Police could get their hands on her. Shots had been fired, but they did not seem to hit, or if they did, they had no effect on her. Every murder was bolder and more obvious than the previous one. There was also a sketch of the woman. It was Chelsea’s face depicted on the page.
I showed the paper to Veronica and she grunted. She said bullets had wounded her when she saw her last, but not killed her. If she was not even reacting to it now, it meant she was getting stronger. When we set off again, Veronica drove at an insane speed. She seemed to think she was driving the van from the A-Team and was B.A. Baracus. Her driving was criminal. She did not speak at all. Her face was a constant grimace of frustration and determination, but both Belle and I were frightened now.
And Veronica did not stop her insane driving when the night came either. She just kept going, untiringly, it seemed. We did not get any sleep either, both of us just too tired and too frightened to sleep. Yet neither of us wanted to tell Veronica to stop either.
It was only on the second day that the maddened driving stopped. Belle and I had begun to sleep by then, our weariness making us drifting in and out of consciousness. We took the opportunity to stretch our legs and relieve ourselves whenever Veronica made a fuel stop. Then we would get back in the Jeep and brace ourselves for another few hours of murderous driving.
This time too, we were braced for a furious take off as Veronica got back behind the wheel. But as she was about to push her foot down, someone got in front of the car. He wore a broad-rimmed Stetson which hid his face. I saw a dirty bandage under the hat. Veronica slammed her fist on the horn and revved the engine, but the man did not move out of the way. Instead, he placed his hand on the hood. She revved the engine again and when he still did not move, she put her foot down. It was good the man jumped up and threw himself on the hood, or he would have been run over. Belle screamed, and it seemed the combination of the man across the hood of the Jeep and Belle’s screaming brought Veronica to some realization of what she was doing.
The man got off the car and walked to the driver’s side of the vehicle. I thought Veronica would drive off the moment he got off the hood, but she did not. The man wrenched the door open and pushed his hat back. I recognized him then.
***
“Stop this,” Rand said. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
Veronica did not react at all.
Stay out of my fucking way, Rand! Last time you interfered, I shot you.
***
Rand repeated his words and then she slammed the door shut and threw the Jeep into park. She huffed repeatedly for a few seconds, then rolled the window down. Without turning to look at him, she said, “Rand, you know me better than anyone right now. You know I wouldn’t purposely do anything to jeopardize the lives, freedom or safety of anyone we know and love. But this is one of those times when you gotta stop waiting for the cavalry to come to the rescue and ride out to meet the enemy yourself. Guns blazing, you know?”
He looked down at his feet and shook his head sadly. Then he looked up at her profile again and nodded.
“Yup, I know. Guns blazing, Veronica. Guns fucking blazing. See you soon.”
He stepped back from her door and she put the car in gear and planted her foot on the accelerator. I looked back and saw Rand standing still in the cloud of dust we left behind. But a car pulled up beside him and he got in. That was the last I saw of him.
After the furious start, Veronica calmed down though. Her driving became slightly more sensible, and for the first time in days we stopped in the evening. Belle and I stayed together in a room of the motel, while Veronica stayed in her own room. I was sure she was not getting any rest, instead roaming around the small town, but Belle and I were both happy for the rest.
The next day we reached the outskirts of New York. And for the first time in weeks, I felt the emotions rush back. I knew where we would be going, and I knew what we would have to do. And I was scared.
***
Veronica had come to know so much over the past year. She had learned a lot of new things in Europe, and she had learned even more over the past months back on her own side of the pond. She knew Ida Averbach saw her as an enemy, and someone who could thwart her in her further endeavors; whatever those might be.
She had learned about the events at the Pinewood Hotel moments after it happened, because she had known what to look out for. She knew what was happening in New York now, and she knew what she needed to do about it. But there was one thing she did not know. She did not know whether she could prevail this time.
This sucks worse than getting stuck on a damn Hepatitis ward!
She knew she needed to defeat the creature and stop Ida Averbach, but she could probably only do one of those two.
In reality, it was not up to her to defeat the creature the witch had made, but she knew she could not leave the person who should do it alone. The man would be killed if she went off to search for the witch.
The search for the way to defeat the creature had driven her close to the edge of insanity, and now that she knew how it had to be done, she was plagued with that uncertainty. And she knew the effect that uncertainty and worry were having on her. She had suspected it previously, but she did not fully realize the repercussions until the moment she had shot Rand. Yet even if she knew it, she had no clue what else she could do. So she had returned to California, picked up the two people she had been trying to keep out of ha
rm’s way and then made her dash for the East Coast.
Then Rand had shown up again, reminding her to calm down. But she could not pay heed to it. Or she did not want to. She was not sure on which of the two it was. Yet now she was under even more strain. She knew she was screwing up and she knew she was not coping well with what was going on. Veronica knew she had to defeat the witch, and she knew she had to help Walker defeat the creature. She knew for sure now that she knew too much. She knew too much about too many dangerous things, which is why she was in trouble.
This is all starting to feel like a piss-poor horror film. The kind you expect better from, because the book had your hair standing on edge. I can just hear the booing in the theater now. Please, just let this work out the way it should.
Yet she also knew that she had to find a way to handle all the things that were now a part of her eternal memory, a taint on her character, all these new influences that had her constantly reassessing her value system. All the things she had to do and those that she could not do, all the things that were expected of her.
When I was on my own, doing my own thing, I never had these problems. I never had to think about the consequences of doing. I just did what I felt and knew was right at the time. Shit, man. I hate being a social creature. After this, I’m done. Screw Julia and the rest of them.
She drove the car into the parking garage of the building where Walker and Chelsea Van Buren had lived together from the day they were married until they had set out on that fateful trip to the Sierra Nevada. Of course, Walker recognized where he was, but he did not show any emotion at all.
Hey, my kind of man. For a minute there, I thought I’d have to deal with his goddamned crying again or something.
Veronica thought of leaving Belle in the car, but then she figured it would be too risky and she took them both up in the elevator.
***
I had been scared in the car, but when Veronica pushed me and Belle into the elevator, that fear changed. I was still fearful, but it was no longer the thought of dying that frightened me. It was more the thought of facing what was certain to come.
I had recognized the streets she took through the city and knew exactly where we were going even before we drove into the underground parking garage of our condo building. I knew Veronica was seeking a confrontation, but I had no idea what she had in mind to do. I still did not know what could be done about the abomination that had appeared from Chelsea’s loins those weeks ago.
As we went up in the elevator, Veronica began checking her weapons. She drew her pistol and then gently drew her katana. She reversed the sword and pushed the handle into my hand. She pulled a small leather bag from her pocket and gave it to me too. Suddenly, she hit the emergency button and brought the world to a standstill. It was then that she spoke to me. She was stoic and the instructions were clear.
“It’s up to you. Essentially, you made it, you have to kill it. This powder is the reverse of what was used to create it.”
She did not explain it further. I must have looked rather dull, standing there with the katana and the bag in my hands because she did tell me what to do then.
“It was created in her womb, it has to die through the womb. One way or another. It will die if you do it.”
I could not answer. I just nodded. Belle’s soft hand wrapped itself around mine, pressing my fingers into the smoothed leather and cording of the katana’s grip. I felt a hint of warmth flow through me and the nervousness was replaced by steady determination. For a moment, just this touch mattered, and what I was about to do, not the future.
All my life I’d had to worry about the future, not just my own, but that of others. Family, the stock market and the business; and Chelsea’s. But this was the first time it was just about the moment. And in that moment, I would do exactly what I needed to do, without worrying about the future.
I watched Veronica swing the backpack from her back and place it on the floor of the elevator. She reached in and pulled out a heavily carved wooden box. It was covered in strange symbols that looked suspicious and I couldn’t recognize more than a couple of the pagan and occult signs. From the box, she pulled out a handgun, a golden handgun. I smirked and thought to myself that I must surely be in a James Bond film now.
“This is no movie, Walker!” Veronica hissed. “Stay focused.”
She stood and kicked the bag to one side of the elevator while she poured a strange looking powder into the gun’s magazine and clicked it in place.
“What is that?” Belle asked nervously.
“This is our insurance policy,” Veronica replied.
She tenderly placed the gun in a shoulder holster at her left breast and tucked the safety strap away keeping the way clear for a swift draw. Satisfied, she hit the emergency button again and the elevator resumed its upward climb.
We came out of the elevator and the door to our penthouse was open. I realized just then it was no longer our penthouse. It would be my penthouse now. I saw every bit of decoration in the hallway clearly before me as I walked in. The flintlock pistols on the wall that had been a gift from my father and the carved wooden boxes that been a gift from Chelsea’s father. I let my fingers glide over the ebony chest of drawers and went through the door, into the living room. It was empty.
Veronica could not believe it. All this way, she was sure that this was where the creature would be, and it was not there. She felt the frustration seep back swiftly into her mind and body. The creature was supposed to be here. It was its home. It would always return there. So why was it not there?
She paced up and down the room, looking over the shattered pieces of glass that still littered the floor. A thick sheet of plastic had already been spanned over the broken window, but the glass had not been cleaned up. She looked back at Walker, who had already sunk down on the sofa in an automatism. Her katana looked out of place in his hand. The hooker, Belle Fox, stood behind him and had laid her hand on his shoulder. He seemed calm enough, which was a change from previous times. Since his wife’s death, he had been as on edge as she had been. But his confusion and nervousness was mostly disguised by him talking and asking questions. She knew she had disguised her own stress by shutting everyone down.
She realized she should take this moment to say something comforting to the man, but she could not think of what to say.
Julia would have known what to say in a situation like this, as would Björn and Rand, she thought helplessly.
Veronica knew she was no leader. She was a loner. She did what she wanted, when she wanted and she never bothered herself with the feelings or desires and needs of others. She didn’t need to lead people. She could do a lot, but she didn’t need a following of men to do any of it. Yet, now she had to guide someone to do the most difficult thing a person could ever do. She had to guide him to kill. It was not like killing a man in defense of your property or family or person, but it was the closest he would probably ever get to it. She still struggled with every kill she had to make. Some were made easy, some were done without thinking, but killing was never easy.
I guess the trick is to stop all the fucking thinking about it and as our Brit friends say: KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON! With the killing, that is, Veronica thought.
She laughed out loud at her crazy inside joke, making Walker and Belle look up at her in surprise and then, something happened.
There was a giggle. It was soft, but she heard it. Walker and Belle had not heard it, but she did. It came from the corridor. She turned, drawing the Desert Eagle from her hip and chambering a round. She aimed her pistol at the door. The two humans were too focused on each other and their own private thoughts to notice. The next giggle was louder and closer. And then she saw the pale creature appear in the doorway. It still wore a white shift dress and went barefoot. Blood dripped from its chin and lips and its teeth were stained red. The giggle came again.
I heard the giggle and I rose from the sofa, pushing Belle’s hand away. And I saw her coming towards me; th
e creature that had torn apart the body of my wife. I saw Chelsea’s likeness now walking slowly towards us. I saw the hips swaying and the laughing face, in an exaggerated version of the way Chelsea used to. But this was the nightmare version of Chelsea. The sharp teeth were red with blood and the claret ooze dripped from her lips and chin.
She recognized me and came toward me. Veronica backed away, keeping her pistol leveled at the creature. But she knew that regardless of the circumstances, I had to be the one to do this. So I stepped up. My hand was moist with sweat and I was grateful for the pliable leather and absorbent cord on the grip of the sword that kept it from sliding out of my grasp.
She came directly for me and then stopped. She bent at the legs and giggled again. I came forward, but she moved then. She did not come for me, she went for Belle.
Veronica swore when the creature went for Belle, opening her mouth and throwing her arms wide. It wasn’t so much that the creature was moving to attack Belle; it was that Walker was now in the line of her shot. She moved, but at that moment, someone laughed behind her. The creature stopped, but Veronica had a nasty feeling in her gut as she turned around. Behind her was an elegant figure, dressed in fine clothes and an absolutely stunning beauty. It was a familiar figure. When she spoke, Veronica heard the perfectly honed tones that betrayed an Oxford education.
Well, welcome to the goddamned party, Witch! It’s about time for me to finish you off once and for all.
She was there. Ida Averbach. Veronica turned the gun on her, but then from the corner of her eye, she saw the creature move again. Without thinking it through, she swiftly turned the pistol on her again.
“What a dilemma you face now,” Ida said softly, the hint of a smile playing on her mouth. She waved a small, manicured hand at Walker Van Buren and looked sternly back at Veronica Melbourne.
“How is the poem again? This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.” She walked over the broken glass to the sideboard. She looked over the bottles of wine and champagnes that lay in the rack, selected a bottle of Bollinger Les Vieilles Vignes Francaises and drew a glass from one of the drawers. There was a saber on the wall, which Walker had hung there for purely decorative purposes. It had once belonged to Peleg Wadsworth, but it seemed that it would now serve Ida Averbach. She placed the back of the blade against the neck of a bottle and slammed it upwards. With a pop, the top of the bottle sheered away and the sparkling wine poured from the bottle. She poured herself a glass and then sashayed to the window side bench. It was the one piece of furniture in that side of the penthouse that was not scattered with fragments of broken glass.
