by J. R. Mabry
“So, did they win?”
“You bet your ass. And what do you think was the first thing Jephthah saw when he got home?”
“Not his dog. Don’t say his dog.”
“Worse. His daughter.”
“No.”
“Sad but true. So, he told his daughter what he had done, and she asked for some time to party with her crew first. And then he killed her.”
“That’s a horrible story.”
“Yes, but instructive.” He touched her cheek and whispered. “God doesn’t need any more sacrificed daughters on his hands.”
She threw her arms around his neck and cried again. She realized after a few moments that her nose was dripping on Brian’s hump, but it didn’t matter. He was a lovely man.
After a few moments, she let go and drew back again. “But if Mikael gets back, I want to…to join. To be here. I want to have a chance.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem no matter what religion you are. Look, the friars are Catholics, but Dylan’s married to a Lutheran, and she lives here. Terry’s partnered with a Jew, and I live here. Who’s gonna care if Mikael’s girlfriend is a witch?”
She shook her head and blew her nose again. “I can’t believe how weird you guys are.”
Brian laughed at this, and even Kat smiled. But it was just a reprieve. Her breaths soon came again in deep, short spasms. “Oh, Brian. I’m just so scared. Tell me it’s going to be okay.”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know if it’s going to be okay. We’re dealing with some dangerous stuff here. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m scared, too. I’m pretty fond of Mikael’s skinny goth ass myself.”
They sat for a moment in silence before Brian continued. “But I can promise you one thing. Whatever it is we have to face, we’re going to meet it together. You’re not alone in this, Honey. I’m here, Dylan’s here, Terry’s here, Susan’s here, Richard’s here. Even Tobias is here.” It was true, Tobias had just padded into the room and pushed at her hand for a pet. For some reason, this show of canine affection unleashed another round of grief, and she leaned over and buried her face in the lab’s golden fur. Tobias licked at her face, tasted the hot and salty tears, and licked some more, with even greater vigor.
“And you’re not going anywhere?” she asked, leaning over the side of the bed, her back toward Brian.
“Nope.”
“And I don’t have to go anywhere if I don’t want to?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t be so demanding with my prayers…” she trailed off.
“Oh, go ahead, be demanding. But don’t doubt one thing—God will not abandon you, and neither will we.”
31
Richard clutched at his head and wailed. “Shit!” he yelled. “Shit shit shit!”
Susan ran into the room moments later. “What? What’s wrong?”
“He’s gone,” Richard sat down on the bed heavily. “God damn it!”
“Okay, let’s think,” Susan tried to be calm. “No one could have wheeled him out; we were right down the hall. We would have seen him coming or going.”
“But we wouldn’t have noticed someone simply walking down the hall. There’s lots of people here.”
“But he can’t walk,” Susan complained. “He’s unconscious.”
“Yeah, Randall Webber is,” said Richard, suddenly seething. “But that Serpentine masquerading as him, the one who was lying in this bed mere moments ago, wasn’t.”
Susan’s mouth dropped open. “But why a decoy?”
“Maybe he wasn’t intending to be a decoy. Maybe he was clearing out Webber’s stuff when he heard us coming and jumped in the bed.”
“He did have the covers pulled all the way up to his neck,” Susan remembered.
“Maybe they’re not out of the building yet,” Richard said, an idea germinating quickly. He fished in his pocket for his cell phone and speed dialed Terry.
“Coast is clear, Boss,” Terry’s voice was professional but relaxed.
“Terry, they’ve stolen the body.”
“Where have we heard that one before?”
“No, seriously. Someone made off with Webber. We need to find him before they leave the hospital, if we’re not too late already.”
“Jesu, you’re serious,” Terry breathed. “Okay, what’s the plan?”
“You remember how you reconnected the angel’s will to Webber’s nervous system?”
“That’s not exactly what I did, but yeah.”
“Do it again. Now!”
“But he’s not in front of me!”
“Do you absolutely need proximity to do it?”
“Well…” He stared off into space, wondering about it himself. “I’m not really sure.”
“It can’t hurt to try. Do it, and quick!”
The line went dead, and Terry’s head swam. He wasn’t at all sure it would work, but he raced over to a waiting room chair and sat so that he wouldn’t fall over and hurt himself while in trance.
Terry shut his eyes and reached out into the ether for the violet light of the angelic subtle body. Dimly, he thought he saw it. His perception had nothing to do with physical, geographic space, he knew. He was in the realm of the spirit, of metaphor, of the imagination. In his mind’s eye, he seized upon the flash of purple and willed himself toward it at great speed. The closer he got, the surer he was he had found his target. What worried him, however, were the ghostly wisps of red light hovering around it. Not demons but trails of demonic energy. People who do demon magick often leave such signatures on the astral plane, so he was sure he was on the right track.
In his imagination, he stopped as close to the violet light as he could. The light was strong now, and he could dimly see the energy field of the magickian’s body.
Just as he had done before, he reached out his hands—or imagined that he was reaching—and with a couple of careful strokes adjusted the connection between the angelic spirit and the meat puppet of Webber’s body.
No sooner had he done that than a banshee wail ripped through the hospital lobby. The sound was so shreddingly loud, so pain-riddled, so ghastly, that it reached to nearly every floor, stopping people cold in their tracks in the hallways.
Terry jumped up and made for the sound, doubling back when the wail became muffled, and having to nearly hold his hands over his ears as he made ground.
Then he saw them. Two men were on the ground, their faces grimacing against the magnitude of the unearthly wail. The body, mouth opened in a continuous scream, sat bolt upright on a gurney, halfway in and halfway out of a service elevator.
Not sure what to do, Terry saw movement and turned to see Richard and Susan running toward him. He gulped his relief and, hands still affixed to his ears, strode toward the gurney.
He leaned his head in to touch it against the head of the screaming angel, and once again disconnected the angel’s spirit from the body. As if a switch had been thrown, the screaming stopped, and the body fell into a prone position as if it had been dropped.
Security was not far behind, the officers pounding down the hall toward them, their hands fumbling at their service revolvers. Richard nodded at Susan, and they both sat down on the men still writhing on the floor.
“Just in time, gentlemen,” Richard said breathlessly as the security guards tripped to a halt at the elevator doors. “These men were kidnapping a patient.”
Sure, now that the man he was sitting on wasn’t going anywhere but to the police department for questioning, he stood and peered down at Webber’s apparently sleeping face.
“Now this guy looks like Kat,” he said to Susan as she stood and joined him. “He looks so peaceful.”
“Anything but,” Terry corrected him. “The soul in that body is in so much pain he may never be right again. And since angels don’t die, that’s a significant danger.”
Richard nodded, and clapped Terry on the arm. “Good job, Freak Show.”
“I’m jus
t glad it worked.”
Richard nodded, very much relieved himself. “Let’s get this puppy home.”
32
Getting the angel up the narrow stairs of the old farmhouse was not easy, but they eventually managed it. Richard and Dylan settled him gently into the bed, and Terry and Kat undressed him and got him into an old pair of Dylan’s pajamas. If he had been standing, they would have been comically large draped over the magickian’s wire-thin frame. But lying down it made little difference. With a supply of clean blankets and pillows, they made him as comfortable as humanly possible.
Kat had cried out when she saw him, not sure he wasn’t simply dead. “He’s so limp,” she said. But she felt at his face, and it was warm. Soon, she was all business.
Before long it appeared as if he were sleeping peacefully, and Kat took up vigil beside him, chewing at her nails and stroking his hand.
“Well, I’ve got a husband to tend to,” Terry said. “I’m going to head out for the cottage.”
“Thank you, Terry,” Kat said, grabbing his hand and holding it to her cheek. Terry smiled, and in moments they heard him clumping down the back stairs.
Richard had already disappeared, though he hadn’t said anything to anyone. Dylan and Susan paused at the door to the guest room. “Just call us if you need anything,” Susan said. “Honestly, anything.”
Kat nodded, so overwhelmed with their generosity that she couldn’t speak.
“Want to make some cocoa, Baby?” Susan asked her husband as they approached their room.
“What Ah need is a doobie,” Dylan replied. “It’s been one fucked-up day.”
“Why not have both? Chocolate and Mary Jane—sounds like a winning combination to me.”
“You don’t even smoke.”
“Well, it would sound good to me…if it sounded good to me.” She grinned and kissed him. He touched her cheek so she wouldn’t pull away, and cherished the intimacy for a long moment. “How did Ah ever get so lucky as to meet you, Baby?”
“That makes two of us,” she said, grabbing his hand and leading him down the front stairs.
“Ah think Ah got the better end of that deal,” he said, smiling.
Once in the kitchen, Tobias ran to Dylan, tail ablaze. He sat down at the table and gave the lab a good rub while Susan lit a burner under the saucepan.
She poured in some milk, and Dylan grabbed the old cigar box from the bookshelf that held his stash and began rolling a joint.
He did it lovingly, with quick and practiced movements. Tobias was not content with so little attention and flipped at Dylan’s hand with his snout, sending a shower of cleaned weed over the table.
“Oh dear,” said Susan, noticing.
“No harm done,” said Dylan, brushing the weed into a pile. “Ain’t gonna hurt to smoke a few breadcrumbs.”
Susan added the chocolate, and as she stirred she wondered aloud, “I’d give anything to know where Mikael is tonight.”
Dylan’s head sagged at this. “Ah know what you mean. It could have been any of us, though.”
“Don’t talk as if he’s dead!”
“Ah’m not. Ah’m just sayin’ that any of us could be missin’ right now. It’s a soberin’ thought.” He lit the joint and took a deep drag. He felt the warm roughness in his chest, and in a few moments felt the soft blanket of the drug descend over his brain, soothing and calming as it did.
“Ah, that’s the stuff,” he said.
“And here’s the other stuff, Sweetie,” Susan said, pouring two cups of cocoa and walking them to the table.
“Sure you don’t want a power-hit?”
“Not tonight. Ask me when I get my period, though.”
“O’ course.”
“I’m worried about Mikael, but I’m also worried about Dicky,” Susan said, once she was seated.
Dylan took a sip of the strong, sweet chocolate and drummed his fingers on the table. “He’s havin’ a rough time, but he’s holdin’ it together. Ah’m just glad Ah’m not callin’ the shots in this order.”
As if on cue, a wail went up from the front porch, vaguely reminiscent of a tomcat. Tobias’s ears stood up on end.
“Speak of the devil,” Susan said. “You’d better go talk to him.”
Dylan took another deep drag on his joint and put it out. “Any more of that?” He pointed at his cup.
“Here, take mine to him. I’ll make more,” Susan said, sliding her cup toward him.
“Wish me luck,” he said.
“See you in bed, Baby. I’m heading up.”
“Okay. Ah’ll try not to be too long.”
Susan went back to the stove, and Dylan got to his feet with a groan. Tobias shadowed him to the door. “Stay here, big boy,” Dylan said, and shut the door.
Richard was sitting in one of the porch swings. Dylan could tell by his breathing that he’d been crying. Dylan sat in a folding chair near him and placed the cups down on the rail of the porch. “Susan made cocoa.”
Richard reached out and topped off one of the cups from a flask of whisky. He then sipped at the cup without a word.
“Dude, it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna find him.”
Richard swung for a good long time before replying. “We haven’t got a clue.”
“Not true,” Dylan said. “Clues we got. We just don’t know what they mean yet. But we will. We always figger it out. Ah believe in us, man. Hell, Ah believe in you.”
At this, Richard buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
“Ah, dude, don’t do this to yerself.”
When the jag subsided, Richard fished for a handkerchief and dirtied it. “I’m not the right guy for this job.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dylan asked indignantly. “Who the fuck do you think could do it better?”
“You.”
“Fuck that. Ah’m no leader. You gotta be born a leader. People follow you, or they don’t. The only place people follow me is to the dinner table. You, though…Shit, man, any one of us would follow you into Hell and back. Fuck that; we have.”
If Richard’s head were hanging any lower, he’d be licking his own nipples, Dylan thought as he slurped at his cup and centered himself in the marijuana’s glow. Before he could say anything else, Richard was talking again.
“I have done nothing but fuck up the last couple of days. I fucked up my relationship—”
“Yuh didn’t necessarily do that in a couple of days,” Dylan pointed out helpfully, but Richard ignored him.
“I fucked up the Dane exorcism—”
“Dude—”
“I fucked up the assignments and got Mikael nabbed by God knows who. And if I understand the messages from Bishop Tom, I’ve even fucked things up with the denomination. I gotta face it, man, I’m a total fuckup.”
“Jesus loves fuckups, dude,” Dylan reminded him.
“Sure, but he’d be an idiot to put them in charge of anything.”
“There goes Peter, I guess.”
A smile tempted Richard’s mouth but faded before it fully materialized.
The two sat in silence for several minutes. Then Dylan spoke gently. “Dude, Ah’m sorry for the tough love here, but Ah need you to do a couple of things for me—for us.”
Richard sat still, waiting.
“First, Ah need you to go see your spiritual director. Not at the end of the month. Like, tomorrow. And I’m not, like, asking you. You fuckin’ need to do this.”
Richard waited as a momentary rage ruffled through him. Then, calmly, he answered. “I’ll call her tomorrow. I’ll go as soon as I can get an appointment.”
“Good boy.”
“What’s the second thing?”
“Ah need you to promise me you won’t quit until this thing is over. We got to get Mikael back and get Kat’s case sorted out. You gotta hang in there until that’s done. And then, if you wanna go off on your own after that…well, that would be a bummer, but Ah’ll support ya. But not fuckin now, you hear me?”
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“But I’m fucking everything—”
“Fuck you, asshole. This isn’t about you. It’s about Mikael an’ Kat an’ her family. It is not about you and your angsty ass feeling sorry for yerself. Ah don’t care how bad you think you’re fucking it up, you are gonna stay here until the job is done. You get me, motherfucker?”
Richard was staring straight ahead. Dylan was sure he had dissociated, so he reached over and, putting a hand on his neck, pulled him over so that their heads touched.
“Got it?” he said again.
“Got…” but Richard trailed off as his throat swelled again.
Dylan reached out and took the flask from him. He stood. “Ah’m gonna head for bed, dude. You should, too. We’ll get a fresh start on things tomorrah. It’ll be different. You’ll see.” Then he turned and headed back into the house.
33
Larch drummed his fingers on the arm of an overstuffed and threadbare chair as he considered his companions.
“So, what you’re telling me is, you lost him,” he finished Charybdis’s sentence.
“We had him,” Charybdis said sheepishly. The diminutive magickian looked at the bookshelf, at his shoes, anywhere but at Larch. “But then we lost him.”
“It was an excellent plan, Frater,” Frater Purderabo volunteered. “It should have worked. We had the man on a gurney and halfway to the exit before he—”
“Before he what?” Larch asked.
Turpelo swallowed. “Before he waxed ithyphallic and began screaming bloody murder.”
“Are you saying you were foiled by Randall’s raging erection?” Larch’s eyes narrowed.
“Pardon my obfuscating turn of phrase. No, sir, I mean he sat bolt-upright before he began to assault our eardrums.”
“And do you know why he chose that exact moment to spring out of his coma?” Larch closed his eyes, struggling to maintain his composure.
