The creature was silent long enough for Uthman to wonder whether he had made a huge mistake. Then the voice shook the air again. “I hear, and obey.”
As the men on the rooftop watched, it began to grow.
Sixty-One
“LIBBY!” MORRIS CALLED, without turning away from the awful spectacle unfolding just five hundred feet away. “It’s show time!”
Morris let go of the binoculars, letting them dangle from the lanyard around his neck. He didn’t think he would need the glasses from this point to see what was going on. He watched the human-looking red cloud from the archaic lamp enlarge, as it began to drift in the direction of the Freedom Tower.
Behind him, Libby was chanting in ancient Aramaic – a language that Morris recognized, although he did not speak it. Her voice grew louder, and Morris told himself that he did not hear a note of desperation in it.
He bent down and picked up the air rifle. He had three shots, and no more. Even if bringing the scuba tank they’d bought had been practical, he knew from experience that the rifle took twelve minutes to charge. He was pretty sure that, once he began to fire his pathetic cherry pits at this terrifying creature – even assuming he got the chance – he would not be given twelve minutes’ grace to reload. Twelve seconds would be optimistic.
Sixty-Two
ON THE ROOFTOP of Three World Trade Center, Nasiri was ecstatic. He began to clap his hands together rapidly in excitement, his dignity temporarily forgotten. He, Abdul Nasiri, had made this wondrous thing happen. His leadership, and his alone, was responsible for bringing this great act of jihad into being.
Then he noticed a strange voice.
Unlike the reedy tone of Uthman, or the afreet’s earth-shaking bass, this was the voice of a woman. Going from his expression, Uthman had heard it, too.
“What is that?” Nasiri demanded. “Who is that?”
The wizard’s voice was a study in confusion. “Truly, brother, I do not –”
“There!” Rahim’s voice came like a whipcrack. He was pointing at the nearest building, which towered over Building Three by perhaps two hundred feet. There was a dark-haired man standing there, looking down at them. Clearly the voice did not belong to him, but it seemed to be coming from the same direction.
Nasiri snorted dismissively. If the man had a weapon, he would have used it by now. Some infidel from Building Four had simply been on the roof when the great event began, and he had a woman with him, who was already keening over the loss of life that was imminent in the main tower. Then he heard Uthman say, “Brother, something... something is amiss!”
He turned. The wizard was pointing toward the afreet, which was already halfway to the so-called Freedom Tower.
But now the creature had changed direction, and was moving slowly toward the other building – the one where the woman’s voice was coming from.
“Why is this happening?” he screamed at the wizard.
Uthman shook his head helplessly. “I do not know what transpires.”
“Then fix it! Get the afreet back on course – now!”
Uthman nodded humbly. Then, facing in the direction the afreet had gone, he began to chant anew.
Sixty-Three
QUINCEY MORRIS TRIED to control the panic that wanted to overtake him at the sight of the great humanoid cloud, now over a hundred feet tall, heading in their direction. Libby was by his side now, and she had brought the slingshot and a pocket full of artichoke pits, ready to fire.
“Nice work,” Morris said, unable to take his eyes off the approaching monstrosity. “I think.”
“Thanks,” she said, flexing the elastic of the slingshot nervously. “I think.”
“Remember the wind,” Morris told her. “It’s blowing left to right, so if you fire directly at our friend over there, the breeze is gonna carry your pit way to the right before it gets to him. Our point of aim has got to be to his left.”
“I understand,” Libby said. “But how much to the left?”
“That,” Morris said, “is something of a crapshoot. Figure twenty feet for a start. If your first shot misses, you can readjust your aiming point. I’ll do the same.”
“Assuming either of us gets a second shot.”
“Well, yeah, there’s always that.”
When it was perhaps a hundred and fifty feet away, the creature spoke. Morris had heard its voice from a greater distance, and knew that it was loud. But even he was not prepared for the assault on his eardrums that followed.
“Thou hast summoned me,” the afreet said, “and Rashid would know why. Dost thou think to compel me, like that other worm whose bidding I must do? Thou hast no power over me, daughter of Eve.”
Libby had studied several ancient languages as part of her magical studies, since spellcasting must be done in an archaic tongue. She knew she was being addressed in ancient Arabic, but could not respond in kind. What the hell, Libby thought. Let’s see if he’s bilingual.
“We have begged audience of thee, o mighty one, to urge thy mercy,” she said in ancient Aramaic.
Apparently Rashid was familiar with more than one of the old tongues. He replied, in the language Libby had used, “Mercy? When have any of the children of man been worthy of great Rashid’s mercy?”
Libby said to Morris, without turning her head, “I think he’s about as close as he’s likely to get.”
“Okay, here goes everything,” Morris said, and raised the air rifle to his shoulder. Libby brought up the sling and pulled the elastic band as far back as she could.
They both let fly at the same moment – with the same result.
The wind carried their ammunition away long before it got to the afreet – neither projectile had even come near the point where he was hovering. The range was just too great.
“Well, shit,” Morris said. He adjusted his Kentucky windage and fired again, with the same result. The cherry pit from his rifle never got anywhere near the creature.
It had gotten his attention, though.
“Thinkest thou to smite great Rashid with those puny things? Such folly will cost thee dearly.”
“Here,” said a female voice directly behind them. “Try this.”
Libby turned, and Ashley held out to her something wrapped in a white towel that, incongruously, said “Sheraton” on it. Libby opened the bundle, and saw that she now held a piece of very old metal about half the size of a dinner plate, albeit uneven around the edges.
She looked at Ashley with widened eyes “Is it..?”
“Solomon’s Seal,” she said. “But I think what you need right now is a diversion.”
She moved her arm as if pitching a baseball into the sky, and an orb of fire left her fingertips and flew into the air, to burst like fireworks. It did not touch the afteet, but then she had not meant it to.
Rashid stared in wonderment for a few seconds. As he turned back to their rooftop, Ashley spoke, in ancient Arabic. Her voice was every bit as loud as the afreet’s had been.
“Hold, o great djinn! Stay thy wrath, and learn of the great gift we have brought thee!”
“Gift! What could such as thee have to offer the mighty Rashid?”
“Thy freedom!” Ashley thundered. “By the power of the great Suleiman, we shall free thee from bondage, and bid thee go on thy way, in peace!”
To Libby, Ashley said in a normal voice, “You’re on, kid.”
Holding the fragment of Solomon’s Seal raised in both hands, Libby began to chant the invocation in ancient Chaldean that she had memorized. She did not know exactly what it said, but her parsing of the words suggested, as had the book where they’d been found, that this was a spell designed to break any control that someone would have over the afreet.
Fortunately for the limitations of Libby’s memory, the obscure ritual was not very long. Within a minute, Libby was finished. She slowly lowered the fragment of Solomon’s Seal and said, in ancient Aramaic, “Thou art free from the control of men, o mighty afreet. I would bid thee depart thi
s place, and return to thine own kind, with the blessings of the Great King!”
The afreet stared at her, and Libby thought, I blew it. Maybe I mispronounced the words, or the spell was no good to start with. He’s gonna fry us like catfish, and then do the same to all those people...
Then Rashid said, “I thank thee for my freedom, and shall do as thou hast bid. But first...”
The great, human-looking red cloud made a slow hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, so that Rashid was facing the rooftop whence he had come. When he spoke, his voice, if possible, seemed even louder than before.
“Miserable wretches! Thou wouldst bend the great Rashid to thy will? Well, learn now what my will is for thee! A small gift – in parting.”
The afreet waved one giant arm toward Building Three, and at once its roof was engulfed in flame. Even from the distance between the towers, Libby and her companions could hear the agonized screams of the four men who had been gathered there. Then, after perhaps five seconds, the fire was extinguished, and the afreet was gone.
Libby, Morris and Ashley stared at the charred roof of Three World Trade Center and the four still forms that lay there – or what was left of them.
Finally Morris said to Ashley, “Where’s Peters? Not that I’m complaining, you understand.”
“He had to go home and get the rifle you wanted,” she said. But I came directly here from the airport.”
“Where –” Libby tried, failed, and tried again. “Where did you get this?” she said, hefting the fragment of the Great Seal.
“It’s kind of an interesting story,” Ashley said. “But let me tell you about it over some lunch. I’m starving.”
“Sounds good to me,” Morris said. He began to pack the air rifle back in its case.
“Me, too,” Libby said. “I’m buying.”
The End
About the Author
JUSTIN GUSTAINIS IS a college professor living in upstate New York. In earlier incarnations, he was an Army officer, garment worker, speechwriter, and professional bodyguard. In addition to many short stories, he is author of the Haunted Scranton series (consisting of Hard Spell and Evil Dark) and the Morris & Chastain Investigations series (consisting of Black Magic Woman, Evil Ways, and Sympathy for the Devil), as well as a standalone novel, The Hades Project.
Supernatural investigator Quincey Morris and his partner, white witch Libby Chastain, are called in to help free a desperate family from a deadly curse that appears to date back to the Salem Witch Trials. To release the family from danger they must find the root of the curse, a black witch with a terrible grudge that holds the family in her power.
The pursuit takes them to the mysterious underworlds of Boston, San Francisco, New Orleans and New York, stalking a prey that is determined to stay hidden. After surviving a series of terrifying attempts on their lives, the two find themselves drawn inexorably towards Salem itself – and the very heart of darkness.
Black Magic Woman marks the start of an electrifying new series of supernatural thrillers following the exploits of investigators Quincey Morris and Libby Chastain.
www.solarisbooks.com
Supernatural investigator Quincey Morris and his partner, “white witch” Libby Chastain, are each in pursuit of a vicious killer. One is murdering small children for their bodily organs; the other is hunting down white witches – and Libby may be next. Along a trail that leads from Iraq to Turkey, to the US, all clues point to crazed billionaire Walter Grobius, a man obsessed with harnessing the ultimate evil. Morris and Chastain, teamed with the deadly Hannah Widmark, must fight desperately to stop a midnight rendezvous between forces so powerful that the fate of the world may be at stake. And the clock is ticking...
Evil Ways continues the electrifying new series of supernatural thrillers following the exploits of investigators Quincey Morris and Libby Chastain.
www.solarisbooks.com
Senator Howard Stark wants to be President of the United States. So does the demon inside him. With the competing candidates dropping out due to scandal, blackmail, and ‘accidental’ death, Stark looks like a good bet to go all the way to the White House. And if he gets there, Hell on Earth will follow.
Occult investigator Quincey Morris and white witch Libby Chastain are determined to stop this evil conspiracy. But between them and Stark stand the dedicated agents of the US Secret Service – as well as the very forces of Hell itself. Quincey and Libby will risk everything to exorcise the demon possessing Stark. If they fail, ‘Hail to the Chief’ will become a funeral march – for all of us.
Sympathy for the Devil continues the electrifying series of supernatural thrillers following the exploits of investigators Quincey Morris and Libby Chastain.
www.solarisbooks.com
Table of Contents
Cover
Contents
Title
Praise for Justin Gustainis
Also by Justin Gustainis
Indicia
Dedication
Quotes
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
About the Author
"Black Magic Woman" by Justin Gustainis
"Evil Ways" by Justin Gustainis
"Sympathy For The Devil" by Justin Gustainis
Midnight At The Oasis Page 21
