Her Mexican thugs, those, oh so tough gangbangers had backed away and to a man they no longer looked so sleepy. "Pedro, tell one of these morons to turn off the air conditioning before I get angry." She was very cold and had at some point commenced to shiver. Her words had some effect, a few of the men looked around for a wall mounted thermostat.
"Ms. Harris, I think the cold is coming from that." He pointed at the sword. It lay next to the wall that separated the living room from the family room.
"Oh, right. Then turn up the damn heat." After another minute Amy felt renewed slightly and was able to stand; it was only then that her men began to scurry about. She looked down at Gayle who still cried over her husband. It was a pitiful scene, but pity didn't touch Amy's heart, that was numb to everything save fear. She was afraid to touch the sword a second time. "Pedro, come close his eyes. I don't like the way he's staring at me."
The Mexican strode over and bent over the man.
Amy didn't watch. Instead, she went to the kitchen and found a dishtowel. In her heart, she knew that the thin veil of cloth wouldn't save her soul, only a better strike could do that; a quick clean kill. William had lingered as he had because her aim had been off, but she hoped that the towel would help a little, at least with the cold.
She wrapped it around her hand.
Still, she was afraid to touch the sword. The thing had tried to take her soul and just looking at it sent shivers down her spine. Yet she had no choice. Amy tottered toward the blade and hesitated above it, preparing herself.
"Fuck you bitch! I'm going to be waiting for you. When you get to hell, I'll be there and you better believe I'll be ready." Amy turned back at the poisoned words. Gayle's tears had loosened the tape about her mouth and it hung like a flap of skin from the side of her face. Their eyes locked and Gayle's hate was such a force that it caused Amy to pause. Still the pause was only for a second. On the line, it was either Gayle's soul or her own and thus there was little choice in the matter for Amy. She bent down for the sword. Her dreadful work was not over.
The phone rang.
Everyone in the house stopped what they were doing at the same time and froze. It rang again and Amy felt a sudden touch of worry. A third ring and Amy looked at Gayle. The older lady wore an expression of wonder and hope. After the fifth ring, the answering machine came on as before.
"Mom, dad? It's Will. Pick up the phone, it's an emergency. Hello? Hello? Please listen carefully. Lisa sent you a package in the mail. It should arrive today. Don't open it...do not open it. It's the sword, remember." There was a pause and Will could be heard breathing deeply. "There are people after it. You need to get Katie and leave. Don't bother calling the police they wouldn't understand and don't try to contact me. I'm heading your way with Talitha, but don't wait for us, we'll catch up to you. Disappear for a few days, use only cash and keep moving. Get in touch with Bishop Keenan from Boston. He'll be expecting your call. I love you. Bye."
"Ha! My boy is coming and he will get revenge," Gayle was in a lather of vindictive righteousness and shrieked the words loudly. "Revenge! You have no clue what you're up against. He has powers that you only can dream about, and Talitha! I hope he turns her loose on you. She's a monster. She's been to hell and back, she'll tear through these idiots like they were babies. She'll kill all of you." Gayle's usually warm brown eyes now blazed in her face.
Her raging speech had the impact of a small explosion. Amy's crew of thugs stepped back uneasily, eyeing each other with silent questions. They knew that Will was supposed to have been killed by now. Seconds went by in silence and then Pedro with a scowl on his fearsome face began barking out orders in Spanish. Whatever he said caused the men to nod subserviently to him; they left the room and went to the kitchen where they stood milling.
"What should we do?" Pedro had returned to the living room and stared down at the body of William as he spoke.
Amy needed time to think. "Post a man at every corner of the house. Call L.A. I want every one of your thugs here as fast as they can."
"What about the police? Won't her son call the police?" This was the first time Pedro had so openly questioned her, but she was in no real position to make it an issue. For one she was weak and still shaking from her ordeal and for two, her reserve of spells were not inexhaustible. There was only so much she could do. In fact, there was very little she could do. Her powers of witchcraft weren't like those from a movie. She couldn't shoot fire from her fingers or lightening from a wand. Her abilities were far more subtle and took time to prepare.
"If he told his parents not to call the police, why would he? No, I don't think he'll will, but I'm going to go find out for certain. Keep everyone quiet—including her." Amy pointed at Gayle.
Pedro nodded and left, going about muttering to the men in Spanish. Amy looked around for a second, feeling slightly shell-shocked.
Her day had begun with such promise. Back in Maine, Lisa's mind had opened easily to her and the memory from the day before of her boxing up the sword and mailing it out was strong and clear. The spell had taken less than half an hour. She had been giddy at the time and it wasn't only because she knew that the ghastly blade had been sent to Will's parents. It was because Amy Harris had completely forgotten about the youngest Jern, Katie.
At fourteen, Katie couldn't be anything but a virgin and the right kind of virgin as well. The church going, mind your parents, eat all your vegetables type that would be perfect for the spell to open the gate. All through the plane ride, the picture of the little blonde pain in the ass that Amy had known, wound through her mind, putting her in the best of moods.
And then as they pulled out of the city of Phoenix heading south and then west on route eight to what was questionably considered a suburb of another smaller city, they happened to catch up to a UPS van. Amy ordered Pedro to slow and fate seemed to be on their side because the van went straight and true in the very direction they were heading. They followed it right to the Jern's home and then parked discreetly well away until it left.
As it drove off, Amy had felt that happy giddy feeling grow. She would get the sword and a virgin.
Only, Katie wasn't there and the sword seemed horribly double-edged, biting the hand that would dare to wield it. Not only that, Will should've been dead and Talitha as well for that matter. Even Amy's petty revenge had been diluted by the upsetting gaze in William's dead eyes. They held her guilty even in death.
She wasn't feeling at all giddy now.
Her stomach ached. It was a sharp pain right in the pit. With a quick intake of air, Amy left the room with all the dignity she could muster and after getting her satchel, she went to an unused back bedroom. From inside her bag she brought out aromatic candles and her well-worn board.
After lighting the candles and placing them around the board, she began to force herself to relax, breathing in and out slowly, clearing her mind, thinking only about her focus. For her it was an orange. Her mind swept over every aspect of her imaginary orange. The dimpled rind, the endless loop of the navel curving in on itself. Where did it begin, where did it end? The dimples seemed tiny from far away, but up close, they were huge orange hills...
"Damn!" she cursed. Her mind wasn't letting go, as it should have. From her bag, she brought out a small bottle of amber liquid and drank straight from the lip. The rum was one-fifty-one and burned as it went down. She gasped and then took another swig and gasped again while her face screwed up into an unpleasant grimace. After a third swig she put the bottle away.
Placing her hands on the faded wooden planchette and with eyes closed she tried again. Once more, the orange filled her consciousness and every aspect of it, her mind dwelled upon until she saw the long tan fingers come and grasp it. Manicured nails slid beneath the outer skin and into the rind effortlessly.
"Would you like some?" The words came to her from out of a dream. It was a memory from long ago and the voice was that of her mother's. This was her focus. When the words came to her, she knew tha
t she was ready.
"Mommy?"
The planchette dragged her fingers to one of the four words on the board, 'Yes.'
"Will Jern is still alive. He is coming to kill me. Will he bring the police?" Amy asked in a whispering monotone. She had to remain as serene as possible or her mother would become worked up and unreadable.
The planchette went to the word, 'No' and Amy felt relief drain the tension from her shoulders, but then the planchette began to move quickly, sliding from letter to letter with barely a pause. 'WARRIORS OF GOD'
It was with difficulty that she kept her calm and as much as she wanted another shot of rum Amy kept her fingers on the little wooden pointer.
"Do they have special powers?"
'NO HUMAN'
This was a problem communicating in this fashion. Did her mother mean that the warriors were not human? Or did she mean that the warriors were human with no special powers. Amy would have to reword the question, carefully. Even more than when she had been alive, her mother hated to repeat herself.
"Are they super-human in any way?" It was all she could come up with.
The pointer slipped to the word 'No'. That was something at least.
"How many are coming?" Across the bottom of the board were a line of numbers and the planchette went first to the six and then to the seven.
"Sixty-seven!" It had been more of an exclamation than a rhetorical question, but her mother took it as neither and the pointer went to the 'No' and then back to the six and then to the seven.
So she didn't know the exact number. This was a little odd. Normally she either knew something or didn't, there wasn't a middle ground. But did it matter? Really? It was just after three in the afternoon now and L.A. was so close that she figured that she would have a total of seventeen of her thugs in Phoenix by six pm—way before Will and his little posse could ever hope to arrive. She hoped.
"When will they arrive?" Amy asked. The pointer went to the seven and wiggled back and forth between it and the eight. That seemed oddly quick. Amy did a quick calculation and surmised that it was faster than her flight had been by at least an hour. Still it was plenty of time. But enough time for what? She could kill Gayle at any moment she pleased with the Hell blade, only she realized that she didn't want to.
It was so horrible, that she would force herself to wait on little Katie Jern.
"Is a proper virgin coming here today? One that can open the gate?" The pause for the answer was no longer than normal, but Amy held her breath afraid of the answer.
'Yes' the pointer was right on the word. Amy sagged and blew out her pent up breath.
Only two more questions remained: "Is Talitha Jern dead?" This had been nagging in her mind since the morning.
'Yes' the planchette wiggled, but didn't come off the word. For some reason Amy suddenly doubted her mother. Where or even how the soul of Henny Harris came by her knowledge, Amy hadn't a clue, but she had never been wrong. Many times Amy's mother didn't know an answer to a question, but if she ever gave an answer, it would be correct.
Yet on this, Amy worried that she was wrong. "Will Jern says he is bringing Talitha here, tonight. Is he?"
'CANT '
"Will J..." Amy nearly pulled her fingers off the planchette by accident. It started moving almost as soon as she began speaking.
'HER SOUL IS IN THE VOID'
This was a shock. Miss goody-two-shoes in hell. It was hard to believe. "You've seen her?" The skepticism came out strongly in Amy's voice, yet her mother didn't notice.
'Yes'
That was another shock, there were too many souls in hell for that to be a coincidence. Something odd was happening down there and before she broke the connection, she tried to find out what it was. Unfortunately for Amy, her mother was reluctant or unable to discuss it and she couldn't pursue the issue too far. She had to prepare another spell.
Thirty minutes later Amy checked her make-up and sent a brush through her thick brown hair. She never looked better. And she felt good too. The pain in her stomach had subsided and the weak feeling that had come over her after killing William Jern would be gone in a minute.
"Pedro!" she yelled as soon as she stepped out of the guest bedroom. He slouched toward her with an air of insolence. A number of his men loitered around the kitchen eating the Jern's food and watching her. They seemed to be expecting something of a show and Amy didn't blame them in the least.
They had seen her at her weakest. Screaming, acting like a feeble pathetic girl, letting a bound woman shame her. The men mocked her with their eyes. There were seven of them including Pedro, which meant that only two were actually standing in vigilance, keeping an eye out for the coming virgin. That was about to change.
"Are the cops coming?" Pedro asked without the slightest sign of respect.
Amy smiled and her white teeth flashed as she walked past him toward the kitchen. It was funny to her that so little a thing as ignoring Pedro, their leader, would make such a change in the men. Each of them sat up a little straighter and all were suddenly more alert. Good. She wanted their undivided attention.
She turned back to Pedro.
He had seen a demonstration of her power on only two occasions and it was obvious he needed to see another. It must have shown in her eyes, because he suddenly seemed a slight bit more nervous.
"I only asked cause we need to think about, ya know, gettin outta here."
"But you didn't ask me nicely," she said still smiling. "Where was the ma'am? Where was the Ms Harris? Where were your manners?"
"Sorry, ma'am." His eyes were a straight up mix of fear and fury. He was being made to look bad in front of his men.
She casually put a hand on his chest. It seemed sexual the way she did it, like it was a caress. "That's ok, Pedro. As long as you learn your lesson. Enoi-aya Findronose," she said soft and far from dramatically.
Pedro's hooded eyes shot up and his face registered a torturous shock. His strength drained out of him and flowed into Amy, so that all her previous weakness was forgotten. For a span of seconds, he shook in place and his great bulk seemed to be held up by the slim elegant arm of Amy Harris. In a moment, however, she pulled her arm back and he slithered to the floor in a state of semi-consciousness.
A very obvious stain spread out from his crotch and an unpleasant smell filled the room.
"Oh my!" Amy exclaimed waving her hand in front of her face. The thugs who had been eyeing her with impertinence only moments before scrambled out of the way, as she went to a closet and took from within it a broom. Bare handed she snapped it in half. She took it back to Pedro and smashed him in the face with it a number of times, careful not to damage him too badly. He would still be needed.
"Diablo," she crooned softly. The man who called himself Diablo hurried forward and it was good to see that his usual smirk was not twisting his thin black goatee. His attire was as always, black. Black jeans and a t-shirt hugged his blade thin frame. In his eyes, he had a spark more intelligence than the rest of the goons but he also had the black smoke of insanity rising there as well. He liked to hurt people.
"Yes, Miss?"
Amy's lip curled at his accent. Miss came out meese. She jerked her head at the limp moaning man at her feet. "Get two men to clean him up. The rest I want watching out for the girl. There are pictures all around this place in case these morons don't know who to look for."
"Yes, Miss."
Men fell over themselves to do as she ordered. Thankful for a reason to get out of the stinking kitchen, Amy walked with purposeful casualness to the living room. The blade still lay against the wall where it had been thrown, she turned her back on it, knowing that she would have to pick it up eventually. Just not yet.
Gayle Jern was uncomfortably cuddled up to her husband's body, looking as if she were trying to protect him. The sight annoyed Amy. It was just so truly pathetic. What good did Gayle think she could do with her hands tied behind her back? The only positive that she could garner from the scene was
that somebody had shut William's eyes.
"Diablo! Get someone to move this corpse. Gayle, where do you keep the sheets?"
"No," Mrs. Jern whispered harshly and shook her head pushing herself further onto her husband. Diablo came up, looking sidelong at the sword as if he feared to take his eyes from it.
"Gayle, please." Amy felt a surge of anger at someone telling her no, but she attempted to be compassionate. "Your daughter will be home soon. I doubt that you want her to see her father this way. We need to move the corpse."
"Eh, maim, theese penejo ain't daid." Diablo pointed at William shaking his head. It took Amy a moment to figure out what the man was saying.
"What? Not dead? Is that what you said?"
"Si."
"Uhg! This is fuckin America! When you're in this country, you say yes, not si." She shook her head in anger and then turned toward William.
"Don't touch him, please," Gayle whined.
"Oh shut up." Amy no longer felt the least bit charitable. She leaned over the cringing form of Gayle Jern and felt William's neck. His skin was only cool to the touch and not cold as she had expected and what's more, there was a light thumping beneath the man's scrawny chest. This was a puzzle.
William Jern no longer had a soul, least ways not in his body. It was in the Void somewhere—yet the man's body still lived. Amy went to pry open one of his eyes but Gayle interceded with her head, thrusting it in the way.
"Please no. Let him be," she begged. Her eyes were beet red, but they seemed incapable of putting forth any more tears.
Amy shoved her roughly away, ignoring the older lady's bleating. One of Amy's spells, the most horrid one she possessed came to mind as she looked upon the body of the man. The spell was dreadful, even more so than the Vile Gate, which brought forth the demon. Its name Mancipium Donec Nex, meant nothing to her since she didn't speak a lick of Latin, but what did matter were the very gruesome effects it produced in its victim.
The person's soul was sacrificed to a demon and in return, the gypsy who cast the spell would be able, for a time, to control the victim who would go on in a semi state of life. They became a ghoulish nightmare that was in effect, indestructible, and due to their inhuman strength, basically unstoppable.
The Trilogy of the Void: The Complete Boxed Set Page 90
