Dark Arts

by Randolph Lalonde

  The rules, Maxwell remembered, were the most important thing. The first he remembered was what a demon could not change. They could not change what gifts someone was born with. If Miranda and he had a daughter, the gentleman had no power to imbue her with great talent. They were also incapable of ensuring the birth of a child, that was something left to more powerful things and biology. “What are the lies in your offer?” Maxwell asked.

  “Riches, success, opportunities are all things I can guarantee, but happiness, a child and alteration of free will, I can’t,” the gentleman answered.

  “Good,” Charles said, puffing on his pipe. “You’ve always been able to make a meal out of a mud pie, Max, you don’t need his limited help. There are better questions, more important questions, think harder.”

  Maxwell watched the gentleman puzzle at the image of his father. It seemed like his spirit was distracting the demon nearly to the point of madness. It couldn’t last much longer. The next question came to him. “Can you guarantee the safety of everyone I love, and do so without making other people suffer?”

  “No, that is not possible. The disaster you’ll experience will happen no matter what you do, only I can prevent it if you take my offer. By preventing that, five people will die, two will be forever changed, but you will not know them,” replied the gentleman as he carefully measured Charles’ height with his hand then compared it to his own.

  The last question was easy for Maxwell. “Tell me about the end of my deal, all the plans you have for me at the end of one hundred thirty five years, what does that look like?”

  “You are still imprisoned, but you don’t feel that way: You will have been the master of other souls I command, teaching them how to wield magic in the spirit world. This will undoubtedly twist you into something you barely recognize, but you will still be valuable. I will entice you to stay after your term of service by making deals with your friends, your loved ones, and your children if you have any. You will never leave.”

  “There, was that so hard?” Charles asked the gentleman. “What do you say, Max? Do you take his deal? Yea or nay.”

  “Nay,” Maxwell said. “I’ll take my chances, thanks for the warnings.”

  The gentleman seemed to clear his head, and looked at Maxwell. He seemed genuinely saddened. “I do not envy your path, boy. Believe me when I say that I truly hope it is not as dark as it seems, and coming from someone like me, that is a statement worth worrying over.” He froze in place, losing color. In a small cloud of dust he crumbled into gravel and sand.

  “Wish I could stay, boy,” Charles said, “but there’s nothing holding me here, not even that trinket in your hand. One thing, mind you: There are some serious consequences to leaving that shard here. It’s the best place, you’re right with your choice, but leaving it in one place will cause trouble you’re going to answer for.”

  “Dad, wait,” Maxwell said he had no idea what he wanted to say next, but he was relieved when his father stopped and fixed him with a mildly amused expression.

  “I love you boy, wish I said so a lot more, proud of you too. Just don’t let anyone else pick that shard up. You’ll hate yourself for what it does to them. Do what feels right, watch your back, and you’ll be as strong as you need to be,” his father said.

  “Is it going to be as bad as he said?” Maxwell asked, feeling as young and as frustrated as he did during his lessons.

  “Refuse to embrace sorrow as your companion,” his father replied, emptying his pipe. “Farewell, my good boy.” He turned, began walking down the road whistling Strangers in the Night, and disappeared.

  Maxwell fell to his knees and stared down the empty road. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he brushed it off with the back of his hand. It was followed by a torrent. He could not remember wanting the company of his father before that moment, and as the smell of his cedar scented tobacco dissipated, there was nothing he wanted more.

  He forced himself to bear up, and wiped his tears away. “Bloody hell, what good is it if you’re right and dead?” Maxwell said, dropping the shard into his inside jacket pocket. He immediately retrieved it. “Sorry, dad, I’ve got to try to get rid of this anyway.” He turned, dropped it into the hole, put the iron symbol he’d brought with him on top of it, and burst the cream cup on top, so the white dripped on the shard and the iron icon. “This cream I bless in the name of the Goddess, life giving milk from a mother for sacred purpose.” He could feel the rite working, a calm, peaceful sensation washed over him. “I commit these things to the earth, where they will cause no strife if they are recovered by any person ignorant to their purpose. Be reclaimed by the world and made as one with it once more.”

  He pushed gravel atop the hole until it was flat. “I seal thee under the crossing of roads, to be gone within one generation, hidden beneath a symbol of goodness until your power is gone.”

  He turned towards his motorcycle and felt something rough and thick against his neck, the fibers scratching at his skin. He reached up to fight the noose under his chin as it tightened, and he was pulled slowly upwards. Before his hand could get under the rough rope, he was on his toes, struggling to breathe.

  Panic seized him as his feet left the ground and he began to gently swing and turn until he could see the twisted face of the pastor. “You won’t reveal me,” he rasped.

  VIII

  “Why is he getting rid of it there?” Miranda asked. “That’s worse, isn’t it?”

  “It’s where his father would put it,” Allen said as he drove his pickup truck down the dirt road. Miranda sat between Bernie and his father. “The graveyard has been a cursed place since my grandfather was your age. There’s no consecrating it again, not without accounting for everything that’s there, so the Circle uses it as a place to trap things that we want to limit in the ground. It works, but there are so many things there now, it’s become dangerous. Charles used it, but he was the last. We keep it up so the uninitiated don’t suspect it’s true nature, and so we have a place to put our public headstones up.”

  “It’s like a toxic dump,” Miranda said. She looked over her shoulder to make sure her aunts were still following. “Max was never told because he wasn’t initiated?”

  “That’s right. When he’s initiated we’re going to be sharing a lot of things with him, things that will explain a lot about his life, about his father too.” Rock n’ Roll band came on the radio, and his father turned it down, he was more of an Elvis man. “That’s about right,” he said. “I never liked the graveyard, to be honest, glad no one I knew is buried there.”

  “No one has honestly been buried there for over a century,” Allen said. “We use the same five graves over and over again whenever an initiated dies to fake burials, so we can perform our ritual somewhere else. Keep our graves from being desecrated.”

  “Is that what happened at this graveyard?” Miranda asked.

  “Nevil Sands used it to gather power in the early eighteen hundreds,” Bernie said. “He turned it into a spirit trap, and started getting rich. I never found out what happened after that.”

  “His family is still running on that money,” Allen said. “Ask April, she’s related. I was surprised to see her at the gathering.”

  The sting of Scott getting on with April, the curvy blonde who they barely knew from high school, instead of him at the beach was eased. “I had no idea,” he replied.

  “I had a dream where you two were seriously involved,” Miranda said. “I mean, seriously, highway to marriage and kids. That’s why I had you promise you wouldn’t forget all about me.”

  “You’re going to have to warn Scott instead,” Bernie said. “He intercepted.”

  “Thank the ancestors,” Allen sighed. “A Webb and a Sands, that’s not going to wash with my brother.”

  “What do you think Uncle Desmond will do?” Bernie asked.

  “Have a heart attack, maybe nothing though. April’s the bright spot in that family, I think.”

  Miranda looked to B
ernie, an eyebrow raised. “Are the Sands still a problem? I know my aunt Gladys looks like she’s about to spit every time they come up, but she won’t talk about why.”

  “Dad?” Bernie asked.

  “Long story,” Allen said. “That’s his bike, I think.”

  “Samuel was right,” Bernie managed to say before Maxwell was caught in the headlights, struggling in mid air, hanging by a black noose tied somewhere in the blackness above.

  “Hang on,” Allen said, pressing the accelerator to the floor, then slowing down at the last moment so Maxwell could get his legs up on the hood. They piled out of the truck in a rush, Bernie was half on the hood, trying to get a grip on Maxwell’s legs to push him up. “Cut the rope!” he shouted.

  “It’s not a normal rope,” Allen said.

  Bernie felt hands gripping his pant legs, pulling him away from the truck with firm, forceful tugs. “Something’s trying to get me,” he said as he looked over his shoulder and saw nothing. He pulled himself all the way up onto the hood, shaking the unseen hands off, and stood with Maxwell’s legs in his arms.

  Maxwell gasped his relief, then rasped; “My boot knife!”

  “I am the purifying fire,” Allen started to declare into the night, standing in front of the hood of the truck. “Guardian against that which shrinks from light. I call on all the Guardians that have come before-“ he was interrupted as an unseen force pulled him away from the truck then out of the headlight’s beams.

  “Allen!” Miranda shouted, running after him. “Get Max, I’ll get your dad!”

  Bernie found the long bladed, horn handled knife strapped to Maxwell’s calf and began pulling at the leather strap that tied it there. “I’ll have it in a sec, you breathing?”

  “Yeah, rope’s tightening again,” Maxwell said as he struggled to expand the noose, trying to push his fingers between it and the rope.

  He felt cold fingers trying to interrupt his work, they were cold, small, children’s digits. Bernie pulled a small vial of holy oil from his pocket and pulled the cork off with his teeth. “I reclaim this space for the living, for the light and command all souls with ill-intent to depart!” he shouted, splashing his hands with it, standing up, then rubbing the oil on Maxwell’s neck. The pressure on his neck was gone, and the black noose let go. Maxwell fell onto the hood of the truck, dragging Bernie with him, and they rolled off into the gravel road.

  Susanne’s voice cut through the night as she approached, her arms wide. “I am the Seer of Atrani, I call my Goddess through the door, Luna grant me the cleansing light.”

  Bernie looked up in time to see a broad shaft of moonlight illuminate the road. Gladys ran to his father, who was still half in shadow on the roadside. Miranda fought to pull him all the way into the light. The sounds of cloth tearing and his father’s muffled voice prompted him to run to him as well.

  “Proserpine, I call on your life-giving nature to press these dead things away,” Susanne continued.

  Bernie got to the road side, where the light met the darkness as though he were looking from one world into another, and locked gazes with dim grey eyed man who led his congregation in pulling at his father’s arms, the shades of children pressed their small hands into Allen’s mouth, pried at his eyes and pulled on his hair. Miranda was barely holding on.

  With a flick of his wrist, and all the conviction he had, Bernie sent the last drops of his holy oil at them. He grabbed his father’s belt and hauled back with all his strength, with all his weight. The shadows retreated, and his father was brought into the silver moonlight. “Are you all right, Dad?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Leaving the bike here,” he stood shakily and walked to the truck.

  “I pray thee watch over us during our retreat,” Susanne said. “And thank you for coming to our aid.” Gladys joined her, retreating as she made signs of protection towards the crossroads.

  Miranda was at Maxwell’s side before Bernie could get there. “Is he all right?”

  “Breathing, he hit his head, but it doesn’t look bad.”

  “Bloody hell,” Maxwell groaned as he struggled to his feet holding his head. He looked around and nodded. “Past time to clear out.” He started for his motorcycle and Bernie got in his way.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “You pick that thing up tomorrow, it’s off to the side, it’ll be fine.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Maxwell said.

  “Max will ride with Allen and Bernie, Miranda with us,” Gladys said. “Come!”

  Miranda gave Maxwell a brief kiss and ran back to their car.

  They were on their way back to the farm in a hurry, Maxwell sitting between Bernie and Allen. He wanted to get a good look at his father, but couldn’t in the dim cab light. He could tell there was something wrong, his father was being too quiet, and driving too quickly.

  Maxwell knew there was something seriously wrong when Allen drove his pickup truck up the lawn of the main house, almost to the front door. “Dad?” Bernie asked as his father opened the driver side door and slid out this side, staggering to his knees.

  Maxwell and Bernie were out and at his side in a rush. He was still awake, and groaned when Max and Bernie got under his arms and dragged him up to the porch and into the house. “First floor bedroom,” Maxwell said to Bernie, who looked too stunned to think.

  In the clear light of the kitchen everyone could see his torn, blood soaked shirt. There were scratches on Allen’s neck, face, and the tear in his bottom lip. The darkness hid most of the bleeding while they were driving back, but some of Allen’s wounds, not nearly all, still seeped red. The fight with the Pastor’s spiritual congregation had taken a greater toll than Allen let anyone see until he couldn’t stay upright anymore.

  They passed through the adjacent kitchen, busy with night owls still up playing cards, talking and drinking. “Oh my God!” or “What happened?” were the general cries of surprise as they moved him through. Maxwell couldn’t help but bitterly note at how completely unhelpful most of them were. Only two people seemed to know what to do as they passed.

  They put him down on the double bed and were immediately pushed aside by one of the card players. “I’m a nurse,” said the tall, middle-aged woman. “What happened?”

  “Animal attack,” Bernie said as though by reflex. “He found a raccoon den.”

  She turned around, regarding Bernie and Max. “No, what really happened? There are scratches in your father’s mouth and throat, like someone tried to pull him inside out.” She looked to a younger woman beside her. “Go get my medical bag, Tammy, and the extra kit in the trunk.” She handed her a set of keys and the younger woman with a perm that matched the nurse’s and she ran from the room.

  Maxwell stepped in close enough so he could quietly tell her and not share with the rest of the first floor dwellers. “A shadow haunt got him, we got him away as quick as we could.”

  “Good,” she returned her full attention to Allen. “Can you hear me, Allen?”

  He nodded, his eyes focusing on her, half open. “Glad you could make it, Dianna,” he said.

  “I bet you are,” she said with mild amusement, but her serious manner returned quickly. “Try not to talk, we’re going to take care of you. Do you feel any pressure on your chest? Squeeze my hand twice for no, once for yes.” She waited a moment then nodded. “Good, are you having any difficulty breathing?” Maxwell could see the two squeezes of Allen’s hand. “Okay, any trouble seeing?” Two squeezes again. “Any ringing in your ears, or difficulty hearing?” Two more squeezes. “All right, you’re clear for possession and a whole bunch of terrible injuries you don’t want, probably thanks to these brands on your chest. That had to hurt. I’m going to check you over. I’m going to have to cut your shirt and pants off. Don’t worry about helping me, I’ve done this more times than I can count. Sonny, you stay,” she said, looking at Bernie. Tammy arrived with a large red and brown tackle box and a large shoulder bag. “You go let Jerry check you out then send him in. Every
one else, out.”

  Maxwell took one more look at the scene. Most of the bleeding was stopped, from what he could see, the rest looked slow, and Allen didn’t look like he was in any danger. He opened his scratched eyelids a little and nodded at Maxwell, so he left. He was met at the door by a powerful looking, tall man with an easy smile. “Max, I’m Jerry, have a seat.”

  Maxwell was shown to a chair at the kitchen table where Jerry began prodding his neck. “I’ll have some of that, if you don’t mind,” Maxwell said, pointing at a bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon.

  “Pot would be better,” Jerry said, feeling his way down Maxwell’s sore neck. “Go ahead though, if that’s your poison.”

  Miranda came in, her aunts heading directly for the bedroom where Allen was being taken care of. “What are you lookie-loo’s doing?” Gladys said to the dozen people hanging about in the kitchen and the hall. “It’s almost midnight, the kitchen’s closed. Shoo!”

  Miranda poured Maxwell a glass of Wild Turkey and handed it to him, taking a seat behind Jerry. “How is he?” she asked, flashing a smile at Max.

  “I don’t think the rope burns are bad enough to leave any scarring, bruising on the neck is going to be annoying for a week, maybe a little longer. You were really hung up, but the discs are all right. You’ve got a good goose egg on your forehead here, but if you’re going to hit your head, that’s where you want to do it. A nice thick part of the skull.” He touched the bump, and Maxwell flashed him a dangerous glance. It was throbbing hard already.