In the House of the Wicked rc-5

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  A hand fell hard upon his scrawny neck, and Deacon felt himself yanked roughly backward toward the still-open door. A powerful figure now stood where he had been, the sounds of gunfire echoing strangely in the world of shadows.

  The attacking beast emitted a high-pitched shriek that caused the hair on Deacon’s body to rise, but the rifle fire was enough to drive it away.

  He blinked wildly as he stared at the broad back of the one who had saved him. Slowly the figure turned, and he looked into the pale, tattooed face of the golem Scrimshaw.

  “It is dangerous here,” the golem said, moving to his master and pulling him to his feet. “We will need to be careful if we are to venture outside.”

  “You should have let the damnable thing take me,” Deacon spat. “There is nothing left to live for.”

  “What of your son?” Scrimshaw asked, shouldering the rifle.

  “My son?” Deacon asked angrily, looking at the tattooed face of his creation. “My son is dead.”

  Scrimshaw slowly shook his head.

  “No, master. Your son still lives.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Remy didn’t immediately recognize the woman as she entered his office. Even though he had known her for years, Carol Berg had never been to his office, and it threw him off a bit to see her there.

  “Carol,” he began, a smile making its way across his face as he realized who she was.

  “She’s missing, Remy,” Carol said quickly, and it was then that Remy noticed her troubled expression, the lines of worry that had already etched their way into the skin of her face.

  She looked ten years older.

  “What are you talking about?” he questioned as he stood and moved around his desk toward her. “Who’s missing?”

  Carol’s shoulders sagged, and he was afraid that she might fall down. He helped her to the chair in front of his desk and knelt beside her, a comforting hand on her arm.

  “What’s happened?” Remy asked gently, trying to remain calm even though his heart was now hammering in his chest in anticipation of what was to come.

  “It’s Ashley…We’ve been calling her for days and she hasn’t answered,” Carol said, reaching into her purse to get her phone on some off chance that a call had come in and she hadn’t noticed. “We’ve left message after message…begging her to call us…”

  The woman’s voice cracked and she started to cry as she slid her phone back into her purse.

  Remy sat back on his haunches, allowing the information to sink in. Ashley Berg was Carol’s daughter. She was also a good friend of Remy’s-more than a friend, really-and had proven herself the most reliable babysitter Marlowe had ever had. He stood and grabbed a box of tissues from his desk, holding it out to Carol.

  “Have you called the school?”

  Ashley had gone off to Ashmore College in Brattleboro, Vermont, not three weeks ago. They had talked last week, and she was very excited about her classes, living in her own apartment, and finding a part-time job.

  Carol nodded as she took the Kleenex and dabbed at her eyes. “They said she hasn’t shown up for classes in three days. We called the police and they’re working with the college, but we don’t know what to do.”

  Carol fell eerily silent, staring ahead as if seeing a glimpse of something right around the corner. “Oh, my God, Remy,” she gasped, emotion dripping from every word. “Oh, my God. What if somebody has hurt her?”

  Remy reached out to put his arms around her, to lend her some of his strength. “It’s going to be all right,” he tried to soothe her, as she sobbed into the collar of his button-down shirt.

  “Where is she, Remy?” Carol asked between sobs. “Why isn’t she answering our calls? Why hasn’t she been to school or her apartment?”

  “I don’t know,” Remy said, holding her tighter, afraid that she might disintegrate in his arms. “But I’m going to find out.”

  She pulled away from him then, her wide, wet eyes staring into his.

  “I’m going to find out,” he repeated with a nod of promise.

  “I knew that’s what you’d say.” Carol’s lips trembled as she tried to pull herself together. “She loves you and Marlowe so much…” And then she closed her eyes, rivulets of tears running down her face. She crammed the tissues against them.

  “Carol, where’s Karl?” Remy asked about her husband, Ashley’s father.

  She looked at him again, appearing to think a moment before answering. “He’s at the house…just in case she…just in case somebody calls and…”

  “That’s good,” Remy said, standing beside her chair. “I think you should go there, as well…be with Karl. Support each other.”

  “We’re going up to Brattleboro as soon as I get home.”

  Remy had no doubt that that’s where they would be heading.

  “Keep me in the loop,” he said. “Give me a call if you hear anything at all, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”

  She got up from the chair. Remy held her by the elbow just to be sure she was steady enough on her feet.

  “I will,” she said, sniffling. “I’m so sorry that I broke down like that… I…”

  “No worries,” Remy said to her.

  She managed a halfhearted smile and walked toward the door.

  “What are you going to do?” she then asked.

  The Seraphim nature was fully aware and listening, sensing that what it could do-what it existed for-would soon be called upon and put to use.

  “I’m going to start my own investigation,” Remy told her.

  She nodded, opening the door, and was about to step out into the hall when she stopped and turned.

  “Promise me that you’ll find her,” Carol said. “That no matter what, you’ll bring my little girl back to me.”

  “I promise,” Remy told her.

  And he’d never meant anything more.

  Beacon Hill

  Summer 1996

  Remy trekked up the hill from Charles Street carrying a bag of groceries, odds and ends Madeline had asked him to pick up for supper.

  It was a blazingly hot day on the Hill, but Remy didn’t allow himself to feel it. He enjoyed being human and all that it entailed, but if he could tweak his body temperature during the hot-and-humid Boston summers, he could see no problem in acknowledging what he truly was from time to time.

  An angel of the Heavenly host Seraphim could be comfortable at the North Pole, on the surface of the sun, or even Beacon Hill in the middle of August.

  As he headed up Mount Vernon Street, he noticed a Gentle Giant movers’ truck double-parked in front of one of the brownstones. The back of the truck was wide open to reveal a jam-packed trailer filled with a combination of covered furniture and multiple boxes. The movers were just starting to unload and were already soaked with sweat.

  Bet they wish they were of the Heavenly host Seraphim, Remy thought as he drew closer.

  The sidewalk in front of the brownstone was crowded with items unloaded from the truck, so he stepped into the street to get around it.

  And that was when he noticed the little girl.

  She couldn’t have been any older than five, and was crouched down outside a black, wrought-iron fence in front of a house across the street on Louisburg Square. He could hear her little voice, talking away as he drew nearer. Where are her parents, and who the hell is she talking to? he wondered.

  He could now see a frazzled-looking woman giving instructions to the movers from the steps of the brownstone, and a man on a cell phone pacing back in forth in the midst of a heated conversation with what sounded like the cable company.

  Remy guessed that the little girl belonged to them.

  She had stuck one of her small arms through the rungs of the wrought-iron fence and was making little smacking sounds.

  Remy couldn’t help but slow down to see what she was up to.

  On the other side of the fence was a small garden, a cherry blossom tree in the center surrounded by an assortment of
wildflowers and some tall grass. Remy could just about make out the shape of a little black-and-white cat, hunkered down, trying desperately to hide in what grass there was.

  The child must have sensed Remy’s presence behind her and turned her adorable gaze up to him.

  “My kitty got out of her box and ran across the street into the grass,” she informed him. “Can you help me get her out?”

  Remy stepped over to the fence, setting his bag of groceries down as he squatted beside her. “What’s your cat’s name?”

  “Spooky. She’s a girl.”

  “That’s a very nice name for a girl,” Remy said.

  “Mine is Ashley.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ashley. I’m Remy.”

  “Remy, can you get Spooky out of there?”

  “Let me see what I can do,” Remy replied.

  “Don’t be a-scared, Spooky.” Ashley turned her attention back to the cat still cowering under the cover of the tall green blades of grass. “Remy is gonna get you out.”

  Spooky began to growl, backing farther away as Remy made eye contact.

  “Hey there, Spooky,” he said, so the cat could understand him. “Why don’t you come out of there, and we’ll get you back into your box…”

  “No,” the cat hissed, followed by an even more ferocious growl. “No box…no car…no.”

  “What’s she sayin’?” Ashley asked.

  “I don’t think she liked being in the box or going in the car.”

  “She makes weird noises in the car,” Ashley agreed with a nod.

  “That’s ’cause she’s upset,” Remy explained. “The car scares her.”

  “I’m a-scared of ghosts,” Ashley said matter-of-factly.

  “Really?” Remy asked. “Well, it’s a good thing there aren’t any ghosts in your new house.”

  “There isn’t?” the little girl asked, looking across the street. Her mother was helping the movers with some of the smaller boxes, but Dad continued his argument on the cell phone.

  “Nope, I checked it out before you moved in. Perfectly ghost-free.”

  “Thanks, Remy,” the little girl said, and he felt her tiny hand slip into his.

  He turned his head slightly to look at the five-year-old, who was staring fixedly at her cat, still hiding in the garden grass.

  “You think Spooky is ever gonna come out of there?”

  “Yeah, I think she will,” Remy said. “Just let me talk to her a little more.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey, Spooky.” Remy again spoke so the cat could hear him in her feline tongue. “You might want to think about coming out of there before it’s too late.”

  The cat glared at him, her green eyes nearly matching the color of her grassy cover. “Why?”

  “Doone lives in this house.”

  “What’s Doone?”

  “Doone is a very large dog.” Remy glanced at his watch. “And if I’m not mistaken, he should be leaving for his afternoon walk any minute now.”

  Remy could see panic flicker in the cat’s eyes. She became even more skittish, glancing from where she hid up toward the front stairs to the building and the front door.

  “Dog?” Spooky asked. “Dog here?”

  “He’s right inside there,” Remy said, pointing to the house. “And I know for a fact he doesn’t care for cats.”

  “You better come out of there, Spooky,” Ashley coaxed. “Doone don’t sound very nice.”

  “Hey, Ashley?” Remy asked. The little girl looked at him. “Would you get me Spooky’s box?”

  “Sure, Remy.” She turned toward the street.

  “Be careful of cars,” Remy cautioned.

  She stopped and looked both ways before darting across the street.

  “Okay, then,” Remy said, turning back to Spooky. “Ashley is going to get your box, and that’s where you’re going to go. All right?”

  “Doone dog,” the cat whined nervously. “Where?”

  “Doone is inside the house,” Remy explained. “If you get back into your box and let Ashley take you inside the new house, you two will never even make eye contact. Do we have a deal?”

  Remy looked away to see Ashley on the other side with the cardboard pet carrier. He checked for traffic and then motioned her across once the coast was clear.

  “Here’s her box,” Ashley said, handing it to him.

  “Thanks.” He took the box and opened the cover, then placed it just outside the wrought-iron fence, between two of the posts.

  “C’mon, Spooky,” Remy urged the cat. “Let’s shake that tail.”

  “No shake tail,” the cat snarled, her tail whipping angrily from side to side.

  “All right, then,” Remy said, as he stood up. “Maybe Doone can get you to move.” He looked at the stairs and the door above, as if expecting the dog to emerge at any moment.

  Spooky bounded out of the grass, through the wrought-iron bars, and jumped into her cardboard carrier.

  “Yay!” Ashley shrieked, doing the cutest dance while clapping her chubby hands.

  “Good job, Spooky,” Remy said. He reached out to close the lid on the carrier, and Spooky’s paw shot out, raking bloody tracks across the back of Remy’s hand.

  “Scared,” she hissed, letting him know that there was nothing to cheer about as far as she was concerned.

  Remy nearly dropped the carrier, but managed to balance it on his knee as he finally got the lid closed.

  “Did she get ya?” Ashley asked as Remy set the carrier down on the sidewalk.

  “Yeah, but that’s all right.” The gashes stung like crazy, but he could feel his flesh already beginning to heal. “It’s not too bad.”

  Ashley pulled his hand down so she could see the wounds.

  “Your mother should wash that up and put a Band-Aid on it,” she said. “Don’t want it to get defected.”

  Remy chuckled. “I’ll get right on that.” Then he reached down and picked up the carrier, handing it to Ashley. “You should probably get Spooky in the new house so she can get used to it and not be afraid anymore.”

  “Okay,” Ashley said, moving toward the street. “C’mon, Spooky. You don’t have to be afraid; there isn’t any ghosts inside. Remy said he checked.”

  She crossed the street and headed up the walkway toward the brownstone, passing her father, who was still pacing and on the phone. He reached out and patted her head as she went by and started up the stairs, hauling the cat carrier.

  Halfway up the steps, Ashley stopped and turned, her gaze searching. “See ya tomorrow, Remy,” she called out, waving with her free hand before continuing on into her new home.

  Ashley’s father waved at him also, mouthing the words thank you as he continued with his call.

  Remy retrieved his bag of groceries and walked around the corner to Pinckney Street and the brownstone he shared with his wife. He was certain she’d be wondering where he had been all this time.

  And he would tell her about the little girl who now lived in their neighborhood, who had troubles with her cat.

  A little girl named Ashley.

  Remy was at Piazza, writing a note for Linda, when she showed up for her lunch shift.

  “Hey, you,” she said, warming him with her smile and then a kiss on the lips. “What are you doing here?”

  “I tried to call but couldn’t reach you,” Remy said. “I was leaving you a note.”

  “Phone died,” she told him. “I forgot to charge it. What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got to take off for a bit,” he replied, watching the expression on her face change-partially annoyance and maybe a little sadness. “Ashley might be missing, and I’m going to poke around, see what I can do to help.”

  “Oh, my God.” Linda moved closer, taking his hands and looking deeply into his eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, not really telling the truth. Remy felt like a caged animal, eager to get out…eager to hunt. “But I need to get up there, flip over
some rocks to see for myself.”

  Linda hadn’t met Ashley, the right time not having presented itself, especially with Ash getting ready to leave for school. Although she certainly knew how important the girl was to Remy.

  “This isn’t like her, is it?” she asked.

  “No, not at all.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  He held up the note he had been writing. “I was wondering if you could look after…”

  “Besides Marlowe,” she said. “That’s a given. I’ll zip over after lunch and take him for a walk; then I’ll pick him up once I’m done here for the night.”

  Remy reached into his pocket and removed a key, placing it in the palm of her hand. “Just in case you don’t feel like driving him back to your place.”

  She stared at the key for a moment, and then closed her fingers around it. “Hopefully you put all your valuables away,” she said, trying to lighten the mood just a little.

  “My stamp collection is locked up tight,” Remy confirmed.

  They smiled at each other then, but the intensity of the situation was too great, and he felt the oppressive weight of what he still had to do pushing down on him, his entire focus on finding that little girl who’d had problems with Spooky the cat just yesterday, it seemed.

  “Go on. Get out of here,” Linda prodded, as if reading his thoughts.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Remy said.

  “Long enough to find her.”

  And Linda released her grip on his hands, letting him go to work.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Remy opened his wings in the backyard of the building where Ashley and a friend from high school had rented an apartment. He wanted to be certain that no one was home before going in and poking around.

  He glanced toward the driveway and saw that the space reserved for the first-floor tenants was empty. All clear. He closed his eyes, summoned his wings again, and took himself into the apartment.

  The familiar smell of put-together furniture permeated the air as he unfurled his wings in the living room. He had taken Ashley to IKEA, just south of Boston in Stoughton, to get bookcases for her apartment, and had helped her put them together the day she’d moved up here.