Evil Ways

by Justin Gustainis

  "Who? Oh, you mean Fenton. Yeah, he has it."

  "Keep your phone close by, will you?"

  "Sure. And I'll be happy to talk to your mysterious El, or you, or Fenton, or Glenda the Good Witch of the East. But I doubt any of that's going to change my plans."

  "Um, would you care to share those with me?"

  "Sure." The expression on Morris's face would have been instantly recognizable to anyone familiar with his gunfighter ancestors.

  "I'm pretty sure Libby Chastain's in Iowa," he said. "And I aim to go and get her."

  V

  DIES IRAE

  Chapter 22

  Libby Chastain came fully back into her body with the knowledge that, while she'd been away, something had gone very wrong.

  Her hands were secured above her head with some kind of metal fetters, and there was something stretched across her mouth that would make coherent speech impossible. She tried, very cautiously to move her legs, and found they also were secured. She lay there (wherever there was) without moving or opening her eyes. Libby wanted to find out as much as she could about her situation before letting anyone know that she was one whole entity again.

  But she learned that her pretence was all for naught when she heard a familiar voice say, "Don't try to play possum with me, you worthless piece of shit. I could sense your life force as soon as it returned to that sagging bag of flesh you call a body." The voice belonged to Lewis Pardee.

  Libby opened her eyes to see that she was lying on a bed, obviously not the one she had been occupying in Cleveland. This room was considerably more luxuriously appointed, not to mention quite a bit larger. But Libby didn't waste time and attention on the surroundings--not when Pardee was sitting in a chair next to her bed, grinning.

  "As you've no doubt figured out, I have removed you from the safety of your hotel room, to someplace which you will find to be considerably less safe. Your pitiable defenses wouldn't have stopped me if I had wished to enter by the door, but it amused me to pass through the outside wall, and take you back with me the same way. Your boyfriend Morris never heard a thing. I could simply have killed him, but I like imagining the expression on his face when he finally goes looking for you."

  "He's not my boyfriend," Libby tried to say, but the gag, or whatever it was across her mouth prevented her from uttering anything beyond an inchoate moan.

  "I've been contemplating all sorts of delights to visit upon you between now and Wednesday night," Pardee said. "Using my superior magical power to bounce you off the walls and ceiling for an hour or so would be amusing. So would a bit of rape. Oh, I wouldn't touch you--I like the women I fuck, even the unwilling ones, a lot younger and considerably better looking. The years haven't exactly been kind to you, have they, Libby? You don't mind if I call you Libby, do you? After all, we're old friends, aren't we? How is dear Gabby these days, I wonder? Do the two of you ever get together over cups of tea and reminisce about how you were able to gain the advantage of me when I wasn't expecting trouble? Do you?"

  The last two words were almost a scream. Libby realized that what had been a fairly minor exercise for her, almost forgotten by now, had been for Pardee a defeat of ego-shattering significance. She wondered how much of his outrage came from having been bested by a woman, in front of another one, whom he'd had in his thrall.

  "You know, I thought about paying little Gabby a painful, humiliating visit, to show both of you cunts just how little power your pathetic geas has over me now. But I didn't want you to become aware of my superiority until a time of my choosing. Which has now come round at last."

  Pardee's grin was so wide it threatened to split his face in two. "Now, where was I before you got me distracted. Oh, yes, rape. Well, although the prospect of ravaging your pussy doesn't appeal to me, I could probably find a few dozen men who aren't quite so picky. Or I could call up a few demons and allow them to amuse themselves with you for a day or so. I don't know if you've ever been fucked by a demon, Libby, but I understand they are insatiable, just insatiable. And ever so well hung."

  He stared at her face, as if expecting some kind of reaction. Tears, perhaps, or an attempt to beg for mercy through whatever was across her mouth. But she just looked at him.

  Pardee shrugged, his good mood in no way diminished by Libby's refusal to be baited.

  "But I thought, no--such petty brutality is unworthy of one such as me. After all, I am the wizard who is going to usher in a whole new era for this world of ours, in a few days' time. I really should behave in a way consistent with what will soon be my elevated station. And you have no idea, Libby dear, just how far I am going to be elevated, once the new order takes power. Many will die, it's true, and many more will suffer. But a select few, such as my humble self, will be richly rewarded."

  Libby stared at him impassively, but she was thinking, Sweet Goddess, he's crazy as a bedbug. I don't know what this big plan is that he's blathering about, but even if he fails, he can cause a great deal of harm in the process.

  "Well, there's no sense bragging in front of such an unappreciative audience," Pardee said cheerfully. "You'll find out what it's all about soon enough, during the final moments of your life.

  "But here are a few tidbits to tide you over: my employer is going to get what he wants on Walpurgis Night, but also rather more than he has bargained for. And you will have the honor of playing a key role in the ceremony. For at the crucial moment, I am going to cut you open, the same way one butchers any species of pig, and then I'm going to rip out your major bodily organs, one by one. I'll show them to you, if you like, and I guarantee that my superior magic will keep you conscious and aware until the very end, awake and screaming. Oh, yes, I'll remove your gag for that. I want to hear every syllable."

  Pardee stood up in a single fluid motion that reminded Libby of a cat she had once owned. "In the meantime, you won't be working any of your so-called magic. The fetters that bind you to this bed have my spell on them. You're not going anywhere, until I decide it's time for your final journey. And you'll have lots of time to think about... things."

  Pardee walked to the door, then stopped and turned back. "I'll have some glucose put into you intravenously later. We can't have you departing this vale of tears prematurely. Nothing to eat or drink, of course--that gag stays on until very near the end. Oh, and if you feel the urge to piss, or take a shit, at any time, dear Libby, feel free. You're the one who's going to have to lie in it, after all."

  Then he was gone, the heavy wooden door clicking solidly shut behind him.

  "I don't mind talking to you on the phone," Morris said, "but I'm a little surprised that you're not visiting though astral projection."

  "I would, if it were necessary, Mister Morris," Eleanor Robb said. "But I don't see the need at the moment, and I'm already quite exhausted from attending that meeting of the Circle earlier this evening. It takes a great deal of psychic energy to go out of one's body, you know."

  "I didn't, but I'm not surprised. All right, I assume you're calling because you've heard from Colleen O'Donnell."

  "That's right, I have. She tells me that Libby is... missing, under suspicious circumstances."

  "'Suspicious' is something of an understatement, Sister."

  "Perhaps you should just call me Ellie."

  "All right, Ellie, I will. Did Colleen give you the specifics?"

  "She did. Do I understand that all of Libby's wards were still in place when you checked her room?"

  "Yes, ma'am, they sure were. Whoever it was, they didn't get in through the door."

  "That's rather troubling. I say that, because--"

  "Because it means that whoever took Libby is one magical bad motherfucker."

  "Admirably put, Mister Morris. Crudely, but admirably."

  "Call me Quincey, since we're being informal, and all."

  "Very well. You see, a discorporation/reincorporation spell is difficult to perform, and to do so while carrying another person is... well, there are few among the Sisterhoo
d who could pull it off successfully."

  "And few outside the Sisterhood?"

  "Let's just say it would be a formidable undertaking for any practitioner of the Art, whether white or black."

  "Is it within the capabilities of a fella named Pardee, do you think?"

  There was a tired-sounding sigh in Morris's ear. "Quite possibly. The Sisterhood has not had any direct contact with this man since Libby's encounter some years back, but we do keep an eye on the other side's 'rising stars,' as it were."

  "More like 'falling stars,' isn't it?"

  "All depends on one's point of view, I imagine, but I get your meaning," Ellie said. "We don't know a great deal about this Pardee, but reports are that he has been gaining a great deal of magical power, source unknown, over the last few years. It is not unreasonable to posit that he would now have the ability to carry out Libby's abduction, under the conditions you've described."

  "The question is, why? All the other recent attacks on the Sisterhood, that we know about, have been murder attempts, whether successful or not."

  "That's true. It's difficult to say with any degree of certainty what Pardee has in mind, assuming he's the one responsible--although, I suppose..."

  "You suppose what?" Morris asked.

  "I don't want to upset you, Quincey. But it's possible that his defeat at Libby's hands years ago may have festered into a desire to take her life in a... more prolonged and painful fashion."

  "Yeah," Morris said tightly. "That had kinda occurred to me, too. But why now? If he's been some kind of a magical heavyweight for a while, why make a move on Libby now?"

  "I wish I had an answer for you, Quincey, I really do."

  "Shit." Morris massaged the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "I assume Colleen has also told you about the Walpurgis Night business."

  "She did. Libby was incorrect, by the way. The Sisterhood was not unaware of the confluence of Walpurgis Night with the full moon this year. Some of us were keeping our eyes open, but we weren't really worried about anything very serious transpiring."

  "Libby said the last time this happened was 1939. Seems to me that something pretty damn serious transpired back then."

  "I think the start of World War Two that year was probably something of a coincidence."

  "You just said 'think,' 'probably,' and 'something.' That's three qualifiers in one sentence, Ellie."

  There was silence on the line for several seconds. Finally, Eleanor Robb said, "You're quite right. I was hedging. In truth, I am somewhat concerned. But the world is not on the brink of war today, as it was in Thirty-Nine. I think the Left-Hand Path's capabilities for mischief are fairly limited, the Goddess be thanked."

  "Colleen also told you that Libby and I picked up a rumor in Cleveland that something big is planned for the revels this year, right?"

  "Yes, but that could just be big talk to draw a large attendance to the one in, where was it, Iowa?"

  "Idaho. Walter Grobius's estate in Idaho."

  "Well, Walpurgis Night is mostly just a big party night for the people of the black. It's one of two nights a year they can crawl out of the shadows and feel--"

  "What did you say?"

  "I said, the eve of the Feast of St. Walpurgia and Halloween are the two nights of the year--"

  "No, something about shadows."

  "It was just a metaphor, Quincey. I was trying to--"

  "Quiet! Just give me a second, will you?

  Whether insulted or not, Eleanor Robb kept silent. Morris heard again the voice of his friend, John Wesley Hester: "Some blokes in Baghdad found out recently that the Book of Shadows is missing." Then he heard John saying, "You know what kind of stuff's supposed to be in that bloody thing. Imagine an adept of the Left-Hand Path with that book, along with all the magical power gained from those nasty kiddie sacrifices you've been talking about."

  Then he heard his own voice, in Frank's bar in Cleveland, talking about Walpurgis Night taking place during the time of the full moon: "It's like a perfect storm of the occult."

  Into the phone, Morris said, "Forgive my rudeness just now, Ellie, but something popped into my head, and I wanted to get a look at it before it disappeared again."

  "And did you?"

  "Yeah, I did. Listen, Ellie--if you're not sitting down right now, maybe you should."

  "Why's that, Quincey?"

  "Because I'm about to upset you."

  The next morning, after a mostly sleepless night, Morris heard from Fenton.

  "Looks like we finally caught a break," he told Morris.

  "Good, we could fucking use one. What happened?"

  "While I was brushing my teeth this morning, I remembered that at the last reunion I attended, a college buddy of mine said he'd gone into the Air Force not long after graduation. Officer Candidate School, and all that. Told me he was one of the top guys in the Idaho Air National Guard, now. Well, I got him on the phone, and he's still there. In fact, he's been moving up pretty good--Deputy Commander of the whole fuckin' air wing."

  "I guess that's good," Morris said, "but I'm not sure I see exactly how, unless you can get him to drop a few tons of bombs on Grobius's place out there and call it a training exercise."

  "No, can't do that. But there's more than one kind of training exercise, and Charlie is willing to send one of their reconnaissance aircraft over the place, with its cameras running."

  Morris sat up straighter. "Okay, that is good news. Maybe we'll learn what the hell Grobius and his pet wizard have in mind for tomorrow night. Wait, though. Shit!"

  "What's wrong?"

  "If Grobius and his boys figure out that they're under surveillance, they might decide to cut their losses and close down operations. That would probably include disposing of all potential witnesses, including Libby."

  "Don't sweat it, man. Charlie tells me the plane'll be at fifty thousand feet--maybe higher, depending on the cloud cover. And it'll be over Grobius's place and gone before anyone even notices it's there. With the kinds of cameras and shit they've got today, apparently one pass is all you need to get a whole bunch of good pictures of anything on the ground bigger than a gopher."

  "Okay, then. Not bad, Fenton. Not bad, at all. But the sooner we get this done, the better. When's your pal gonna send the plane over?"

  "What time is it now?"

  "About eight forty-seven, Eastern."

  "It's already airborne."

  "Have you got it, Ellie?"

  "It's loading now. My Internet connection is kind of slow, so this may take a minute."

  Morris sat in front of his laptop, the mouse in one hand, his phone in the other. After a short wait, he heard Ellie Robb's voice again.

  "Yes, all right. I've got it."

  "I'm sending another one, now. It can be loading while we talk."

  "I'm looking, Quincey, but I'm not sure what it is I'm seeing. I'm not trained in aerial photo interpretation, you know."

  "Me, neither," Morris told her. "But, fortunately, I just spent twenty minutes on the phone with an Air Force tech sergeant who is. He worked with me, and I'll work with you. What does the image look like?"

  "Well, clearly it's a stretch of land. Most of it looks like it's been landscaped, but some of it appears to be wild. I also see what I suppose are buildings--one large one, more or less in the center, and several smaller ones, in different places around the area."

  "Anything else?"

  "I don't know--there are some other things spaced between the buildings, at what look like regular intervals. They're just dots in the photo, although one them appears a tad larger than the rest."

  "All right, good. As I'm sure you've figured out, Ellie, you're looking at an aerial photo, taken by a military aircraft, of the Coeur d'Alene estate of one Walter Grobius, reclusive zillionaire."

  "That's all very well, Quincey, but this is the best the Air Force can do--"

  "It's not. They've got state-of-the-art magnification equipment, as well as computer programs that can
fill in the gaps, based on mathematical probability. Or something like that. Go to the next photo, please, while I send you a third one."

  "All right, it's loading."

  Half a minute or so later, Eleanor Robb said, "Okay, I can tell that it's the same image, but blown up. Quite an improvement."

  "Good. So, what are you looking at now?"

  "Well, the buildings are much clearer. The big one looks to be a house, quite a large one. The others appear to be outbuildings."

  "What about the dots?"

  "Hmmm. They look like excavations of some sort. Similar in size, if I'm any judge, and evenly spaced around the grounds."

  "Okay. Now, what about the thing you described as the bigger dot?"

  "I can see now that it's some kind of structure, not one of the excavations. Hard to say how big it is, but it's smaller than the outbuildings, I can tell that much."

  "All right, then," Morris said. "I'm sending the third photo, which is an even better enlargement. Once it loads, tell me what you see."

  "Will do."

  Morris clicked "Send," and waited. Thirty seconds went by, but he did not hear from Eleanor Robb. He waited another half minute before speaking.

  "Ellie? What's wrong? Didn't it load?"

  "No, Quincey. It loaded fine." Morris thought there was an odd note in Eleanor Robb's voice.

  There was more silence on the line. "Ellie? Hello?"

  She cleared her throat before speaking. "The smaller excavations are fire pits, of a very particular kind. I've seen these before, but never more than one at a time. I have never even imagined, wait... twentyfive of them in one place."

  "What are they for, Ellie?"

  "They are used in conjurations--black magic rituals for calling up demons."

  "So, someone is planning to call up twenty demons at once, you think?"

  "Perhaps... but probably not."