by J. L. Doty
He glanced over his shoulder to find she too had stopped. “We’re not going to make it,” he screamed, and turned back to the demon. He shouted over his shoulder, “Get to the church. I’ll try to stop it.”
It glided down toward him, it’s wingspan a good fifteen feet. If it hit him on the fly, at the speed it was traveling his only hope was to try to hit it with the club just before impact. He watched it glide toward him, watched it coming and tried to gauge the timing of his swing. But when it was about twenty feet away it suddenly flared its wings upward, rose slightly, then settled almost gracefully about ten feet in front of him.
It looked at him carefully, its head moving side-to-side.
Katherine stepped up to stand beside him holding her own club. “Don’t look into its eyes. Remember that.”
He looked at her. “We’re screwed, aren’t we?”
She didn’t look at him as she answered, “Ya.” But then she did look his way and said, “But it’s wary of us, for some reason.”
The demon took a step toward them. Paul raised his club like a batter in a baseball game waiting for the pitch. Katherine raised hers as the demon took another step. It seemed to grow more confident and took another.
Katherine hissed, “Back slowly toward the church.”
They both took a step backward, and the demon took two forward, and another, and another. Then it raised its head high as if preparing to lunge for them. But it hesitated, froze without moving for several seconds, looking at something behind them. Then slowly, carefully, it dropped its head, scrunched it down low on its shoulders, leaned forward and lowered its snout to the ground. And it started whimpering, piteous sounds like those of a badly beaten dog. Then, cringing fearfully, it turned and literally began crawling away from them on its belly.
Paul glanced over his shoulder to see what had frightened it so, and standing behind them was Walter McGowan. He smiled.
Katherine turned to look and shouted happily, “Father! Thank god!” She started trotting toward him.
Paul hesitated. Earlier he’d thought McGowan had tried to kill him, and while Katherine had nothing to fear, Paul had to be more cautious. He wasn’t going to just run up and wrap his arms around the old fellow, even if he was their salvation from hell. But as Katherine trotted toward him Paul saw the old man’s image blink, and for the tiniest fraction of a second it appeared something else stood there. It had been too short of an instant for him to recall the image, but he was certain it wasn’t one of the bat-like vampire things. Then there it was again, blink.
Paul acted on impulse. Katherine was halfway to her father when Paul charged like a baseball player trying to steal home plate. He started from a standstill and it took agonizing seconds to build his speed, seconds during which he watched her closing the gap with her father, reaching out to him hopefully. Old man McGowan raised his hands to envelope her in a fatherly embrace, but Paul’s instincts screamed that it would be a deadly embrace.
Paul hit her an instant before she stepped into the circle of the old man’s arms. He hit her like a linebacker and she grunted painfully as he wrapped his arms around her, spun to one side, dropped to the ground and used his momentum to whip her at an angle past her father. She tumbled head over heels off the sidewalk and onto the church steps. Paul skidded and rolled to a stop at McGowan’s feet, hoping desperately the church steps were hallowed ground.
McGowan look down at him kindly and asked, “Now why did you do that, young man?”
Blink.
Katherine groaned and rolled over. Blood trickled from a cut on her cheek as she growled angrily, “What did you do that for, you fucking idiot?”
Paul looked up at McGowan. Blink. “It’s not your father,” he said.
The being wearing McGowan’s image stepped toward him, and Paul, lying on his back on the ground, scrambled away from him in a crab-crawl. McGowan’s image stopped and looked down at Paul. He smiled a very unfriendly smile, his eyes blood-red and goat-slitted. “Since you deny me her,” he said, and his voice was no longer McGowan’s. It rumbled like the earthquake that shook them earlier. He smiled and said, “Then I’ll have you.”
Blink. The demon wore two images. Blink. It looked like the old man, but blurred over that image was something else. Blink. Paul tried to focus on that other image as he crawled backward and scrambled to his feet. The demon’s mouth had lengthened into a bird’s beak, and as Paul looked on its hair disappeared and a comb of feathers appeared on its head. Its legs twisted and warped and began to writhe, and in McGowan’s place there now stood a chimera-like monster with the head of a rooster, the body of a man, and legs made of writhing serpents. A large squirming phallus hung between its legs with four testicles hanging beneath it, each the size of a grapefruit. The legs slithered and squirmed, bringing the monster closer. “Interesting!” it said, looking Paul over carefully. “I wonder who’s brought me such a delightful present.”
Its goat-slitted eyes fascinated Paul and he studied them carefully, mesmerized by the power he sensed in them. He could see dominance and supremacy there, and he felt an overwhelming need to embrace this monster, even as he realized such need was wholly unnatural, even as he wanted to run away screaming hysterically. But still he couldn’t lift his feet to run, couldn’t turn, couldn’t move.
“Don’t listen to it, Paul,” Katherine shouted. “That demon’s at least Secundus caste. Don’t listen to it. Don’t make any deals. Don’t agree to anything no matter how trivial it seems. And above all, don’t look into its eyes.”
But her warning had come too late. Paul could see deep into its eyes to the core of its power, a swirling maelstrom of hatred and loathing. It moved closer, and if the beak of its rooster head were capable of a smile, somehow it smiled and said, “Your plaything can’t remain on hallowed ground forever. And I do have forever.” The demon leaned toward him, sniffed at him like a hound. Its eyes narrowed uncertainly, it frowned and said, “And why do you stink of Dragon, mortal?”
This close Paul could see millennia in its chicken-headed, goat-slitted eyes, thousands of years of torment, untold numbers of souls heaped upon the fires of its hunger. It had always existed to torment and devour unwary souls. It had no beginning and it would have no end. Paul could see all that in those eyes, and he could see something else buried deep, deep inside them, a center of existence, a core of being, a name.
Paul said, “I know nothing of dragons, Abraxas.”
The demon screamed and backed away, its serpent legs writhing frantically, the phallus between its legs swelling to unbelievable proportions, then shrinking and disappearing altogether. It turned its eyes away from him shattering the enthrallment, but Paul couldn’t put the images and torment he’d seen out of his mind. He was too disoriented to move as he tried to comprehend the agony he’d witnessed.
Something hit him hard, wrapped arms around his shoulders and lunged, pushing him backward. He landed painfully on his back on the steps of the church with Katherine on top of him. Still disoriented and hurting everywhere he rolled over, rolled on top of her.
“Gee, Conklin,” she said in his ear. “You sure have a one track mind. But nice girls don’t do that on the first date. You’ll just have to settle for lots of smooching and heavy petting.”
McGowan’s house was one of those early twentieth-century wooden structures built on a steep hill in such a way that the entrance let you onto the second floor, with the first floor down the hill and at the back, a total of five floors in all. McGowan’s workshop occupied the entire first floor and it had a workbench, shelves and chairs, though all were located along the walls, leaving the center of the room open and clear. McGowan had tiled the floor in marble, and installed a large circle of beaten silver permanently embedded in the marble. Outside the silver circle he’d also fashioned a silver pentagram, also embedded, its interior lines touching the circle. He’d beaten that silver and installed it with his own hands. Otherwise it wouldn’t work for him, not as a circle of power to contain dangerous mag
ics.
Colleen and the two leprechauns, Jim’Jiminie and Boo’Diddle, followed him down the stairs and into the workroom. She was one of the few people in the world he’d allow in here, and he’d made an exception for the leprechauns since they’d offered to help, relinquishing their traditional neutrality. “Walter, what’re you planning?” she asked as he rummaged through a storage cabinet.
He brushed her concerns aside impatiently. “I’m going to try a summons, try to get Katherine back.”
She grabbed his arm, forced him to turn and face her. “This’ll be a major summoning, and it’s well past dawn.”
He shook her off angrily. “I don’t care. We’re talking about Katherine here, trapped in the Netherworld. Every moment she’s trapped there could mean a fate worse than death.”
Colleen spoke carefully, “And it won’t do her any good if you perform a major summons without the proper preparations and release a demon onto the Mortal Plane, or get yourself sucked into the Netherworld.”
“She’s right, Old Wizard,” Jim’Jiminie said.
Boo’Diddle added, “You know she is.”
McGowan sat down at the workbench, his shoulders slumped and he buried his face in his hands.
Colleen paced back and forth across the workroom. “We should fast for twenty-four hours, perform the proper cleansing rituals in the evening and begin the summoning at midnight.”
McGowan lifted his face from his hands. “But that’d mean we couldn’t really start fasting until midnight tonight, and not begin the summoning until midnight tomorrow night.”
Colleen continued to pace back and forth as she waved his objections aside impatiently. “I agree. That’s too long. In any case, starting the ritual at midnight is more important than a full twenty-four hours of fasting. It’s still early morning and we’ve barely had anything to eat, so I’m comfortable if we fast through the rest of the day. We’ll start the cleansing rituals immediately after sunset, and the summoning at midnight tonight.”
She stopped and turned to the old man. “Katherine’s a smart girl, and a good witch. She’ll seek hallowed ground. That should protect her at least that long. Do it this way and I’m with you all the way. Do it now without the proper timing and preparations and you’re on your own.”
He nodded, and when he spoke his voice was just a whisper. “We’ll do it your way.”
“Your Majesty,” Anogh said. The Summer Knight of the Winter Court stood before the Winter King, King Ag, arrayed in the hereditary armor of the Summer Court, layer after layer of lapis lazuli, silver and mother-of-pearl covering him from head to foot. And as always, for the last several hundred years, he felt it was blasphemy to even wear the Summer Armor anywhere in the Winter Court, unless, of course, he was coming to war against them. “Last night there was an incident on the Mortal Plane. An incident of some . . . significance.”
Ag lay upon a couch covered in white silken sheets. Dressed in a white linen buskin over a white, silk, ruffled shirt, his long, coal-black locks drifted on a slight breeze that was anything but natural. At the Summer Knight’s words the Winter King didn’t move for several seconds, then he slowly raised his eyes to the Summer Knight. “Yes, Anogh, there was. Some sort of nether interaction any fool could sense. Even a fool such as you.”
Even with his face hidden behind the mask of the great, horned helm of the Summer Armor, Anogh, the Summer Knight, knew the Winter King would know of any expression that crossed his face. And if Anogh did anything to produce even the faintest hint of doubt, the Winter King might question him. For the past six hundred years of his binding to the Winter Court Anogh had carried no secrets worth dying for, but now that the Morrigan had lifted some of the enchantment that had clouded his thoughts, that had changed. Anogh couldn’t lie, so if Ag asked the right questions in just the right way, Anogh’s only course would be to refuse. And that would give Ag the justification to take his life. It had been millennia since an immortal Sidhe of royal blood had lost his life, but there were ways.
So, displaying no emotion, he lowered himself to one knee and bowed deeply before King Ag. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. Of course you would sense it long before we who bow before you. I did not mean to imply—”
“Enough,” the Winter King snarled, examining his fingernails as if considering a manicure. “You are forgiven. But of course I must think of some penance for you. And while I’m doing so, please assemble the Privy Council, and call the Winter Court to order. The incident was of sufficient significance to deserve further investigation.” Ag flicked his wrist in an impatient gesture of dismissal.
“Your Majesty,” Anogh said, backing carefully out of the royal presence while maintaining a deep bow.
Simuth, the Winter Night, waited outside the Winter King’s chambers dressed in the finest of Faerie silks, with a slender, silver rapier at his side. Simuth leaned against the wall of the long corridor, picking casually at his fingernails with a small dagger, blocking the Summer Knight’s path. “And so, my dear Anogh,” he said. “What matter brings you into the presence of our dear King?”
“You must ask that question of His Majesty,” Anogh said, bending his knee in the deep formal bow of the Winter Court. “I’m not at liberty to reveal the King’s counsel.”
Simuth rolled his eyes and gave Anogh a condescending tilt of his head. “Come now, my dear Anogh. We are brothers, are we not: if not by blood, then by circumstance and fortune? Or should I say misfortune? Surely, you wouldn’t begrudge me the details of some trifling incident on the Mortal Plane?”
“Again, Your Highness, I’m not at liberty. But, apparently, you’re already aware of the . . . incident.”
Simuth stepped aside, giving Anogh room to pass. “Very well, brother knight.”
Anogh’s lips curled up in an unpleasant smile. “I’m not your brother, either by blood or association.”
Simuth returned Anogh’s smile with a malevolent grin. The Summer Knight stepped forward cautiously, turned just as he passed the Winter Knight to nod his head politely and back step a few paces. More than being polite, it was an excuse to avoid turning his back on a viper with a blade in his hand. One must always be careful around Simuth, and not until well out of Simuth’s reach did he turn and continue on.
Bound by law, custom and magic, Anogh could not betray the Winter Court to the Summer Court. But his first loyalty lay with the Summer Court, and he hoped dearly the Summer Queen too had sensed the incident of some . . . significance on the Mortal Plane.
High Chancellor Cadilus knelt before Magreth, Summer Queen and mistress of the Seelie Court, his head bowed. “Rise,” she said coldly.
Cadilus stood, grimaced as he looked into her eyes and saw the flames dancing there. She sent her voice brushing though his spirit like a hot, dry wind, “Have you learned what it was?”
“Not completely, my queen,” Cadilus said. “But it did involve the Old Wizard, and some of his more powerful colleagues—the Druid for one, the horrible Russian for another. It also involved a young wizard of whom we had not, heretofore, been aware. And it involved the Old Wizard’s daughter, and a demon, probably Tertius caste, that left its scent on the Mortal Plane.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “A demon, on the Mortal Plane! That will rouse all the mortal wizards and witches.”
Cadilus inclined his head slightly to one side. “Our mages have been able to determine it’s no longer on the Mortal Plane. Furthermore, neither is the Old Wizard’s daughter.”
She looked at him pointedly. “That is bad news indeed. Not that I care one whit for the young girl. I’ve never met her, don’t know her in the slightest. But the old man is extremely powerful, dangerous when aroused, and he’ll stop at nothing to protect his offspring.”
She paused and considered her words carefully. “It would behoove us, dear Cadilus, to offer the old man our assistance, should he so desire.”
“An excellent idea, Your Majesty. He won’t accept, of course. But such a diplomatic overture would not be
wasted. I’ll see to it myself.”
She smiled, though, again, there was no warmth in the Summer Queen’s face, only the flames that lit her eyes and reflected her disdain. “Do so, dear Cadilus.”
That was clear dismissal, but Cadilus hesitated. He wouldn’t have done so were it not important.
“Is there something else?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. The young wizard’s abode, it stank ever so faintly of the Unseelie Court.”
“But that’s to be expected,” she said, clearly impatient and irritated that he’d bring such trivial matters before her. “They would investigate such an incident with no less fervor than we.”
Cadilus shook his head. “It was not that kind of scent, Your Majesty. It had the permanence of Unseelie habitation.”
“Are you telling me the young wizard was living with an Unseelie witch?”
Again Cadilus shook his head. “He was living alone, to the best of our knowledge. And the scent was old, long gone, perhaps from before he took up residence there. But it does bear further investigation.”
“I trust you’ll see to that as well?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Cadilus bowed deeply and withdrew.
Chapter 7: Temptation
Paul awoke slowly, sat up and had trouble shaking off the effects of sleep. They’d been exhausted after the confrontation with the big-daddy hoodoo demon, had staggered up the steps of the church supporting each other and stumbled through the church’s entrance, though all that remained of any doors were a few split pieces of blackened lumber that hung from twisted hinges. The church’s roof had long ago collapsed, leaving a rubble-strewn interior with a large pile of twisted beams and broken roof tiles in the middle of the floor. They’d managed to find a couple of pews that were still intact, and brushed debris off them. Katherine pulled off her coat and rolled it up into a pillow, then lay down on a pew facing Paul. Paul didn’t have a coat so he had no pillow, but when he lay down he fell into the near-death sleep that comes after too much adrenaline and fear. But before sleep took him Katherine said, “If you wake before me, don’t leave the confines of the church. We’re safe here, at least as safe as we can be in hell.”
