Action Figures - Issue Two: Black Magic Women

by Michael Bailey

  “Only the greatest horror fiction writer ever,” he says.

  “Except writing fiction wasn’t his day job,” Astrid says. “Little-known fact: Lovecraft was himself a paranormal investigator. He amassed what was at the time the most extensive collection of arcane research in the world. After his death in 1937, his collection was dispersed to various academic and historical institutions throughout Rhode Island and Massachusetts.”

  “You think Black Betty is looking for something that used to belong to Lovecraft?” I say.

  Astrid taps her nose. “You got it. And not just any something.”

  “If you say the Necronomicon, I swear I’m going to crap a brick in my pants,” Matt says.

  Astrid smirks. “Then I won’t say it. This place is messy enough as it is.”

  EIGHT

  She’s teasing. Sort of.

  Astrid thinks Black Betty might be looking for the book Lovecraft took as his inspiration for his (semi-) fictional Necronomicon: the Libris Infernalis — loosely, the Infernal Book, a collection of major-league dark magic.

  “So dark, anyone who reads more than a few pages at a time risks going completely mad,” Astrid says. “Not such a big deal for Black Betty, considering she hasn’t been on speaking terms with sanity for years.”

  “And she thinks it’s here in Kingsport?” I say. “In our public library?”

  “That is a reasonable assumption.”

  “Is it?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Black Betty won’t stop until she finds the book, and she obviously has no qualms about making a mess in the process, so we have to stop her — but first, we have to put down Stacy Hellfire.”

  “Put down?” I do not like the way she said that.

  Astrid sighs heavily. “Once an imp has grafted itself onto a human soul, that’s it. I haven’t found a way to kill the parasite without killing the host,” she says, her gaze passing over her collection of books, “but that’s a mercy, honestly. The mortal form can’t handle playing host to a demonic parasite for long before it burns out. It’s not a pretty way to die.”

  “Death by Dr. Enigma doesn’t sound all that pretty either,” Sara says, her voice cold and flat.

  “I promise you, Sara, I’m not taking this lightly, but our options are limited, and the few options we have all suck. Whether we like them or not is irrelevant.” She straightens up and looks at each of us in turn. “This is the game you’re playing now, kids, and sometimes you have to do things that twist your guts into knots for the sake of the greater good...not that that’s always a consolation.”

  I both love and hate this woman. She’s not talking down to us. She’s not withholding information. She’s not telling us to step back, let her handle this. She’s treating us like equals. She’s the anti-Concorde. And yet, despite her assurances to the contrary, she’s writing off a human life with appalling indifference.

  “I understand if this is too much for you,” she says. “I can handle it myself, if that’s what you want. I’d rather have you there so we can watch each other’s backs, but I won’t fault you for —”

  “No,” Matt says. “This is our problem too.”

  “Right. Then I suggest we all get dressed for the occasion,” Astrid says, “because we have an ambush to set up.”

  Due to the lousy economy, the town of Kingsport has had to scale back all over the place to make ends meet. Potholes have gone unfilled on some roads (such as mine, where there is a crater in front of the neighbor’s house large enough to swallow an SUV); teachers, cops, and firefighters have been canned; and the main branch of the Kingsport Public Library now closes at six at night instead of eight. While this sucks for the town’s active readers, it also means that if and when Stacy Hellfire shows up, the Hero Squad (plus one) can take her down with a minimum of collateral damage, and without any civilian injuries.

  Maybe.

  I know this is a dumb statement, but it’s really quiet in here. From my perch atop one of the high stacks, sitting next to Missy, I can make out Astrid’s feet crunching softly on the carpet as she paces around the circulation desk. Stuart is stationed in the periodicals section, Matt and Sara among the rows of waist-high shelves for reference books. For the occasion, Matt produced for himself a bandolier of flash-bang grenades, handy devices that stun and disorient targets with (as the name suggests) a blinding flash and a deafening bang. I can hear him fiddling with the pins, making them jingle like an off-key windchime. There is a palpable calm-before-the-storm vibe in the air.

  None of us speak — not because we’re trying to maintain a low profile (which we are), but because we’re numb over what we’re here to do; we came here knowing someone could die, and we’d be the ones pulling the proverbial trigger. I know super-heroes, like cops, sometimes kill people in the line of duty, when there’s no other option, but it’s sobering to be part of that equation for the first time. Calling it a mercy killing does nothing to ease the weight pressing down on us.

  “Carrie?” Missy says in a tiny whisper.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is Astrid really going to kill Stacy?”

  I sigh. “Looks like,” I say, taking little comfort in the fact we won’t be the ones pulling the proverbial trigger. Sure, because simply aiding and abetting an allegedly justifiable homicide, that’s no big whoop.

  Missy’s ninja hood completely covers her face, except for her eyes, and they tell the story of what’s going on in her head. “I hate this.”

  “I hate it too, Muppet,” I say, “but I honestly don’t know what else to do. This is so far above our heads — demons and possession and magic books...”

  “I know. Still hate it.” She pulls her hood up so she can pout at me unimpeded. “We’re never going to do something like this ourselves, right? We’re never going to kill someone because we can’t figure anything else out, right?”

  This girl’s going to make me cry. “I promise,” I say, wrapping arm around her. “We’ll always find a way.”

  God, please don’t make a liar out of me.

  Astrid snaps her fingers. It sounds like a gunshot.

  “We have incoming,” she says, and without a gesture or a magic word of any kind, she melts into the shadows, becoming virtually invisible. Neat trick.

  We get ready. Matt crouches down behind the shelves and slips a grenade out of his bandolier. Stuart ducks down where he is; he is, grudgingly, on emergency back-up duty (the last thing he needs is to add to his collection of second-degree burns). Missy and I lay flat atop the stacks. She’s on-call to run interference, and me, I’m there to blast the bejesus out of Stacy.

  Technically, the Hero Squad is Plan B. Plan A is for Astrid to bind Stacy Hellfire physically, then expel the demon — in the process, also expelling the human soul to which it has attached itself.

  She swears it will be painless. We have no choice but to take her at her word.

  Before we engaged in our little breaking-and-entering, Astrid set up something she called a ward, a kind of magical tripwire, to alert her when anything remotely magical in nature crossed the perimeter. The ward extends a mile out in every direction, so we have a few minutes to sit, sweat, and wonder how we’re going to live with ourselves if Astrid’s plan succeeds.

  We wait.

  The library echoes with a bizarre FWAM noise — Stacy Hellfire incinerating the lock — followed by the squeak of hinges, then the clop of her boots on the stairs leading up from the foyer.

  Like it or not, it’s go time.

  I can’t say who got the drop on whom, but the library goes from zero to crazy in a heartbeat. Streaks of light crisscross the foyer. Hellfire misses Astrid, barely, and strikes the shelves behind her, igniting the books. A bolt of energy flies from Astrid’s hand, hitting the corner of the circulation desk and splashing across its surface like liquid light.

  Stacy goes to town. Astrid throws up a shield, a glowing disc twice her height, and backs away under the assault. With that exchange, we leave Astrid’s field of
expertise and shift into ours; the admitted non-super-hero knew she’d be no good if things turned into a stand-up fight, so now it’s up to us to give Astrid a fresh opening.

  “Fire in the hole!” Matt shouts. Missy and I cover our ears and close our eyes. The flash-bang goes off with a high-pitched boom.

  I open my eyes. Stacy is firing blind, literally. An overhead light fixture explodes. Windows shatter. Carpeting disintegrates into ash.

  Stuart takes the opening, charging Stacy like a linebacker. By Stuart standards it’s a gentle shove, but it’s more than enough to send her flying. Stacy slams into the short stacks near Matt and Sara, folding in half over the unforgiving steel shelving, but she bounces back like a rubber ball, then swings around to find Stuart.

  Sara! I say. Hit her!

  Sara jumps to her feet, tags Stacy from behind with a telekinetic punch. Stacy goes sprawling again, into the center of the floor. She’s an open target, so I let her have it. We each throw off a wild shot. Hers misses. Mine connects, punching her in the chest, and driving her into the circulation desk. Her next attack goes low. The stacks rock beneath my feet, books going up like they were doused in gasoline. Missy and I jump clear. I go up, nearly smacking into the ceiling. She goes down, landing on her feet, but with more force than she expected; she flattens like a pancake.

  The others emerge from hiding, cautiously; Stacy lies slumped against the circulation desk, perfectly still, her hands extinguished, but I definitely do not trust her to be down for the count.

  “Ow,” Missy says, pushing up to her hands and knees.

  “You okay, Muppet?” Matt calls out.

  “I think so.”

  Astrid gestures. All the fires flutter, then wink out of existence, leaving behind a disgusting ash that reeks of sulfur. “Missy, back away from —”

  Whatever else she says is drowned out by Missy’s startled shriek as Stacy grabs for our ninja, seizing her face.

  Astrid reaches them first. She grasps Stacy by the head, like she’s going to whip out the catfight rulebook and pull Stacy off by her hair. The air crackles. Astrid releases a charge of magical energy. I can feel it from here, an all-over prickling sensation, like I’ve been covered in fire ants. Someone screams. The prickling turns hot and painful, a sensation akin to a powerful electrical shock, and I go rigid. Something slams into me. Correction: I slam into the floor, and I flop there uselessly, unable to control my own body.

  The world snaps back into focus as though someone flipped an override switch in my head. I can move again, and man, I can tell I’m going to have a bruise the size of Utah on my backside.

  I wasn’t the only one who took the hit, either: Missy, Stacy, Astrid, they’re all splayed out in front of me. I can’t see Sara or Matt, but Stuart crawls into my field of vision, dragging himself over to Missy.

  “What the...?” I manage, though to me it sounds like Whuhwuh?

  Astrid responds with a grunt and a groan. “Psychic backlash,” she says. “Sorry, should have warned you about that.”

  “Missy,” Stuart says, scooping her up in his arms. He shakes her gently, and my God, the look on his face twists my stomach into a granny knot. I’ve never seen him so terrified. “Muppet? Missy? Missy!”

  She moans, and Stuart shrinks into himself, uttering a breathless thank you to God.

  “Stuart, clear her out,” I say, remembering there is someone else we need to worry about, but Astrid waves a dismissive hand at us: Stacy Hellfire is no longer a concern. A weird bluish smoke drifts off her body. Her eyes are blank, glassy, like doll’s eyes, her face utterly expressionless. Statues in wax museums look more lifelike. It takes a second for the smell to hit me, a sharp odor of ozone and sulfur, with an undercurrent of burnt meat. My throat goes dry, my stomach spasms. Stacy Hellfire — whoever she really was — is dead.

  Oh God, I’m going to be sick...

  Missy moans again. Stuart hugs her close. “Hey,” he says. “How’re you doing? You okay, Missy?”

  Missy grasps Stuart’s face, forcing his head back. She giggles.

  “The name’s Melissa Pandemonium.”

  NINE

  Stuart yelps as Missy rips at his face. Her hand comes away bloody — impossible under normal circumstances, but these are far from normal circumstances, even for us.

  Missy is on her feet in a flash, eyes glinting with maniacal glee. She lashes out. Astrid trips over her own feet and topples backwards, a happy accident that saves her from getting her throat torn open. Missy lunges for her. I fire on pure instinct, tagging Missy in mid-leap. The blast throws her down the stairs, into the main foyer. She twists in mid-air, lands on her feet with catlike grace, then bolts for the exit.

  “What are you doing?!” Stuart says.

  “She was attacking Astrid! I had to stop her!”

  “She doesn’t know what she’s doing! She’s not in control of herself!”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Stuart is right on my heels as I cross to the stairs. “That doesn’t make her less dangerous!”

  “She’s right,” Astrid says. “Missy’s not herself. The imp must have jumped hosts before I could smoke it.” She follows this with a string of profanities I’d find impressive under better circumstances.

  “We have to go after her.” Stuart’s halfway down the stairs when Astrid stops him, hard.

  “You know what I’ll have to do when we catch her.”

  Stuart hits her with a desperate, despondent look. “There has to be a way to get it out of her without killing her.”

  “Stuart...”

  “Find a way,” I say. “We’re not giving up on Missy, and we’re not going to let you...” I wave vaguely, unable to finish the sentence. “Find a way. Do an exorcism or something.”

  Astrid exhales sharply, bites her bottom lip. “An exorcism ritual would expel the demon, but it would also expel the human soul it’s bound itself to. There is no way to remove the imp without killing the host.”

  “Find. One.”

  “I don’t know how, dammit!” she says, her nose inches from mine. “If I knew a way to save Missy, you think I wouldn’t use it?”

  “You told us, once an imp has grafted itself onto a host, it was too late,” I say, “but that thing just jumped into her. Maybe it doesn’t have its hooks in Missy yet, not completely. Stacy Hellfire took our best shots and came back for more, so why would it run now, unless it knew it was vulnerable?”

  Astrid’s hand goes up like she’s about to smack me. Instead, she jabs a finger at me. “You might be brilliant. Come on.”

  We run outside. Two cars sit smack in the middle of the street, both of them trailing fresh skid marks. The drivers stand outside their vehicles, looking plenty confused. Our world and welcome to it, people.

  First things first, Astrid says, and that’s finding Missy, but that’s the easy part. The imp is throwing off psychic static like it’s radioactive, but Sara’s been in Missy’s head enough times she can maintain a connection — a weak connection, but it’s enough.

  “Get gone, girl,” Astrid says. “The longer Missy’s possessed...”

  She leaves the thought unfinished. She doesn’t need to fill in that particular blank.

  I take off, flying high enough to clear any power lines (hitting one of those in the dark? Last thing I need). Sara enters my head to guide me; through her, I sense the psychic fog off in the distance — a beacon to home in on.

  I find Missy sprinting across what the Kingston Middle School calls with straight-faced sincerity an athletic field, really nothing more than a huge back lawn where kids play soccer and flag football. Her speed, combined with her ninja couture ensemble, render her practically invisible until she hits the edge of the field, near the well-lit and, thankfully, very empty parking lot. I give her a shot across the bow to halt her escape. She turns to face me as I touch down.

  “Missy, stop.” I throw my hands up, ready to knock her down if she comes at me, but she doesn’t. Maybe the thing inside her i
s interpreting my gesture as one of peace...or maybe? Maybe I’m right, and the imp isn’t in full control yet. “Missy. It’s me, Carrie. I don’t want to hurt you. You know that. And I don’t think you want to hurt me.”

  She grins a vile, crooked grin. Her eyes flash with madness.

  “Please don’t do this,” I plead. “C’mon, Muppet...”

  That’s when it happens: her face goes slack, and she blinks hard, like she’s snapping out of a trance. Missy is still in there.

  NOW!

  The air behind Missy shimmers, warps, and spits out Astrid and the Squad. Stuart is on top of Missy before she knows he’s there, seizing her in a bear hug. She screeches like a banshee and thrashes in his grip, her feet pedaling air furiously.

  Astrid moves into position. She spares me a glance. Her expression says it all: she’s not making me any promises she can’t keep.

  Reluctantly, nervously, I nod. And then I pray.

  The thing inside Missy spits curses like a drunk Marine, but Astrid is unfazed. With a calm that definitely qualifies as eerie, Astrid lays a hand on Missy’s chest and speaks, the first time I’ve heard her say anything to accompany her spellcasting.

  “Deus cui próprium est miseréri semper et párcere súscipe deprecatiónem nostram ut hunc famulum tuum teneatur peccati compedibus conceditur misericordia tua,” she says, the words pouring from her like machine-gun fire. “Exi ergo impius exi scelerata exi cum omni fallacia tua quia hominem templum suum esse voluit Deus...”

  Missy stiffens, her face twisting in agony. Astrid repeats her incantation, and again, and again, the chant increasing in volume with each chorus.

  “Exi ergo impius exi scelerata exi cum omni fallacia tua quia hominem templum suum esse voluit Deus GET OUT OF HER YOU SON OF —!”

  The roar that erupts from Missy is like nothing I’ve ever heard in my life and, dear God, I hope to never hear again: the dying scream of an abomination that should never have been allowed to walk this world. She goes limp, like someone has stolen her skeleton, but Stuart is there to catch her. His face is a mask of despair. He can’t bring himself to speak for fear that he won’t get a response, now or ever.