Rhonda gritted her teeth. "Stop that. Now. I hate it that I can't hear Zoë and you can."
"I really can't hear her—"
Rhonda held up her right hand. Careful, she'll zap you! "I know that. You've already explained it. Just get on to why you stupidly have summoning markings on your palms."
He looked worn out. Really worn out. Maybe he'd looked like that before we started this little pointless adventure (forget the almost being nailed by little Shadow Folk Brownie People), but I hadn't noticed.
"I was stupid—and full of learning magic. Real magic, not the white light Wicca crap—"
"Watch it." Rhonda said.
"Sorry. But that's how I was thinking at the time. I thought it would be great to be a Magician, you know? Wield some power."
I looked at Rhonda. She looked up at me. We both looked at Dags. "You wanted to learn Ceremonial Magic?" Rhonda asked.
He pursed his lips. "Yeah. I mean—controlling demons, conjuring spells, defeating enemies—"
"You've been watching too much anime."
I smiled. My stomach growled. I backed away and meandered to the bar again in search of peanuts. Maybe some pretzels. Anything!
"It's really not like that, Rhonda," Dags sounded sincere. "There's a lot more to it that I just don't want to go into right now. Needless to say, I got into a group in North Georgia. They also spread into Tennessee and parts of South Carolina."
I got behind the bar again. Okay, I already looked at that drawer and that cabinet. So, how about the ones closest to the brick wall? Couldn't hurt. And to be honest–I wasn't that interested in ceremonial anything.
I don't mean to come off so flippant. I didn't want to be here, and it was a little weird watching Rhonda geek out over a boy—even after she knew I'd seen him half naked. Eh...I decided to look for food.
"Now, these people were serious. We're not talking college hazing or pranks—but serious business people. Everyone wore robes, and everyone wore masks."
"Masks?"
I looked up. Masks? Like in Halloween? Nixon? Carter? I got a really weird bank-robber image of a bunch of masked men in like, bad horror B-movies.
"No," he shook his head. "More like Phantom of the Opera masks, only just the upper half. Over the eyes and nose. All black. All the same. The only way we could tell each other apart was because we had symbols stitched on our robes."
Sounded wacko to me. No—that drawer only had utensils. What? No food?
"Try the far right cabinet, beside the mini-fridge," Dags spoke up.
Okay—so he was hearing my thoughts too?
"Only when you think loud."
Asshat.
"Uh—that had a bad visual," Dags said.
I went to where he mentioned and hit the jackpot! All sorts of paper cans of peanuts. Cashews, almonds, pretzels—oh manna from Heaven. Now I just needed a Coke.
"Aren't you diabetic?"
"Would you ignore Zoë and tell me about this group?" Rhonda's tone was a bit more intense than usual. Though she could be pretty intense. I grabbed up an unopened can of cashews, shut the door, popped the top, and then opened the mini-fridge. Coke!
"I went through the whole process of initiation. Paid my tuition, which was a good chunk of my savings. I did odd jobs for them, looking into reported hauntings, researching artifacts, looking up government spook operations—and I'm not talking about spies."
Spook operations. Huh.
"I think it took over a year to finally win the approval of the big kahuna—we knew him only as Fafner."
Rhonda barked out a laugh. "Fafner? Like the dragon?"
I popped a Coke. Fafner? Who be dat?
Dags started to say something in my direction, but Rhonda cut him off with a wave. "Ignore her. I can. Just keep going."
I stuck my tongue out at Rhonda and then dropped some ice in a glass. Fizz, fizz…ahhhh. Nirvana!
"I had a private meeting with him, in robes and masks, and he told me what my responsibilities would be. And then he told me that I had been chosen as a Guardian."
"A Guardian?"
"Guardian is the best I can translate his meaning—especially after I stupidly signed a few papers."
In blood? Sorry—the thought just popped out.
"Yes."
Okay. Wasn't expecting that answer.
"Did snack-lady over there ask you if it was in blood?"
"Yes. And yes, it was. Look—I never gave this whole thing much thought—"
Rhonda made a rude noise as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Obviously. Do you realize the power that blood has in it? Why do you think vampires drink it?"
Wait—hold the phone. Vampires are real?
Dags shook his head. "Let's not go there just yet."
"Ignore her. Get on with it. Was getting the tattoos part of being this Guardian thing?"
He nodded. "I didn't know it though. I was brought into the circle, the quarters were drawn, the same boring hooley-dooley, and then I was told to drink this wine—" he shrugged. "And that was it. I woke up the next morning at my house, in my bed, with my hands in bandages." He held them up. "This is what I found. Only they weren't this nice, but all scabby and bloody."
Ew.
"And then, when the scabs healed, there was nothing there—just this insane itch when there are Ghosts or spirits or something nearby."
Oh? So your palms itch when you sense Ghosts? Somehow I found that oddly amusing.
"Zoë," Dags gave me a warning look.
"So, they tattooed you," Rhonda had that look on her face—the one that always made my bunny slippers nervous. "And did they happen to tell you what you were supposed to do with them afterward?"
"Oh yeah. I used them once—once—and learned I could put a whammy on. That scared the crap out of me. When I woke up, I quit."
She shook her head. "Dags—no one quits The Cruorem."
Dags and I looked at Rhonda sideways. "What—what did you call them?" he asked.
"I called them what I think they are," Rhonda put her hands to her face and sighed. "Or what group I suspect them to be. Dags, there aren't many out there who could do to you what they did. I think they saw you as a psychic—and probably a pretty good one—and they capitalized on it. I need to call Nona and confirm it. I've only read about them now and then—and I knew they existed here in the South. I just thought they'd faded away. This is bad."
I waved at her to catch her attention and attempted to sign "Bad?" to her. I hadn't formally taken any classes, but I was paying attention to a book she'd bought me while I'd been holed up with Daniel.
She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, it's bad Zoë."
Ah! She can be taught!
Dags stood up—and he didn't wobble. "I only heard them use those words once—during that one assignment I mentioned. We were in the Grand Circle, and they were all chanting in Latin. There were three others like me, dressed in white robes, and suddenly the whole edge of the circle lit up like those snake moving-light things you can buy at Spencer's Gifts?"
"Were you in the circle or outside of it?"
"Outside of it. We were standing around it. And after the circle lit up, my hands started to burn and sort of went up in front of me on their own. Light came out of them—"
"What color?"
I glared at Rhonda. Enough already. Scrooge.
"Uh—whatever color you saw earlier. I've never paid attention."
Rhonda nodded. "Yellow. You were assigned Air."
Dags pursed his lips. "Oh-kay. The circle got all foggy and then this—well—this shadowy like man figure thing," he shrugged. "It showed up in the center, screamed, then beat the circle's edge.
"Fafner told it he wanted the binding—he ordered it to bring him the binding."
Rhonda moved in closer. Me? I was standing by the bar, gulping Coke and scarfing nuts like pop-corn. This was better than a horror movie.
"Did it agree?"
"Hell no, it didn't. And it tried to get out." He sighed. "That's
when the four of us stepped up and well," he glanced at me. "That's when that light came out. Afterward, I woke up—and I wasn't in the circle anymore, but somewhere outside in the woods."
"Alone?" Mom asked.
He shook his head. "No, the others were there as well. And, as soon as we woke up, we got the hell out of there."
Uh-huh. Well, I thought my life was weird. Not much, huh? Never been kidnapped by a cult and tattooed. Though—I had been touched by a Symbiont and turned into a — well — a Wraith.
Go. Me.
As they talked, I started looking around. I was restless, and if I still had a voice, I'd call the hospital and ask how Daniel was doing. But see—people don't usually react well to prank calls. And if I called, that's what it'd be. Only minus the heavy breathing.
Pooh.
I started to head to the Christmas tree by the piano when I caught sight of one of those Shadow Folk things. It was there, just standing beside the shadows cast by the bar. It was watching us. And I think it was listening.
And then it noticed me noticing it and ducked away.
But it didn't leave. And it looked…different somehow.
I stood where I was, not wanting to alarm the two of them. If need be, I could sit down real fast and jump out of my body if I had to chase it. But it really didn't run, nor did it make any threatening moves toward Dags or Rhonda—not like before where it wanted to trip them. Instead it was moving in and out of vision—even my vision.
I watched it for a few minutes, after setting the can of nuts and the Coke on the bar. It moved behind the bar, appearing and disappearing a lot like a shadow. And then it stood at the farthest end of the bar, where the fridge was, near the cabinet where the nuts were.
You want me to come there? I didn't know if it could hear me like Tim and Steve could, or like T.C. or the Phantasm had.
When it nodded, I wanted to yelp. Not that those two over there would notice. They were too busy talking about cults. So I moved slowly back to the snack cabinet. The tiny Shadow Person looked like it was pointing—up? At the ceiling?
The wall?
When it nodded, I nodded back. So, if it's pointing at the wall…do you mean something behind the wall? Or the wall itself?
Oh. It disappeared. Too complicated, huh?
Well, behind a brick was really more brick, right. So maybe it was indicating an actual brick? Heh—call me Watson. We all know he solved the cases, not the pompous guy with the pipe.
Kneeling down to where the little guy had been, I noticed one of the bricks was just a tad different. Oh, one of these things is not like the other.
How convenient.
So—I started working on it. And it didn't take much to work the brick free. Well, I did use my sneaker—
"What the hell are you doing?"
That would be Rhonda. And let's forget the fact she nearly made me wet myself. I ignored her—after recovering from her sudden demand to know what it was I was doing—and kept working on the brick. Dags leaned down beside me and helped me get the brick out completely.
He smelled like…Daniel.
We knelt there looking at a deep, dark hole. The fact that the area wasn't well lit to begin with wasn't helping.
Dags looked at me, and then the hole. "You found it."
I shook my head. It's your bar. And if you put your hand in there and fake that someone grabs it—I'll rip your soul right out of your body.
He looked at me with wide, puppy-dog eyes. And I felt bad, since I didn't know if I could really do that. But he didn't know either. And he certainly suspected I could.
Dags did stick his hand in and pulled out a tube—or rather a bunch of brown papers rolled up and tied with string. And it looked old.
Really old.
Rhonda reached down between us and grabbed the rolled papers. Dags stood first and then helped me up. My Magical Mischief Maker already was unrolling the papers and looking at them.
We waited. Where was my drink?
"We need to go." She rerolled the papers and immediately grabbed my arm on her way by—half pulling me out of the bar. Her panic was palpable—as well as contagious. My heart started pounding, too.
"Wait—where are you—"
"Not now, Dags. We have to go. You can stay here or come with us. But not another word until we get back."
I pulled free and motioned him to come. Dags shrugged and followed. Both of them went down the stairs While I lingered up top and looked around. I couldn't actually see the little Shadow People. But I could tell they were there.
And, somehow, I got the impression we'd just done what they intended us to do.
-5-
Usually I don't fear for my life when Rhonda drives—she's pretty good at it. Mom—not so much. But on this occasion, you'd have thought the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse were after us.
Or at least the Atlanta Police Department.
This woman took the changeable lanes on Roswell Road and Mom's Volvo to their limits, dodging Saturday morning traffic with uncanny ability. And I somehow got the impression the old car was loving it. I had my right hand on the oh-shit handle—that handle up above the passenger side door? Yep—that's what that thing is called.
And by the time we finally cleared it to Interstate 400, I had both hands white-knuckling it. As Rhonda merged in with traffic, I chanced a glance behind me at Dags.
My heart skipped when I didn't see anyone in the back seat.
"Okay, Dags," Rhonda said as she slowed the Volvo down from Mach 5 to Mach 4.5. "You can get off the floorboard."
A dark head popped up then. He was as white as bone as he scrambled to get his seatbelt refastened. I sort of wondered if he purposefully ducked onto the floorboard—or if Rhonda's driving whiplashed him down there.
The world may never know.
"I want off," he muttered to himself. I nodded. Me, too.
But once we were a good several miles down the road, Rhonda fumbled in her jacket for her phone. I wanted to protest the whole cell phone while you're driving deal—but I was also a bit afraid that if she took her eyes off the road to scream at me, we would crash.
I watched her press a button and then hold the thing up to her ear. After a few minutes, she closed the phone and tossed it at me. I was not about to let go of my oh-shit handle, and the Nokia bounced off my thigh and onto the floorboard.
She glared at me, and I shook my head.
"Nona needs a cell phone."
I couldn't agree with her more.
"Why doesn't your mom have a cell phone?" Dags asked.
Mom thinks cell phones turn your brain to goo—same as living too close to a ley line or a power line. Won't have one, and we can't talk her into one.
He nodded. "Oh. Okay." Then he frowned. "Is that true? Because you know I did study up on the effects of towers placed along pastures in Texas—"
Rhonda held up her hand. "What do you do—search the net for that kind of stuff?"
Dags nodded. "Yes."
We all sat quietly for a few minutes before Dags spoke up. "So—you gonna tell us why we dashed out of there so quick, and why I'll be suffering from chronic back pain for the rest of my life?"
I was waiting to hear this, too. I could have let go and found my board—I could see it on the floorboard next to the phone. But I think my knuckles had vapor-locked around the handle. Ouch.
Rhonda looked at me. "Would Nona go somewhere with Mrs. Shultz to investigate Dr. Bonville? Like, is there some secret archive of knowledge that you would know about?"
I shrugged and finally wrenched my hands free of the handle. Giving a silent grunt, I reached down between my legs and retrieved her phone as well as my board. Erase. Scribble. Hrm—scribble more. HEY WHY I KNOW? U 2 DOING THE OOGIE ON THE SIDE. NOT TELL ME.
She pursed her lips as she read the board by glancing back at it several times.
"Can she not do that?" Dags called from the back. "I'd prefer she keep her eyes on the road."
Touché.
I nodded and thought of the Archer. All the trouble with him began with a contract. One between the Phantasm and the Reverend Rollins.
Rhonda kept talking. "We just needed to get as far away from there as possible. Oh, and Dags, I need you to call in sick tonight."
"Call in sick? I've never called in sick."
"Then make this a first. Otherwise, I doubt you'll ever make it home alive."
I heard him gulp. I stared at Rhonda. What the hell was going on?
I suggested we stop by the hospital first—I wanted to see Daniel. Rhonda agreed, and we arrived in one piece at Northside Hospital twenty minutes later. Dags had gone very quiet as Rhonda parked and the three of us took the elevator up.
Tiarra was on duty when we stepped out of the elevator. She took one look at Dags, then one look at me, and arched her left eyebrow up high. I gave her a don't ask shake of the head, and she gave me a you're kidding look beneath her eyebrows. Then she gave me an awrigh' den sigh. "Lieutenant Holmes is in there with him. He's such a nice man."
I stopped in my tracks. Who? I thought Captain Cooper was staying with him. So—who was this? I pushed open the door and then stopped. There was a small, short wall where the bathroom was that prevented anyone near Daniel's bed from seeing who entered the room. I heard the familiar whirl of the breathing machine first, and then the television, just before a deep voice laughed. I paused, took in a deep breath, and stopped in my tracks as the voice spoke.
"Yeah, it's not the greatest job—but I'm so close to retiring, Danny. I've got a good pension. Trevor's still in Japan—not sure he's ever going to come home. He loves it too much. I just—I just want peace and quiet for a while. I know I didn't tell you last time I was here, but Phyllis passed away. Breast cancer. It was so hard—and in the end it was even harder for me because I was almost relieved when she died. She was in so much pain," he sniffed. I felt like an asshole, intruding like this. There was something very right about the way he spoke—comforting. Languid vowels. "Am I wrong to feel like that? To feel glad she died?"
Tales Of The Abysmal Plane (Zoë Martinique Short Stories) (The Zoë Martinique Investigation Series) Page 8
