Storm Road (Old School Book 3)

by Jenny Schwartz

  The entity loomed. It was taller than Dean, maybe eight feet high; thin, but in a way that suggested it could spread wider. It was faintly translucent with the orchard and mountains visible in dark outline through its blue fog body. But its mouth and eyes were a true black. They were voids. No light reflected from those gaping holes in the entity’s body.

  Beulah had seen all she dared wait around to observe. She collected her magic, fast; unsure what the unnamed entity might be able to detect. Then she pushed her magic out, calling for a wind to sweep the insubstantial, yet powerful, being away from her and Dean. As she did so, she grabbed his hand and pulled him with her, running for their vehicles. Her magic had worked to some extent. They were able to move.

  While her magic broke the entity’s power or perhaps its focus, it recovered swiftly. The thing came after them as a wall of blue fog. Horror wailed at them. Ash and light objects, paper and leaves, swirled on the wind she’d summoned. The litter whirled through the entity and fell as Beulah tripped and her magic faltered.

  Dean didn’t let her fall nor did he slow his pace. Invisible blows landed on their backs and shoulders, and struck at their faces. Their feet skidded on the gravel at the edge of the cleared area by the barns.

  “Mine! Mine! Bleed!”

  Dean wrenched open the pickup’s door and threw Beulah inside. She started up the engine, sobbing once, feeling raw fear as he dived for his rental car. Only when she heard its engine start up did she accelerate, tires spitting gravel.

  The pressure on her lungs was returning. For the moment, she ignored its growing threat. She could see Dean’s headlights behind her and she concentrated on speed. Safety meant making it home to the protection of her ward.

  She frowned as his headlights fell further behind. His rental car ought to be able to keep up with her secondhand pickup. They were off Millie’s narrow, winding road and on a relatively straight stretch of good tarmac.

  But the damn blue monster had almost trapped Dean once and it kept moaning about blood. Maybe she was escaping with relative ease because it wanted Millie’s nephew and was concentrating its efforts on him?

  She gave a scream of frustration and fear, and regretful determination. She hit the brakes. The pickup shuddered and fishtailed before slowing to a near stop.

  Dean’s car came level with hers at the same time as the temperature dropped chillingly.

  She waved him on vigorously. Whatever the blue thing was, it messed with the wrong woman when it played with the atmosphere.

  Her magic had been building, intensifying in tandem with her panic. Heat, now, would mean a fog in the mountains tomorrow morning. She’d deal with it then. She flung the heat of her magic outward and was rewarded by Dean’s car picking up speed as the malevolence around them flinched. “Ha!” she crowed. “You don’t like it when someone else plays with the weather!”

  Then it seemed as if a blue streak flowed under and around the rental car’s wheels. The car skidded and she had a close view of excellent defensive driving as Dean recovered control and turned into the road that led to her cabin.

  “Nearly there, nearly there, nearly there,” she chanted as she fought the urge to close the gap between her pickup and his car. But if she did, her headlights in his mirrors would blind him. They were so nearly home and it seemed as if the malevolence felt weaker. She still wanted to dive inside the security of her ward.

  A minute later, she followed Dean through the open gate onto her land and slowed, breathing deeply as the atmosphere cleared to the normal, crisp mountain air. There was no evil, no oppression, just the scent of honeysuckle and pine trees. She drove wearily into the garage and turned off the engine.

  Barely two seconds later, Dean opened the pickup’s driver’s door. “Why does it feel safe, here, at your cabin?”

  She slid out of the pickup, shakily grateful to be home. “Do you remember how you said you don’t believe in magic?”

  He nodded.

  She gave him a sympathetic smile even if he probably couldn’t see it in the dark garage. “Give me half an hour to phone a couple of people, then I’ll explain—flip, I’ll show you—that magic is real.”

  The cabin was too small to offer real privacy for her phone call to Vanessa, but Beulah’s cellphone wasn’t working, so she needed to use the landline and she didn’t have the heart to kick Dean out of his seat by the fireplace.

  He’d faced whatever to hell that monster was twice, tonight. He deserved security and comfort, even if he’d refused her offer of the guest bed for a nap. From the determined look in his eyes, he wouldn’t sleep till he had the explanation she’d promised him.

  “Vanessa?” Beulah grimaced at the sleepy sound of her friend’s greeting. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

  “’S okay.” Vanessa’s reassurance was garbled by a yawn. “You wouldn’t ring if there wasn’t trouble. What do you need?”

  And that was why Beulah had changed her mind and phoned Vanessa first, rather than handing on the problem of whatever the blue entity was to the people who’d released it: Vanessa could be trusted to help. Quickly, Beulah described the encounter.

  “How tall?” The click of keys came down the phone line as Vanessa entered the details Beulah had given her into a computer. “Eight feet, huh. Blue, but you could see through it. Terrifying.”

  “It wanted blood, Van. It wailed this freaky ‘mine’ and try to claim us—I’m guessing—through spilled blood.”

  The clicking of computer keys stopped. Vanessa sighed. “But you’re safe within your ward, right?”

  “Yes. Vanessa, I just need to know what it is. None of us need to handle it. The Stag mercenaries who burned my neighbor Millie’s house down—” Oops. She’d forgotten that Dean was in the cabin with her. She looked across to the fireplace. Nope, he hadn’t fallen asleep. In fact, he was standing up and prowling closer. She straightened her shoulders and held his gaze. He stopped. “Vanessa, I need to be able to tell Stag which specialist to send.”

  “Are you sure we can trust them?” Vanessa asked. “It was after Stag mercenaries hunted the amulet to Millie’s house that this entity appeared. Could they have left it as a guard?”

  “No. They’re ruthless, but they’re not idiots. Whatever this thing is, it’s not under anyone’s control. It’s evil and…it almost feels as if it’s still waking up.”

  Vanessa sucked in a harsh breath. “You think it’s getting stronger?”

  “I don’t know. Dean got away from it for a second time but…my instincts say things will get worse.”

  “Okay,” Vanessa said briskly. “I’ve emailed what you’ve told me to Yasmin. It’s early morning in Tehran, but she’s an early bird and she has an interest in obscure paranormal phenomena. I’ve included your phone number at the cabin, so she’ll call you directly. Oh, good. She’s opened the email. Look, I’ll get off the line so that Yasmin can talk to you. She’ll probably have questions. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  “Be safe, honey.” Vanessa hung up.

  Beulah replaced the phone slowly. It clicked into place and she walked to the kitchen table and dropped onto a chair. She looked at Dean, who held his position in the living area, close but not threateningly close. “A friend is going to call me back. She has an interest in the paranormal and might be able to put a name to what we faced.”

  “You said someone burned down my aunt’s house, deliberately.”

  She raked a hand through her long hair and yawned. “Adrenaline rush, then the crash. Sorry. I’m tired.”

  “You look it.” His mouth compressed briefly. “I mean, it’s late, I dragged you into a hell of a situation when I knew nothing about it, and you’re being kind to me when you should be kicking me out. I should leave. I should let you sleep. But I need to know—what has happened to Aunt Millie?”

  She respected his concern for his family. He had to be curious about what he’d heard of the phone conversation and about magic, but he focused on his m
issing aunt.

  She glanced at the phone. She didn’t know Yasmin well. The woman was a few years older than her, busy with three kids and a hydrologist husband who had a knack for finding trouble, but Yasmin always seemed super-organized. Beulah expected a phone call soon. As much as she wanted to collapse into her comfy recliner before answering Dean’s questions, she doubted there was time before Yasmin called. So she’d be blunt and hope he could handle the truth.

  “First, the fire at your aunt’s farm probably was an accident. They might have meant to burn the barns, but not the house. I despise Stag mercenaries, but despite what outsiders might think, they do have rules. Burning down a house? They crossed a line.”

  He pulled out a chair and sat kitty-corner to her at the table. “I’ve not heard of the Stag group.”

  “They’re wizards.”

  His stiffened, but didn’t protest again that wizards couldn’t be real.

  “Your aunt had an amulet that their client wanted. They were hunting it when a friend of mine found it first. I got the story from Sadie, my friend, this morning.” She rubbed her eyes. “It’s a hell of a story.”

  The phone rang and she leapt up. “Yasmin?”

  The line crackled. A voice muttered and suddenly the line was clear. “Beulah?” Yasmin barely waited for confirmation. “I’ll talk fast. You have a ghoul. Blue, blood-mad, crushing nightmares. It’ll be locking down its territory. Does your cellphone work?”

  “No.”

  “Then the landline will go next.” The words were prosaic. Yasmin’s tone was tense. “Ghouls are rare. Really rare. You’re lucky that Vanessa contacted me. Identification would have taken longer, otherwise, and you don’t have time. Ghouls escalate fast. My grandfather heard of one when he was a child. It’s his story that triggered my fascination with the paranormal.”

  Yasmin took a quick breath. “Do you have a pen? Take notes.”

  Beulah looked around. She wished she could put the phone on speaker, but it was decades old. Vintage was cool, until you needed modern functionality. She beckoned Dean close. “Yasmin, my neighbor Millie’s nephew, Major Dean Fortescue, who first encountered the ghoul, is listening in.”

  Dean jerked at the word ghoul and his chest bumped her upper arm.

  Yasmin wasted no time on greetings. “Grandfather was seven when a sorcerer came to my great-grandfather’s summer house in the mountains of Persia. Grandfather was a little boy hiding behind a cabinet to eat some figs he didn’t want to share with his older brother. He overheard the sorcerer describing how a ghoul works and it terrified grandfather so much that he never forgot—and he was never able to eat figs without feeling sick.

  “On emergence, a ghoul seals its territory. It establishes a secure base, then it can feed. As it grows in power, it will increase the territory it claims. Ghouls use blood to possess, but they feed on misery. Consequently, their territories become miniature hells. Vanessa’s email mentioned a fire. A fire could have released the binding that trapped the ghoul, but it would have been blood that brought it back to life. Although ‘life’ isn’t quite the right word. Beulah, could the burned out farmhouse have been old enough to have seen the Civil War?”

  “The house, itself? No. But the barns were. I remember because the heritage committee wanted Millie to do more to maintain them.”

  “So the land could have known tragedy,” Yasmin said, thoughtfully. “People suffer everywhere, but ghouls were noted in Europe during the Black Death. They emerged from plague pits. Not from every mass grave, and never more than one ghoul in an area. The hypothesis I read in a sixteenth century alchemist’s notebook was that ghouls are formed from tears of fury and guilt. We’d call it survivor’s guilt, today.”

  Beulah recoiled, and found herself in Dean’s arms at her stumble.

  He frowned down at her, a concerned question in his eyes.

  She wanted to put distance between them, but he needed to hear what Yasmin knew. Beulah settled for shrugging out of his steadying hold.

  “Beulah.” Yasmin’s voice went ominously gentle, even as its urgency intensified. “Ghouls’ favorite victims are children. You have to deal with it as soon as possible. Not now, at night. Take the daylight hours to learn what it has done and how you can counter it.”

  Dean broke in. “How do we kill a ghoul?”

  There was a long pause before Yasmin answered. “I wish I knew. But my grandfather never saw the sorcerer at work, although he saw the man return, his clothing torn, and the ghoul was gone.”

  “I don’t have the magic to bind demons or anything else.” Beulah tangled the phone cord around her fingers. “I was going to ask the Stag mercenaries—”

  “They probably won’t be able to get in,” Yasmin said.

  Beulah stared at the phone.

  “The ghoul has closed its territory?” Dean understood first. “Is this creature really so strong that it can keep people from entering an area?”

  “It nearly kept me out,” Beulah said, remembering her ride home. “Rat tails and stink,” she swore softly.

  “I’m sorry, Beulah. I’ll find someone with the skills to get into the ghoul’s territory, but it might take a while. I’m not sure if anyone’s fought one in living memory. You’ll have to trust your instincts.”

  “My instincts are to run.”

  Yasmin laughed, just a gasp of sound. “I’m sorry you’re there, my friend, but for everyone else’s sake, especially the children’s, I am glad. Whatever happens, do not cross out of the ghoul’s territory because I’m afraid once you do, you won’t be able to get in again. Phone and internet will probably go down soon. Try for as much information as you can. I’ll email you what information I can…”

  Beulah’s fingers were going white as the phone cord she’d twisted around them tightened as she pulled.

  Dean eased the tension on the cord and untangled it from her fingers. His touch was gentle and deft. Caring.

  “One final thing. It’s just a crazy idea, but the sixteenth century alchemist remarked that the ghoul he’d heard reported…well, in the German town it came from, no one wailed for the dead.”

  Beulah shook her head, baffled. “What is that meant to mean?”

  “Ghouls feed on misery, which is to say, negative emotions,” Yasmin answered. “Ghouls are rare. They’re not demons or anything that reproduces. So the conditions that produce them must be rare. The best guess is that ghouls are formed from the negative emotions that they later feed on, specifically, when those negative emotions build to a critical mass, but people refuse to release them.”

  “So we should act out our emotions?” Dean queried. He didn’t sound impressed.

  Nor was Yasmin, although she remained patient. “If it was that simple, whoever bound the ghoul to your aunt’s land would have vanquished it instead. Beulah, do you remember the containment methods Minervalle taught us?”

  School felt ages ago, far longer than eleven years. Learning about magic, then, had been fun. Light-hearted. She’d thought she could live free on the rush of her weather magic. “I remember. Salt, water, fire. I have some books I can consult, too.”

  “Then I’ll let you go. Even if you just contain the ghoul, that’ll give me time to get someone who’s capable of hammering their way in to help you.” She hung up after a cursory good-bye.

  “But don’t count on it,” Dean finished evenly. “You radioed for air support, and it’s not coming.” He took the phone from her, replacing the handset. “We’re on our own.”

  Beulah rubbed her arms, as if that could ease the cold inside her. “We’re not on our own. You can leave.”

  “No.” He walked to the coffeemaker.

  “Dean…you don’t have magic. This isn’t your fight. You can leave and—”

  He turned his head, pinning her with a grim look. “Yasmin said this thing will go after children.” He didn’t need to say anything more. He was staying.

  As a non-magical mundane, he mightn’t be any help against a ghoul, b
ut Beulah felt better with an ally. “Okay.” She checked her cellphone. Still dead. She had a cable modem. She switched it on. The light blinked red for no internet connection, and stayed that way.

  Dean pushed a mug of coffee into her hands and stared at the red blinking light. “Something to consider,” he said laconically. “I might be able to leave, download your email, and return to the ghoul’s territory. I don’t have magic. Maybe it won’t lock me out?”

  “I’m not sure it’ll work that way.” She sipped the hot, bitter coffee. He’d made it the same way sailors did: strong enough to wake the dead—and with a ghoul around, that metaphor made her wince. She put the mug down. “Yasmin wasn’t sure she had any answers. I have some books…”

  She’d packed them away years ago and shoved them in storage. But when she’d moved into the cabin and finished renovating it, she couldn’t see the sense of paying for a storage unit any longer. The boxes had gone into the cabin’s roof space. She’d promised herself she’d sort through the books. There were a few Old School friends who might appreciate, and could be trusted with, the rare collection.

  Somehow, she’d never gotten around to opening the boxes.

  Too much heartache.

  Yasmin said this thing will go after children. Against that threat, Beulah’s heartache didn’t count.

  She pulled down the folding ladder that gave access to the roof space and climbed up. There was a single light up there, a bare bulb. She switched it on and looked around.

  The boxes of Samuel’s books were stacked in the far corner. Four boxes. She’d labelled them Books 1, Books 2, Books 3, and Books 4. Nice innocuous labels that discouraged snooping; although the books themselves would do that. They gave off a creepy vibe. Box one was relatively safe. Box four held the grimoires.