by J. R. Mabry
“But the other dial—the gold dial—is pointing…this way,” he pointed toward the rear tire on the passenger’s side.
“Those are two different directions,” Richard said.
“No shit.”
“So what does that tell us?”
Marco dropped his face into the carpet. “I hab no idea,” he said, his voice muffled.
Richard turned onto his back and scratched Toby’s chin as the dog panted just above him. “Here’s a thought. What if the red dial shows us the answer to our question, but the gold dial shows us what God wants us to do instead?”
Marco turned his face toward Richard, now resting his ear on the carpet. “Huh?” he said.
“No, I mean it. What if the Liahona’s purpose isn’t so much navigation as it is discernment? Wouldn’t that make more sense if it’s an oracle?”
Marco blinked but said nothing. Richard could almost see the wheel’s turning in the magickian’s head. “Think about it. God has two wills—a perfect will and a permissive will. The permissive will is what God will let us get away with, but the perfect will is what God truly desires for us. I know in my own life I often want to know if my will and God’s will are running along the same track. The Liahona could show you that. If you asked it a question and both dials are pointing in the same direction, you can be reasonably certain that what you want to do and what God wants you to do are in sync. But if they aren’t…then maybe you should reconsider.”
“Are you saying we should reconsider going to Alameda?”
Richard shrugged. “It’s just a theory. But I think it has merit. We want to go to Alameda, and the dial shows us the direction for that. And God will allow it. We could set out for it now. But I think the gold dial is showing the way God really wants us to go.”
“I’m not really on intimate terms with your God,” Marco said.
“And yet you’re using one of the most holy oracles in Jewish history,” Richard noted, enjoying the irony. “Or Mormon, for that matter.”
“Aren’t the Jewish God and the Mormon God different gods?” Marco asked.
“Not according to the Mormons,” Richard answered.
“What do you think?”
“Well, Mormon theology isn’t monotheistic,” Richard said.
“It isn’t?” Marco’s eyebrows jumped.
“Nope. It’s henotheistic.”
“I don’t have my Bible dictionary on me at the moment, man.”
“Sorry. It means that there are lots of gods, but we only deal with the one who has jurisdiction—” Richard sat up. “—here. The demons are jurisdictional, too. Because of the sigils’ influential radii.”
“In English, professor?”
“It’s just…a coincidence. A parallel. Kind of cool, but not terribly helpful, I don’t think. We are suffering under kind of a henotheistic attack.”
“Don’t you mean henodemonic?”
“I guess I do,” Richard smiled. “Anyway, what do you want to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want what God wants,” Richard answered.
Marco sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
39
The man who looked like a longshoreman jerked Dylan to his feet and pushed him toward the flatbed truck. Susan heard her husband shout, “Anytime now, Jesus!” He stumbled toward the truck, still holding his eye. She could see blood trailing from it, congealing in his red beard. Her hand went to her mouth and she fought back a cry of rage and anguish. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself leaping up, grabbing the filleting knife from the murderous skinny bitch, and slashing her throat with it. She jerked forward to do just that when Terry caught her by the jeans and pulled her back down. “Don’t do it,” he whispered.
“These are bad people,” Chicken said.
“Yes, honey. They are…” Terry trailed off. “Actually, no. They’re just like you and me. They’re being forced to act this way by evil spirits.”
Chicken’s eyes went even wider. “Spirits?”
“Yep. That’s who we’re really fighting.”
“Can’t you go into vision and come back with…I don’t know, help?” Susan asked.
“By the time I get back, Dylan will be toast.”
“He’s going to be toast if we just sit here.”
“We don’t have a lot of options, Susan.” He looked around. “Pray.”
“I am praying,” she said, sounding defeated. “I think God just went deaf.”
The crazed woman inserted her filleting knife under the flap of Dylan’s double-breasted cassock. With the flick of her wrist, she cut the button from it and his cassock fell open on one side. She cut the button on the other side, and it opened altogether, revealing to all that Dylan was naked underneath, his prodigious belly obvious in the streetlight. Dylan seemed to have gained an unearthly measure of courage, though. Susan saw him stand up straighter. He still clutched at the ruinous mass of his eye, but he was no longer grimacing. He seemed to have no shame around his nakedness, either. Instead, he stared at the woman defiantly. She held the filleting knife up to his chest. Then she lowered it and touched it to his penis. “Which would you miss more?” she said aloud. “Your heart or your dick?”
Dylan didn’t dignify her query with an answer but only stood stock still. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. The woman returned the knife to his chest, and with a deft flick, Susan saw a line of blood begin seeping from her husband’s chest. Dylan didn’t flinch.
She lined the knife up for another cut, but before the tip of the knife touched his skin a flurry of gunfire ripped through the air. Susan felt Terry leap on her. Together they crashed to the ground and looking back, Susan saw that Chicken was already hugging the pavement, her eyes as wide as eggs. Susan paused for a moment, feeling Terry’s body weight on top of her, hearing his breathing in her ear. “You okay?” he whispered.
“I think so. You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Susan craned her neck to see what was happening to Dylan. Dylan continued to stand straight and strong, but the woman had collapsed to the street, clutching at a spurting wound in her neck. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bitch,” Susan whispered out loud. She rolled out from under Terry and crawled toward her husband. “Get down, you jackass!” she shouted. Dylan saw her, blinked, then dropped to the pavement beside her. Another round of gunfire caught several of the revelers. Bodies fell all around them, some of them screaming and writhing in distress.
“C’mon,” Susan said. It was unexpected, but in that moment she chose to interpret the gunfire as a gift from God. She didn’t know who was firing, or why. She only knew that, for a few brief seconds, no one was paying any attention to them. She grabbed Dylan’s wrist and jerked him toward the Webster Street Tube. She started crawling as fast as she could. As soon as she saw that Dylan was following her, she glanced back and saw that Terry and Chicken were crawling too, and gaining on them. She crawled underneath the flatbed truck and out the other side.
It was then that she saw their saviors with her own eyes. Emerging from the Webster Street Tube was a line of what looked like soldiers. Their faces were in shadow, but the bright light of the tunnel behind them made them shine with an ethereal glory. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Susan could swear they had haloes. She crawled directly toward them, praying fervent, ungrammatical prayers that they would not shoot them. As she crawled closer, her heart leaped to see them part to make a way for them. Tears sprang to her eyes as she crawled into the safety of the tunnel. Once past the line of soldiers, a team of paramedics rushed to them. Susan didn’t notice the shredded skin on her elbows and wrists. She was only aware of Dylan’s hand in hers, the amber lights of safety buzzing in the tunnel’s ceiling, and the busy chatter of her rescuers as they covered her with care.
40
Kat handed a medium pumpkin latte to Mikael then took a seat across from him. Peets coffee in the lower Haight was filling up with their regular morn
ing clientele, and they had been lucky to find a table. Mikael pointed to a newspaper the previous occupant of their table had left behind. The headline read, “Divorce skyrockets.”
“What’s new?” asked Kat.
“Divorces,” Mikael answered. Then he whistled.
“What is it, something like half of all marriages end in divorce?” Kat said.
“Yes, but not all on the same day,” Mikael answered. “According to this, in the past two days 14% of married couples in the US filed for divorce.”
“That’s insane,” Kat grabbed the paper from him.
“Hey, I was looking at that,” Mikael protested.
Kat ignored him. “And listen to this: ‘For the first time in its history, both Disneyland and the four Disneyworld theme parks closed their gates because whole families were breaking out into brawls. Disney officials said the parks were not safe places for families and will remain closed until the situation improves.’ That’s crazy.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” cried a woman at the next table.
The man seated with her reared back in shock. He seemed to regain his strength, because a moment later he answered, “I’m your husband, and I have a right to know how you’re spending our money.”
“You can micromanage the fuck out of your minions at the office, asshole, but you won’t do that to me!” She threw the rest of her muffin at him, and it bounced off his nose.
His face grew scarlet, and he stood up. “Asking about a $600 charge to our credit card is not micromanaging. It’s…concern.”
“Get concerned about your ass!” she yelled.
He spluttered but finally managed, “What the fuck does that even mean?”
Everyone in the coffee shop was looking at them, except for a lesbian couple in the corner who both sat with their arms folded, not looking at one another or speaking. It was so quiet Kat could hear the barista scraping change out of the register. Then the normal cacophony of sound erupted again in the room, as everyone else resumed their own arguments.
Kat leaned over. “Are you scared?”
“Of what?” Mikael leaned in to hear her.
“Of…all this fighting.”
“Of us fighting?”
“Yeah.”
Mikael leaned back. “We don’t really fight.”
“No but…whatever is happening here…we could.”
Mikael nodded. “Especially since we didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“What should we do?”
Mikael shrugged. Then he brightened up. “First, we need more coffee. Lots more.”
“Agreed. Then what?”
“Then we should make a covenant.”
“With whom?”
“With each other. I’ll make a promise to you, and hopefully you’ll make a promise to me.”
“Okay. What shall we promise?”
“I promise to stick with you, no matter what. When I get irritated at you, I promise to remember that it isn’t you—it’s whatever magickal weirdness is happening.”
Kat nodded decisively. “I’m in. I promise the same. What you said.”
“Shall we shake on it?”
“I’ll do you one better.” She leaned over further and touched her lips to his.
When she finally drew away, he smiled. “That seals it.”
“What’s next on our agenda?”
“Besides the coffee?”
“Besides the coffee.”
“Okay, we’ve been to the old Hawk and Serpent Lodge House.”
“Now occupied by a senior memory care facility, apparently,” Kat said.
“Right. Where else might those snakes be hiding?”
“Let’s ask Luna.”
Mikael nodded, and held up his empty coffee cup. “To Luna’s!”
41
Frater Khams crept quietly into Larch’s room. Eleazar was sitting on the side of the bed, gazing at his master who was lying on his back. Khams approached and saw that Larch’s eyelids were twitching. There was obviously a lot going on wherever Larch was. His limbs jerked and spasmed in response to something, somewhere. In another world, Khams thought.
Khams handed a cup of tea to Eleazar. “How is he?”
Eleazar moved his head from side to side. “Okay, I guess. He’s been out for almost twenty-four hours now.”
“Are you worried?”
“Of course I’m worried.”
Khams pulled a chair away from the wall and set it where he could see Eleazar most easily. His back was to the window, and he could feel the early morning Autumn chill on his neck. “But just what are you worried about?”
Eleazar didn’t answer.
“He can’t get hurt.”
“You don’t know that. Plus, I didn’t exactly say I was worried about him.”
Khams sat up straighter, his eyebrows bouncing in surprise. “Who are you worried about, then?”
“Okay, I am worried about him. Who knows what he’s facing…up there?” He looked at the ceiling. “But I’m also worried about whoever it is he’s meeting.”
“Why are you worried about them? You don’t even know them,” Khams answered.
“Because I know Babylon. I know he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants, no matter who it hurts. And I don’t have to know someone to…not want them to get hurt.”
Khams nodded. Together they looked at Larch’s twitching face. “You know that’s why you and I both suck at being magickians, right?”
Eleazar didn’t answer.
“We’ve always been the weak ones, you and me,” Khams went on. “Oh, and Charybdis, too, but look what happened to him.” He let that hang on the air for a moment before continuing. “The others are strong, ruthless even. They’re in touch with their True Will.”
Eleazar nodded almost imperceptibly. “I’m afraid he’ll fail. It will crush him. Especially after last time…and the time before that.”
“It would,” Khams agreed.
“But I’m also worried that he’ll…succeed.”
Khams nodded. “I know just what you mean. I don’t know how he plans on destroying the Almighty. But if he does…”
“Where do you suppose it comes from?”
“What?”
“This…antipathy toward God.”
“Daddy issues,” Khams said with conviction.
Eleazar cocked his head. “Where did you get that? Babylon has never said two words about his parents.”
“Well, don’t you think that’s odd?” Khams asked. “Besides, I heard him once when he was dreaming. He was cussing out his father, no doubt about it. There’s deep, twisted stuff there.”
Eleazar nodded, obviously weighing this news. “What do you know about his father?”
“I know he was a Catholic priest who strung his mother along and never acknowledged him as his son.”
“Where the fuck are you getting this?” Eleazar asked.
“After I heard the dream, I did some checking. I talked to his mother.”
“His mother is alive?”
“She is. Recovering meth addict, lives in a group home in the outer sunset.”
“Harsh,” Eleazar shook his head. “And his father?”
“Bishop of the Archdiocese of Santa Fe.”
“New Mexico?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Fuck. No wonder he hates his guts.”
“And God’s.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, watching Larch twitch.
“He’s just guessing, you know…about what would happen. He doesn’t know,” Eleazar said.
“But he’s right so far,” Khams admitted. “Have you seen the papers? Yesod, the sephirah of relationship—of conjugal love—has been thrown into complete chaos.”
“So he’s doing it,” Eleazar agreed. “It’s working.”
“So far.”
Eleazar stared at his sleeping master. After several minutes of silence, he said, almost whispering, “I heard about this preacher who plotte
d to kill Hitler during World War II.”
“You mean Bonhoeffer?”
“I don’t remember the name. Maybe that was it.”
“He failed,” Khams said simply.
“We wouldn’t have to,” Eleazar whispered, pointing at the pillow. “We just hold it over his mouth, and…it would be over in seconds.”
“We could do that,” Khams agreed.
“No one would kill God. No one would put the universe in danger.”
“We’re already in danger.”
“We could stop him before he completely destroys the world,” Eleazar said.
“We’d be heroes,” Khams said, offering a fleeting smile.
“We would be,” Eleazar agreed.
They watched as Larch squirmed, his facial features contorting in response to something he was seeing, somewhere else.
“We won’t do it though,” Khams said.
“No,” Eleazar agreed. “Because we’re the weak ones.”
42
“Can you run and look at that thing at the same time?” Richard asked, referring to the Liahona. His hand was poised on the handle of the van door. The sky was rose colored as dawn broke. There was an odd quiet, as if the city were catching its breath.
“Is that a trick question?” Marco asked. “’Cause my hand-eye coordination is pretty good.”
“No, you prick. I’m asking for real.”
“I’ve never tried to use it while in motion. The way these dials work…they’re primitive. I think we should run, then huddle and check it.”
“Okay. That’s what we’ll do. Anyway, I’ve got a bead on where we should go first. Let’s do it.”
“Wait,” Marco held his hand up. “What happens if we enter one of the demons’ spheres of influence?”
Richard blinked. “That’s a hell of a good question.”
Tobias nudged at his hand, asking for a pet. Richard obliged.
“We need protection,” Marco said.
“What did you have in mind? I don’t think you can ward a person.”
“Not the way you ward a house, no,” Marco said. He pulled at his beard as he thought. “We’ve got to fight fire with fire.”
