Plague Cult

by Jenny Schwartz

  “I’ll photograph the spell in the grimoire and send it, too.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek and jumped out of the truck. “Text me every hour or I’ll worry. Three hours without a text and I’ll launch a rescue.” She was teasing, but meant every word.

  He realized he liked her concern. “I’ll text you.”

  Ruth sent a summary of Whitney’s confession back to the Collegium, then climbed with the grimoire to the top of the turret. The spiral staircase to this top level began in her bedroom and exited to a room with windows on all sides.

  “I used to paint, here.” Carla appeared, and appropriately enough, wore a smock over blue trousers and buckle shoes. She sat on a window seat. “That grimoire is nasty.”

  “There’s a spell that uses death magic in the back of the book.” Ruth did her best not to be disconcerted by Carla’s sudden appearance. “After I’ve dealt with that curse, I’ll send the grimoire to the Collegium for alchemists to check it for any other unpleasant entries.”

  “You’d better not leave it lying around.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  But Carla wasn’t listening. She stood at the window, looking out to the road. “Because you’re about to have visitors.”

  “I’ll pretend I’m not home.” It would be more townspeople, curious to see her house now that word had spread she was home. She’d be happy to have company, just not now.

  “They’ll have passed Shawn driving alone,” Carla admonished her. In other words, they’d guess Ruth was home.

  Ruth groaned. “This is important.”

  The ghost grinned at her, impish and amused. “So, should I scare them away?”

  “No!” Ruth leapt up.

  “Then put the grimoire somewhere safe. Remember, I mentioned the hidden cupboard downstairs in the parlor.”

  “No time.” Peering out the window, Ruth recognized the old, carefully maintained gas-guzzler pulling into the driveway. “That’s Thelma’s car. I’ll put the grimoire under my mattress.” She shoved it there, then ran on down the main staircase to burst out onto the front porch as Thelma and the two elderly Granger sisters extracted themselves from the large car.

  “We thought we’d visit,” Susan said happily as she helped her sister out of the car.

  “Haven’t been here since what’s-his-name went back East.” Veronica gained her feet and released Susan’s hand.

  “Unless this is a bad time for callers,” Thelma finished.

  Ruth smiled at her elderly friends. “You’re very welcome. Hurry in.” She glanced at the gray sky with rain threatening. “You don’t want to get wet.”

  The first raindrops splattered down. Everyone hurried up the porch steps.

  “A fine old house,” Thelma declared as she looked around.

  “I’ll just put a match to the fire in the parlor, then by the time we’ve looked around, it’ll be cozy.” Ruth up-ended the porcelain vase on the mantelpiece and a box of matches fell out. It took three matches and a little coaxing, but then the kindling laid ready in the fireplace caught.

  Meantime her visitors were inspecting the room.

  “Wonderful proportions.”

  “Cleaning rather than replacing those curtains will save a heap of money. Phil says they’ll clean up a treat. ”

  “Our auntie had a loveseat just like this one.” Susan bounced a little on the horsehair-stuffed red lounge.

  Ruth smiled at them. Yes, the curse needed to be reversed and the grimoire searched, but she couldn’t regret this time with her friends. It was lovely to show off her house—and more than that, to be truly part of her home town, again. “We’ll peek in and see the demolition of the kitchen first, hmm?”

  The tour of the house wasn’t too exhaustive or exhausting. They were back downstairs in forty minutes, the fire crackling in the hearth and all sipping tea and nibbling cookies.

  “It will be a wonderful home,” Thelma said. “It’s a commitment, saving a house this age, but I’m glad you’ve made it.”

  “Now you just have to fill it with kids and a husband.” Veronica smiled beatifically, an elderly matchmaker. “We saw Shawn heading into town.”

  “He’s hoping to bump into Zach.” The truth spilled out of Ruth as she dealt with the shock of Veronica’s words. Kids? Hers and Shawn’s??? And yet, she could too easily imagine Rose House filled with laughter, love and magic.

  “Bump into Zach Stirling? What for?” Thelma asked sharply.

  “Um.” Ruth searched for an evasion. “Shawn’s an ex-marine. Sometimes meditation helps to calm mind and spirit.”

  Thelma snorted. “Hard work and love is a better remedy.” She looked around the house and then squarely at Ruth. “And the boy can find both of those here.”

  Ruth went red.

  Her three friends smiled, nodded as if well-satisfied, and stood.

  She kissed papery-soft faces and helped tuck Veronica into the car, handing the elderly woman her walking stick once she was safely stowed in the front passenger seat. Ruth waved from the porch as Thelma drove the lumbering old car back down the driveway, windscreen wipers swishing as steadily as the rain that fell.

  “Nice people,” Carla greeted Ruth’s return. The ghost sat on an armchair and had switched on the television. A 1930s black and white movie played quietly. “I brought the grimoire down for you.”

  The book waited on the coffee table. “Thank you.”

  To Fred Astaire’s wistful, jaunty songs, Ruth set about unravelling the curse. In a strange way, it was comforting to have Carla’s company.

  Shawn scanned the diner’s windows and felt a surge of satisfaction. Zach was there, seated with a group of other men, drinking coffee and talking. Shawn stuffed his cap into a back pocket as he entered.

  Peggy, Ruth’s aunt, eyed him uncertainly.

  “Coffee, please.” Shawn kept walking, crossing casually to where the men sat.

  Zach didn’t look up at his approach, but Mason did.

  “Hi, Mason,” Shawn greeted Ruth’s cousin. He waited, and manners forced Mason to introduce him to the other men in the group. A couple of them Shawn had already met visiting that morning at Rose House.

  “Sit yourself down,” Mr. Rodriguez invited him.

  “Thanks.” Shawn lifted a chair from an empty table and inserted himself into the fringe of the group.

  Unexpectedly, it was Mason who rolled his chair back a bit to encourage the shuffling to make room for Shawn.

  Shawn made sure his position gave him a clear sightline to Zach, so that staring at the man would be natural. However, for Zach to assess Shawn, he’d have to turn his head; natural enough if someone near Shawn was talking, but otherwise Shawn would be unobserved.

  The group of eleven men were discussing the town’s Christmas plans. Apparently, the Chamber of Commerce usually provided the volunteer Santa.

  “Makes a man glad to be in a wheelchair.” Mason grinned and slapped the arm of his. “Kids screaming and pulling on the fake beard. Caleb, last year, said that the elastic stung when it sprang back.”

  A couple of the men reflexively rubbed their ears.

  “Thanks.” Shawn accepted his coffee and waited for the conversation to move on to things that interested him; although, he was intrigued to note how reasonable, even agreeable, Mason could be in this situation. Perhaps his behavior to Ruth was an old pattern they both needed to break?

  But that was a fleeting thought. Shawn concentrated on Zach.

  The man had his magic locked down tight. Ruth had said she couldn’t see Zach’s aura. Well, Shawn couldn’t get a sense of the man’s magic. Everyone had a particular bent to their magic. There were healers, like Ruth; combat mages, like him; but also weathermages, geomages, enchanters and alchemists, not to mention witches and warders.

  Part of the problem was the insidious crawl of evil that surrounded Zach. Shawn had to control his hollerider nature that wanted to confront that evil and destroy the man. Evil wasn’t something a person did by mistake
. It was a pattern of choices; an active embrace of hurting and exploiting others for personal gain.

  And it seemed that Zach’s first and ongoing target was his wife.

  Shawn’s hollerider magic surged, and hit the wall of his masking ward.

  Nonetheless, that was the moment Zach turned and looked at Shawn. “Where did you serve overseas?”

  “Afghanistan.” Shawn swallowed some coffee.

  “Me, too. Army.” A quiet man in his early thirties, spoke from three places to Shawn’s right. His brown hair was cut short and his shirt had sharp sleeve creases even late in the day. “You probably didn’t catch my name. Josh Richter. I joined my dad’s real estate business after leaving the army. When you’re nearing finished on Ruth’s house, talk to me. There are a few places around town that need renovating.”

  “You couldn’t do better than settle in Bideer.” Zach spoke up, nicely judging his comment on the inoffensive, sincere side of hearty.

  The older men around the table nodded in acceptance of his praise of their town. However, Josh’s eyes narrowed and he finished his coffee in two gulps, standing as he set his cup down.

  Shawn wasn’t surprised that it was Josh, recently ex-army, who was leaving. Zach was one of the best Shawn had encountered at masking his evil. It didn’t surround Zach in a noxious cloud, so most people—even Ruth—couldn’t detect it. But those who’d fought in enemy country, they were attuned to evil.

  Josh put money on the table, and left.

  In the momentary confusion of farewells, the shield around Zach cracked minutely as he struck out towards Shawn.

  Shawn felt the sizzling strike of Zach’s magic. It reminded him of a snake’s tongue flicking out to scent the air. Zach wanted to know who Shawn was. Evil was always on the look-out for enemies and victims. This was the opportunity Shawn had been waiting for.

  As Zach’s magic hit the wall of Shawn’s personal ward, Shawn attached a sliver of his own magic to it, so as Zach retracted his magic and resealed his shield, Shawn had a hook inside. He wasn’t worried that Zach had learned anything. Shawn’s magic was masked strongly enough that not even other Collegium guardians could detect it, and his ward wouldn’t raise Zach’s suspicions, either. It could easily be the natural psychic armor that soldiers under constant attack developed.

  And, sure enough, Zach sat back in his chair, shoulders relaxing fractionally; apparently satisfied that Shawn was an ex-marine: probably not worth worrying about or involving in a rich man’s schemes.

  Shawn stared into his coffee cup and concentrated. The magic he’d attached to Zach’s strike would dissolve in a minute. He’d designed it that way so that Zach couldn’t detect a shadow of it, later. But it meant he had to work fast.

  What was the nature of Zach’s magic?

  Chapter 10

  “Zach’s an enchanter?” Ruth echoed. She’d met Shawn on the front porch on his return from town, and now trailed him inside.

  “Yes. Where’s the grimoire?” Shawn was moving fast.

  “On the coffee table in the parlor.”

  From the doorway, she watched him pick it up and felt the flare of his magic. “It wasn’t enchanted. I tested it.”

  “So did I, last night, but I want to be sure.”

  Slipping into mage sight, she saw white light flare around the grimoire. “Zach probably couldn’t risk enchanting a book of spells. That is seriously dangerous. The spells can pick up the magic and twist.”

  “We can’t assume Zach knows the rules and risks of the magic he uses.” Shawn put the book back on the table. “But it is clean.”

  “I doubt Carla would have let it into Rose House if it wasn’t.” Ruth was coming to terms with having a ghost’s company. At least Carla was quiet—and currently, gone. “But an enchanter…that’s rare. I thought he’d be a mage or witch. Someone with minor magic.”

  “I think Zach’s magic was minor originally. He probably used it in a small way at first. The Collegium briefing said he used to be a real estate agent. He could have enchanted the business cards he handed out to people, and used the cards to ensure he got their business and maybe a higher price.”

  “Minor greedy magics.” Ruth walked over to the fireplace and added another log to the fire. “Then he wanted more. Possibly the market crash spooked him and he stretched his magic and found it could do more.”

  “And now, he’s discovered the power boost of death magic.”

  “Ugh.” She stirred the coals with a poker. Sparks flew upwards. “What do you think he wants to do with that power?”

  Shawn shrugged. “I don’t much care.”

  “You don’t think it matters?” She set the poker aside.

  “Not immediately. Do you have an idea how you can undo the curse Whitney set?”

  She came back to the coffee table and picked up the grimoire. “The spell is basic. It would fade with time if Whitney didn’t have the cult repeating the chant every three days. That extends its life.”

  “Otherwise it would need another sacrifice?”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “The irony is that if Zach hadn’t drained the energy of the death of Whitney’s first victim from her, the spell would be much stronger.”

  “I won’t be thanking him.” Shawn rolled his shoulders, stretched and paced to the window. He looked out through the uncurtained window, out across the wet garden to the road. “Zach being an enchanter makes everything more complicated.” There was a warning in his voice.

  Ruth didn’t need it. She’d already realized that her simple plan for shutting down the spell couldn’t be risked, now. “Zach being an enchanter explains how he could set both the original compulsion for Whitney to try the death magic spell, and the ongoing method of draining the spell’s power through her to him. She must be wearing an object or objects to tie her to him.”

  “Her wedding ring,” Shawn said heavily. He turned from the window to face Ruth. “I thought of it on the drive home. What wouldn’t Whitney ever take off? Zach probably enchanted it years ago as a way to control her.”

  “That’s evil.” Ruth caught herself. Of course it was evil. It was what Shawn’s hollerider nature had detected all along: Zach was evil. “But to do that to your wife.” She hugged her arms around herself.

  Shawn crossed the room to her and rubbed her arms.

  The comforting gesture helped, a bit. She looked up at him. “If Zach has enchanted Whitney’s wedding ring to control her, it’s incredibly intimate, woven into her psyche and aura.”

  “And possibly shaping it.” He tugged Ruth against him.

  She welcomed his warmth and strength. “Vengeance,” she whispered. “Oh dear heaven. What if Zach set all of it up, including the presence of the one man he knew Whitney hated, her friend’s user husband?”

  “If he didn’t, then coincidence was mighty obliging to him.”

  Now, Ruth understood why Shawn was so tense, and his mood ominous. “You think Zach is setting Whitney up to unleash a plague.”

  “Think of it from his perspective. A plague would bring him endless power from death after death.”

  “It’s a nightmare. It would destroy Whitney. Her sanity couldn’t survive the corrosive passing of all that death magic through her.” Ruth’s healer’s nature was appalled.

  “Which is why Zach used Whitney rather than set the spell himself,” Shawn said.

  “Dear God.”

  They ate baked potatoes, wrapped in foil and tucked into the coals of the fire, and steak that Shawn grilled over the flames.

  “We are never doing this again,” Ruth said, as the fat from the steak spit in the fire and the smoke had a greasy taste. “If the curtains were still up, they’d smell of that grease.”

  “Once won’t hurt,” Shawn said easily.

  Outside, the rain had settled into a stormy night. The wind howled and was the reason Ruth hadn’t tried to set up on the porch the portable barbeque her dad had brought over that morning. Nor had she or Shawn wanted to go into town f
or a meal.

  They could have eaten in the dining room, but the fire made the parlor cozy, so they sat on the floor and ate at the coffee table, clearing away quickly and going back to the work they had scattered around their individual armchairs.

  Shawn had a notepad that he brainstormed in, jotting notes with emphatic arrows, before tearing off each page, crumpling it, and throwing it in the fire. A couple of sheets weren’t consigned to the fire, but lay on the floor by his feet.

  Ruth worked on her laptop, calling up reference material from the Collegium database and amending her plan accordingly. Enchanted objects could acquire a personality of their own, twisting with the patterns of use they were subject to.

  A wedding ring, its hopeful promise perverted, could be dangerous.

  Ruth couldn’t guess what would happen if Whitney learned of Zach’s treachery before they could break the curse. What if she channeled vengeance through the ring at Zach, who’d enchanted and used the ring to drain power from her?

  So many variables, and Ruth was just guessing—although the odds were high—that he had enchanted the ring and not something else. It wasn’t possible to enchant a person, but could you enchant breast implants?

  Ordinarily reversing a curse was simple. A mage either cleansed it or reversed it. But a curse powered by death magic needed more than salt to purify it, and reversing it was out of the question. She was a healer: she prevented death, not caused it. And then, there was the complication of multiple people being involved in maintaining this curse. Dismantling the curse had to include freeing the cult members of its taint.

  That afternoon, after Thelma and the Granger sisters departed, Ruth had half-outlined a plan for dealing with these complications, but the new information that Zach was an enchanter blasted that plan out of contention. The magic released when the curse was broken could lodge in an enchanted object if one had been linked to the curse’s operation. Such an object then became problematic in its own right. Ruth thought of the infamous Ice Queen’s Goblet and shivered.