by Doty, J. L.
Ramirez leaned close to Paul’s ear and said, “They’re arguing about whether you’re a white or a black witch. She says you have characteristics in your aura that are black, but she’s confident you’re a white witch. But he’s not to worry because she’s watching you closely.”
Garza finally capitulated. Then they both stepped aside and turned to face the occupant of the bed. It was the first time Paul had looked at the boy, and while bed-sheets covered most of him, a swirling, oily, black cloud obscured his features.
Paul stepped forward to stand beside the boy. Katherine stepped to the other side of the bed and stood facing Paul. “What do you see?” he asked.
“Just a boy,” she said, looking at Paul with a question in her eyes.
Paul remembered that, unlike him, she was trained enough to turn her sight on and off at will. “Use your sight.”
She nodded, looked down at the boy and her nose wrinkled as she concentrated. Then her eyes widened with terror, and she turned away, gagging and choking, gulping to hold down her lunch. The old woman walked up to her, put an arm around her shoulders and said, “Si. Si.”
Katherine got her gag response under control, turned back to Paul. “Conklin, you got to warn me about these things.”
The old woman spoke English with a thick accent. “It ees terrible, yes?”
Paul said, “Yes.”
Movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. He saw through large, glass panes that a small group had gathered in the hall, among them a pretty, young girl with dark Latino features dressed in a pink pinafore over a light-blue dress, her hair in pigtails. A shiver crawled up Paul’s spine as he asked, “Who’s that?”
Garza answered him, “A neighborhood friend of David’s. They go to school together, ride the bus together.”
“Is her name Alice?”
“No. Maria.”
Katherine asked, “What is it, Conklin?”
Paul reached across the bed and grabbed Katherine by the arm, desperately trying to recall the events in the graveyard. “In the graveyard, you saw Tandy, yes?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What was she wearing?”
She frowned and looked at him doubtfully. “Um. Let me think.” She put a hand to her forehead, clearly struggling with the memory. “A pinafore . . . I think it was grayish . . . over a white dress . . . and knee-high socks.”
Paul demanded, “And her hair?”
“In pigtails.”
Ramirez looked at Maria standing in the hall, then back at Paul. “What are you saying, Conklin?”
Paul closed his eyes, trying to remember the scene in the morgue. “Monica, when she came to me in the morgue; she wore a gray pinafore over a pale-blue dress, with white knee-high stockings and shiny black shoes. And her hair was in pigtails.”
Standing around the bed, it was almost comic watching all of them turn their heads to look at Maria, than back to Paul, then back to Maria. Katherine said, “But none of them are named Alice.”
“Shit,” Ramirez growled. “Shit. That’s it. Alice in fucking Wonderland.”
Salisteen said, “Watch your tongue, young man.”
~~~
Anogh had formally requested a private audience with his queen, and because of that formality he wore the ceremonial armor of the Summer Knight. She received him in one of her private, though by no means small, audience chambers. The Seelie Court would be abuzz with gossip and speculation about Anogh’s purpose, but they’d know the truth of it soon enough.
Cadilus admitted him to the chamber. Anogh approached Magreth carefully, the winged helm of his armor clutched beneath his left arm. At the prescribed seven paces he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “My queen.”
She answered him with silence, and looking at the carpet on the floor he heard Cadilus withdraw, heard the door close, and heard Magreth breathing.
“You may rise, Sir Knight.”
He rose slowly, lifted his chin at the same time and looked her in the eyes. The ancient Sidhe spirits fluttered erratically about her head, perhaps a sign of her own apprehension at such a meeting.
“We have not seen you at court of late, Sir Knight,” she said, extending her hand.
He stepped forward slowly, bent deeply at the waist, took her hand in his and kissed the large ruby ring that signified the power of the Summer Court.
“Do the duties of your office weigh so heavily upon you that you cannot grace us with your presence more often?”
“Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I have been preoccupied of late.”
She frowned, tilted her head slightly and said, “What dire circumstance occupies your thoughts so?”
“Not dire, Your Majesty, but a circumstance of joy and happiness.”
Her eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. “Joy and happiness?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I have found love. True love.”
She smiled and the spirits hovering about her head calmed a bit. “Love? It is rare that we Sidhe find the strings of our hearts pulled by love, and so it is a thing to cherish, truly a thing of joy and happiness. Now that I know what to look for I see it in your eyes. But am I to guess at the nature of this audience?”
“I will be wed, Your Majesty, and I seek your blessing.”
“You seek my blessing, but not my permission?”
He purposefully avoided a direct answer to that question. “I will be wed, Your Majesty, and I do seek your blessing.”
The spirits had become agitated again. “And to whom will you be wed?”
“Taal’mara, the Winter Princess.”
Magreth didn’t move, didn’t flinch or react in any way. She could have been made of stone for all the life she displayed. But Anogh caught a glint deep in her eyes, a glint that sharpened and grew, until bright red flames flared in their depths. “And Ag has sanctioned this?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
She stood silent for several heartbeats, then said, “Very well, you have my blessing. But you are a fool.”
. . . Yes, Anogh thought, staring at the portrait of the long dead Taal’mara, he had been a fool those many centuries ago. A complete and utter fool.
~~~
Since little David Garza was stable, with no need for life support, his grandmother insisted they bring him home, even though he remained comatose. She argued that since the hospital could do nothing for him, they could take better care of him there. Ramirez said her hidden agenda was to get him to a more private place so the brujo could help him without mundane eyes looking on.
The Garza’s had a nice, large house in a middle-class Latino neighborhood on the outskirts of Dallas. Paul was a bit embarrassed when they descended on the place en-mass: the four older practitioners, Ramirez, Karpov and his thugs, and him and Katherine. Everyone wanted to be in on it, and a heated argument erupted between the older practitioners and Raphael.
Paul stayed out of it, walked to the far end of the room and leaned against a wall. Katherine saw him there and joined him.
“This is ridiculous,” she said.
“Ya. I’ve a mind to tell them all to go to hell.”
Ramirez, standing near the group of older practitioners, his shoulders slumped in frustration, looked toward Paul and Katherine. Paul caught his eye, and nodded. Ramirez got the hint and walked over to them. Paul nodded toward Mrs. Garza, who stood in the entrance to a hallway, arms folded resolutely as if to make it clear no one would get past her unless she allowed them.
“The kid’s grandmother,” Paul said. “Seems like a pretty strong lady. Like maybe she won’t take any shit.”
Ramirez eyed Paul, evaluating him as if it were the first time he’d really considered him. But all he said was, “And.”
“Can you translate for me?”
The rest of them didn’t notice Paul, Katherine and Ramirez approach Mrs. Garza.
Ramirez spoke with her briefly in hushed tones, then asked Paul, “What did you want to say to her?”
“Tell
her I’m new at this, but Katherine and I will do everything we can to help her grandson.”
As Ramirez spoke to her in Spanish she eyed Paul carefully, though there appeared to be no hostility in the look. Paul continued, “Tell her we need the help of the tall older man with gray hair and the older hippy woman, but no one else.”
Katherine said, “That won’t fly, Conklin. Karpov will raise holy hell.”
Paul grimaced. “There’s no way I’m taking Karpov or any of his thugs with us.”
Katherine looked back toward the group of older practitioners still arguing, and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Let’s bring Eric as Karpov’s representative. That should satisfy Karpov, and I can handle Eric.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded, grinned unpleasantly and said, “Quite.”
Ramirez and the old woman spoke back and forth in Spanish several times. Then Ramirez turned to Paul and said, “She has one question. She wants to know if you’re scared.”
Paul looked the old woman in the eyes and said, “Scared shitless.”
Apparently that didn’t need any translation. She smiled, lifted an arm and politely and brushed the three of them aside so she had a clear line to the group arguing in the middle of her living room. “Silenciar,” she barked loudly, using the voice, and that one word clawed its way up Paul’s spine.
In Spanish she spoke to Raphael like a general issuing commands to a subordinate. She finished by pointing at Paul and saying something that included the word brujo.
Raphael pointed at Colleen, McGowan and Reichart and said, “You, you and you will join the young lady and the brujo. And the brujo is in complete charge. He says you do something—you do it. There’ll be no more discussion.”
That started an uproar. Mrs. Garza gave it a few seconds, then repeated her earlier performance with the voice. “Silenciar.”
In the silence that followed she looked at Paul expectantly, so he spoke calmly. “Since I’m the one who has to do this, and since none of you can really help me, we’re doing this my way.”
Ramirez looked at Paul, his lips slowly curled upward into a smile, and he said, with a Texas accent about three shades thicker than Paul had heard before, “Ya know, Conklin, I think I like working with you.”
Chapter 10: Immortality Truncated
Katherine was rather pleased Mrs. Garza took forceful control of the situation. The tiny little woman intimidated even Karpov. He groused a bit about not being included, but she slashed a hand through the air like a knife. He got the message and shut up.
Raphael remained at the entrance to the hall to the back of the house. He stood there like a sentinel as the old woman led the five of them to the boy’s bedroom. Little David lay on his bed with his arms at his sides, a blanket up to his chin. Katherine had to look closely to see his chest rise and fall with each shallow breath.
Her father and Colleen were there more as advisors, ready to step in and help if they could. Katherine and Paul stood on one side of the little boy’s bed, Eric and Mrs. Garza on the other, McGowan and Colleen behind them.
Katherine carefully opened her sight. This time she was prepared for the oily, smoky cloud that enveloped the little boy, though beneath it she saw the boy’s aura, protected and, as yet, untainted by the monster. “His aura is still clean,” she said. “It hasn’t gotten past her wards.”
Mrs. Garza said, “Si.”
Paul said, “I’m not sure what to do.”
Eric sneered. “It’s just a demon. I’ve banished plenty of them before. If you don’t have the guts to do it, I will.”
He leaned down to the boy’s still form, but Paul reached out and put a hand between him and the boy. “Stand down, Reichart. You’re just an observer here.”
Mrs. Garza looked back and forth between Paul and Eric, then said in struggling English. “Not amigos.”
Eric looked down on her and growled, “No, we’re not amigos.”
Mrs. Garza’s eyes narrowed, she reached out with her arm in a slow, sweeping gesture, and made Eric take a step back from the bed. “You stay,” she said.
That clearly angered Eric. “Listen, old woman, I’m the best chance you’ve—”
McGowan stepped forward and said, “Reichart, shut up.”
Eric stood there seething. He’d always bulled ahead arrogantly, unprepared and shooting from the hip, confident he could handle any situation. More often than not he got in trouble and needed someone to bail him out. More often than not, it had been Katherine.
Paul said, “Let’s try that spell we prepared.”
Katherine had worked out a variation on a spell used to exorcise spirits that possessed a soul. It was meant to work on a spirit haunting a soul, not a demon, so Katherine, with help from her father and Colleen, had modified it. “Remember,” she said, “it’s untried, untested.”
Paul retrieved a small pair of scissors from his pocket. They all agreed he was the only one among them who could touch the oily darkness surrounding young David and have a chance of coming away from it unscathed. He bent carefully over the boy and lifted a lock of his hair. The unclean darkness climbed up his wrist, but stopped as if something prevented it from going further. Paul gagged, and Katherine thought he might blow lunch all over the floor. But he managed to control his reflexes as he held the scissors out and looked to Mrs. Garza for permission. She understood such spells and nodded.
Paul snipped a small lock of the boy’s hair and it came away without any of the corruption attached to it. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the charm they’d prepared, a small, silver trinket in the shape of a pentagram. Demons didn’t like silver, and the pentagram was a powerful symbol. Katherine and he had spent an hour weaving runes about it, symbols of purity and joy.
Paul tied the lock of hair about the trinket in the shape of a figure eight lying on its side, the symbol for infinity. Then he looked at Katherine, a question, almost a plea, in his eyes.
She shrugged and said, “Are you as scared as me?”
“What do you think?” he said. H lifted the charm to his lips and spit on it, then carefully laid it on David’s chest.
Katherine wasn’t prepared for what happened, which was nothing. Just plain nothing. No arcane power filled the room. The demon essence surrounding the little boy didn’t cry out in agony, or disappear or react in any way. Nothing.
“Gramma! Gramma!”
Katherine heard the words only in her soul. They were not words spoken by a mortal mouth, but they did sound like the voice of a young boy.
Mrs. Garza looked down at her side, and Katherine sensed something there, something invisible to her eyes and other senses. “David,” the old woman said, and she knelt, wrapping her arms around something.
Paul gasped. “Do you see him? It’s young David, or at least his spirit.”
Katherine said, “I don’t see it, but I sense something.”
Paul walked around the bed to stand beside Mrs. Garza. Katherine followed him, watched him look in awe at something beside the old woman.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Eric snarled.
Katherine spun back toward him, saw him standing over the bed. He lifted a hand to his mouth, spit into it, reached out, and as Katherine shouted, “No,” he dropped a charm into the oily corruption on David’s chest. With her sight still active Katherine saw a line of arcane energies connecting his hand to the charm like a tether. Unaware of it, he turned his head toward her. “Someone had to do this right.”
He wasn’t yet conscious of the line connecting him to the charm, but Katherine watched the dark essence of the demon crawl slowly up that line toward his hand. When it had tried to climb up Paul’s arm something had stopped it, but that didn’t happen now with Eric. When it reached his hand, only then did he sense it, and by the time he lifted his hand to his face and opened his sight, it had crawled up his arm to his elbow.
“Get it off me,” he shouted. “No! No! Get it off me.”
One of the lepre
chauns popped into existence next to Mrs. Garza, and the other appeared at David’s bedside. Katherine felt a sudden weight in her left hand, looked down to find it holding the sheathed sword. From past experience that meant something really bad was about to happen.
Reichart, pleading and sobbing like a child, fell to his knees as the corruption slowly crawled off of little David, clawed its way along the tether of arcane energies to Reichart’s hand, then up his arm, down his chest and around his head. It completely engulfed him, leaving young David cleansed and free of the taint.
Eric opened his mouth to scream, but the black taint wrapped about him disappeared into him. Then he laughed maniacally, and when Katherine looked at him he looked back at her through blood-red goat-slitted eyes.
~~~
Paul knelt down beside Mrs. Garza as she caressed the specter of her grandson, hoping this didn’t mean the boy was dead. And then Katherine shouted, “No.”
He spun toward her, then spun to follow her gaze to Reichart, who was wholly engulfed in the black corruption. Reichart dropped to his knees, threw his head back and wailed like a wounded animal. Then, with a whoosh, the wisps of oily black smoke disappeared up his nose, down his throat, into his eyes and ears, and right up his ass.
Reichart’s wails ceased, he looked at Katherine with blood-red goat-slitted eyes, then he looked at his hands and laughed maniacally. He stood, turned to the Garza boy laying in his bed, and bent over him.
Jim’Jiminie, standing next to Mrs. Garza, shouted, “I’ll protect the woman.”
Boo’Diddle, standing at David’s bedside, shouted, “Stop Reichart.”
Paul shot to his feet and charged, hit Reichart with a shoulder tackle and they both tumbled across the bed to the other side. They hit the floor in a tangled mess of arms and legs. Paul tried to struggle to his feet, but with inhuman speed and strength, Reichart stood, wrapped his hands about Paul’s throat and lifted him to his feet. Then he lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the wall.
Holding Paul with his feet a good six inches off the floor, Reichart leaned in close to him and snarled, “You think you can fuck with me, mortal.” Reichart’s breath smelled of sewage and decay.
