A Grimoire Dark

by D. S. Quinton

  He turned and looked in her direction once more.

  “See you soon,” he said as he broke into a wide, distorted grin.

  Chapter 17

  Sunday afternoon, Jimmy was pressed against the front window of the orphanage, face smashed flat, waiting for Del to arrive. They didn’t always go to the movies, but Del had tried to visit Jimmy each Sunday since she had escaped the clutches of Sister Eulalie.

  Del walked into the lobby and saw Josephine sitting behind the reception desk, reading a magazine.

  “Hey, Del. The boy wonder has been waiting for a half-hour at least.”

  Del wrinkled the side of her mouth at the snide comment and walked into the waiting room. Josephine always had something to say about Jimmy, and it was hardly ever nice.

  “Hi, Deh,” Jimmy said as she walked through the door.

  “‘Hi, Del?’ That’s it?” she said with a curious look. “That’s not very frien—”

  She stopped short as Jimmy turned from the window. His eyes were red from tears.

  “Oh, Jimmy, what happened?”

  “I got in twouble,” he said with his head down.

  “Did you spill something again?” she asked as she led him to the reception desk.

  Jimmy kept his head down as she signed him out.

  Outside, she popped an umbrella and they headed down the sidewalk. After a block of walking in the cold air, she thought he looked calmer. “OK, so what gives, Jimmy Lareaux?”

  “I’m yust causin’ a watt ah twouble atey,” he said matter-of-factly, nodding his head. “Twouble, twouble, twouble.”

  Del chuckled. “Oh, really? You don’t seem like much trouble to me.”

  “Yep, da deva must have cwawed up my butt an eft a twouble turd.”

  “Jimmy!” she said, stopping suddenly.

  “But I’m yust fawtin’ twouble everywhere, Deh!” he exclaimed with his arms out. “Fawt twouble deh… fawt twouble over deh…”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Yosephine…”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Well, don’t listen to everything she says to you,” she said, heading down the sidewalk again.

  “Awn’t you fwiends no mo?” he asked, catching up.

  “Sometimes. I guess… Hey, I got an idea. Who wants to go watch the trains come in?”

  “Dis guy!” He thumbed his chest.

  After they’d had their fill of trains, Del and Jimmy walked slowly back toward the orphanage. The afternoon light, muted by heavy gray clouds, highlighted dark shadows under Jimmy’s eyes.

  “Are you feeling alright?” Del asked. “You look kinda tired.”

  “I tought you tuck in da winow ast night.”

  “Stuck in the window?” she said, then whispered, “Oh, our secret window?”

  “Yeah, I heard a knock on da winow. I fought you got tuck.”

  “Someone knocked on the window? Are you sure it just wasn’t the wind? It was pretty windy last night.”

  “No, it da biwd knock da winow. He fwew away.”

  “A bird?”

  “Yeah, da win scaiwd him, but den I deamed of him an guess what?”

  “What?”

  “He could tawk!”

  “He could? That’s a pretty smart bird.”

  “Yeah, he petty smart, I guess. Den guess what?”

  “What?”

  “He teached me a song.”

  “The bird could sing, too?”

  “Yep, he singed… uhmmm,” Jimmy scrunched his face up like he had a lemon drop in his mouth.

  “He singed… I forgot,” he said throwing his hands up. With much concern he explained, “It just went in da ear, den in da utter ear and didn’t come out!”

  “Well that’s—”

  Lowering his voice, he said, “Den guess what?”

  “What?”

  “He got mad.”

  Del watched a change come over Jimmy’s face.

  “Got mad at what?”

  “Cause I doan memba da song.”

  “Why do you think the bird got mad at that?”

  “Cause, he give me bad deams.”

  “You had another bad dream? About what?”

  Jimmy looked down at the grimy sidewalk and kicked at a gum splotch. “He made me deam of da issaad dat eat you head.”

  “What? Again with the wizard that eats my head? Who’s been telling you these stories? Josephine?”

  Jimmy barely shook his head.

  “Then who?” she asked, giving him a quick one-arm hug. “There’s no such thing as wizards, and certainly not wizards that eat people’s heads.”

  Jimmy said nothing.

  They walked for a while in silence. As they passed a display window of a Five and Dime, Jimmy stopped short and yelled, “Ook Deh, ook! Da issaad!” as he pointed at a large painted advertisement.

  Del stared at the window for a moment before she realized what Jimmy was pointing at. The window reflected her confusion.

  “This is what you’ve been dreaming of?”

  Del watched the reflection of Jimmy nod his head slowly and lean into her.

  “Jimmy, that’s a lizard.”

  Chapter 18

  Eddie wandered the streets of the French Quarter. The music venues were always open, but the Sunday evening crowds were tame compared to Friday and Saturday nights. He hoped the lull in traffic would allow him time to plead his case.

  The repair shop wouldn’t release his guitar on the promise of a check, and he needed a loaner. He hit every bar owner he knew about gigging, but no one would trust their guitar to him, fearing it would end up in a pawn shop. He even wiggled his right hand at them indicating that his extra finger always made for a killer set, but they simply shook their heads.

  ‘Six-finger’ Eddie—really five fingers and a thumb, but that didn’t sound as cool—could pick out some crazy blues tunes with the extra digit. It truly sounded like two guitars being played at once. He was suddenly afraid that his days as a musical oddity may be over.

  He walked south of the French Quarter following the Mississippi and found himself in the old wharf district. Dilapidated buildings rose up into the fog-rain like oversized crypts, reminding him of his encounter at the cemetery the night before. The old cobblestone streets were broken and warped and led him down a natural slope toward the river. The sweet smells of fried dough and rum gave way to the earthy smells of fish and men who lived in alleys. Somewhere down the dark water a foghorn blew.

  The wharf lights cast a feeble glow through the dense fog that rolled in from the river, obscuring his view of the barges he knew to be anchored there. He met the occasional bum rummaging through a trash can and wondered how long it would be before that was him. Not long, he thought.

  Turning into a dead-end alley he thought was open, he was surprised by a small group of teenage boys standing around a fire burning in a barrel drum. Before he could back out of the alley unnoticed, one of the boys jumped to their feet and circled around behind him.

  “Well, well,” the boy said, “look at dis peckerwood dat just strolled up in here.”

  The two other boys were on their feet and forming a circle around Eddie before he could respond.

  “Hey boy, watchoo doin?”

  Trying to steady his whiskey-legs, Eddie said, “Just headin’ home, that’s all,” as he clutched his bottle tightly. He thought about making a dash, hoping the group wouldn’t give chase, but knew he only had about a twenty-yard sprint in him.

  “He’s spyin’ man, for da cops!” another boy said.

  They closed in.

  “Yeah, he look like a snitch to me, man,” the third boy said.

  “Da fuck you doin here, man?” the first boy asked as he shoved Eddie toward his pals.

  The three shoved Eddie back and forth as they taunted him, grabbing at his bottle then slapping up at his face.

  “Take his money and let’s split!”

  Eddie laughed out loud at the thought of having any money to be sto
len, but quickly regretted the outburst.

  “Peckerwood, what da hell you laughin’ at? You’re about to get your a—”

  Abruptly, one boy stopped and pointed over Eddie’s shoulder toward the river. Eddie turned and watched as a peculiar man walked slowly up the cobblestones.

  “Hey, man,” the first boy said. “Look at dis dude. He definitely lost!”

  The three boys turned, pushing Eddie behind them, and watched the strange man walk towards them.

  He stood severely hunched at only five feet tall, supported by a cane, but looked as if he could be taller if his frail body could support it. His long overcoat billowed out behind him as if blown by an unfelt wind. An old hat shadowed most of his face from the feeble streetlamps, but dark mirrored glasses followed each boy with interest.

  “Da fuck you doin, old man?” one boy said.

  The strange man stopped several yards away, not answering.

  “Old man, I said—”

  Suddenly, another shape emerged from the fog. Eddie’s arms prickled with goosebumps as the temperature fell around them.

  “What da fuck is dat?” the first boy exclaimed.

  Eddie watched as a huge, mottled gray animal walked forward. It was the size of a large wolf, with a broad chest—its head standing four feet tall. It had the eyes and paws of a cat. Its powerful face was scarred where tuffs of fur had been torn off—or fallen out due to mange. The left ear was nearly missing, as if it had been chewed off, and its tail had somehow been split in two, but each piece remained functional and swung about in different directions, like searching antennae.

  Astride the cat-beast was a small figure; the tiniest man Eddie had ever seen, possibly only a foot tall if standing on the ground. The mutant was bald and appeared to be completely naked, with only a bumpy, brown rash covering its skin. Its stubby arms stuck out from its body as if no elbow joints had formed. It held onto nothing and appeared to be pinned to the cat-beast by a long thin metal spike that ran down through its shoulder and into the back of the beast. Its eyes looked like sewn red beads, never blinking.

  “Good evening, boys,” the strange man said as he stroked the beast’s head.

  The other boys looked to the first—the apparent leader—to speak. After a long silence the first boy said, “Who da fuck are you?”

  “Me?” the man said quizzically. “Oh, that’s not important at the moment.”

  Thick clouds of fog slid up the landing behind the man, seemingly pulled by an unseen force.

  “Den what da fuck is dat?” the boy said, pointing to the beast.

  The man nodded approvingly.

  “I’d like you to meet Mr. Sandgrove,” the strange man said, petting the beast again. “He’s happy to make your acquaintance.”

  The beast breathed a ragged breath, gurgling through broken lungs, as long trails of slobber hung from its jowls. Subtle waves of steam rose from it, as if it had just finished a long run.

  The boys exchanged glances.

  “Da fuck kinda stupid name is dat?” the first boy said nervously.

  The man stroked the beast a few more times, ignoring the question. “And this,” he waved a hand toward the mutant, “is Toth.”

  The boys shifted their feet, testing the stability of the loose stones, and Eddie took a large drink from his bottle.

  The first boy took a half step forward and said, “Better run off old man, before you get hurt.”

  The man cocked his head slightly as an odd shiver rippled through his body, vibrating the reflection of the boys in the dark glasses. Their images were reduced to fragments, fighting to stay in focus.

  “Hurt? How so?” he asked.

  “Man, I ain’t playin’ no game witchoo. Go on, or you get da same fate as da peckerwood,” he said, pulling a knife from his back pocket.

  The man watched them for several seconds. “Delightful!” he said, breaking into a wide, distorted grin.

  The boy stood trying to stare the old man down. He shuffled his feet again and finally said, “Man you don’t scare me. Just an ugly old dog wit a doll stuck on its back.” He kicked gravel at the beast, hitting it and the mutant.

  The beast hunched, ready to pounce, and bellowed a loud, wolfish howl. Its split tail twitched in anticipation as its claws protruded, piercing the old stones. The mutant on its back came to life with a surge of energy, standing up the best it could, eyes glowing red, and screamed out a high-pitched warble of gibberish, still pinned to the beast.

  As the mutant stood, they all saw the long metal spike that started in its shoulder and protruded down through its rectum and into the beast’s back. The mutant simply pushed with its legs and slid up the thin spike into a standing position. The mutant mouth never opened, but the eyes pulsed with demon fire; the crazy hellish thing spoke an ancient, foul language and one of the boys began screaming at the sound. The beast leapt straight into the air, landing on all four paws, which shook the hard cobblestones. The mutant slid down the needle and bounced off the back of the beast, only to come to life again with another surge of energy, cursing foul upon the wind.

  The three boys broke and ran. The first one, down the river wharf, the other two back up the way Eddie had walked.

  Without hesitation, the beast broke after the first boy with several loud barks. The mutant’s arms and legs flung about wildly as the beast ran, its body bobbing from side to side on the long needle as the beast galloped after its prey.

  A fragment of mutant gibberish trailed through the air and Eddie heard, “…aaeeeee, gob-blick-krickry! Ngyihng! Ngyihng! Ngyihng!”

  They were quickly lost to the fog.

  Eddie stood frozen as the terrifying scene unfolded in front of him. He looked at the nearly empty bottle in his hand, trying to decide if it was all a hallucination.

  He really should get clean, he thought.

  As if hearing this, the strange man looked straight at Eddie and smiled his toothy grin.

  “Good evening,” he said. “Pardon me for the… interruption.”

  “Interrupshon? Sheerosly?” Eddie said, looking around at where the group of boys just stood. “Who’re you?”

  “Oh, I’m what you may call a… traveling collector.”

  Eddie wobbled as a cold wind swirled fog and rain around him.

  “Collector of what?”

  After a long pause, the man cocked his head again and said, “Friends.”

  Eddie scratched absently at his rash as he pondered what the man meant.

  The strange man breathed a deep ragged breath, savored the smell of the river, and said, “I say, that is a rather nasty rash you have there.”

  “Yeah,” Eddie wobbled, “ish my bad luck rash. Man… what kinda dog—”

  “Bad luck, you say? Why is that?”

  “Man, you don’t have the time…” Eddie trailed off, but not before wiggling his six fingers in the air.

  The strange man stepped forward, inspecting Eddie closely. “Fascinating,” he said, with a slight grin. “You know Eddie, I can help you with your rash. I’m also a bit of a… healer.”

  Something bothered Eddie about this comment, and he tried squinting the answer into his brain, but it didn’t come.

  “A healer, huh?” Eddie’s eyes drooped as if being forced closed.

  “Yes. Special gris, for… special issues.”

  “I got isshoo’s a’right… got no money man… special gris… …fucked up…”

  “You were a good musician, weren’t you Eddie?” The man leaned in close. “God given talent, you could say.”

  Eddie nodded in agreement.

  “Have a good ear I suspect. Can hear things, can feel things, that others… simply miss.”

  Eddie nodded again.

  “I like music. A sin to throw that kind of talent away.”

  Eddie had heard this before, but couldn’t remember where.

  “I know what is causing your rash, Eddie. I can take this away and… some of your other issues, but you must give willingly.
That is, you must agree to the… treatment.”

  Eddie nodded, almost asleep.

  The man went straight to work, mixing the gris from the bags he carried; a snip of hair and a scrape of skin and he was done.

  Eddie sat down hard in the alley.

  “Good night, Eddie,” the man said as he tied the new gris bag around his neck. “Your new life will begin very soon.”

  Right before Eddie passed out, a thought slipped through his mind. He didn’t remember telling the man his name.

  Chapter 19

  Monday

  Frank woke Monday morning to a distant ringing. He first thought his wife had slept through her alarm clock and started to nudge her, then remembered that she was gone. He rolled over and looked at her cold pillow still neatly fluffed. It seemed a physical incarnation of the cold day that was forming outside his window.

  He closed his eyes, but heard the ringing again, only louder.

  As his mind cleared, he realized he was hearing his own telephone ringing. Dis prolly bad news, he thought as he swung his heavy legs over the side of the bed. No one called him at 7:30 in the morning unless it was bad news.

  Shuffling past the end of the bed, he grabbed his housecoat off the back of the door and made his way down the hall. Grabbing the phone off the wall he said, “Hello?”

  “Frang, it’s Henri GeeOHM.”

  “Yeah cap’n. What has you up this early?”

  “Frang leesen, I got another body missin’ da head.”

  “Another one?” he asked, rubbing his eyes awake. “Not a gator I guess?”

  “No, dis no gator. We found da body down da wharf. Something chewed it apart pretty bad, but took a special interest in da head.”

  “Really, how so?”

  “You go see, Frang. It’s da lower wharf area, toward da bridge.”

  “Yeah, I know it. Not da first body dat showed up der. OK, let me get woke, den I’ll head out—”

  “And after dat, I need you to make a run on a missing person as well.”

  “Missing person? How long?”