I paused, unsure of what to write that wouldn’t end up being discarded or considered spam. My apprentice was certainly tech savvy, but he was also apt to toss out an email from an address he’d never seen before.
In the end, I settled for being direct.
Subject: It’s me, Gene Law. Open this damn email ASAP.
Message: I am writing to you from the Green Swamp. I am wearing a boiled peanut vending Demon Hunter’s old flannel and have been Soul-Split. The Darkling is coming for you. Ignore all calls from me and get off your butt pronto. Come to…
“Hey, Eddie. Where are we?”
“Green Swamp.”
“Damn it, I know that. I mean what’s the closest city?”
“Lacoochee.”
“Excuse me?”
“The closest city is Lacoochee.”
He’s never going to believe this. Maybe I should try to track down a Scrub Jay…
After a few attempts I gave up and asked Little Ed to spell it for me.
Come to Lacoochee. Yes it’s a real place. I’ll find a way to meet you there. Bring the large box in the back of the storage facility. We’re going to need it.
I paused again, this time wondering what the right closing should be. For a second time that night, I settled on direct.
- Gene
PS - Why are you still sitting? Go, now!
I pressed the bright red send button on the tiny keyboard and chuckled. The junior Demon Hunter had been right, it really wasn’t that hard to use.
ERROR - MESSAGE EXCEEDED MAXIMUM LENGTH.
Fifteen attempts later, both I and the Mailstation keyboard had just about reached our breaking point. As I would later discover, the tiny email box must have been made by the same jerk who had come up with the minuscule character limit for social media posts. In the end my message had more in common with a kidnapper’s demands than any well-conceived missive.
Message: No Magick. Stuck in Green Swamp. Bring self and big storage box. Avoid me. Bad Magick. Go to Lacoochee. Not fake place. Y U no leave? Go! -Gene
I held my breath and pressed the send button, waiting for the tiny device to give me the digital middle finger again.
SENDING…
The smell of cooking meat snaked its way past my frustration filters and suddenly reminded me how long it had been since I last ate a real meal.
“Eddie? What are you cooking?”
The junior Demon Hunter’s head appeared around the edge of the tiny array of kitchen cabinets. “Gator.”
“Of course you are. Where’s your mom?” I asked, now acutely aware I hadn’t received a snarky comment questioning my actions in quite a while.
“I thought she was with you.”
“No. I left her outside…”
The sound of water splashing against the underside of the house caught us both off guard.
“What was that?” I asked, pushing back from the table.
“Probably just a catfish going after something.”
Thump, thump, thump.
Something heavy hit the rickety steps outside; in fact, it sounded a lot more like many somethings. Each thump shook the tiny house and sent the ancient Mailstation one step closer to shimmying off the table all together.
Little Ed appeared from the kitchen, a steaming platter of fluffy white meat in hand. “What’s that?”
“Damn it, Eddie, it’s your house, I don’t—”
I froze mid sentence, my words lost to the reflection of unblinking eyes in the inky darkness beyond the screen door. Those Golden globes caught the hurricane lamp’s shine and reflected it back with a reptilian sparkle.
The junior Demon Hunter set his platter down. “Gene…”
“I see them.”
Alligator Men.
15
Fire and Flowers
Alligator Men were a throwback to an all-but-forgotten era in Florida. Much like their traditional relatives, they held more in common with the dinosaur than the modern supernatural beasts that made the Sunshine State their home. Simply put, Alligator Men had been here first, and they’d probably still be here long after the rest of us were gone.
Possessing the broad snout of a classic American alligator and the scale-covered body of a human being, they were quite a sight to see. In fact, I’d argued in the early days at the University of Florida that our mascot was actually a classic Alligator Man, most likely inspiring the early founders of the state’s oldest university.
At the time Morgan thought I was crazy—I was, but I still think I was right about the mascot.
I had plenty of time to contemplate these and other thoughts as I swung from straps tied to a cypress sapling. It wasn’t a very dignified way to travel, but Alligator Men weren’t known for their illustrious transportation options. Little Ed dangled from a second sapling, his arms and legs also tied up like a Christmas pig, but his head bounced loose—he’d been knocked out cold before we’d left his mom’s house. In doing so, he provided a valuable safety tip: do not be serving gator meat when Alligator Men show up to kidnap you.
Tall reeds slapped against my back. Mercifully, the Alligator Men appeared to be avoiding the deep water, which meant while I’d still get wet, I wouldn’t drown.
I tried to get a count of how many reptiles we were dealing with, but in the relative dark of the swamp that quickly became impossible; instead, I spent my time ruminating on just how bad things had gotten in such a short period.
Catherine was still in Hell, my Magick was walking around in an infinitely cooler version of myself ready to tear Adam the apprentice a new one, and two members of the Three Musketeers were now Midnight Riders.
Am I missing anything?
“Yes, you are missing the part where you promised you’d help me get to Heaven, Sir.”
Private Petty!
The ghostly soldier walked next to me, the soft glow of his spiritual form casting a faint light on my captors.
“Right. Sorry, Private. I did promise you I’d do something.”
“Sir, you promised me you would ‘make it right.’”
Sigh. I did, didn’t I?
“Yes. You did.”
“Okay, first things first, Private. You stop listening to my thoughts. You got it?”
“They are very loud.”
“Get used to it, Private. Just stop answering them.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
The Alligator Men hauled us deeper into the Green Swamp, and before long my back began dragging through shallow water.
“Is his head above water?” I said, directing Private Petty toward the unconscious Little Ed.
“It would appear so… at least most of the time.”
Great. Let’s hope he’s just breathing most of the time too.
“He does appear to be breathing.”
“Private!”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and cut us down?”
The young ghost drew his saber and slashed down at the straps holding me aloft—his blade passed through them without making so much as a nick.
“Huh, it would appear—”
“Right, that’s what I figured. These guys aren’t Magickal. How could they be? They’re Alligator Men. Heck, they’re more Florida than we are.”
The ghost returned his saber to its scabbard and tilted his head. “What do you want me to do, then, aside from not listening to your extraordinarily loud thoughts?”
The reptiles carrying me turned a tight corner and slammed my ribs against the rough bark of a large live oak.
“Ugh. Since I’m stuck here slowly losing all feeling in my fingers, why don’t you entertain me with the sure-to-be-fascinating yarn of how you ended up dying outside the Florida National Cemetery and not being buried inside it?”
“It isn’t something I prefer to talk about.”
“Private, I’m swinging from a cypress sapling suspended above what I can only hope is water, and I’m being buffeted by the smell of two All
igator Men that appear to have been boycotting hygiene since forever. Give me something to take my mind off all this. Also, if I’m going to get you to your final destination, I’m going to need to know how you got stuck.”
“I see,” the young ghost said, though his tone indicated otherwise.
“Humor me, Private.”
The pensive ghost frowned and appeared to be taking a moment to absorb the gravity of my situation before continuing.
“Where would you like me to start, sir?”
“The beginning.”
“Right, I was born on—”
“Private?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s skip ahead to the part when you died.”
“It was a car accident.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the brown hotdog-like ends of a clump of cattails slapped against my face like a chorus line, forcing me to spit out more than a few noxious pollen pods before I could continue. “A little more detail, please?”
The young man positively squirmed in his fatigues. “Sir, I’d prefer not to say.”
“Fine,” I said, twisting my head to avoid a patch of sharp Sawgrass hellbent on cutting a line through my neck. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll guess. Let’s see… drunk driving? Is that it, Private? You got so plastered one night after celebrating your umpteenth saber trophy that you careened off the road and ran into a ditch at high speed.”
“No!”
“I didn’t think so.”
“I mean, no, I did not get drunk, and there was no careening.”
The Alligator Men turned again, this time evening out my bruised ribs by bumping the opposite side against a sap-covered pine trunk.
“Fine, Private Petty. I’ll go with door number two. You had some ‘special ladies’ and were out driving fast to show off. Trying to get them all hot and bothered so you could take them back to the Petty-pad and peel off their painted-on clothes with the majestic splendor of your fencing trophies.”
Private Petty’s face softened, and he looked away.
Are those tears in his eyes?
“No way,” I said, craning my head to get a better look at the young ghost. “Is that really it?”
“Sir, there were two ladies in the car.”
“Ha! I knew it. You’re a handsome devil I’m not—”
“They were my wife and unborn daughter.”
Oh, crap.
My already exhausted stomach churned, and rightfully so.
“I’m… Uh, shoot. I’m sorry.”
“It was my fault. I did not see the deer until it was right in front of the car.”
“Kid, it was a deer,” I said, scrambling to improve the sullen kid’s demeanor. “They’re like headlight magnets, it could have happened to anyone. You can’t blame yourself.”
“With all due respect, you don’t know the whole story.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, please continue.”
The orange light of a roaring fire washed over me, complete with the crackle of wet wood and the acrid scent of burning cedar.
“Sir,” Private Petty said, his ghostly form fading quickly. “I don’t think we have time to go into this right now. You appear to have arrived at your destination.”
“Crap. What can you see?”
The stoic ghost squinted in the firelight and shook his head slowly. “That’s a really large fire.”
“I got that part. What else?”
The Alligator Men carrying me slowed down.
Private Petty craned his neck, even as he faded further into the dark evening air. “There’s a very large reptile monster, sir.”
“That would be the Bull Gator. What else?”
“Is there something in particular I should be looking for? I would assume the fire is a big enough deal, sir.”
“Not necessarily. The Bull Gator, is he wearing any flowers?”
“Flowers?”
“Alligator Men love orchids—they use them in all sorts of ceremonies. Listen, I dealt with these guys in the Everglades a few years ago. Most of the time I could work out a deal with them—granted that was when I had my Magick—but all of that is dependent on whether they are in ‘sacrificial mode’ or not.”
“I see, sir. How would one determine if they were in ‘sacrificial mode’?”
The ground underneath my captors rose up gently, telling me we must be getting close to the mound. “The Ghost Orchid, is the Bull Gator wearing a Ghost Orchid?”
“What is a Ghost Orchid?”
“Damn it, Private. Is he wearing a big white flower around his neck?”
There was a long pause, and then the final vestiges of Private Petty faded from view. “There’s a…”
And like that, the pain-in-my-ass spirit vanished.
“Petty!”
“Gene!” Little Ed shouted, waking up just in time for both of us to be tossed on the muddy ground. “What’s going on?”
An immense Bull Gator loomed over us, his impressive jaws doing little to hide the ferocity behind those golden eyes. Behind that enormous Alligator Man a bonfire roared, outlining him in a hellish orange glow; none of that mattered, however, not even the bright white necklace of woven Ghost Orchids dangling from his thick neck.
My brain blotted all that out, and instead focused on a single image, a tiny piece of the crazy puzzle that was my life. Tucked under a loop of animal hide that functioned as a make-shift belt was the cover of a book I didn’t think I’d ever see again.
Ten Spins’ Infernal Constructs.
The old volume had been stolen from me by the young Magician responsible for cutting my daughter’s silver thread and stranding her in Hell. It also happened to be the same Magician I’d spent the last few months tracking up one side the state and down the other—Tristan Shelldeck.
Son of a bitch…
16
Sins of the Father
Somewhere fate was laughing at me.
A hush fell over the Alligator Men. My newly prone position gave me an opportunity to count up just how screwed we were.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine…
By my best guess, we were thirty-plus Alligator Men past completely screwed. That was only a guess, though—it was likely far worse.
“Gene,” Little Ed asked, shimmying over to try to get my attention. “You have a plan, right?”
“I’m working on it.”
Can’t let the kid know I have no idea what to do. If you’re listening Private Petty, you need to clamp that mouth shut.
The Bull Gator’s gravelly voice rumbled over the assembled tribesmen and women. I figured there must have been Alligator Women in attendance, but I was not about to go checking undercarriages—I was already in more than enough trouble as it was.
“Can you speak Alligator Man?” Little Ed asked, his fingers already tugging at the restraints.
“If I had my Magick, sure, but I never bothered to learn it. I mean, how often do you need something like Alligator Man?”
“Damn,” the young Demon Hunter said. “Would’ve been really useful right about now.”
“You’re the one that grew up in the Green Swamp. You’re telling me you don’t understand what he’s saying?”
One of the Alligator Men that had been tasked with carrying us noticed Little Ed’s attempt at escape and placed a scaly foot on top of his fingers.
Crunch.
“Argh!” Little Ed’s cry cut off the Bull Gator’s speech and drew the attention of the surrounding tribesmen.
“Hey,” I said, directing my attention to the reptilian horde. “Why don’t you overgrown yard lizards untie us so we can sort this out like men?”
My only response was the crackling of the bonfire and the occasional cricket.
“… or maybe we could sort this out like Alligator Men? I’m completely open to both. However, before we do I’d like to know what the heck happened to the scrawny little pain-in-my-ass carrying that book?” I said, pointing my head at the grimoire dangling from the B
ull Gator’s belt.
“Gene,” Little Ed said, his voice ragged. “I don’t think they understand us.”
“I think you’re right, kid.”
The Bull Gator resumed what I assumed was a cleverly worded and inspiring speech; of course, he could also have been reciting his favorite ways to consume raw chicken, I had no way of telling the difference. Scaly hands grabbed our poles and hoisted the young Demon Hunter and I back up into the air.
“Where do you think they’re taking us?” Ed’s son asked, concern in his eyes.
For the first time that night I noticed just how young and scared my companion was. Had my old roommate kept him away from the bulk of this terrifying occupation?
We swung back and forth between the assembled Alligator Men, giving me an opportunity to get a glimpse of where we were headed—I didn’t like it.
“Okay, so I have good news,” I said, the heat of the fire starting to dry the water from my borrowed flannel.
“You do?”
“Yes. There’s very little chance of us coming back as lost spirits.”
“Why is that?” the younger man said, swinging side to side behind me as the Alligator Men hauled him toward the fire.
“Because I don’t think they’ll leave any bones behind.”
The humanoid reptiles positioned two makeshift spits across the roaring fire. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to guess where we were headed.
“You guys realize you’re going to cook us unevenly, right? With this set-up you won’t be able turn us properly—I grill, I know. You’re going to end up with one side blackened, and the other terribly undercooked. This whole thing is borderline unsafe, actually.”
The heat from the fire was strong enough to force me to close my eyes and turn away.
Private Petty, get your translucent backside out here on the double. I need some options, kid. That’s an order.
Much to my frustration, the junior spirit did not appear.
“Plan,” Little Ed cried, tugging on his restraints “What’s the plan?”
“Give me a minute… I’m working on it.”
“In a minute we’ll be roasting.”
Damn it, kid. You don’t think I know that? Any other time I’d use my Magick.
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