Beaten Path

by Martin Shannon

  “What now?”

  Kaylee held the cat-woman figurine, its blindfold barely hanging on. She slammed the artifact against her palm like a Louisville Slugger. “Give me the staff.”

  Delia was back, and she looked all the worse for wear. How many times could she pick up her withered flamingo? Was the Flock taking its toll on the old woman?

  She leaned against the Swamp Witch’s staff, using it to keep her frail body upright.

  “Not until you give me the mirror.”

  Little Ed had his machete out and pointed at the waning Blood Queen.

  “Delia,” I said, my own voice tired. “You want it? It’s in there.” I swung a hand to point at the shattered building. “It was lost in the fight. You’ll have to dig it out.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She squeezed the oak staff in her fingers. “I know one of you has it. I can smell my Darkling.”

  “No, you can’t.” Blood rushed to my face. “You can’t smell a damn thing. Don’t you get it? You and I are crap now. We’re nothing. We’re dried-up husks of normalcy—”

  “Gene…” Adam tried to stop me, but I barreled right over him in a bout of righteous pity.

  “No, Adam. It’s true. We are done, Delia. There is no more Magick for us. You have lost your Darkling, and with it I lost the only real way to get my Magick back. So here we are, stuck scrounging for Thinnings and hoping to survive whatever Wild Magick we touch. Don’t you get it? You don’t matter anymore. I don’t matter anymore.”

  “Wait, Gene…”

  “Damn it, Adam. Let me finish.”

  My apprentice tilted his head at Swamp Witch. “Uh, she has it.”

  “What?! How…”

  Kaylee held the brown compact in her hand, tears glistening in the edges of her eyes. “The Flock showed me, Gene. It showed me what could happen to my son if I don’t. There’s no way you could understand. I had to take it. If I didn’t…”

  “No, that’s just potentials. They might happen, and they might not. It’s all probability.” I tried to bite back the anger in my voice. “You can’t believe them—the Flock isn’t always right.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Gene. You wouldn’t understand. That staff means the world to me. I have to get it back.”

  A mixture of emotions rolled through me too confusing to count: anger, elation, sadness, and frustration all fought for control of my higher brain functions.

  “Kaylee, do not let her have that.”

  Ed’s ex-wife held the compact in her hand. “Give me the staff and I’ll return your Darkling to you.”

  “Don’t do it, damn it.” I stepped in front of the Swamp Witch. “You don’t understand how dangerous she is. Whatever you saw, it can’t be as bad as what will happen if you give her back her Magick.”

  “You couldn’t possibly understand.” Tears rolled down the Swamp Witch’s cheeks. “She’s not keeping my staff.”

  “Who said anything about keeping it.” Delia wedged the stick against a root ball and leaned into it. Even with her frail body, she easily possessed enough weight to snap the stick in two.

  I pleaded with Kaylee to return the mirror and its bound Darkling to me. “You’ll find another one. I’ll help. They’re doing great things with cypress these days. What about pine? It’s cheap and soft—we could get someone to fashion it into all sorts of designs.”

  “Gene, stop trying to change my mind,” Kaylee said, taking a step toward the Blood Queen. “You don’t know the history.”

  “Did it come from your mother? No problem, we’ll make another one—”

  “Sear Spit.”

  “What? The Imp?”

  Kaylee turned her red and irritated eyes to her son. “You never asked why Ed and I split up.”

  “You worked a deal with that Imp?” I said, my voice dropping.

  “Not just any deal.” Kaylee placed her hand on Little Ed’s shoulder lovingly. “I can’t expect you to understand, Gene. You have children.”

  The sudden realization hit me like a gut punch. “He’s not real…”

  Little Ed’s machete drooped. “What’s he talking about?”

  Delia leaned into the staff a little more, causing it to bend dangerously close to the breaking point. “He’s saying what I’ve known ever since you four showed up. One of these things just ain’t like the other, one of these things just isn’t the same, and that would be you, young man.”

  “Mom…”

  Tears flowed down Kaylee’s face. “I had to do it, don’t you understand? I had to. Your father and I tried to have a child for years and we… You can’t know what that’s like, the sadness, the frustration, the anger—what it does to a marriage. How it makes you feel subhuman…” Ed’s ex-wife dropped the bronze figurine, letting it tumble into the mud. “Everyone else is out there having children, raising families, and we couldn’t…”

  “Mom,” Little Ed said, his voice breaking. “What did you do?”

  “Exactly what I’m going to do now. What I told your father I would always do. Whatever it takes for my family.”

  Kaylee pushed past me and took a step toward Delia. “Don’t break the staff. I’ll give you the compact.”

  “I don’t know.” Delia let the staff bow against her tracksuit. “I’m old, I could fall over at any minute. Might want to hurry up.”

  “Stop.” I reinserted myself between the women. “If she gets the mirror, there’ll be no stopping her. Don’t you understand? She could shatter the staff the moment her Magick is back.”

  “I would never.” The old crone let the oak spring back. “I’m a woman of my word, Mr. Law. I promise that if my Darkling is returned to me, I will not break the only thing keeping her son animated.”

  Little Ed let his machete fall the rest of the way. “Animated?”

  “Don’t listen to her, honey. It’s nothing.”

  “No, Mom. What does she mean by animated?”

  Delia resumed her pole bending. “I’ve got to say, your Magick is subtle to the point of art. Using the Imp’s help to craft a son out of live oak heartwood is quite a feat. Yet there he is, almost like a real boy.”

  “Mom?”

  “She’s lying,” Kaylee squeezed the compact in her fingers. “You are a real boy in every sense of the word. I love you, Eddie, no matter where you came from or how you got here. I love you for who you are, and for the wonderful young man you have become.”

  “I’m not… real?”

  Delia chuckled. “Nope, not at all. You’re the most impressive golem I’ve ever seen though, and I’ve been alive quite a few years. So, that’s gotta count for something.”

  “A golem?” the young man said, his once proud shoulders falling. “You mean like the—”

  “Little rubber man the fat one carries around in his pants? Exactly like that except, you know, actually crafted with real skill.”

  “And that’s why Dad…”

  Kaylee nodded. “Yes, that’s why your father left me, that’s why he treats you different. That’s why—”

  Realization dawned on Little Ed’s face. “That’s why you never let that staff out of your sight. That’s why you keep me home. That’s why I could never move out or get a place on my own or—”

  The sound of cracking wood stopped everyone cold—everyone except for the Sangre Reina.

  “Listen, sapling,” Delia said, inspecting the newly formed crack in the staff. “I’d love to listen to you whine—I really would—but it doesn’t look like you have much time left.”

  Little Ed dropped his machete and grabbed his chest. “Mom!”

  “Gene, move, now!”

  “Don’t do it,” I said, pleading with her. “We’ll find a way, I promise you. I’ll get my Magick back and we’ll find a way.”

  Kaylee stepped around me, but before I could block her path a second time my feet became trapped in snaking roots—roots driven by the subtle Magick of the Green Swamp itself.

  The Swamp protects its own.

  “No
, Gene. There’s no other way, I’m sorry.”

  “Adam, stop her.”

  My apprentice lunged for her, but the twisting roots held him fast as well.

  I yanked at the snaking vegetation’s iron grip. “Kaylee, don’t do it.”

  The Swamp Witch walked past me, the mirror in her hand. “I’m sorry, Gene. It has to be this way.”

  “You’re damn straight it does.” Delia stretched out her hand in quivering anticipation. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this. Come to Mama!”

  32

  Screw Driven

  Kaylee presented her palm with the simple brown compact lying gently in the center. Nothing about that bit of makeup said Magick, but I knew otherwise. Tightly carved into the narrow plastic seam was a series of complex sigils, each more elaborate that the last. It would take Delia a couple more lifetimes to unlock Quigley’s Quagmire and get into that compact without her Magick.

  Still, I wasn’t about to risk it.

  Private, can you cut me loose?

  I got no response from the injured spirit. Perhaps I’d pushed him too far. It was impossible to tell without my Magick. Any chance I had of getting that power back was right about to end up in the former Skeeter’s fingers.

  “Give it to me,” Delia said, the anticipation palpable in her voice.

  Kaylee hesitated, pulling back her hand slightly. “How do I know you’ll give me back my staff?”

  Delia leaned on the oak and let the hairline fracture expand further. “You don’t.”

  Little Ed fell forward, his arms holding tight to his body. “Mom!”

  “Don’t do it. Please.” I pulled at my legs.

  “Don’t listen to him, sweetheart.” Delia’s voice regained its soft and subtle air. “He’s just jealous. You see, we have our Magick, or at least we will very soon. Gene, on the other hand, is royally screwed.”

  “She’s right. I am screwed, but so is my family if she gets that back. I have children too—”

  “And they mean more than her son?” Delia’s words trampled over mine. “Listen to him—typical magician—just give me the mirror, dear.”

  “Gene, I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about, honey. You are doing what’s right for you and yours. That’s what the smart ones do in this world. They do what’s right for them. Who else is going to look out for you? The Eugene Laws of the world? Why, he’s been dragging a poor soul’s Death Marker around with him like a lost puppy. You think he’s going to help that kid get to the next life?” Delia snorted. “If you actually believe that, I’ve got a plot of land to sell you off the coast of Key West.”

  “Is that true?” Kaylee asked, tears in her eyes. “Have you been enslaving a lost soul?”

  “Now, enslaving is a really strong word. I wouldn’t say that. I would say I’ve been working very closely with a dedicated former member of our nation’s armed services to—”

  The old woman cut me off again. “See? Lying. All of them lie, sweetheart.” Delia turned her attention to me. “Every last single solitary one of them. You don’t need them, you’ve got your son, your swamp, and even those silly Trolls. Trust me, you’ll be better off. Just give me the mirror… now.”

  “But how do I know you won’t…”

  Bridge Trolls, this place is sacred to them.

  We were getting on in the day, but were we late enough yet? When did the Bridge Trolls come to do whatever the heck it was they did in Sturkey? Could we buy more time?

  “Adam,” I whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “Keep your voice down,” I said, leaning closer to my chubby apprentice. “Do you still have the can?”

  “The what?”

  “The Deep Magick can from earlier. The one we used to call Cathy.”

  “That wasn’t Cathy.”

  It took all I had to refrain from smacking him. “Damn it, Adam. Do you have the can or not?”

  “No, you kicked it in the swamp remember?”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah—it was kind of a dick thing to do.”

  Sounds like me.

  “Okay. Well, let me think…”

  Adam held up his hands. “Yeah, you even made me hold on to it for longer than I should have. See, look at this burn on my palm. I’ve got the can’s damn sigil burned right into my skin.”

  “Right. Listen, I said I was sorry—”

  “Actually you didn’t…”

  “Wait, it’s burned into your skin?” I asked, the sight of his burned skin giving me an idea.

  Adam nodded. “Yes, right here.”

  “Oh, we are so going to Indiana Jones this.”

  “Huh?”

  “Cup your hands together and let’s make a call.”

  Adam shook his head. “I’m not reaching out to the Tower of Terrible—”

  “Unceasing Torment.”

  “That—I’m not doing that again.”

  I shook my head. “Who said anything about that? You’re calling the Bridge Trolls.”

  “What?!”

  I snuck a quick glance at the ladies, but they were still lost in discussion. “Keep your voice down. Okay, Stinkstone. That’s who you are calling.”

  “Gene, I can’t just reach out to a supernatural Bridge Troll without—”

  I grabbed Adam’s hand. “Yes, yes you can. I’ll provide the visual, you make the call.”

  My apprentice bit his lip. “Are you sure this is going to—”

  “Work? Hell no. In fact, I have no idea what’s going to happen, but it beats waiting around to reacquaint ourselves with the Blood Queen, right?”

  Adam cupped his hand. “Ping minus a, Stinkstone,” he mumbled, and I felt the rush of Magick.

  I miss that so much.

  “I’m not getting any visuals.”

  “Right,” I said, closing my eyes and bringing up a mental image of the Bridge Troll. It wasn’t hard to do, ten to twelve foot tall walking slabs of granite-colored man-stucco aren’t easily forgotten—plus I knew his name.

  “That’s him?” Adam whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “And you want to contact him?”

  Little Ed groaned on the ground, while the sharp sounds of cracking wood added an immediate sense of urgency.

  “Yes!”

  Adam’s hand was a poor man’s substitute for the Calling Can and Marvin’s Long Line, but it did the trick—albeit with terrible reception. Faint static crackled from his cupped fingers and I leaned over to whisper into them.

  “Stinkstone, it’s me, Gene. You know. The Magician you don’t like.”

  A low grumble issued from Adam’s can hand.

  “Right. Listen, the feeling is mutual.”

  My apprentice’s fingers twitched. “Would you stop making him angry?”

  I placed a hand over his stubby finger-receiver. “You speak Bridge Troll? I mean, if you would like to explain things in his own language…”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then shut it.”

  Adam clamped his mouth closed and poured more Magick into the connection.

  I removed my hand. “Well, I’m here in Sturkey and I think it’s a real crap hole. In fact, I think it’s so terrible I’m going to invite a bunch of my Magician friends out here to stomp on things and leave our people stink everywhere.”

  The deep rumble from Adam’s fingers was loud enough to get everyone’s attention.

  Kaylee pulled her attention away from the old woman for just a second, but a second was all it took for Delia to rip the brown compact from her hand.

  “It’s mine! Oh, how I’ve missed you. We’re going to get back together, you and I.” The old woman beamed and ran her fingers over the hand mirror’s seam.

  The sigils carved in the crease flared to life, filling the Blood Queen’s palm with a golden glow.

  “Quigley’s Quagmire? Really?”

  I pulled away from the Adam-phone and turned my attention to Delia. “Damn straight. I’ve had yea
rs to prepare that. You aren’t getting past them. You don’t have your Magick, and those sigils will keep you from getting to it.”

  Delia sighed, then shook her head. She tucked Kaylee’s staff under her arm, leaning into it, then held out her open palm.

  “Wait, what are you doing?”

  The Blood Queen dug a sharpened nail into the back of the case.

  “Gah! What is she doing?” I turned my attention to Adam. “Is that a Magick nail? Where the hell is our Bridge Troll?”

  My apprentice shook his head. “I don’t… Are there Magick fingernails?”

  Delia casually twisted the two tiny screws on the bottom holding the case together with her finger.

  “Wait, stop!” I shouted. “You can’t do that.”

  “And why not?”

  Because… Because I didn’t think of that!

  “I… you…”

  Pop.

  Delia flicked the expertly protected case into the muck, which left only the darkened mirror in her hand.

  “Gene…” Kaylee said, stepping back. “What just happened?”

  “I was beaten by a fingernail.”

  “Give me my staff!” Kaylee cried. “You have what you want.”

  “Not yet I don’t.” Delia placed her fingers on the mirror backing.

  “Wait!” I shouted, still trapped by the twisted roots. “Your Darkling is locked in that mirror, and it’s going to want you gone. It’s going to want to consume you. You have no Magick. How the hell are you going to stop it?”

  The Blood Queen locked eyes with me, and I had my answer before she spoke.

  “What makes you think I want to?”

  Delia flipped the mirror over and stared into it, the vile Darkling’s Magick reaching out like spilt ink.

  Crap.

  “Kaylee, do something!”

  The Swamp Witch lunged for her staff, but the old woman was faster. She slammed the stick forward, snapping it against the roots and sending splinters flying.

  Our twisted arboreal restraints vanished.

  “Eddie!” Kaylee cried, ignoring the broken staff and running to her fallen son.

  Black ink, like the Deserter’s Tar, trickled down the Blood Queen’s outstretched hand. Wrinkles smoothed out everywhere it touched, the skin losing its mottled appearance. Her thin and wiry hair gave way to thick and vibrant locks that blossomed like the unfolding of a tropical flower. The beautiful woman’s color returned, a warm butternut glow that was the Delia I remembered—the Sangre Reina, the Blood Queen of South Beach.