Initiate

by Bill Bennett

  Lily checked the time again. How long had she been asleep? Three or four hours? So when did her mom leave? If she left just fifteen minutes ago, then it’s no big deal. But if she’s been gone a couple of hours, then that’s different. That’s scary.

  She walked outside, left the room door open, and went around to the front of the motel. It was chilly, and dark. She looked at the approaching traffic, hoping one of the sets of headlights coming towards her would resolve into the lights of her mom’s truck. But they never did. They hurtled past, leaving her in momentary darkness.

  And then a set of lights bleached her white. She put her hand up to shield her eyes from the glare as a SUV pulled up, full of men in their late twenties. The front passenger’s window slid down and a young man holding a half-empty liquor bottle leaned out, his alcohol-fuelled lechery undisguised.

  ‘You looking for some fun, baby doll?’ he said, his words slurring. The other men in the car laughed and hooted.

  Lily turned and walked quickly back towards the motel.

  They followed, driving slowly behind her.

  ‘’cause we’re a ton of fun, I can guarantee you that, sweetheart,’ the man yelled out after her. The other men shrieked with laughter. The driver honked his horn.

  Lily quickened her pace, trying not to show her fear. She walked back to her room.

  The SUV followed.

  As she approached the room she saw that the door was closed. She walked up, the SUV following. She tried the knob, the door opened. Thank God! She turned to the man, who was now stepping out of the SUV.

  ‘If you don’t get the hell out of here right now I’m calling 911 then I’ll scream my head off and yell rape. You hear me? So get lost!’

  She glared at them. The driver yelled out to his half-drunk friend, ‘Bud, leave her be. Pain in the ass. We can do better.’

  The young man leered at Lily, blew her a lascivious kiss, then hopped back into the SUV. The driver screeched a U-turn, nearly flinging his drunken passenger out the window, and then they were gone.

  Lily watched them go, then she quickly walked inside, locked the door, pulled out her phone, called her mom again. Again it went straight to voicemail. This time she didn’t leave a message.

  She realised she was trembling all over. She looked across at her mother’s bed. The covers were crumpled from where she’d fallen asleep. Her bag was gone, but then Lily noticed she’d left several hundred dollars on her bedside table. The morning’s takings from the market. Why had she done that?

  And then Lily saw the letter. An envelope, propped up by the bedside lamp. On the front, in her mother’s scrawled handwriting, was her name: LILY. And then underneath. Only open if I’m not back by 8 p.m. Lily looked at her watch. It was 7.42 p.m.

  She tore it open.

  Dearest Lily,

  If you have done what I asked and opened this at 8 p.m., then please read on. If you got worried and opened it earlier, then I ask you to read no further. Please, for me.

  If I’m not back by 8, then it means they’ve taken me. I have so much to explain, Lily, and I don’t have the time now, because I have to go back to the farm to collect something very important which must remain with you, darling, should anything happen to me. It is your birthright, your ancestry, and your destiny. I cannot stress too greatly that it must never get into the hands of our adversaries.

  You must have so many questions and I have kept so much from you – I’m so so sorry, my darling, but I’ve had to, because you deserved your childhood. But you’re no longer a child and if they have taken me, then you will need to become an adult very fast.

  Here is what you must do: Call the police and have them come get you. Do not leave the room under any circumstances. Lock the door and don’t open it for ANYONE until the police arrive. Give them a description of the three women you saw. They will ask you a lot of questions – answer them to the best of your knowledge but do not give them this letter. It will provoke too many unnecessary questions.

  Then call your Uncle Freddie. He’ll look after you. You can trust him implicitly. But trust no one else. Our adversaries are everywhere, and they take all shapes and guises. They will come to you as friends and helpers and they are convincing. They will be charming, handsome, attractive. You will believe them. Do NOT believe them. Again sweetheart, I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but Uncle Freddie will.

  I’ve allowed them to get too close. I’ve been inattentive and foolish. I wanted to believe I could live in the real world like a regular mom with a regular daughter but in fact I never can.

  You have a magnificent purpose that awaits you, Lily. You have the highest calling imaginable, one that your father and I were hoping would be years away, but perhaps it’s now closer than we thought. I sincerely hope not. I love you, Lils, remember that always, no matter what happens.

  Mom x x x

  Lily put the letter down, her head reeling. Was this really happening? She felt dizzy and slightly nauseous. She breathed deeply, steadied herself, then read the letter a second time, slower, so she could understand every word. Her hands shook, her mouth was dry, her palms clammy.

  The letter raised so many questions.

  Why would her mom be ‘taken’? And by whom?

  Were those three bikers working for someone else – some kind of gang?

  Who were ‘our adversaries’? What did her mom go to collect that was so important she’d put her life at risk? And what was this ‘magnificent purpose’, her ‘destiny’ that her mom said she was meant to have?

  Was this all some kind of surreal joke?

  She got up off the bed, tucked the letter into the back pocket of her jeans and went to the door, checked that it was locked, and slid the security chain across. She stood there a moment in the stark light of the overhead fluoro light, too confused to think straight, her legs shaking violently, her heart pounding so hard she could almost hear the blood coursing through her veins.

  Her father was gone. Forever. And now her mom was gone too. Angela was the only true friend she had in the world. The only person she loved, and who loved her. Lily could not imagine a world without her mom. The thought of growing up alone was too terrifying to contemplate. No, she thought, it wasn’t going to happen. She was going to get her mom back. She would do anything, whatever it took, to get her mom back.

  And then strangely, in one clear moment, she knew that her childhood was over, that her teenage years were gone for good, and that to rescue her mom, she would have to step into an adult world with all the courage, self belief and grit she could muster.

  She grabbed her phone and called 911. And in a strong purposeful voice, an adult voice, she said, ‘I’d like to report a missing person.’

  Then she called her Uncle Freddie.

  Dr Frederick Maguire was Angela’s older brother, a re­nowned thoracic surgeon who lived in New Mexico. He’d given Lily’s mom enormous support after David’s death, and he’d even offered for them to stay in the lower level of his mansion in Santa Fe until she got over her grief. Angela was grateful for his kindness, but she knew she had to heal all on her own. Even amid all the moving and travel though, she called Freddie regularly, and he called her too, and often they would speak for hours at a time. Angela knew that he was always there to help them, should they ever need him. And right now Lily needed him.

  Standing in the sickly smelling motel, on her phone, she read him the letter. He was quiet for a long time before responding, his voice deep and sure, an English lilt from his time studying medicine at Oxford. ‘Angela called me a couple of hours ago,’ he said.

  ‘She did?’ Lily started pacing, suddenly hopeful. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She was worried she was being followed, and she asked that if anything happened to her, I was to look after you.’

  Lily stopped. ‘Did she say anything else?’

  Uncle Freddie hesitated, and Lily knew immediately that he was holding back. ‘Tell me, please Freddie,’ she implored him, near to te
ars.

  ‘There’s a lot to explain, sugar pie,’ he said. He often called her sugar pie. It was just one of many things Lily found endearing about him. ‘First things first though, we’ve got to get you out of there and into safe hands. I’ll call the police too – I have some connections in the Bay area, and I’ll make sure they give this priority.’

  ‘Freddie, what’s going on? Who are these “adversaries”? Why would they want to take my mom?’

  ‘It’s complex, Lils, and it’s not something we can discuss over the phone right at this moment. But you’re a young adult now and you do deserve a full explanation and you’ll get that, but just know that your mother is an extraordinary person, I mean that, she’s quite incredible, and she will come through this. But she might need our help.’

  ‘Come through what?’ To Lily, it seemed that he was talking in half-speak, and it only made her more exasperated, more worried.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, his quiet assured voice settling her down a little. ‘When I got your mom’s call, I took the liberty of phoning a young lad. I’d call him my son if there was a blood connection but there’s not, only that I saved his life some years back and he feels he owes me something, which of course he doesn’t. But he’s a good kid, got a good heart, and I’m very fond of him. He’s Native American, works as a ranger and guide in one of the national parks. He’s very connected to the elements, understands things in the natural world that I’ve got no comprehension of. I’ve asked him to drive down, hook up with you, bring you out.’

  ‘Out where?’

  ‘To stay with me for a while.’

  ‘You mean New Mexico?’

  ‘Remember that beautiful bedroom you stayed in last time? It’s all set up for you.’

  Lily began to panic. ‘No. Thanks, but no. I need to stay here, in California, for when my mom turns up.’

  There was a pause from Freddie.

  ‘Lils,’ he said, ‘there’s a strong chance she’s not going to turn up anytime soon. You’re going to have to come to terms with that, unless we are very very lucky. As things stand, you’ve got nowhere else to go, and it’s best you come out here where you’ll be safe.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be safe here?’

  Again there was a long pause. ‘We can talk about that when you get here. Now, I’m sorry, I have to go. I literally walked out of surgery to take your call, and I’ve got to get back. But we’ll talk later, yes? I’ll see you soon. And don’t worry, Lils. Your mother is incredibly capable. She’ll be okay.’

  And then he hung up.

  How could she not worry? Lily thought. The call had only raised even more questions, made her more fearful. She couldn’t allow herself to slip into panic mode though, because then she’d be incapable of thinking straight, of functioning, of doing what needed to be done. She’d go to jelly and that wouldn’t help get her mom back. She needed to stay calm, to harness her meagre emotional strength so she could work out a logical plan of action.

  She walked over, sat on the edge of the bed, and dialled her mom again, just to hear her voice one last time. Again her call went to voicemail. Lily listened to her cheerful greeting, and she started to cry. You sound so happy, she thought. The prompt beeped but Lily hung up immediately. You’re not going to hear me crying, Mom, she thought. No way.

  She wiped away the tears that had spilled down her cheeks, got up off the bed and went into the bathroom, found some tissues and blew her nose. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen, her skin pale.

  My mom needs me to keep it together, she thought. No more little girlie stuff. No more self-indulgent bawling. If I’m to get her back then I’ve got to grow up, because right now she needs me more than she ever did in her entire life.

  She went back into the bedroom, pulled out her harmonica, and played some blues riffs to settle her nerves while she waited for the police.

  In the end, it had been easy.

  Just after dark, while Kritta was using Bess in her pit-bull form to scent every motel and guesthouse within a three-mile radius of the market, Andi finally spotted the woman’s truck heading to the farm. She had her headlights off and was using a back road, trying to hide under a canopy of trees. Andi flew back, found Kritta and Bess just as they were about to scent the Valley View Motel, and told them of her discovery.

  Later that evening, Kritta and her familiars waited in shadows until Angela Maguire emerged from the farmhouse, stepping outside the protective white-light cone which she’d spelled around the shack. They watched as she walked over to her truck, parked under a large maple tree, pulling a battered suitcase behind her. Just as she was about to haul the suitcase into the back of the truck, Kritta struck. Angela barely felt the syringe as it plunged deep into her neck from behind.

  They bundled her up in industrial plastic sheeting, threw her over the back of Kritta’s bike like a rolled-up Persian rug, and took her back to the fish plant. They then dumped her in a corner, and tossed a couple of rotten sacks over her crumpled body so that she looked like trash, in case someone happened to stumble in. If by chance a random was to break in and disturb them, then he’d quickly find himself under a few sacks as well, with his severed head tucked neatly between his knees.

  Kritta had called the Hag and told her they’d got the woman, thinking she’d be delighted, but when she found out they were still to get the girl, the old witch had screeched in fury, ‘We need them both, you wretched fool. Your job is only half done!’ And then she’d hung up.

  Kritta was edgy, because she’d heard talk that Baphomet was bringing in the Fallen Priest once the mother and daughter were found. If it was true, then this was no ordinary assignment, and the woman was no ordinary mark. The Fallen Priest was known by many names – the Collector of Souls being the most common, because that’s what he did, he collected souls for Satan. But he was also known as the Special Emissary of the Son of the Morning, the Immortal Fixer, and Horn of the Goat.

  Rumour had it that he was neither man nor beast – that he sat somewhere between planes of existence. Within Baphomet, he was spoken about in hushed and reverential tones; that’s if you dared speak about him at all. If Kritta got to meet him it would be an honour bestowed upon very few Baphomet witches, because those he visited rarely survived the encounter. Nor would Kritta, if she didn’t complete her task and get the girl before he arrived.

  Where could her mother have hidden her?

  Kritta walked over to the map stuck to the peeling wall. Andi stepped up beside her. Whenever Andi got close, it sent an inexplicable thrill through her. Even though Andi as a familiar was essentially a part of herself, there was some strange erotic chemistry between them. Kritta admired her stature, her implacability, her lofty sense of detachment. Bess was baser, more reactive, a firecracker of explosive aggression. Andi was cool and elegant. And lethal.

  Kritta liked to think of herself as somewhere between the two of them; unemotional in the use of her violence, capable of immediate response, and yet unlike Bess she didn’t move until she’d worked out all the implications of her actions. Bess just blundered headlong into her self-created heat haze and somehow got through the other side leaving a trail of blood and gristle. Andi watched from on high and only swooped when needed.

  They stared at the map. Kritta had used a Sharpie to write all of the names of the motels within the radius they were searching.

  ‘What motels haven’t you scented?’ Kritta asked Bess.

  She came over, pointed to the Valley View Motel. ‘That was the next one. But we left before I got a chance.’

  Kritta nodded. ‘Okay, let’s pick up where we left off. She turned to Andi. ‘Stay here with the woman and guard her. I want to have them both packaged up with ribbons and bows for the Fallen Priest tomorrow. Because if we don’t . . .’

  She dreaded to think what would happen if they didn’t find the girl.

  It was common knowledge among the students, and a bit of a joke too, that Miss Crestwell, the scho
ol registrar, could be found every Saturday afternoon across the Bay at the St Anne of the Sunset Church, playing bingo. She was a bit of a whiz, evidently. For Miss Crestwell, it came as something of a surprise that particular Saturday that one of her students, Kevin Johnstone, would sit down beside her and start playing.

  And she was somewhat flattered when he began buying her drinks. Alcoholic drinks. Miss Crestwell rarely drank while she played. It messed with her powers of perception, as she called them. It was these powers that made her such a whiz.

  But what woman, no matter the age, could refuse the offer of a drink from Kevin Johnstone? He really was a striking­ly handsome young man. And such a gentleman. Such a charming boy. No, he wasn’t a boy. Look at those arms. He was a man.

  Anyway, it was very apparent that he was interested in that strange young girl, Lily Lennox. What an odd one she was. Not nearly as odd as her mother though. Oh well, she paid her fees on time, that’s all that counts. It seemed unlikely, Kevin Johnstone with Lily Lennox. But she’d apparently invited him out on a date that very night – and Kevin had lost her phone number and had no way of contacting her to find out where and when. She’d be waiting somewhere for him – and it would seem like he’d stood her up.

  Much as she wanted to spend the whole night with KJ playing bingo, her overarching sense of romance got the better of her. Using her phone she found Lily’s number in the database she kept in the cloud, and slipped it to him.

  If the strange Lennox girl played her cards right, Miss Crestwell thought, she might hear from KJ tonight. What fun! Only too happy to oblige, KJ. Have a good night, and make sure you tell me all about it on Monday.

  Kevin walked into his bedroom with a view out over the ocean, looking at Lily’s number, which he’d scribbled on the back of a bingo card. He was in no hurry to give the number to that tiny biker babe. Kritta. As soon as he did, he’d lose his leverage – and he knew it. She’d played coy with him, flirted with him to use him, to manipulate him, like so many girls tried to do, to get what they wanted from him. No doubt she, like all the others, thought he was just a buffed-up airhead, a dumb-ass pretty-boy, and all she had to do was offer him a ride on her bike and he’d do whatever she asked. She’d underestimated him. Like they all did. Like his father did. She’d soon learn that you should never underestimate Kevin Johnstone.