Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Yes,” Emma said. “His wife told me to take him upstairs.”

  “Fine. But come right back. No slacking off, little one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With Dan still propped against her, she made her way through the kitchen, into a hallway. To get him upstairs like this would take too much time. Instead, Emma hauled him back to the study. With a grunt she lowered him onto the couch and then spread out his limbs so he looked peaceful. Against her better judgment, Emma allowed herself to kiss him on the cheek. “You’ll be safe here,” she said. “I hope.”

  A door led from the study into the library. She imagined herself in one of the comfortable leather chairs as she read every volume in the vast collection of books, most of which dealt with ancient Egypt. The door would open and Dan would come over to her to rub her shoulder muscles. Then he would bend down to kiss her neck—

  She shook her head. This wasn’t her library. It probably never would be. She didn’t have time for schoolgirl fantasies at this moment, not if she wanted to save Dan and Becky from Isis. As always, she focused on the task at hand.

  “Mekka lekka weep ninnebaum,” she said and the case of red armor appeared at her feet. She put her hand against the smooth surface of the case; it yawned open to reveal the Scarlet Knight’s armor.

  The moment she slipped on the first leg piece, pain surged through her. It wasn’t any less painful to change back than it had been the first time. Emma lay on the floor for a moment; she bit down on her lip so she wouldn’t scream in pain. As she watched, her legs became longer and skinnier. The dark color drained from her skin to leave it a pale white. Then Jasmine Saleem was gone, which left only Emma Earl with a job to do.

  ***

  Lieutenant Donovan squealed to a stop at the front gates of the Dreyfus house. The security guards, who looked on loan from Don Vendetta, came forward to ask her for identification. In response she held up her badge. “Open the gates,” she said.

  If the badge didn’t convince them, then the half-dozen other cruisers and truck loaded with heavily-armed SWAT team members did. One of the guards scrambled to open the gate while the other waved her through. “And don’t tell anyone we’re coming,” she said. This probably wouldn’t matter, as it would be hard not to spot such a large convoy of police vehicles as they came up the front drive.

  Lieutenant Donovan went up the front drive and then pulled her car off onto the lawn so the SWAT truck could unload right at the front doors. This meant she had to run at full speed to get to the doors before they did. No one came to the doors to greet them; the sound of orchestral music carried from somewhere else in the house. There had to be someone home from the number of lights on and other cars in the driveway.

  She followed the sound of the music into the ballroom. A group of mostly middle-aged couples danced a waltz, as happy and carefree as could be. The lieutenant reached into her jacket and wondered if she should fire a few shots into the air to get everyone’s attention. Instead she took out a cigarette and lit it.

  She waited there until the SWAT team raced in behind her. Two-dozen men in flak jackets armed with machine guns was enough to get anyone’s attention. “I’m Lieutenant Donovan of the Rampart City Police. We are looking for one Dr. Emma Jane Earl. If she would come forward, it would save us a lot of time and effort.”

  The men and women on the dance floor gaped at her in shock. “No one knows who she is?” The lieutenant reached into her jacket again; this time she pulled out a photo of the good doctor. She passed this to the nearest person so that she could circulate it through the crowd. She turned to Detective Cielo and said, “Take a couple of guys and search the top floor. You two, come with me.”

  Lieutenant Donovan and two uniformed officers headed through the kitchen, which left the SWAT team to guard the party guests. She banged open the kitchen door and came face-to-face with a very large, very angry Middle Eastern man. “Who are you?” he thundered.

  “Lieutenant Donovan of the police.”

  “Police? I am here legally! I know nothing of any terrorists. They are all pigs.” To emphasize his hatred of them, he spit on the floor.

  “That’s not why I’m here. I’m looking for a young woman named Emma Earl. You seen her? She might have come through here to escape.” Lieutenant Donovan took out another picture of Earl to show the cook.

  “I haven’t seen her. If she had come through here I would have put her to work. That fool girl still hasn’t come back.”

  “What girl?”

  The chef thought about this for a moment. “Jasmine, she said. A new girl. Good worker but a little scattered, like most girls her age.”

  “Did this Jasmine happen to look like this?”

  “Not at all. She looked like one of my stupid daughters, only beautiful.”

  The lieutenant could see this was a waste of valuable time. “Thanks for your help, sir. If we see this Jasmine girl we’ll send her back here.” Lieutenant Donovan ran from the kitchen and turned into a hallway. Earl had to be here somewhere—unless that caller had yanked her chain. In that case she could already see the headlines now trumpeting her failure, followed by those days later that would trumpet her dismissal.

  She kicked open a wooden door to find an unconscious man on a couch. She could feel his pulse was strong but otherwise the man was out cold. She studied his face for a moment and then something clicked. This was Dr. Dan Dreyfus, the owner of the house. Either he couldn’t handle his liquor or else Earl had gotten wise to the tip and knocked him out to cover her escape.

  She opened another door in the office and entered a library nearly as big as the main branch of the Rampart City library. There was no one in this room, but clearly someone had been. More importantly, now she knew the informant had not jerked her around.

  On a piece of paper was a typed note that read, “Please get these people to safety. I’ll explain later. SK.”

  “What the hell is her game?” she asked herself. Whatever it was, she planned to find out.

  ***

  As Emma had predicted, Lieutenant Donovan came with a large contingent of police. She had not bothered with subtlety either. Also as Emma had predicted, Isis didn’t stay to chat with the police. She slipped out a back door of the ballroom, into the dining room. With the cape wrapped around her body, Emma followed.

  She thought perhaps Isis would head down to the wine cellar, which would save Emma some effort. Instead, the woman headed upstairs. Emma continued to follow from a distance and wondered what exactly Isis planned to do. Did she think she could hide out in a closet until the cops went away? Or maybe she wanted to find her husband so he could deal with the police.

  Neither of these scenarios turned out to be true. Isis disappeared into a room and left the door open a crack. Emma peered inside and saw it was the master bedroom. Beneath the helmet, Emma’s cheeks turned red at the thought of what Isis and Dan had done on that bed. She forced her mind back to the task at hand.

  Isis picked up a telephone and then dialed a number. “Commissioner Davies please. Tell him it’s Mrs. Dreyfus,” she said into the receiver. Now it became clear what Isis planned to do. “Hello, Commissioner. Yes, it’s good to hear from you too. How is your lovely wife?”

  Emma wondered how and when Isis had met the police commissioner and his lovely wife; clearly Isis had been busy during her short time in the city. How many other high-ranking officials had she gotten to?

  “That’s good. No, I’m afraid there’s a problem. Some of your officers have shown up at my house during a very important party.” Isis listened for a moment; her face turned red. “Of course she’s not here! Why would she be at my house? What? You think Dan is hiding her? That’s preposterous. My husband is her coworker and that is all. No, please, you have to tell them to stop. They’re ruining my party! This is very important to me.”

  Isis listened to the phone again for a few moments. This time she picked up something from the nightstand and hurled it against the wall. Some of th
e shattered glass landed only inches from where Emma stood by the door. “You can’t let them do this! They’re ruining everything!” Isis stopped herself and then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Commissioner. I know your hands are tied. Thank you.”

  She hung up the phone and then snarled, “You better enjoy your lovely wife now because tomorrow she’s going to wake up weighing four hundred pounds.” From the sinister black glow of Isis’s eyes, Emma knew this wasn’t an idle threat. She waited by the door to see if Isis would make any other calls.

  Isis didn’t. Instead, she went over to face the mirror. She patted down her hair and then applied a fresh coat of lipstick. Satisfied with her appearance, she turned to the door. Emma braced herself. The door opened and Isis strode out. She didn’t get far before Emma grabbed her from behind.

  “You!” Isis shouted. “You are here.”

  “You’re coming with me,” Emma said.

  “Really? What are you going to do? Use that golden toothpick of yours on me?”

  “Not unless I have to.” Emma took no small amount of satisfaction to use a piece of cloth torn from Jasmine Saleem’s dress as a gag for Isis. Despite this, the woman’s eyes still glowed haughtily at Emma. “Don’t make any trouble and I won’t have to hurt you.”

  Emma wrapped the cape around the both of them so no one else would see them. This came not a moment too soon, as footsteps pounded up the stairs. A trio of police officers ran up, their weapons at the ready. Emma flattened she and Isis against the wall to let the officers pass. Isis didn’t so much as flinch in her grasp at this, which worried Emma more than if the woman had struggled.

  Once the police had gone, Emma started down the stairs with her prisoner. At the bottom of the stairs they came upon more police, these clad in SWAT equipment. Again Emma expected Isis to try something, but her prisoner remained cooperative. Did she see Emma as that minor of a threat?

  The next major obstacle came by the study where she had left Dan. From inside the room, Lieutenant Donovan barked orders like Mustafa the chef. For a moment Emma considered going inside to check on Dan in case the police had done something to him, but she knew she couldn’t risk it. She quickened her pace to hurry Isis along the corridor.

  They came to the pantry, which in turn led them down to the wine cellar. At least no one had come down here yet. “You can open it,” Emma said as she dropped the cape. Isis meekly complied; she reached her hand into the empty slot to trigger the switch.

  The hidden door opened. To Emma’s dismay the witches were not there. Where had they gone? Had they gotten lost? Had the police taken them with the rest of the party guests?

  “Don’t worry, your friends are safe. For now,” Isis said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Just step on the symbol and you’ll find them.”

  Emma considered this for a moment and then decided she didn’t have much choice. She couldn’t carry out her plan without the witches’s help. “This had better not be a trick,” she said, though it was a feeble threat.

  Emma pushed Isis forward and followed her until they both stood on the stick figure drawn on the center of the floor in the room. Nothing happened for a moment. Then she saw the hieroglyphics along the walls begin to glow. Once these had reached a nearly blinding intensity, the figure on the bottom of the floor began to follow suit.

  There came a flash of white light—

  —And Emma found herself in a room larger than a football field. The walls, ceilings, and floors were all the same shiny black as the Black Dragoon—the same black as Isis’s eyes. There were statues at least twenty feet high of the goddess, larger versions of the one Dan had found in the desert. Torches provided the only light to cast harsh shadows about the room, which she supposed was all part of the intimidation Isis sought. At the very back was an altar in front of a hundred-foot statue of Isis.

  “About time you showed up,” a familiar voice said. Emma turned to see Becky behind her in the Black Dragoon’s armor, except for the helmet. When she put this on, her eyes glowed red. The Dragoon said, “Now you’ll die.”

  Chapter 28

  Emma saw the witches behind the Dragoon, their hands raised in either supplication or defense. Mrs. Chiostro said, “I’m sorry, dear. We didn’t want to risk hurting her. I hope you understand.”

  “Hurt me?” the Dragoon said with a snort. “You can’t hurt me. None of you hags’s parlor tricks can touch me.”

  “Becky, what are you saying?” Emma said. “Mrs. Chiostro is your friend. She made your wedding dress. Don’t you remember?”

  “I care not for friends.”

  “Rebecca, please, let us help you.”

  “I don’t need your help!” The claws pointed to Isis. “The master provides all the help I need.”

  “She doesn’t want to help you,” Emma said. “She only wants to keep you in her power. She needs your help to regain her strength.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Becky—”

  “I don’t want to hear any more from you!” The Dragoon’s hand trembled; Emma waited for a claw to leap out at her but it didn’t. “I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago.”

  “You can’t. If you do, I’ll kill Isis.”

  The Dragoon only laughed at this. “You couldn’t kill anyone. You’re the hero. I’m going to enjoy tearing out your heart.”

  The Dragoon lunged at her. Emma pushed Isis away so she could somersault away. She rolled into a kneeling position and brought out the Sword of Justice.

  The battle had begun.

  ***

  Mrs. Chiostro and Tabitha seized Isis before she could hit the floor. They pinned Isis to the stone floor of the pyramid; Tabitha held down her legs and Mrs. Chiostro took her arms. Isis struggled very little, a sneer on her face. “What are you planning to do, wait until I cry ‘uncle?’”

  Sylvia came forward and reached into one of her many pockets for a set of golden chains. From experience, Mrs. Chiostro knew there was no one better to tie knots from which no one could escape than Sylvia. As a student of offensive magic, she had learned all of the various knots used to ward off demons and other evil spirits. The chains had been forged from the idol of a golden calf; whether the magic in these chains could hold the dark one or not remained to be seen.

  Once Sylvia had bound Isis’s hands and feet with the chains, Mrs. Chiostro and Tabitha climbed off her. The witches spread apart to stand in a triangle around Isis’s prone body. “This is precious,” Isis said. “You think your feeble magic can destroy me?”

  Mrs. Chiostro nodded to the others. From her pocket she took out a simple rag doll to use as a vessel for Isis’s evil spirit. Then she began to intone the words for the banishment spell. The spell had been designed to cast out demons, not a goddess like Isis. Whether it would work or not remained to be seen.

  The other witches began to chant the words over and over again. Mrs. Chiostro felt a twinge of excitement when she saw a glow form between them in the triangle. Isis remained unmoved; she looked almost bored with the proceedings. Mrs. Chiostro chanted the words louder and focused on each syllable. She could feel the power surge within her as the magic strengthened. The glow around the triangle became wider, until it threatened to envelop Isis. As the witches chanted louder, the glow became even more intense; it finally brightened the ends of Isis’s hands and feet.

  She screamed with rage. “It’s working!” Mrs. Chiostro shouted. “Keep going.”

  Isis began to thrash around in the triangle like a hooked fish. The glow crept up her limbs to swallow her up to the neck. Her eyes took up a glow of their own; they turned a volcanic red. The features of her dark face shifted to become monstrous, like those of the Black Dragoon. Her wild hair knit itself together until it became like the snakes of Medusa. These serpents had red eyes that echoed those of their master.

  “You cannot defeat me!” Isis roared. The skin on her face turned black and hardened like that of one of the statues in the pyrami
d. The serpents that wound around her head leaped out to bite at the witches. One latched onto Tabitha’s left leg. The witch cried out in pain. The flesh around the bite turned purple as if bruised and then continued until it was the same black as Isis’s face. The darkness spread up her leg until the entire limb had become black. The skin hardened into stone, at which point the serpent finally released Tabitha.

  Tabitha screamed in agony and stumbled away. The darkness spread throughout her body; it started with her waist and other leg and then worked its way up. Her arms were the next to go, locked in an expression of pain while her hands clawed futilely at the air. The chest came next; Tabitha’s breath turned to a wheeze before it was snuffed out completely as her lungs hardened into ash. By the time the darkness turned her face to stone, it was already too late; she was dead.

  “We have to keep going!” Mrs. Chiostro said.

  “Fuck that!” Sylvia said. She reached into her pocket for the bronze and bone daggers. She used these to slice at the black serpents; she lopped off three of their heads. Another came at her; she stabbed it with one dagger and then used the second to slice off the serpent’s head. In the process she opened herself up for another serpent.

  This one bit her on the left wrist. Sylvia pulled back and screamed more with rage than pain. She collapsed to the floor and shouted a string of epitaphs as her left hand turned black. Before it could harden and the contagion spread, Sylvia raised the bronze dagger in her right hand. She brought the weapon down hard to cut off the hand above the wrist.

  Through gritted teeth, Sylvia said the words for a fireball spell. A stream of flame shot from her good hand to course across the stump of her left wrist. Sylvia sighed with relief and then passed out on the floor.

  The glow around Isis faded from white to pink and then a vibrant red. Mrs. Chiostro threw a hand across her face a moment before a shockwave lifted her from her feet.