The Rules for Lying

by L. A. Kelley

  “The first test is don’t be destroyed?” I barked in disbelief.

  “Oui. Good one, too. The bayou is littered with the bodies of those who failed.”

  “Littered?” I didn’t like the way the conversation headed. “How many dead are we talking about?”

  Much to my relief Amelie interrupted. “What do we do with Clovis?”

  With a grunt, Odile rose to her feet. “Nothing for the moment, other than make him comfortable. When he wakes we will know how much of his mind is retained.”

  They lifted Clovis onto one of the bedrolls. I offered to help, but Mrs. Hart put her paw on my chest. She dragged over a blanket which I tucked gratefully behind my head. I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was Amelie offering me something to eat. The shadows in the cabin had lengthened considerably as morning progressed to afternoon. A fluttering snore reverberated from the corner.

  “Clovis has been like that all day,” Amelie said, as a gargling snort ripped through the air. “What a racket. Unfortunately, a personal code of honor forbids me from stabbing him to death.”

  “Pity.”

  “I think so.”

  “Has he spoken?”

  “Not a peep.

  I didn’t hide worry well because she asked what was wrong. “If Clovis doesn’t recover enough for us to get answers, then the whole trip was a waste. We’re no closer to facing the conjuror than before.”

  “The impatience of youth,” clucked Odile. She handed me a cup of the strong chicory-laced coffee preferred here. “Do not fret. You have done what you came to do.”

  I took a sip. “I’m not so sure.”

  “I am.” She scrutinized me with fierce intensity. “You used natural magic, Peter. The talent is inbred and can’t be taught. Why, the very air crackled with mystical energy. True, it was raw and untamed, needing focus and direction. The ability to recognize the lie cast around a victim requires time and training to hone, but I tell you no other shaman could have done better for Clovis. Even I could not penetrate the spell.”

  “Why not?” Amelie asked.

  “Although I perceived an enchantment, I couldn’t see the surrounding barrier the way Peter can. The deep magic takes many forms. Mine is of the swamp, the healing powers of the plants, and the energy of the spirits. Peter and Clovis share a special ability. They can each see beyond the magic of a lie to the truth underneath.”

  Her declaration took me aback. “You mean a spell is nothing more than a lie?”

  “Certainement! A lie clouds the truth of a person’s words while a spell clouds the truth of a person’s reality. A spell is much more powerful, but at their essence they are one and the same—nothing more than lying. Any skilled shaman can recognize the effect, but the difference between you and Clovis and someone like me is you both can destroy the essence without having to face the conjuror or know the original spell. The magic is not easily done. You have the makings of a cracking good shaman.”

  Amelie elbowed me in the ribs. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you get a big head, unless you like the idea of hopping around half-naked through the swamp.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Odile patted my hand. “You did your best. Once Clovis awakes, we will see if the spell’s destruction was enough to penetrate the fog in his brain.”

  I still wrestled with doubt. “Are you sure Clovis can help against a conjurer as strong as Pike?”

  “My dear boy,” trumpeted a voice from the corner, “I assure you, whether conjurer, witch doctor, medicine man or shaman, I possess the necessary skills to subdue all mystical threats—and my rates are quite reasonable.” Clovis sat up and frowned, “I feel a draft.” He peered in confusion at his lap. “Where are my pants?”

  Odile toddled over to him. “Well, it’s about time you joined us. Do you know who I am?”

  Clovis glared at her. “Of course I know who you are, Odile. Are you playing some kind of joke?” He scanned the interior, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Where am I? This isn’t my cabin. Fair warning, woman, though you are a colleague in the otherworldly arts, I will attack without mercy if you attempt to probe for my secrets.”

  “Clovis, be quiet and listen. No one, least of all me, wants to probe you for anything.”

  “You were always jealous.”

  “Clovis!” Odile squatted down and pinned him with an unflinching stare. “Hush! I’m not here to rob you. I’m here to help. We are in your cabin. You abandoned it when your mind was addled after trying to open a doorway into the Lower Worlds.”

  “Nonsense,” Clovis sputtered a protest, but uncertainty flashed across his face. “I most assuredly didn’t…wouldn’t…did I?”

  “You did.”

  “Oh, dear,” he said weakly. “I take it the attempt didn’t go well?”

  “You’re wearing a gunny sack. What do you think?”

  “How long ago?”

  “Nearly six years. You’ve been hopping around calling yourself King of the Frogs ever since.”

  “Six years?” Clovis collapsed against the wall, stunned. His voice trailed away. “I was always partial to frogs….”

  I prodded Odile. “Ask him how to open the door into the Lower Worlds before he goes nuts again.”

  Clovis pinned me in an icy glare. “Who are you?”

  Odile made introductions once more. Clovis managed a shaky bow. When Odile got to Mrs. Hart, the shaman grasped a paw to shake heartily. “Madame, a pleasure. I see I’m not the only one who had a run-in with the dark. If it’s any consolation, terriers have always been my favorite dog.”

  I took recognition of Mrs. Hart as a good sign. “You know she’s a woman.”

  “Of course.” he sniffed. “I’m no French Market voodoo priest catering to the tourist trade.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Focus, Clovis,” said Odile. “I told you already. Peter broke through and cleared your mind.”

  He eyeballed me with obvious skepticism. “Nonsense. I did it on my own. My powers are exceptional.”

  “Clovis Landry,” Odile snapped, “you did no such thing. Peter brought you back and you know the truth. Doesn’t he, Peter?”

  “Yep, that statement was a lie.” I glared at Clovis. “I can always spot a lie.”

  He pouted at being called out. “No need to shout, boy. I have the ears of a hawk.”

  “And a mind as clear as swamp water.”

  “Mind your manners,” Clovis harrumphed. “My thoughts are as sharp as a finely honed sword. Ask your question.”

  “How did you open a door into the Lower Worlds?”

  Clovis crossed his arms and gazed at the ceiling. “Anything, but that. I don’t want to talk about it.” He inhaled deeply. “Do I smell coffee?”

  I had enough. “We slogged all the way through this swamp to find you!”

  “You’re mighty impertinent, Magic Boy. One arcane maneuver does not make you a full-fledged member of the League of Professional Shaman.”

  “I freed you.”

  “I’d have freed myself eventually.”

  “Yeah, you were certainly on the road back—hopping around with your butt flapping in the breeze and all.”

  Clovis turned to Odile. “As I was saying,” he purred, “before I was so rudely interrupted…coffee?”

  “Fetch him a cup, Amelie. Don’t mind Clovis,” she whispered to me. “He’ll come around once he’s heard your story.”

  “I liked him better as a frog,” I grumbled.

  Clovis sat at the table and Amelie handed him a steaming cup. As we talked, Clovis’ sullenness turned to rapt interest. By the time Odile described reading the bones, the coffee cooled, the cup all but forgotten in his hands.

  “Feu De L’enfer,” he murmured.

  “Is the name familiar?” asked Amelie.

  “No.”

  “That’s a lie,” I said.

  Odile shook her finger at him. “Clovis, we’ve been honest. The least you can do is return the favor.” />
  He shifted around in the seat to avoid her eyes. “Perhaps, I have heard the name before.”

  “You’ve more than heard it.” Odile said in an accusatory tone. “The demon is tied to the reason you opened the door.”

  He nonchalantly ran his finger around the rim of the cup. “Maybe.”

  “Clovis!”

  “Oh, all right. I read the signs of a demon probing for an escape route. You know the persistence of these creatures. I thought if I forced a confrontation while it was trapped…”

  Odile shook her head. “Clovis, how could you? Feu De L’enfer could have escaped.”

  “I took every precaution.”

  “Hardly. You lost your mind as the result.”

  For an instant, the shaman opened his mouth as if to argue and then his shoulders sagged. His whole demeanor projected defeat. “Yes. I was foolish.”

  “And arrogant.”

  Clovis heaved a resigned sigh. “And arrogant.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, alarmed. “You mean the same demon after Esther is the one who attacked you?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

  “What else aren’t you telling us?” demanded Amelie.

  “Go ahead,” Odile ordered angrily. “You can’t hide the truth. They’ve earned the right to know. Really, Clovis, your actions were inexcusable.”

  The last of the bluff and bluster melted away. “I never met a creature I couldn’t subdue and this one taunted me. Demons are weakest in their own dimension. I was confident I could kill it there, but the Lower Worlds are harsh and Feu De L’enfer is powerful.” He hung his head. “By the time I escaped, the damage was done.”

  “You proved to the demon the escape route was viable,” said Odile.

  “Yes, so Feu De L’enfer went hunting for someone else to create a door.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nothing Instills More Confidence in a Plan’s Success than Watching the Blind Lead the Insane.

  Amelie scratched her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “In certain areas of the Lower Worlds,” said Odile, “the fabric connecting our two dimensions stretches thin. A door can be generated in such a unique location, but can’t be detected by the creatures within. Feu De L’enfer could have hunted for an eon and never found the right spot. However, once Clovis arrived, the demon sensed a human approach and realized an escape route was possible.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Clovis said meekly. “I believed I could kill the demon quickly. Anyway, Feu De L’enfer can’t open the door or find the exit alone.”

  Odile harrumphed. “Which made the creature more determined to locate a person who could.”

  “Like Esther, you mean.” I added bitterly. “The story keeps getting better and better.”

  Odile was furious. “Feu De L’enfer readily struck a deal with Pike because the demon needed a servant on this side to find someone with Esther’s unique gift. Clovis, people have already died because of the conceited belief in your own invincibility. Esther’s cousins were murdered. Her life is in danger. Peter was nearly killed—not to mention what happened to Lucy.”

  Clovis hunched over in remorse. “I didn’t want—”

  “You intentions don’t matter now.” I leaped to my feet. “We have to set things right. Are you going to help us or not?”

  Clovis stood, towering over us. If he thought to use intimidation because of his height, he miscalculated. Amelie stood beside me shoulder to shoulder. “I’m with Peter.”

  Odile joined her. “As am I and the rest of my family.” Mrs. Hart barked her two cents worth, too.

  Clovis caught and held our determined expressions. For the first time his demeanor held a glint of amusement. “Revolt, eh? So much for the power of the throne. A shaman may be in you yet, boy, if you can get three females to stand by your side with no argument.” He rubbed his chin. “We’ll need a plan.”

  “Which doesn’t have to be devised here,” said Odile. “Chris will return to Andre’s cabin soon with the boat. If we leave now, we’ll arrive before dark.”

  “Andre’s not expecting us to stay for dinner, is he?” Clovis asked with a shudder. “I don’t suppose his cooking improved over the last six years?”

  Odile patted his arm sympathetically. “Unfortunately, not. Don’t worry, I’ll make our excuses. Is there anything you wish to take from the cabin?”

  Clovis scanned the remains of his tattered life and heaved a resigned sigh. “No.” He tapped the side of his head. “Not to worry. Everything of importance is right here.” Understandably, the words held no comfort.

  We packed the gear and left. Clovis took the lead, insisting he knew a shortcut to bring us to Andre Savoy’s homestead in half the time. I had doubts and kept a wary eye on the Frog King in case he decided to detour into the Turtle Kingdom to launch a final shell-flipping sneak attack.

  Clovis’ shortcut was no easy amble along Canal Street. We slogged through dense foliage. The clouds gathered again and Odile warned us to expect another afternoon shower. We pressed on to beat the storm and soon arrived at a cut, a shallow channel between two sections of the swamp. Clovis pointed to the opposite bank. “Through there. Andre’s cabin is no more than a mile ahead.”

  Clovis, Odile, and Amelie waded across. Mrs. Hart pawed at the water. Although not deep, the steady current held concern for someone her size.

  “Want a lift?” I said. She wagged her tail.

  I bent to pick her up and froze at the sound of a gravelly hiss. Two beady eyes glinted from the vegetation. A gator raised a massive head from no more than a yard away. A deep rumble issued from the maw. The jaws gaped open to expose wickedly sharp teeth. The spell broke when Mrs. Hart growled.

  “Don’t,” I whispered.

  Whether spooked by my voice or the sudden realization of an angry dog nearby, the gator tensed, choosing the strike spot. Blood pounded in my ears. The monster would charge. At this distance the gator couldn’t miss.

  A rifle cocked. Amelie shouted across the water, “Peter, move!” I couldn’t have picked a worse spot. I was between Amelie and the gator, blocking the shot. A rush of primal fear flooded my senses. Run, my mind screamed, but my legs refused to obey.

  My skin tingled. Mystic forces gathered around me.

  “A wall…” murmured Clovis to the gator as he waded through the water. “stone…smooth surface…nothing you can climb…nothing the danger can get over…” The illusion of a sturdy granite barricade three feet high instantly appeared separating the gator from Mrs. Hart and me.

  The gator hissed again. “This place is not safe,” Clovis said. “You are penned in with no escape. You don’t want to be here.” He conjured a series of splashes leading to the channel. “Follow the sound. Plenty of good fish are nearby.” The gator hugged the wall, slid into the cut, and then submerged underwater. A trail of bubbles broke the surface, leading away from us and into open water.

  The wall disappeared. Amelie ran to me. “The illusion was amazing, Peter. Even the gator believed.”

  “Peter didn’t do it,” Odile stated with confidence.

  “She’s right,” I said. “The magic was all Clovis. That was a heck of a lie. I never knew you could tell one that others could see.” I faced him with gratitude. “Thanks.”

  Clovis’ complexion was pale and drawn. “You’re welcome. I’m a bit rusty, I’m afraid. It was merely a simply illusion, but took far too long to set in place and the texture and color were all wrong.” He shook his head ruefully. “Sloppy, very sloppy—wouldn’t have fooled a third-rate conjurer for a moment.”

  Amelie regarded Clovis with newfound respect, although nothing dulled her brute honesty. “You may not be as useless as you appear.”

  To his credit, Clovis took no offense. “Merci. I will endeavor not to disappoint.”

  Once we reached dry ground again, Clovis led the way through the brush. His once brisk pace now slowed to a shamble. In his weakened state, the small bit of magic obviously wore
him out. After pausing a third time to rest, I worried whether we’d make Mr. Savoy’s cabin by nightfall. Traveling a mile through the harsh conditions of a bayou was a lot different than strolling along paved city streets. The sky had darkened considerably while thunder rumbled in the distance. I had no desire to spend another night in the swamp without the benefit of at least a crude shelter.

  With an exhausted sigh Clovis plopped onto an old stump I swear we had already passed twice. “Odile, his concentration is failing,” Amelie griped under her breath. “He’s running us in circles. Do you know where we are?”

  “I haven’t been this way before, but I don’t think the path to Andre’s is far. If we keep heading in this direction we should arrive soon.”

  “If we don’t?”

  Odile shrugged offhandedly. Spending the night here didn’t bother her one whit. Amelie scowled, wiping a sweaty hand across her brow. As the humans in the party clumped together waiting for Clovis to recover his strength, Mrs. Hart pointed her nose in the air and sniffed. Suddenly, she yelped an alert and tore into the brush.

  Amelie was instantly on guard, dagger in hand. “Where did Lucy go?” she demanded of me.

  Between the heat, humidity, and the encounter with the gator, my nerves wore to a raw edge. Amelie’s insistence on lickety-split information bugged me. “How should I know? I don’t speak dog. She didn’t sound worried, though.”

  Amelie swatted impatiently at a persistent mosquito buzzing around her face. “Oh, you can tell from a bark? Aren’t you clever?”

  The sudden brush with death finally took its toll. I was tired, crabby, hungry, and done with slogging through the bayou. “If you paid more attention, you’d know Mrs. Hart always warns with a growly yelp and that was definitely a…a…yelpy yelp.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” she sputtered. “You’re making everything up.”

  I did, but refused to admit the truth. So I attacked with a clever retort. “Am not. You’re ridiculous.”

  “Mine was a perfectly reasonable comment,” she hissed, sounding a lot like the gator.