Wolfsbane

by William W. Johnstone

  “If this is what you do for an encore, Madame Bauterre, it sucks!”

  The form vanished.

  The lights popped on.

  Victoria Bauterre stood before him, close enough to touch. Her dark eyes were coals, burning with a red perversity, the evil directed at him. “So glad to see you, Mr Strange. I was wondering if you had lost your courage and run away.”

  Pat laughed at her, watching the hate flare in her eyes. “The house is quiet, Madame. Where are the servants?”

  “Waiting, as they have for years. As always, though, Sylvia is near to see to my needs.”

  “Sylvia, huh? I figured she was part of this little game. Phoebe?”

  “She put the salt cross in front of your door and tried to call down the Dark One to destroy you. She does not know you are . . .” She suddenly stopped, as if her voice were controlled by a master switch.

  “. . . Protected?” Pat asked, finishing her sentence.

  Victoria said nothing.

  “I guessed as much, lady. But I sure don’t know why He picked me.”

  Pat walked past her, into the dining room. The shattered chandelier lay where it had fallen, bits of glass reflected the ruin, casting shadows of light against the wall and on the polished floor.

  “Looks like shit in here, Victoria. Where are we gonna eat from now on?”

  “I don’t care for your crudeness, Strange. Watch your vulgar tongue in my presence.”

  Pat laughed at her. “You, talking to me about vulgarity? That’s funny, lady. Your soul belongs to the devils so fuck you!”

  Her face paled; her hands turned into talons. Then, as she realized what he was doing, she relaxed and smiled. “Good, Strange—very good. I don’t know how many points you’re making with that kind of language, but it does show you have imagination in dealing with me. That’s good. We have a few more days before I have to move. Ample time in which to play our games.”

  “I’ll make a deal with you, lady.”

  She shook her head. “You for the lives of the rabble in this miserable village? No! No deals, Strange.”

  “Wrong,” Pat said.

  “Oh? I’m not wrong often, Strange.”

  “Me for Janette. If I agree to play the game—and I have not fully made up my mind about that. You beat me, you got me. But she goes free.”

  She laughed and denied his request. “No. For you see, I have plans for the two of you.”

  “I can just imagine, lady. Children by us, with your mark on them.” He held the riot gun loosely in his right hand.

  “You are a constant source of surprise to me, Strange. You look like a Louisiana redneck, but your mind is surprisingly sharp. Yes, that is correct. Now, Strange, I’ll offer you a bargain.”

  “Roll the dice, lady.”

  “The people who killed my husband, or their offspring, will die, Strange. Believe that if you believe nothing else. There is nothing you can do to prevent that from occurring.”

  Pat stood quietly, saying nothing.

  “You and Janette give me a child. Boy or girl, it makes no difference—although I could control the gender. I will know the instant she conceives. The child is mine. You both have disappointed me the past few days.”

  “You get your kicks as a voyeur?”

  She laughed at him. “Your technique could stand some improvement, Strange. But we’ll have centuries to work on that, I assure you.”

  Pat chose not to follow that line of conversation. “But in a few days, you’ll be dead. Probably by my hand.”

  “I doubt that, Strange. In a few days my present form will be dead. But I—we—will live on. The child will be mine—ours, if you persist in fighting me. Janette can leave in safety.”

  “What does Janette say about this . . . bargain?”

  “She spat at me.”

  Pat spat on the floor.

  “Pity, although I guessed that would be your reply. Look at your boots, Strange.”

  Pat glanced down at the floor, He was encircled by snakes. The reptiles, every poisonous snake he had ever encountered in his years of globe-trotting, lay coiled and hissing at his feet, waiting to strike should he move.

  “Now what is your reply, Strange?” Victoria asked.

  Steeling himself, Pat stepped over the snakes. The vipers vanished.

  “You are either the bravest man I have ever seen, or the most blatantly stupid,” Madame Bauterre said.

  “I’ve heard that before,” Pat replied. “One question?”

  “Ask.”

  “The . . . creatures—are they possessed by the devil, as you, or are they merely pawns in this game?”

  “I am not possessed by the devil, Strange.” Victoria’s smile was evil and knowing. “I accepted him eagerly, centuries ago. As for the others: that is something you will have to decide.”

  “What else could they be but possessed?”

  She spread her hands. “Decisions, decisions, Strange.”

  Then she was gone.

  Pat climbed the stairs to Janette’s bedroom. She was sitting by the window, staring out at the darkness. When she turned her face to him, he could see that she was been weeping.

  “My own grandmother,” she said. “Do you know what she proposed?”

  “Yes. I gave her the same reply.”

  “I want to leave this state, Pat. Right now. I’m packed, ready to go.”

  “I don’t think she’ll let us leave, babe. I’m not sure I want to leave.”

  She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Pat, the woman is a monster!”

  “More than you know, Janette. But,” he shrugged, “she was sent here to do a job. I can appreciate that.”

  “Pat, she worships the devil. She has to be a part of his church!”

  “Yes, I know that. If I’d used my head, I could have known that from the beginning—and why I came here. But our leaving would accomplish nothing.”

  “It would save our lives, our souls.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But even if it did, it would not spare our conscience.”

  “I’ve got two children I have to think about.”

  “She can’t touch them—for some reason.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Have they ever been in this house? Your kids, I mean. Your husband?”

  “No, none of them. Neither had I until a few months ago.”

  “Then that has something to do with it.” He looked at her. “I think I killed a relative of yours tonight.”

  She nodded. “I know. Grand’mère told me. It was my uncle. ”

  “The one we chased all over Georgia looking for?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was afraid it might have been your father.”

  “She told me about him, too. In great detail. Really, more than I wanted to hear.” She looked up at him. “That dream I had the other night?” He nodded. “It was true.” Tears rolled down her face. “He . . . resisted them all. My mother killed him.”

  “Your grandfather?”

  “He never wanted any part of the curse. He’s really dead. She told me that just moments ago.”

  “Make me a child I can call my own!” the voice screamed at them.

  Janette cringed, closing her eyes.

  “No deal,” Pat said.

  “I want a child!”

  “Leave us alone!” Janette screamed at the voice.

  “Hysterics will gain you nothing except a sore throat!” the voice cautioned. “Look out the window. ”

  Janette looked out onto the dark grounds. The darkness seemed to vanish. In its place, the grounds around Amour House were bathed in an eerie greenish light.

  “Remember how you used to dream your nightmares, Janette—as a child? Now see them in full bloom. ”

  Pat watched her face fill with horror as the yard became alive with grotesque monsters, figures out of a child’s mind. “They are not real,” he said softly. “Keep that in mind. The night is still there, only we can see the light and the monsters.
They are from your imagination, Janette. That’s all. Push them away.”

  “I . . . can’t.”

  “Do it!” he ordered harshly.

  Sweat beaded her forehead as she concentrated. The light began to fade, the monsters blurring. The night returned, the creatures vanished.

  “Strange, you will pay for that!” the voice hissed.

  “Sticks and stones,” Pat muttered.

  A large limb came crashing through the window just down from where Janette was seated. It was followed by a large stone. The intrusion showered them with glass; the stone smashed into a mirror across the room.

  “As you wish, Strange.”

  “I wish you would go away.”

  The voice did not reply.

  “All right, then answer this: how can you prevent us from leaving? What can you do to stop us, short of killing your granddaughter. I know now you can’t kill me. Yet,” he added.

  “The answer is in your question, Strange. As a last resort, only. ”

  “I see,” Pat murmured. “All or nothing, eh?”

  “Precisely.” The voice faded. The room was silent.

  “She has to be present, in some form, when the man and woman make love,” Pat mused aloud. “That’s how she marks the seed. Now I know what she meant when she said we had disappointed her so far.”

  “She’s been watching us?” Janette said. “That’s disgusting!”

  “Janette? When you were telling me about those journals, didn’t you say something about a devil’s curse?”

  “Yes. That’s what they had written.”

  “All right,” Pat said. He paced the floor, kicking aside broken glass and bits of bark from the limb. “That makes part of the job easier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I won’t be killing some poor bastard who is only mentally ill and nothing more. Get your things together, we’re getting out of here.”

  “You are going nowhere!” the disembodied voice shouted, its echo ringing in the room.

  “You don’t have anything to say about it,” Pat said, checking the loads in his riot gun. “You can’t prevent us from leaving.”

  “I can do anything!”

  “Bullshit! You might be able to harm Janette, but you can’t touch me—not yet. Think about it. You harm her, and I’ll go to Annie Metrejean. She’ll get her daughter and granddaughter together and start all their powers working against you. I don’t think you want—not yet. Now, open that damn door.”

  After a few seconds, the door to the bedroom swung slowly open. The hall was dark.

  “No!” the voice screamed. “I’ve changed my mind. You must stay. ”

  Pat ignored the screaming. “I’ll get my gear, be back in a minute.”

  “Damn you to an eternity of agony, Strange!”

  Pat packed a few things, grabbed up the bag, and walked back into Janette’s room. “Let’s go.”

  But the door suddenly slammed shut, the lock snapping.

  Pat dropped his suitcase to the floor and pulled his .41 mag. He shot twice at the doorknob. Every second round was Teflon-coat. The doorknob blew out of the door and flew across the hall, denting the paneling. He lifted the pistol and shot the hinges off the jamb. The room filled with the enormous explosions and gunsmoke. The door sagged, then fell into the hall.

  Victoria’s voice rang with fury. “You’ll stay in the parish?”

  “Maybe,” Pat said, pulling Janette along. They were in the hall.

  “You have to promise!”

  He led Janette quickly down the hall and onto the great curving steps.

  “Promise me!” she screamed.

  “I don’t make pacts with a devil’s whore,” Pat shouted.

  On the ground level, Sylvia suddenly appeared before them, but this was not the Sylvia as before. Janette screamed in fright at the sight of her. Sylvia’s hair was disheveled, her face bloodless, her lips slick with drool, her teeth fanged. She snarled at them.

  Pat fought back revulsion. “You really ought to see a dentist, baby.” He forced the joke past his lips. “You ain’t never gonna catch a man lookin’ like that.”

  She howled at them, her breath putrefying the air.

  Pat pumped a round into the shotgun. “Get her out of the way!” he shouted. “Or I’ll blow her apart.”

  A cold, hard wind blew through the house, overturning vases, tilting portraits. Sylvia backed away, off to one side, her lips still in a snarl.

  “Keep going, ugly,” Pat said. “Back over there against the wall. And close your mouth. Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll bite yourself.”

  Sylvia answered the wind by backing up. She stood against the wall, her eyes pouring out hatred.

  Pat pushed Janette toward the front door. “Start the car. I’ll be along in a minute.”

  “Stay with me, Pat!”

  “Go on!” He shoved her out the door. He waited in the open door, his back to the outside, until he heard the sound of the engine cranking. “I ought to burn this house down to the ground, Victoria. I ought to kill that old bag over there with her teeth hanging out”—he glanced at Sylvia—“and burn this house down around both your skinny necks.”

  Victoria suddenly appeared in the hall entrance. She laughed, pointing a finger at a bare wall next to Pat’s right. An image appeared there, like a large TV screen. A woman, a man, and three younger people. They were partying in a home. Pat recognized his sister.

  “Judy,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” Victoria said. “With her husband and three children. Miami. Now look at this.”

  The picture changed. His brother’s image came into view. He was sitting in a leather chair, watching TV.

  “Chicago, Strange. Oh, here is his wife. Rather a plain-looking woman, isn’t she? And oh, my, now. That’s their daughter. She’s in her apartment, across town. You’ve never seen her before, have you? Strange? Oh, that’s right, yes, you have. Your brother showed you her picture just after the funeral, didn’t he? Isn’t she a beautiful young lady. Her name is Natalie. Would you like for me to arrange a meeting for her? My Master knows a very nice young man in Chicago. He can arrange it easily. The young man has a rather peculiar-looking birthmark on his chest. It’s in the form of a five-pointed star.”

  Again, she laughed. “Or perhaps you’d like to witness your brother having a heart attack? Or your sister being gang-raped. Would you like to see that, Strange?”

  “I’d rather not,” Pat said drly.

  “Then when you receive the rules—in only a few days—are we in accord with them?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “None whatsoever, my darling warrior.”

  “I’m not your darling, you old bitch!”

  “You will be, Strange. You will be.”

  When elephants fly, Pat thought.

  “I can arrange that, too,” Victoria said.

  Oops! Pat thought. “How do I know what I’m seeing is actually taking place?”

  “Watch.”

  The TV set in the picture suddenly vanished. Pat’s brother sat upright in his chair. “What the hell?” he shouted. “Ruth. RUTH! My God, what’s happened?”

  An explosion shook the floor in front of Pat, momentarily blinding him. He looked down.

  What was left of a TV set lay in ruins on the floor.

  “There were framed photographs on the set, Strange. They are now in front of you. Pick one up—look at it. No, not that one, the one to your right. That’s it. Now, what do you see?”

  “My mother and father,” Pat whispered. “My brother, my sister and me. I remember when this was taken.”

  “There is writing on the back of the picture.”

  “Yes. I know. I know what it says.”

  “Watch the wall, darling,” she commanded.

  Pat lifted his eyes. His brother was gesturing wildly at the wall where the TV set had once been. His wife stood in what appeared to be mild shock.

  The wreckage in front of Pat suddenly v
anished, the picture was snatched from his hand, cutting one finger slightly as it withdrew. His brother and sister-in-law looked bewildered as the wall in front of them was back to normal, everything in place. They walked, hand in hand, to the set, picking up the pictures.

  “My Lord!” the wife said. “There is blood on the corner of this picture.”

  “Impossible,” the husband said. “It’s all just a dream. . . a hallucination we’re having. Those mushrooms we had for dinner. Where’d you get them?”

  The picture faded.

  “I would imagine the conversation from this point on will be rather dreary, darling. But please, use the phone—any phone—to call your brother in Chicago. Verify what you have just witnessed. It should be an amusing conversation.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, Victoria.”

  “Very well. We have time left us, Strange. Lots of time for me to win the game.”

  “Too bad I can’t wish you luck.”

  “Good night, Strange. And,” she laughed, “pleasant dreams.”

  “Yeah,” Pat muttered. “The same to you.” He picked up his suitcase and walked into the warm night, to the Cadillac and Janette.

  “God, I thought you were never coming out!” Janette said. She tore down the driveway before Pat could get settled in the seat. “Where to?”

  “Let’s fall in on Sheriff Vallot. We might catch him in the middle of something—or someone.”

  She grinned for the first time in hours. “Pat, you’re impossible!”

  The silver bracelet on her arm caught the light.

  Pat smiled.

  Edan was flustered and Stella was embarrassed; it was obvious they had been in bed when Pat knocked on the door. But their embarrassment vanished when he began telling them of the events at Amour House that evening.

  “I have an idea,” Stella said. “But I don’t want to speak of it here. I want us to be near my grandmomma when we talk about it. We’ll go see her at first light.” It was not a question.

  “Yes, dear,” Sheriff Vallot replied meekly.

  Pat grinned. “You’re hooked,” he said, winking at Edan. “Might as well put a ring on her finger and get hitched up, man starts saying ‘yes, dear’ in that tone of voice.”

  Janette punched him in the ribs. “Get our luggage out of the car, Pat.”