Grimstone: A Croft and Wesson Adventure

by Brad Magnarella

  Helga was sitting upright, her great chest heaving, eyes smoldering red. She bared her teeth—iron teeth, I realized—and ground them together. Sparks flashed from her mouth as she stood.

  “No, no,” I said quickly. “What James meant to say was that we’re here to request your help, and to request it most humbly, your great, um, matronly one.” I threw myself on the ground in prostration, tugging on James’s pant leg to do the same. He lowered himself grudgingly, but the damage was already done.

  The room darkened, and astral storm winds began tearing around us. I tried to push myself from the floor, but a powerful domination spell pinned me. I could hear James straining beside me. We cycled through our repertoire of invocations, but without my cane or his wand to channel energy, the efforts were too weak to overcome her potent magic.

  “You dare offer Madam Helga your help?” she shouted from the center of the maelstrom.

  When she twisted her long fingernails in front of her, spectral talons raked the length of my back, spilling hot blood down my sides. The pain! My arms buckled, then collapsed. With the next raking, I felt the fibers of my back muscles rip open. She was flaying us alive.

  “Keep your help,” she screeched. “I will take your pathetic lives instead!”

  Outside the windows, the giggling imps crowded against the glass.

  5

  The next rake of the invisible talons scraped over my vertebrae and the backs of my ribs. Beside me, James released an inhuman grunt. The pain was beyond unbearable. I gnashed my teeth as I tried to twist away.

  Helga began to laugh, an awful, guttural sound that shook her flesh.

  That ignited a grain of anger inside me. Being done in by a morbidly obese witch was one thing, but I’d be damned if I was going to let her stand in front of us and enjoy it. I couldn’t channel enough power to break her hold over us, no. But I had my mother’s emo ball.

  I wormed my fingers into my coat pocket until the tips encountered glass. With the contact, a warm sensation tingled up my arm. I grasped the enchanted object, and the warmth spread throughout my body, thinning the pain. The witch’s laughter faltered.

  I pushed myself up to a kneeling position. Helga’s face scrunched up as she redoubled her efforts, cheeks reddening beneath the white powder. More sparks flashed from her mouth.

  “As a matron witch, you are powerful.” I said. “But your power is ineffective over the virtuous, the pure of heart, and”—the emo ball glowed white as I held it out—“those protected by a mother’s blessing. And there are few blessings more concentrated than this one.”

  The love for me that my mother had instilled in the ball pulsed brightly.

  Helga looked from the ball to me and James, then let out her breath in an exhausted huff. She sat heavily on the divan, her magic spent.

  I let out my own breath, but there was still the matter of our wounds. With my free hand, I touched my back, afraid of what I’d feel. My coat wasn’t in bloody shreds. It was intact, along with the skin, muscle, and bone beneath. James appeared to be coming to the same conclusion about himself. Helga had hit us with an enchantment meant to inflict pain and the terror of impending death, but we were unharmed.

  “Bolwig,” she called. “Fan me.”

  The lead imp reappeared with a frond-like fan, which he proceeded to wave above her. She pressed the back of a hand to her brow and sighed beneath the gusts of air, her mascara-caked eyelids fluttering closed.

  James aimed his eyes toward the elevator as though to say, Let’s get the hell out of here.

  “I will tell you what you want to know,” the witch said suddenly.

  I looked over at her in surprise. “Yes, Madam Helga?”

  “But on two conditions. One, you will tell no one outside of the law, for that is who you are working for, yes? And two, you will agree to complete a task for me at a time of my choosing.”

  Everything I’d ever read on witches warned against making bargains with them. They were notorious for changing the terms, which were weighted in their favor to begin with. And the tasks were often nefarious. Who knew what Helga had in mind for us. I swore at the turn of events. We were going to have to look for a lead into the disappearances elsewhere.

  “We agree,” James said.

  I whipped my head toward him. He gave me a reassuring nod that did not do its job.

  “But on the condition that only I perform the task,” he continued, “not Everson. You see, Everson doesn’t live in Grimstone.”

  “Very well,” Helga replied tiredly.

  I had expected her to balk, but the effort of casting against the power of my mother’s orb had taken the starch out of her. James grinned at me. The poor bastard had no idea what he was signing up for.

  Helga shifted her great bulk on the divan and hacked into her fist. “The girls I employ here are my babies. I take them in. I shelter and protect them. I love them one and all. When my precious Dawn was stolen, it was like someone had torn her from my own womb.” Helga held her vast belly and let out a dramatic sob. “I was sad, yes, but also furious that someone would dare steal her. You do not take from Helga.”

  I nodded, remembering the story about the trucker she’d turned into a slug.

  “With the Eye of Baba, I searched for her.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said. “But the ‘Eye of Baba’?”

  Helga dug a hand between her breasts and emerged with a round pendant that hung from a necklace. At first glance, it looked like a giant pearl that had begun to yellow. But when she rolled it between her fingers, I realized it was a glazed eyeball. She aimed the staring pupil at us.

  “The Eye of Baba sees all,” she said. “Through it, I can reach anyone, even in his dreams. With the Eye, I looked for Dawn. I looked for the one who had taken her. And when I found them…” Her breaths caught in her chest and her great body began to shudder. The imp fanned faster.

  “What?” I asked, unable to help myself. “What happened?”

  “I was strangled,” she said, gripping her throat while she continued to pant. “By a great and evil power.”

  “Could you tell what it was?”

  “I felt only greed, like a bottomless pit. I cast a dread spell through the Eye, but the greed swallowed it. I then put all my strength into an inflict spell, to injure it. It was just enough. The being released me.” Helga unclenched her throat and her breathing normalized. “It was the first time the Eye of Baba had ever failed me,” she finished, stuffing it back between her breasts.

  “So we’re talking about something powerful,” James said.

  Helga ignored James’s very obvious observation. I understood now why she hadn’t wanted to talk to the sheriff’s department. Her business was built on her reputation. She didn’t want word getting around that there was a being in the area more powerful than she was, one who could steal her girls at will. I was also beginning to suspect Helga had agreed to talk to us in the hopes a pair of magic-users might be able to do something where she had failed.

  “It sounds like you injured this monster,” I said.

  “Yes, the being you seek will be half blind. My spell struck its right eye.”

  That was something, anyway. But we needed a more solid lead. “Do you happen to know if Dawn received a gift of jewelry before her disappearance?” I asked. “A gold bracelet, maybe?”

  “Our clients sometimes give them gifts. I do not know about any bracelets.”

  “Is there someone we could talk to who might?” We needed to milk as much out of the bargain as we could. Lord knew, she would do the same with James when it came task time.

  Helga sighed. “You may talk to Carla. She is a friend of Dawn’s. You will find her in Lot C.”

  I bowed. “Thank you, great Matron.”

  But now that the witch had revealed her weakness, she was not so pleased with the praise. If anything, it seemed to irritate her. Her eyes shifted to James.

  “When the time comes to fulfill the bargain, I will send
Bolwig. Do not try to back out, or the Eye of Baba will find you. Now leave, both of you.” She waved a hand dismissively. “And take your filthy shoes.”

  Lot C was a triangular expanse of asphalt and chain-link fencing lodged in the northwest corner of the highway exchange. Though it was late morning, massive rigs filled the lot. Several more cruised for empty spaces, diesel engines downshifting, brakes hissing.

  Carla, the contact Helga had given us, was in the middle of a job, a girl told us. She’d waved absently in the direction of some parked rigs, and we now sat in James’s Jeep facing them, waiting for Carla to emerge.

  “Dude, that was intense,” James said, twirling his wand around a finger and thumb. I was examining my cane to make sure it hadn’t suffered any damage. At Helga’s order, the imps had returned our items—by throwing them down into the hotel parking lot. I hoped I’d never have to deal with Helga or her imps again.

  “I can’t believe you made a bargain with a witch,” I said.

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “There’s a reason I ask you not to talk in those situations. You have no idea what she’s going to have you do.”

  “My problem, not yours.”

  I gave him a wry look. “Like with the werewolves?”

  “Hey, I’ll cross those bridges when I get there. It’s called taking it one day at a time. You should try it. Might do something for that permanent worry line in your forehead.”

  “Well, one of your bridges has been pushed back, anyway,” I said, letting the dig pass. “Doesn’t sound like we’re dealing with werewolves.”

  “I picked up on that too. Any idea who the blond-snatcher could be?”

  I set my cane between my legs and shook my head. “Just some vague hunches. The ability to resist Helga’s magic suggests either a powerful warlock or something from another plane.” We weren’t dealing with anything virtuous or protected by a mother’s love, that was for damn sure.

  “Like a demon?”

  “Maybe, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need more info. Hopefully, this Carla can provide it.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  I looked over at James. “Like what?”

  “The sheriff’s whole song and dance about checking in? Not glancing at a suspect or witness without her say-so?”

  “Oh, so now you’re a rule hound?”

  “Hey, witches and werewolves are one thing, but Marge is another beast altogether. You do not want to get on her sore side. Believe me.”

  After seeing Marge in action last night, I understood where James was coming from. “Here’s the thing,” I said, working out the logic as I spoke. “Helga gave us permission to talk to Carla, but she didn’t say anything about the sheriff’s department. They weren’t part of the bargain. We let Marge in on this, and she’ll want to interview Carla herself. Helga might consider that an affront to her authority and reinstitute the gag order. And then we’ll be looking at a big fat goose egg. And you’ll still be on the hook for the task. We’re actually doing Marge a favor here.”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself, man,” James said. “But when the shit hits the fan, it’s your butt, not mine.”

  “There she is,” I said, nodding across the lot. A young woman fitting Carla’s description was climbing down from one of the truck cabs. She landed on the asphalt, tottering on her high heels for a moment before straightening her skirt and clacking toward a small concrete bunker house. A red purse dangling from one shoulder slapped her narrow hip.

  “C’mon,” I said, getting out of the Jeep.

  “Shouldn’t we let her, you know … clean up first?” James asked. But I was already crossing the lot. I didn’t want to lose access to our interviewee. Muttering, James followed at a jog.

  We headed Carla off, arriving in front of her. She was older than she’d appeared from a distance. Lines had begun to pinch her eyes, and her exposed belly was going doughy. But Helga’s enchantment had a beer-goggling effect. I only realized I was staring when she cocked an eyebrow.

  “Help you boys?” Her voice was southern and seductive. The enchantment, I reminded myself. I incanted softly to blunt its effect. When Carla spoke again, the same voice sounded croaky. “We don’t do two-fers here. One of you’s gonna have to wait your turn. I’ll let you figure that out. Which rig is yours?” She brought a hand to her brow and squinted around the lot.

  “No, no,” I said, finding my voice. “We’re not here for that.”

  “Then you best scoot. Our matron doesn’t care for gawkers.”

  “She actually gave us permission to talk to you,” I said. “We’d like to ask you some questions about your friend Dawn.”

  Carla’s face stiffened, then turned somber. She leaned her back against the chain-link fence. Only after she’d fished a cigarette from her purse and lit it did she brush the thin, copper-brown hair from her eyes and look up at us again. “What do you wanna know about her?”

  “What happened to her?” James blundered in.

  When I glared at him, he turned up a hand as though to say, What?

  “Let’s back up,” I said to Carla. “First, how well did you know her?”

  “I was Dawn’s mother.” When she saw our confused looks, she explained, “Our matron assigns the new girls a lot-mother, someone to show them the ropes, look out for them, you know. I loved Dawn right off. Little sweetheart, and she learned quick. Didn’t need a lot of hand-holding, like most of the newbies ’round here. On our down time, we’d share a smoke and just talk about whatever.”

  “Did she ever talk about leaving?” I asked.

  “If she did, it wasn’t to me. Fact, one of the last time’s we chatted, she told me she was saving for a down payment on an apartment. Had a place picked out and everything. She figured she’d have enough in ’bout four more months. Was sick of living in the trailer park.”

  Had someone known that and enticed her with promises of money? I wondered. I thought about the gifts of jewelry some of the other girls had received. “Did Dawn have a significant other?”

  Carla snorted smoke from her nose. “Kinda hard to hold onto a man in this line of work, doncha think? Doesn’t mean we don’t try, but it almost never works out.”

  “How about an admirer, then?”

  “Truckers fall in love with us all the time.”

  “Can’t say I blame them,” James put in, flashing his most charming smile. I could see by his eyes that he hadn’t bothered to blunt the enchantment. Carla gave him a thorough up and down and smiled back.

  I angled myself between them. “Did any of them give Dawn a piece of gold jewelry? It would have been in the days or weeks before her disappearance.”

  Carla frowned and shook her head. “Not that I can remember.” She paused. “Well, now hold on a sec. Last time I saw her, she had on this bracelet. Dull-looking thing, sorta ugly. Not the kind someone would wrap up and tie a bow around. But now that you mention it, the bracelet looked like it coulda been gold.”

  “Would you mind drawing what it looked like?”

  Carla shrugged, parked the cigarette in a corner of her mouth, and accepted my notepad and pen. A minute later, she handed them back. The sketch, which was surprisingly good, showed a wrist with a thick band encircling it.

  “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the top of the bracelet where she’d drawn something that looked like a pi symbol.

  “It was scratched in the metal,” she said.

  A sigil? I wondered. “Did Dawn say where the bracelet came from?”

  “No, we didn’t talk much that day. She was acting sorta distant, like she was on something.”

  “Distant how?” I pressed.

  “Glassy-eyed. You’d say something, and she’d say ‘What?’ and you’d have to repeat it. That sort of thing. Our matron wants us to stay clean, for business, you know? She gives any girl who falls off the wagon this gawd-awful drink that cleans them right out, kills the addiction. I was gonna ask Dawn if sh
e needed to go see Helga, but Dawn had already gone home.”

  “And that was the last time you saw her?” I asked.

  Carla nodded and looked off to her left, wiping a tear away with the heel of her palm.

  “Guess she got taken like the rest of those girls, huh?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” I said softly. “Did you ever notice anyone watching her? Taking a special interest in her? Not a trucker, necessarily, just anyone who seemed … different.” I was thinking about the symbol and the perp’s ability to resist Helga’s magic.

  “Hey!” someone shouted. “You g-g-get away from her!”

  I turned to find a hunched man in blue coveralls shambling toward us, a set of keys jangling from his waist. He looked to be in his forties. A graying bowl cut flopped around his head. He’d been picking up trash with a long grabber, and now he wielded it like a weapon.

  “You’ve g-g-got no business here!” he stuttered.

  “Relax, Elmer,” Carla called. “They’re not hurting me.” Then to us in a lowered voice, “Elmer does odd jobs around the lot. A little simple, but he’s got a heart of gold. Always been real protective of us girls, even more so since Dawn disappeared.”

  Elmer arrived in front of us, his bottom lip curling from a set of crooked teeth. He panted as he looked from me to James, his grabber still raised as if he meant to whack one of us in the head. I backed up a half step to make James the easier target.

  “Elmer,” Carla scolded gently. “Put that down.”

  Elmer continued to snarl at us, his right eye bloodshot and weeping. “Not g-gonna let them hurt Carla,” he said, wiping his eye with a shoulder.

  Carla sighed. “It’s nothing like that. These men are here to help.” She moved behind Elmer and, sliding her hands down his arms, got him to lower the grabber. “There you go, sweetie.”

  “Yeah, Elmer. We’re cool.” James raised a hand to high-five him.