Deal with the Devil

by Kevin Lee Swaim

  There was a ding as Callie followed me into 7-Eleven. She saw me staring at the packages of jerky, grabbed a handful of them, and proceeded to pay for them along with a bottle of Coca-Cola and a Diet Sprite. She shoved the jerky at me. “You should eat.”

  We left the store and stopped next to the truck. A seemingly endless line of cars whooshed by at a rate well above the speed limit, and a few poor souls braved the heat, either walking or bicycling along the sidewalk.

  I tore open the first package, and when the smell of beef and teriyaki hit me, the hunger I had worked so hard to suppress came roaring back.

  This is the stuff.

  I wolfed down the entire package, barely chewing it, then twisted off the Coca-Cola top and downed it in long, fizzy slurps. The ice-cold soda took the edge off the heat, and I found myself wishing I had savored it.

  Callie held the bottle of Diet Sprite to her forehead, then opened it and took a sip. “God, it’s hot.”

  “Callie,” I said. “Language.”

  She smiled. “I wasn’t taking His name in vain. I was praying He would help.”

  I smiled at that, then swiped beads of sweat from my own forehead. It was late in the afternoon, but the city seemed as if dusk could fall at any moment. “It is way hotter than normal for this time of year. Must be all the concrete in the city.”

  “No,” Callie said. “This is unusual. It must still be in the nineties. I’ll bet it was close to one hundred degrees today.”

  I grunted. “Hot as hell.”

  “Language,” Callie said.

  “Hot as heck, I meant.” I opened another package of jerky and chewed it slowly, trying to make it last. The hunger within receded, happy to be placated. “I wish I had another Coke.”

  Callie sipped again from her Sprite. “We’re wasting time.”

  “I know. You ready?”

  “Not really,” Callie said. “Do you think Henry is up to something?”

  “Things aren’t really like they seem. Come on, Callie. There are Ancients here. Missing men. Even whole gangs of vampires—”

  “Clutches,” Callie corrected.

  “Whatever. The Order is mixed up with the local church, and you have that nutcase, Garski, running around. Now we have to go see a witch?”

  Callie put her hand on my shoulder. “We don’t have a choice. Remember Davis Johnson? There are hundreds, if not thousands, of people wondering where their children went. How can we ignore that?”

  “You really think they’re still alive? Don’t be naive. They’re dead already. Maybe it was a vampire, or maybe it was something else, but those men are probably dead.”

  She squeezed my shoulder. “I agree with you.”

  “You do?”

  “If we don’t find out what happened, many more could be killed. We have no choice.”

  I hated to admit it, but she was right.

  There really is no choice.

  * * *

  Madame Wang’s Spiritual Medium and Tarot Emporium was located down a set of steps and behind a garishly painted gold-and-silver door. The name of the shop was lettered in black-and-red script in a style that hadn’t been popular in decades.

  I raised my hand to knock. “You think we have anything to worry about?”

  Callie frowned. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

  “What?”

  “I understand that expression now. I’m not saying I agree with it, but I understand it.”

  I gave her a pained look and then banged on the door. There was an echo inside, long and washed out, like the room inside was the size of a football stadium. I turned to Callie, raised an eyebrow, and whispered, “It’s a trap. It’s got to be a trap.”

  Callie nodded and whispered, “Try the back?”

  “I think there’s an alley behind the building.”

  We made our way south to the end of the block, turned west, and soon found ourselves in the alley behind the building, staring at an ugly door with Madame Wang’s name stenciled in white.

  I reached for the doorknob, but Callie caught my wrist.

  “You have your Kimber?” she whispered.

  “Good point,” I said. “We’re learning. Slowly, maybe, but we are learning.”

  She nodded as I removed the Kimber from my ankle holster. It was still loaded with silver bullets, but that would be more than enough for a human being. I kept it close to my side, just in case anybody was watching, then twisted the doorknob.

  It was unlocked.

  I entered the building cautiously, my eyes dancing from side to side, but the storage room beyond was empty.

  Empty of people, at least.

  Wooden crates and boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling. The walls were covered with shelves loaded with even more boxes. Some of them were primitive and crudely constructed. Many were painted with Chinese lettering, or at least I assumed it was Chinese lettering.

  Callie followed me in, grabbed her nose, and whispered, “What’s that smell?”

  I put my hand over my mouth as the bile began to rise. “It smells like a hippo fell into a cesspool.”

  The smell wasn’t overpowering—it was debilitating. My legs turned rubbery, and I grabbed Callie’s hand and staggered through the packed room to the only other door. Callie’s arm grew heavier, and she slowed, dragging me backward.

  “Callie! Come on!”

  There was no response.

  I whipped around just in time to see her eyes roll back in her head as she slumped to the floor.

  All thought of stealth was forgotten. I grabbed her in my left arm and, using my heightened strength, threw her over my shoulder and staggered back the way we had come.

  The door to the alleyway seemed so far away, and my feet felt like they were stuck in wet cement.

  “It is a trap! Come on, Callie. We have to…”

  The door to the alley blurred, shrinking to a distinct point far away, but I kept muscling my way toward it. Every step took a Herculean effort, but I refused to stop.

  As my hand stretched out and touched the knob, I realized I wasn’t going to make it.

  Sorry, Callie. I just couldn’t—

  * * *

  An electric jolt coursed through me and my eyes snapped open, trying to focus. I was staring up at black ceiling tiles, and when I turned my head to the side, I puked out sticky soda and beef jerky.

  My stomach finally emptied, and I inspected the room around me. It was at least the size of my old diner, with a table in the middle covered in red velvet. The walls were covered in matching red velvet drapes, and the place reeked of incense—sage, perhaps, or something more exotic.

  Callie lay next to me, and hunched nearby was an animal that looked like a dog had been bred with a wild boar. It had wickedly long yellowish tusks that ended in gleaming points, and it was drooling as it stared at us. There was an intelligence in its eyes, as if it was smarter than an animal, and it sniffed the air and growled so low that it made my chest vibrate.

  “He doesn’t like you,” came an old woman’s voice.

  I turned and found a tiny Asian woman watching me. She looked ninety years older than God. Her snow-white hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, and her yellowed skin was so wrinkled that it looked like someone had draped a full-size person’s skin over a child.

  “You must be Madame Wang,” I said. Or, tried to say. I got half of it out, then choked as she raised her hand.

  “Don’t speak, foul man. Don’t speak, or move, or breathe. Why did you come here? Why bring me into your mess?”

  “Well—”

  The woman raised a finger and another jolt of electricity coursed through my body. “I said to be quiet, you fool. Why involve me in this?”

  “I—”

  Another jolt hit me, and I doubled over, my face striking my knees.

  “Silence!”

  “Jesus, lady, I have to speak to answer!”

  The
jolt hit me again, and although it seemed to last forever, it was probably no longer than twenty seconds. The smell of the incense was now overpowered by the smell of burning hair and skin.

  “You shall not speak. Speaking brings me closer to you. I cannot be closer to you. Unless…”

  I glared at her, waiting for the next shock. “Can I speak now?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “You may not, animal. Your limited understanding of the situation provides no meaningful information. I must decide.”

  “Decide what?”

  She bent over and glared at me, her finger pointing at my face, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  This must be what it feels like before you get struck by lightning.

  I wondered if the next jolt would stop my heart. I wondered what Madame Wang would do with Callie. I wondered if Henry would eventually find our dead bodies.

  Will I finally see Stacie and Lilly again?

  The energy around me crackled and then ever so slowly dissipated.

  “Speaking with you may be the catalyst,” the old woman muttered. “Or not speaking with you. If I kill you and the girl, I may bring about my own death. But if I help you, that may also bring about my death.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “In that, you are correct,” the old woman spat out. “You do not understand. I read my own fortune and foretold my death. The cards, the bones, the ball, even the tea leaves. All the same. All the same…”

  The old woman shuffled to the table and took a seat, smoothing her embroidered gold robes. Her eyes never left mine. “Such a young man. Such anger. Such … regret. I read your fortune. Would you like to know what I saw?”

  “Not particularly.”

  The old woman grunted. “A wise answer. Knowing the future is a terrible burden.”

  I sat up, waiting for her to shock me again, and when it didn’t come, I asked, “Would you please tell me what is going on?”

  The old woman shrugged. “What does it matter? I am dead, in the end.”

  I glanced over at Callie, who was moaning and thrashing her tennis shoes against the floor. “Please.”

  “I have spent my life entertaining people with my meager talent, but I do have the true gift. I learned magic and used it to supplement my natural ability. I did this in the hope that I might cheat death. I was foolish enough to believe that I might live forever. Now I know I will not cheat death. You have brought about my end.”

  Chapter Nine

  I stared at the old woman. “I’ve brought about your end? How? We came—”

  “You came,” the old woman hissed, “because you wanted my help.”

  I licked my lips. “That’s true, but how could that cause your death? I’m not being a smart-ass. I just don’t understand.”

  The old woman sighed. “My death is now intertwined with your arrival. I thought if I held you captive, it might stave off the inevitable. No matter how I look, I see nothing but my death. Whether I help you or turn you away matters not. Your arrival brings my death.”

  Callie was moaning and trying to sit up.

  “Don’t move,” I said to her.

  “What—what happened?”

  “Ask Madame Wang.”

  Callie pushed herself up into a sitting position, turned to the old woman, and promptly slumped back down. “What did you do to us?”

  Her voice was shaky and weak, and I felt a hot stab of anger in my gut. For a brief second, I had the urge to grab Madame Wang by her throat and snap her neck, to feel her spine break as easily as a chicken’s.

  The doglike creature took a step toward me and snuffled, then growled again. The old woman turned to me, and her eyes widened. “You are not entirely human.”

  That shook me. Very few people could recognize that I had killed vampires and undergone the change. “You’re more powerful than you seem.”

  She bowed her head. “A few drops of water, carefully gathered and well-tended, eventually fills a teacup.”

  “Help us,” I said. “We can protect you.”

  “From what?” the old woman asked. “There are forces at work you do not understand. You face things that…”

  “That what?”

  Madame Wang looked away. “It matters not.”

  Callie took several deep breaths and managed to sit up without falling over. “We need your help. Many young men are missing.”

  The old woman sighed. “They are dead.”

  “Are you sure?” Callie asked, her voice cracking.

  “I have felt it.”

  “Felt what?” I asked.

  “Their deaths. Each life was … taken in a precise way.”

  “How do you know that?” Callie asked. She stood, staggered across the old tile floor, and almost fell before I caught her arm and steadied her.

  Madame Wang turned to Callie, and her expression darkened, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Each and every death made … cracks in my soul.”

  “Then why didn’t you do something?” I asked.

  She turned to glare at me. “Their deaths were staged for maximum effect.”

  “What does that mean?” Callie asked.

  “Someone, or something, is using death magic.”

  I looked from the old woman to Callie. “I don’t understand what that means.”

  “It means,” Madame Wang said, “that all those deaths, hundreds and hundreds of innocent souls, were sacrificed. I do not know why, but it is something…”

  “Something what?” Callie whispered.

  The old woman regarded Callie with sad eyes. “Something monstrous.”

  * * *

  “All those young men,” Callie whispered. “They’re all … dead?”

  Madame Wang nodded.

  “I can’t believe it,” Callie said. “Who would do such a thing? What kind of animal would take so many lives just to perform some … some kind of magic?”

  “Maybe it was a vampire,” I said.

  Madame Wang gave me a look usually reserved for small children when they said something dumb. “Death magic cannot be performed by the dead. Only the living may work such energies.”

  “So,” I said, “not a vampire.”

  The old woman stood and paced the room while rubbing her frail hands together. “Vampire. Not a vampire. What matters is that—” She stopped and stared at Callie’s arm.

  Callie caught her staring and glanced down. “What?”

  Madame Wang approached Callie and grabbed her hand. Callie tried to yank her hand away, but the old woman held Callie’s arm in a viselike grip and rolled up her sleeve, staring intently at the milky white skin. “What are those?”

  Callie rubbed her forearm. “What do you mean?”

  The old woman inspected the markings on Callie’s arm. They had initially been barely deeper than paper cuts, carefully carved into her flesh by the evil coven of witches in Monticello, Illinois. The wounds, while numerous and bloody, had finally scabbed over and healed until they were faint lines of scar tissue that formed incomprehensible runes. “Where did you get those?”

  Callie yanked her arm. “Witches.”

  “Those are not witchcraft,” Madame Wang said. “Those are something else.”

  “What are they?” I asked. I remembered how Callie had looked on the basement floor of Carlton Meriwether’s house, naked except for her panties, and covered in blood. An uncomfortable heat crawled up my body, part anger, and part something else that I refused to acknowledge. It made the tips of my ears burn. “What did the witches do to her?”

  “I … do not know.”

  “How can you not know?” Callie asked.

  “I’m not familiar with them, but I know that they are not any form of witchcraft. Wait here.” She shuffled from the room.

  I turned to Callie and asked, “Are you okay?”

  Callie was still rubbing her arm. “No, not really. All those young men are dead, Sam.” />
  “We already suspected—”

  “But now we know. Their lives snuffed out. Killed for no reason. We’ve got to find out why and stop it from happening again. It’s not right. It’s just not.”

  “I don’t know about just, Callie. We stop vampires. You heard her. It’s not vampires.”

  “No. We must stop this. Think, Sam. The Ancients are here in Chicago. The dead men. How could those things not be related?”

  “You’ve got me. Maybe they are related, but what are we supposed to do?”

  “We—”

  “We don’t know what’s going on, Callie. We don’t know who killed those men or what they are trying to accomplish. It would be a hell of a lot easier for me to point and shoot at something.”

  “But—”

  “This isn’t what we signed on for.”

  “This is exactly what we signed on for. We help those in need.”

  “Those in need?” I said. “The whole world is in need. All I’m good for is killing vampires.”

  “There’s more to the world than just killing vampires.”

  “Maybe for you, Callie. You’ve dedicated your life to God. I … didn’t really get that, at first. I don’t know how to help the world or bend to God’s will. I’m just a loaded weapon.”

  Callie’s face was flushed, and the delicate rose brought out the freckles across her cheeks. “What are you saying?”

  I took a deep breath. “Maybe we don’t share the same goals and maybe … we should think about going our separate ways.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I’m going to get you killed. Assuming I don’t get both of us killed. There’s got to be a better way for you to serve God than following me around.”

  “I’ve saved you a dozen times,” Callie said frostily. “You would be dead if not for me.”

  “Henry said we’re supposed to be partners, but you follow God first—”

  “You want me to choose you over God?”

  “I would never ask you to do that. Never. I just—”

  I was interrupted as Madame Wang shuffled back into the room. She carried a thick book the size of an old-fashioned road atlas and placed it on the table, opening it to a point near the back. “This is what you must see.”