Booke of the Hidden

by Jeri Westerson

  One of the men stood slightly in front of the others, and I wondered if he was the leader. He was tall and broad-shouldered. Under different circumstances, I might have called him good-looking. His face, under its dark hair and beard, reminded me a bit of the sheriff’s, but that was where the resemblance ended. He, too, had tats on the parts of his arms I could see, and a silver skull earring hung from his left lobe.

  The man to his right was tall and wiry, with dirty blond hair. He reminded me of a farm boy, and he looked like he’d be right at home in overalls.

  The other to his left was a husky skinhead with an upside-down pentagram tattooed on the side of his head. Ouch.

  “Uh…hi there,” I said, sort of saluting with the crossbow.

  The leader edged forward. “Nice weapon. Can I see?”

  “Oh…” I backed toward the Jeep, though I noticed the bikes were parked in a line right behind it. “You know I just got it and I’m a little reluctant to pass it around just yet.”

  “I just want to look,” he said, taking another step closer.

  “She said no, Doug,” said the woman. “And no means no. Right?” She smiled, indicating she meant the opposite.

  I’d had biker acquaintances back at the beach, so I generally wasn’t afraid of them. I knew a lot of the posturing was just for show. At least with the guys I knew. But these guys were an unknown quantity. They shifted closer, and the more they did, the more hemmed in I felt.

  “Kind of weird, you stopping here with this police tape on the building,” I said, giving it my best dumb brunette.

  “As weird as your stopping here?” said Doug, edging closer.

  Touché. And my explanation was probably as lame as his would be. I tried another tack. “Well,” I squeaked. “I’ve got to be getting along now.”

  “What’s your hurry?”

  “I have work to do. Lots of stuff. You know.”

  “But you have time for one beer, don’t you?”

  “Doug,” warned the woman.

  “Shut up, Charise,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “How about it, pretty lady? Have a beer with us.”

  “It’s a little early for me…”

  They closed ranks and I was effectively trapped. Even if I could make it to the Jeep, there was no guarantee of locking them out and bashing through those bikes. And then they’d really be mad.

  “Just one,” said Doug. “We can talk about this crazy crossbow of yours.” The others exchanged glances. Not Doug. He was still looking steadily at me, rocking slightly on his boot heels, and smiling. “There’s a place up the road.”

  Gifford Corner was one lonely place, and now it was down by one resident. There was only sporadic traffic along the highway, and I couldn’t see anyone in the one-pump gas station across the street. For all I knew, these guys owned that. Heart racing, I didn’t see any alternative. “Okay,” I said breathlessly. “I’ll follow you there.”

  “How about you ride along with me? It’s just up the road.”

  My heart had been thundering already from my encounter with the vortex of evil and hadn’t had a chance to settle down yet. All of my instincts were telling me to get the hell out of there, but I didn’t see that I could just make a break for the car. Besides, the crossbow was thrumming in my hand. Could I really use it on a person? I started to raise it when something caught my eye.

  Doug moved, exposing his throat. And there, shining from beneath the leather jacket on his chest was a necklace with a pendant; a pendant with the face of a demon, just like mine.

  My hand automatically went to my throat to touch the amulet hiding under my shirt. It was an impossible coincidence if he just happened to get one from the local Hot Topic, with green jewels for eyes instead of red.

  I guess that decided it for me. “Sure,” I said warily.

  Doug smiled, revealing a gold eyetooth. He gestured me toward the bikes.

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! I clenched the crossbow for dear life and walked to the back of my Jeep, wondering if I’d ever see it again.

  They looked like newer bikes. I knew a little about motorcycles, but not a lot. Though they all had the classic peanut fuel tanks, they also had fat front wheels, slammed handlebars, and blockhead engines. They were clean with shiny chrome and smooth leather. Not bad rides. It was just the company I didn’t like.

  Doug got on the black bike on the far right. Then he looked at me over his shoulder. I gave one more look around to see if there wasn’t any help and blew out a breath. It’s you and me, chthonic crossbow. I mounted behind him, getting a good look at the emblem of their club on the back of his leather jacket. An upside-down pentagram with a goat-faced dude with bat wings. It was surrounded by the words Ordo Dexterae Diaboli, whatever that meant. I had no choice but to slide one arm around him and tuck the crossbow into my side to keep it safe and out of the wind. He kick-started and the engine roared to life.

  The others quickly mounted their own Harleys and dual engines deafened me. He peeled out and I held on tight. Cold wind slapped my face and my breath whooshed out of me. My heart still hammered, because who knew what I was getting into now. Was it better than that evil vortex?

  I kept my eye on the road and glanced at our companions flanking their leader. I wondered about my chances if I just jumped off, but we were going a bit too fast to even consider it. I just hoped we really were going to a bar and not some deserted cabin in the woods.

  I tightened my hold on the crossbow.

  We seemed to be driving forever. My hand around his waist was freezing to numbness and my face was definitely feeling the burn.

  Finally, we slowed as we got to a bend in the road, and I saw a structure that looked like a wooden stable with a corrugated metal roof. It had a long porch following its face, with lots of bikes parked in rows in front. “Mike’s,” said the sign.

  We pulled in, the others coasting in right next to Doug into their spaces. He killed the engine and everything suddenly quieted, though my ears rang. I got off quickly and stood back, checking out every possible escape. Just this bar surrounded by forest. The others dismounted and headed in. Doug gestured me forward. I clutched the crossbow to my chest, followed the others up to the wooden porch, and went inside. I was instantly hit with warmth and smells of sweat, stale beer, and oily fries. The jukebox played grinding rock music.

  Some of the pool players greeted the gang with calls and arms waving. The place was fairly crowded for a Tuesday afternoon and most of the tables were occupied. But as my group made their way through, there was an empty booth, which seemed to be reserved for them. I was aware of people’s gazes. I didn’t know if they were staring at me—a decidedly un-biker chick with no tats—or the crossbow I was holding.

  They made me slide in first so I was hemmed in. Beers were ordered and I tried not to look like I was scared out of my wits. Although I felt just the tiniest bit hopeful that we were in a public setting and maybe they couldn’t try anything here.

  “Okay, pretty thing,” said Doug, swiveling toward me. “Why don’t you tell us about this crossbow?”

  I swallowed a hot lump in my throat. “Hey, how about some names? I mean I’m new around here. It’s, uh, nice to meet new people.”

  He grinned and turned toward his friends. They didn’t seem to share in his merriment and looked on with stoic faces. “She’s right. I’m Doug. This here’s Charise,” and he gestured toward the woman. She had a ring in one of her nostrils, now that I had a better look. “That’s Bob Willis,” he said, pointing to the man who looked like a farm boy, “and this is Dean Fitch.” The skinhead only raised a brow when Doug said his name. “The whole family. And, uh, you are?”

  “Oh. Kylie. Kylie Strange.” Charise chuckled at my name. “I’m…I’m over in Moody Bog.”

  “Kylie,” said Doug, scooting closer. “And what’s a nice girl like you doing with a crossbow like this?”

  “Well, it was a gift.”

  “A gift.” He shared a glance with the others b
ut didn’t move away, even when the waitress—a woman with more rings and pins in her face than I was comfortable looking at—brought the beers and set them down in front of all of us. He waited for her to leave before he slid his arm over the seat back, edging closer to me. “And what were you doing behind that police tape at Waters’s place?”

  “Oh, you know. Just…looking around. Could never resist police tape.” I tried to stare him down, but I was no good at it. I could stare down a demon, but not these guys. They somehow scared me more. I dropped my gaze to my lap and shook my head. “Karl Waters was helping me with something and the next thing I know he was killed. I just wanted to know if he left something for me.”

  “This crossbow, maybe?” He reached for it but I twisted away.

  “No! This was mine. I brought it for protection.”

  He leaned in so far I could smell his beer breath, and that was before he’d taken a drink. “Protection from what?” he rasped.

  Charise reached over the table and snatched the crossbow out of my hand before I could squeak a protest. “Just take the fucking thing,” she said, shaking her head in exasperation.

  I sat stunned. I had somehow thought she wouldn’t be able to take it. She was studying it and the others were gawking, trying to reach over her to touch it, but she shied away. “Hands off!” she cried. “I’m lookin’ at it.”

  “You want that, baby?” said Doug. “Maybe Kylie will give it to you as a present.”

  “I think she already did.” She smirked and rested the crossbow on her raised knee.

  Maybe it was the Booke, maybe the crossbow, but I suddenly got my wind up. “No, I didn’t. I’d like that back, please.”

  They all laughed, Charise the loudest. “Oh, you would, would you?” Her face suddenly changed to a grimace. “Try and take it, bitch.”

  Something was compelling me not to back down. “I don’t want any trouble, but I really think you need to return that.” My voice was a little shaky, but my expression was determined.

  Charise stroked the weapon and looked at me through her long, fake lashes. “Why should I?”

  “’Cause it doesn’t belong to you.”

  She snorted a laugh and rocked her head back.

  Doug glanced at Charise and her uncomfortable stroking of the crossbow. “Just where did you come from?”

  At first I thought he was talking to the crossbow, but when his gaze shifted to mine again, I straightened.

  “California.”

  He laughed. “Oh really. With that?”

  “I don’t see how it’s any of your business. I’d like to go now. With my crossbow, if you don’t mind.”

  He leaned in, a little too close into my personal space. “Well, I’ll tell you, little lady. The thing of it is, we need that. It’s a very special crossbow. We’re on a sort of…mission.”

  “Oh yeah? So am I. And I need it, too. And…and I had it first.” He was scary, all right, but strangely appealing at the same time. And then a little itch in the back of my head chased some of the fear away and gave me pause. “Why were you at the museum…and why do you know about this crossbow?”

  He smiled. “We were sent there. By a…friend.”

  The amulet.

  My skin broke out in gooseflesh. I had unwittingly moved from California to Demon Central. Crap.

  His eyes narrowed, gaze tracing over my amulet. It had slipped from my shirt and I had unconsciously covered it with my hand. He didn’t touch it but he nodded. “Are you a mage?”

  “A what?”

  “Kylie, Kylie.” He shook his head. “It’s not nice to ignore other practitioners in the area. At the very least, you should have introduced yourself. That smacks as…unfriendly.”

  “I’m not a mage,” I stammered. “Or a practitioner of whatever. I just sell tea and herbs. That’s it.”

  He gestured to the amulet. “This says otherwise.”

  “I don’t care what you think it says.”

  He glanced around at his companions before he turned back to me. “Okay. You want to play it this way? That’s fine. But know this. We don’t play nice. We don’t share. This is our territory. I’ve got plans. And I don’t intend to be just a slacker in this shit-kicking berg much longer. Always in the shadow of others. Me and my…my posse, here…have plans, see? We’ve got that promise straight from a…greater authority…that we’ll earn our reward. And that little item there—” He pointed to the crossbow. “—is our ticket.”

  My heart had been pounding before, but now it was doing double time. If he had a demon amulet, then it meant he, too, had a demon on the hook. Maybe one that wasn’t as friendly as Erasmus Dark.

  “Who are you guys?” I rasped.

  Doug smiled but it never reached his eyes. “People you don’t want to cross.”

  “If you know about the crossbow,” I said quietly, gaining courage from the thrumming weapon, “and this,” and I raised my amulet, “then you know…I shouldn’t be messed with either.” Shakily, I raised my chin. I tried to rise but Doug pushed me back.

  “I’ll ask you again. Where’d you get it?”

  I blinked but said nothing. No way was I going to rat out Erasmus. And I definitely wasn’t going to mention the Booke.

  Doug bit his lip then pulled a hand over his beard. “You could…you could join us.”

  “Doug,” warned Charise.

  “Be part of our plan.”

  “Doug!” Charise was more insistent.

  He turned to her. “What?”

  She fiddled with the crossbow. Her red lips twisted. “We don’t know anything about her. Just because she has this…and that amulet…”

  “Yeah,” said Dean, the skinhead. He turned his suspicious gaze on me. “We don’t know her.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Farm Boy Bob. “Let’s just take the crossbow and go. That’s what Shabiri told us to do—”

  Doug slammed his hand on the table. “Shut up!”

  His gang quieted. Charise smoothed her hand over my crossbow, and I didn’t like the feeling I got from her hands all over it, as if she were touching something precious to me. I was really getting pissed off at these weird feelings of possessiveness, and I entirely blamed Erasmus for them.

  Doug turned back to me then, his gaze steady.

  “You say you’re up in Moody Bog?”

  “Yeah.” My eyes darted around the noisy bar.

  Charise was yanking on one of the bolts but it wouldn’t budge from its slot. “Piece of shit,” she muttered. But in a whiney voice and with a coquettish tilt of her head that didn’t match the outward package, she said, “Doug. This doesn’t work.”

  “What’s that, baby?”

  She showed him by yanking harder on the bolt. I bit my lip, worried she would break it. “It doesn’t come out. None of them come out.”

  Bob leaned over her, reaching for a quarrel. “Maybe you’re not doing it right.”

  She slapped his hand and he drew back. The look on his face was pathetic, like a little boy getting slapped by his mother. “Don’t touch it! It’s mine.”

  She fiddled with it some more, and sighed dramatically. “Doug,” she whined again. “Make her show us.”

  Like an electric jolt running through me, I felt the need to move. Not just because of how hemmed in I was or because of the greater circumstances of my being forced to be here, but because I was being compelled. There was no other word for it. My limbs buzzed uncomfortably as much as they had on the back of the bike. I didn’t think. I just reacted.

  I was suddenly up on the seat back, and I sprang over it, landing feet-first on the floor. I didn’t know how I did it, but I had clearly somersaulted over the bench and made as perfect a landing as a superhero. Before I could be further shocked by my out-of-character actions, the crossbow suddenly slapped into my hands. It was armed. I swung it up, aiming the business end at a shocked Doug, who only had time to swivel in his seat.

  Charise screamed. “Did you see that? Did you see that?
”

  “Shut up, Charise,” said Doug, eyes glued to the crossbow.

  They were all staring at me. And if the drop in noise of the place was any indication, everyone else was staring at me, too.

  The pool players froze, cues in hand, mouths agape. The bartender stopped in mid-pour. Patrons at tables suddenly fell silent. Only the jukebox continued to churn its music into the bar.

  I licked my lips. “So…I’d like to go back to my car now.” The thrumming from the crossbow was so intense that I felt slightly light-headed, but also empowered in an electric sort of way, with energy pulsing through my veins and pinging off my joints. I felt I could take on anyone in the place.

  Chthonic crossbow: my new best friend!

  Doug slowly pushed his way from the seat, dislodging the gangly Bob. Bob stumbled up, and allowed Doug to stand in front of him. I kept my aim on Doug. “If you aren’t going to join us,” he growled, “then you’re against us.”

  “I’m not anything,” I insisted. “I just want to be left alone.”

  “Then I recommend you and your crossbow stay out of Hansen Mills.”

  “Jesus Christ!” huffed Bob. “Just take the thing back, Doug!”

  Doug glared at him. “You want to get shot with that? Be my guest.” Bob hesitated. “And that’s why I’m the leader, ass-wipe.”

  “She can’t touch us,” said Bob, still hesitant, body tense and coiled. “We’ve got the talisman, too. We have Shabiri—”

  “Shut the hell up, Willis!” His wild eyes took in the shocked patrons. He cocked his head at them and Bob finally slumped back.

  Everyone was still in standoff mode, and I wondered how long I could maintain it. Bob Willis still seemed itching to take me on, crossbow or no. Dean, with his skinhead tattoo, had pushed his way out of the bench along with Charise, and kept his steady gaze on me, as if looking for holes in my defenses. And Charise had her sharp-nailed hands curled into claws, anxious to scratch my eyes out.