by Jason DeGray
“Why would he do that? I thought Jonas closed the doorway. I thought he at least got that much right.”
“He let Jonas close the door. He’s up to something. He has another play in mind. I think he seeks to walk unfettered among men.”
Tracy paled. “If that were to happen and he had Power in his possession…”
Ragnar nodded. “Literal hell on earth.”
“This is serious. We’ve got to tell the Tribal Council.”
“No,” Ragnar insisted. “They won’t help us. They never wanted us to get married to begin with. They’ve forbidden me to practice and forced us to live outside the pueblo. What will you tell them?”
“Leave that to me, but their aid could be a big help.”
“Fine,” the warrior-shaman conceded, “Set a meeting.”
***
The Tribal Council sat at their table looking down their noses at the petitioners. Ragnar was right in that none of them had approved of Tracy’s marriage to him. She was special in the tribe. In her was the key to the future. The ancestors had returned and gifted Tracy with their medicine. But she ignored all this and married what amounted to a white savage. They forced them out of the pueblo, but the couple didn’t venture far. The tribe still loved and respected their medicine woman, but refused to let her bad choices corrupt the pueblo. And since then, they had been wary of any medicine she tried to work. It was the remnants of that respect that led them to agree to her petition.
“Fathers,” Tracy began. “In my dreams, I have seen the emergence of a great evil. An evil that threatens the very earth and seeks to usurp the Great Spirit.”
“What evil do you speak of?” asked the chief, David Red Deer.
“He is known as the Lord of Murder. A mighty demon who seeks to walk the earth freely among men.”
“What you say is impossible.”
“It is possible if the demon possesses an ancient artifact of evil—the book called Power.”
The council murmured amongst themselves, shooting hateful glares at Ragnar.
Chief Red Deer spoke, “Power. The same evil your husband came here seeking before he defiled our lands with his tricks? Tell me, daughter, who is really the one doing the dreaming?”
“The threat is real! It doesn’t matter whose visions it comes from.”
Once more, the council began murmuring amongst themselves and the energy in the room quickly grew morose.
“Fathers.” Ragnar’s voice boomed off the walls, rolling like thunder as he stood to face the council. “Please hear us. I came here out of duty. My order held the book called Power for generations before it was stolen by one of our own. The thief fled here and I followed. This was why I came here. It wasn’t until I laid eyes on your beautiful daughter that I knew what love was. I loved her so much that I gave up everything for her, for your tribe. I forgot my duty and because of that, the enemy has grown stronger. Many have died and many more will before it’s all said and done. Make no mistake. The threat is real for all creation.”
“You have forgotten your place! How dare you preach to us! Us! The ways of the ancestors have returned. They guide us. Your answer is ‘No’. We will not act on the visions of a heretical outsider.”
Tracy forgot her place too and exploded with righteous anger. “This goes beyond your petty distrust and meddling! This is the world we are talking about. All of creation. You can’t turn your back on this.”
They did exactly that. Silently, the council rose from their seats and exited without a backward glance in the petitioners’ direction.
Outside, Tracy fumed while Ragnar stood stoically, refusing to acknowledge the glares of passersby.
“I’m sorry, my love. I thought we could make them see.”
“It’s not your fault.” He soothed her, wrapping her in a bear hug.
“What’ll we do now?”
“We wait. The Ruined Man will return. And when he does, I’ll finish my work at long last.”
CHAPTER 13
There was no denying the esoteric ties to the Purple Gates murders (as the media had started to call them) and Barber was running out of ideas. The bear attack excuse only went so far. Other Purple Gates members had started dying since the attack. They were up to eight victims in as many months. Each victim was killed ritualistically and had their organs meticulously harvested like some kind of Jack the Ripper wannabe.
Barber didn’t want to think about Wolf and the Lord of Murder, particularly after what happened. But something just kept bringing him back to it and he was too good a detective not to follow a lead to see where it went. Besides, it was the only lead that made any kind of sense when he considered the possibility of an inside job.
Someone high up in the organization had to be doing damage control after the shitstorm of bad publicity caused by the bear attack and Jonas the Unrepentant’s involvement in the group. Anyone who knew anything had to be taken out. And if they were going to be killed already, why not try to finish what they started? Raising the demon. At the thought of it, his memory flashed back to that horrifying image he had witnessed that night. The monstrous thing hovering in the air, slaughtering cultists with simple glee.
“It was a bear, Frank,” he growled to himself. “It was a fuckin’ bear. You wanna end up like Wolf? At least he had a reason for goin’ bat shit. What’s your excuse?”
Twelve homeless men and women. That’s how many Jonas ordered the members of the group’s inner circle to kill last time. The thirteenth was to be the vessel for the Lord of Murder. That left four victims this time around, at least. And Barber swore he’d get ahead of the killers to put this crazy shit to rest once and for all. He’d do anything it took, even if that meant calling up some ghost hunters and asking them a few questions. In any other situation, he would staunchly refuse such unconventional means of assistance. Barber had never really been one for the paranormal. He was a skeptic first like most people. But desperate times…
“New Mexico Institute of Paranormal Research,” a male answered after a few rings.
“Hi. This is Detective Frank Barber with APD.”
The voice on the other end paused for a moment. “What can I do for you, detective?”
“I was wondering if I could schedule a consultation with Albert Caine.”
“I’m sorry, detective. Albert is booked for a while. It would be impossible to schedule an appointment for at least three weeks. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Barber was done being formal. “Listen, asshole, I don’t think you understand. I’m coming down there to talk to Albert Caine. We can do this on or off the record, it’s up to you.”
Barber could feel the controlled anger seething from the other end. “Fine. Come by this afternoon. I’ll be here until four.”
Barber pulled up to NMIPR at three o’clock. It occupied the far end of an old L-shaped adobe building converted into an office center. Its immediate neighbor was Madame Tower’s Psychic Readings and The Occluding Occult bookstore. In front of Caine’s establishment was a wax dummy of a stereotypical Native American sitting on a wooden bench. A sign, hung around the dummy’s neck with hemp string, read in faded letters: “Take a picture with Petey! Only $1! Ask inside NMIPR for details!”
Caine was busy with a client, so Barber browsed the occult bookstore next door. It was run by a large woman buried beneath excessive amounts of shapeless black cloth. She over-accessorized with dangling jewelry (most of which was fashioned into occult symbols of some sort) to the point that Barber thought she must be wearing her weight in gaudy trinkets.
“Hello,” she said amidst the jangling of her jewelry. “I’m Madame Tower. Here for a reading? Or is there anything I can help you find?”
“No. Just browsing,” Barber began and then thought of Wolf. “Actually, I’m looking for something on demons.”
The woman cocked her head. “Really? Looking to summon? I have all the materials.”
“Just the info for now, thank you.”
“I think I’ve got just the thing.” She negotiated her girth through the skinny aisles of shelves and stopped at the section marked “Demonology.” She scanned it briefly and selected a dusty tome. “This’ll work,” she said and handed the book to Barber.
“The Lesser Key of Solomon,” he read.
“It lists all the major demons in Hell’s hierarchy. The princes, dukes, marquises, that sort of thing. And it has some kinda outdated evocations.”
“What are those?”
“You know, rituals used to summon the demons. But like I said, they’re kinda outdated.”
“Who would want to raise demons?”
The storekeeper shrugged. “All kinds of people.”
“People like the Purple Gates Group?”
“You mean that cult that got attacked by the bear?”
“Yeah. Know anyone involved with it?”
“Nope. Sorry. Albert next door wanted to join for a while, but I don’t think he ever got in.” She handed Barber his book and change. “Have a good one.”
After returning to NMIPR, Barber was led by a silent Hugo from the waiting room into Caine’s office. It was a cluttered mess. Filing cabinets and bookshelves filled every available space save for a desk and a small table and chair. Papers and books sat in stacks where there was no room on the shelves. Barber noticed several degrees on the wall behind Caine’s desk, one of them being an M.D.
“You should really hire a sexier secretary,” he said as soon as the door was closed.
Caine chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. But I’ve never known a woman to follow directions and be as loyal as my dear Hugo. I’m Albert Caine. What can I do for you, detective Barber?”
“I was hoping you could help me with a few things. Answer a couple of questions.”
“I’ll do my best. I’m a humble man of science. I don’t claim any paranormal knowledge or ability.”
“I’m not asking you to see into the future. I can get that next door. I need information on the Purple Gates Group.”
Caine’s face didn’t betray anything, but he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well…unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of information. I always figured them for a glorified New Age book club.”
“Meaning?”
“All they ever did was hole up in that weird church of theirs and read occult manuscripts they dredged up from obscure sources. I heard they took expeditions to acquire new books or artifacts and did some semi-professional ghost hunting. But I never heard of them actually attempting anything they gleaned from their studies. Hence a book club and not a full blown cult.”
Barber nodded and scribbled in his notepad. “And what if they did? What are the chances of success?”
“Are you asking me how plausible it is to summon a spirit?”
“I suppose. More specifically, summon a demon.”
“I can’t, in good conscience, tell you it’s impossible. I can tell you that most of those rituals have been diluted and misused so often over the centuries that they are all but useless.”
“I see. Have you ever heard of a demon called, ‘The Lord of Murder’?”
“Demons don’t have names like that. They usually have names people can’t pronounce. ‘The Lord of Murder’ is probably a title. And there could very possibly be more than one. Why are you asking about summoning demons, if I may ask?”
“You can’t ask. Were you ever a member of the Purple Gates?”
More uncomfortable shifting. “No. Like I said, I always thought they were a glorified book club. Not my thing.”
“Right.” Barber put his notebook and pen away. “One more question.”
“Sure.”
“What’s a licensed M.D. doing hunting ghosts and goblins?”
Caine smiled coldly. “Personal experience has shown me that there are greater things in this universe than us, detective. I may be a doctor, but I’m not a blind fool.”
“Thanks. If you think of anything else, please call me.” Barber tossed a business card on Caine’s desk and left. Caine was guilty of something, of that Barber was sure. He knew far more than he was letting on. Madame Tower had mentioned he was rejected membership from the group. That was motive as far as Barber was concerned. He decided to follow Caine and see what direction he took him. He pulled away and parked up the road, far enough away not to be noticed, but close enough to see Caine’s car. He called his wife, told her not to wait up, and hunkered in for a long stakeout.
CHAPTER 14
Wolf was halfway out the door with a duffel bag of clothes slung over his shoulder and his guns in a tote bag when he ran into Miriam and Sven coming up the porch stairs. Miriam was stunned silent, part with relief that Wolf was alive and partly with rage that he’d put her through hell.
“Miriam? What in God’s name are you doing here?”
“You’re alive!” she managed to stammer.
“Of course I’m alive. You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”
“I know that, but I had to get a few things.” She shuffled her feet nervously. “The cops were here. Barber…there was blood, Vic. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Wolf glanced to Sven for the first time. His eyes immediately narrowed to deadly slits. “Who’s this? Victor 2.0?”
“Victor, this is Sven. Sven, Victor,” Miriam said.
Sven was well over six feet tall and had golden blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He was asininely good looking and Wolf hated him instantly.
“My god, Miri. You found yourself a Ken doll. I bet he’s cockless too. Just like all the other Ken dolls. Am I right? Or have you not gotten far enough to check yet?”
“Vic! Watch your fucking mouth! That’s not how it is. He’s on the counseling team at my mom’s church.”
“It’s okay,” Sven interjected. “Victor is undoubtedly in shock over seeing you with another man so soon after your…separation.” This last remark was punctuated with a challenging glance in Wolf’s direction that Sven kept from Miriam.
Wolf snorted. “Yeah, I’m in shock. That’s it. Sven, huh? Your parents really named you Sven?”
“My parents were both from Sweden. We came over when I was five.”
“I never liked Sweden. Reminds me of this incident I had with a foreign exchange student when I was a kid. See, he always openly farted in English class. Like it was no big deal or something. Then, to top it off, he yelled at us for laughing at him. Shortly after his fourth or fifth tirade, the incident occurred and he was sent back to Europe with a busted nose and fractured jaw. Now, every time I think of Sweden I smell farts. Damndest thing. Tell me something, Sven.”
“What?”
“Have you ever farted in English class?”
“Cute story. And just when I think I’ve heard everything about you.”
“What else have you heard?”
He flashed a perfect smile, radiant and charming. “I’m sorry for your tragedy.”
“Sorry for my tragedy?” Wolf laughed mirthlessly. “What are you sorry for? Are you a werebear?”
“Excuse me? A…were…bear?”
He looked at Miriam as he spoke, “You undoubtedly heard that it was a bear that attacked me.”
“I did.”
“So what do you have to be sorry about then? Unless you’re a half-man, half-bear that transforms on the full moon. Were you roaming the foothills that night lost in your primal curse? Did you wake up the next morning naked and covered in blood and gore, racked with guilt at all the death and destruction you unwittingly caused?”
“God no!”
“Then I don’t need any fucking apologies from you.”
“Victor! You’re such an asshole!” Miriam shrieked.
“I’m an asshole?” He laughed sharply. “This guy’s the asshole, Miriam! And you bring him here? Now? For Chrissakes woman, we aren’t even divorced!”
“I told you, you dumb prick! Nothing is going on!” Miriam stormed away, sobbing.
“I can see the incorrigible charm that no doubt attracted your lovely wife,” sneered Sven after Miriam had retreated to the car. Then his face hardened and his façade of serenity dropped. “You shouldn’t upset her like that. The stress isn’t good for the baby. I’ll have to stay late tonight just to make sure she’s okay.”
“You better get the fuck outta my face. I’m feeling another international incident coming on,” growled Wolf, his scars flushing red.
“No offense,” said Sven, backing away slowly with his hands raised in surrender. “I’m just trying to help. Somebody has to be here to step up. Miriam and your child need caring for while you skulk around the city destroying lives and breaking hearts.”
“Fuck you and fuck your help. And if you so much as think about touching my pregnant wife, I’ll cut your tiny cock off and mail it to your Swedish parents.” Wolf flashed a smile of his own and shoved by Sven to get to his car.
***
He paid cash for a room at the Borderlands Motel. He didn’t intend to go there, but it seemed he was drawn to it. Was it reckless? Most definitely. Dangerous? Without a doubt. But Wolf was done running. If whatever was after him wanted him, he’d wait for it in a place it would most likely come calling. He wasn’t entirely foolhardy, though. Caine and his goons had seen his car. He parked it in a garage downtown and took a bus to the hotel.
The skinny clerk was more than accommodating. Wolf returned his 9 mm with thanks and showed him his own collection. “Just in case anyone comes looking for me, you can tell them what they’re in for. Now give me my goddamn room key.”
He threw his bags on the bed, sat the scotch on the table, and took a shower. Afterward, he tossed Jonas’ glyphs in the garbage and flipped through Ragnar’s grimoire. By the time he was ready to pass out, he’d made some progress.
It was two days before Jonas returned. Wolf saw him get dropped off and the clerk let him into his room. Wolf waited until the next morning and knocked loudly on his door. Jonas answered in dingy boxers and an open bathrobe. An emaciated woman slept on the bed, her skeletal nakedness barely covered by the dirty sheets.