Ashburn_A [Sub] Urban Fantasy Novel

by Michael W. Layne

  “There is this one person. Twice a year, in the middle of the summer, she shows up asking about live chickens. For some reason, Dan—the farm manager—sells her three or four of our best birds every time. The summer’s just starting, but she was in here last week and yesterday morning.”

  “Was her name Marie?” I said, my hopes rising.

  I thought I saw Sue shake her head, but it was more of a twitch followed by another one as her face turned dark and her smile melted into a grimace.

  She walked to the rear of the barn and stood there, facing me with a blank look in her eyes. Her shoulders rose and fell dramatically as I waited in silence for her to answer my question about Marie. The horse whinnied, stomping its hooves hard into the straw-covered floor. The three goats paced about the barn floor excitedly, like some unseen presence was disturbing them.

  I looked to Sue’s left and saw an old, dusty shelf high up on the wall. On it sat several old jars made of thick, cloudy glass that obscured what was in them. One jar on the end of the shelf looked newer and was clear enough I could see what was inside—a tuft of black curly hair and some other small objects. And all of it was covered in a yellowish-orange powder.

  I was still a novice in the ways of magic and hardly knew anything about Voodoo, but by now I recognized a soul jar when I saw one. Even though I wasn’t sure who it belonged to, I was suddenly more worried about Marie being alive and without her soul than I was about the possibility that she’d escaped Ashburn.

  With my nape hairs standing on end and my guard up, I moved closer to Sue as Shadow let out another sharp warning bark. His tail beat frantically as he stood with his nose hovering over Sue’s milking bucket. When I stepped over and looked inside, I turned my face away from the putrid steam rising up from the thick black liquid at the bottom of the bucket.

  When I looked at Sue again, she was engulfed in an aura of crackling black energy. I started to speak, but a deep voice filled the barn and rattled my guts.

  “You are not welcome here,” the voice said. It was coming from Sue, but her lips remained perfectly still.

  “I’m looking for a woman named Marie. I think she was here yesterday.”

  “The priestess came seeking a special offering for her loa. The price I asked was high, but she paid in full.”

  Sue’s body rose into the air, her feet hovering six inches above the hay-covered floor. As she hung there motionless, the black goat stared at me from across the barn with its deep yellow eyes.

  “You and I swore an oath, demon whelp,” the voice from Sue said. “A profane agreement you have broken by coming here today.”

  Sue’s body floated slowly through the air as she came closer to me—her eyes now wide open and crazed.

  The creature remained still as a statue at the back of the barn, but its mere presence filled me with awe and dread just like Ahriman had when I’d first met him. The goat’s power felt more ancient, however, as if emanating from an arcane source I had no hope of understanding or overcoming.

  I stepped back, thinking I was lucky to have my trusted hellhound by my side. Then I heard Shadow’s whining from behind me, and I glanced back to see that he was standing outside, looking in at me through the open barn doors.

  I didn’t take that as a good sign, and with Sue steadily closing in on me, I backed away quickly, wishing I’d brought Gus with me.

  With a loud bang, the barn doors slammed shut behind me, cutting me off from my only avenue of escape and separating me from Shadow.

  Neither fighting a seven-foot-tall goat nor tangling with a beautiful floating farmer seemed like a good idea at the time. So I ran at the barn doors and hit them with my shoulder as hard as I could. The doors burst open, and I stumbled into the brightly lit world outside.

  I’m sure John would have stayed and done something demonic and bold, but I decided to run away.

  I sprinted past Shadow, across the gravel, past the fields of blackened crops, out through the gate to the farm, and up to the small wooden bridge, which was also now pulsing with black energy. I looked back for Shadow, but he wasn’t there.

  Then I heard his piercing bark and looked up to see he was already on the other side of the stream, half-way up the trail that led back to the store.

  A deep rumbling erupted from the farm behind me, and I took off running across the bridge. With each step, the bridge’s dark magic sapped my strength, trying to weigh me down and prevent me from leaving.

  My heart pounded in my chest, but I made it to the other side and took a moment to catch my breath and regain my strength before I started up the hill.

  Once I caught up with Shadow, we both headed for the car, speeding past several groups of suburbanites calmly picking berries. Shadow passed me as we crossed the neighborhood street in front of the farm stand. He took a running leap directly at the car from six feet away.

  I grimaced, waiting to hear the painful thud of dog hitting car. Instead, he passed through the car door like it wasn’t even there and appeared on the inside of the vehicle, looking at me expectantly with his tongue hanging from his mouth.

  Within seconds, I was in the driver’s seat, hit the ignition button, and punched the accelerator in first gear. The car kicked up gravel that formed a gray cloud behind me as I pushed it into second and took off down the otherwise quiet suburban street. Even though we were moving farther away from the barn with every second, I could still feel the black goat’s presence all over me, like sticky, evil pollen.

  Once I was back on the main road, I sped up to sixty-five as quickly as possible. I didn’t even think about relaxing until I saw my first strip mall.

  My breathing slowly returned to normal, and Shadow relaxed and curled himself into a comfortable ball of fur in the passenger seat, exhausted.

  As I drove along, heading for home, I realized I’d only been in Ashburn for a few days, but coming home to John and Sybil’s house was already starting to feel normal. My shoulders relaxed at the thought of plopping down on the living room’s leather couch.

  My moment of peace was shattered, however, when I pulled into the driveway and saw the front door to the house partially open.

  Chapter 28

  SHADOW GAVE A menacing growl as he glared at the house.

  “I don’t want to hear anything from you,” I said, still annoyed that my own personal hellhound hadn’t tried to help me when the evil goat demon was after me. “Stay here while I make sure the house is safe.”

  I got out of the car, waiting for Shadow to disobey me, like usual. But this time he stayed in the passenger seat, unmoving.

  “Now you decide to listen to me?” I said as I snapped my fingers and pointed to the driveway. “Get out here, right now.”

  With a huff, Shadow placed a tentative paw into the driver’s seat before jumping down to the ground.

  I closed the car door then walked around to the trunk to pick up Gus before approaching the front door. When I stepped inside, it was clear someone had taken the flat screen TV and the receiver. I made sure my goggles were in place and held Gus out in front of me like a club, ready for anything.

  I moved as quietly as I could and opened the door to the coat closet. Turns out, it was the door to the basement stairs.

  The basement—every house had one, and there was no telling what kind of stuff an asshole like John used to keep in his. I inched down the stairs, pausing to listen at every step, but I saw and heard nothing. At the bottom of the staircase, I flicked on the lights, ready for anything. But all I saw was a large, empty room with new carpet and a few cardboard boxes stacked up against one of the walls.

  With a shrug, I went back up the stairs and made my way into the kitchen. The microwave was gone—ripped from the wall—and for a moment, I started to think my house had been robbed by some good, old fashioned human thieves.

  Then I decided to check upstairs.

  I made my way up the stairway, making as little noise as possible, with Shadow trailing right behind me, his tail wa
gging peacefully.

  Once on the top floor, I inched closer to the master bedroom’s double doors, doing a horrible imitation of a police officer getting ready to storm into a suspect’s apartment. I turned, with Gus in hand, and shoulder-slammed the door.

  The instant I burst into the room, Sybil was on me, letting her demon flag fly as her black talons wrapped around my throat, poised to pop my head like a cork.

  “Hi honey, I’m home,” I said in a strained voice.

  She blinked twice before releasing my neck.

  “I was having a bad dream, and you surprised me,” she said, plopping down on the edge of the bed.

  “Did you know the house has been robbed? They stole the TV and the stereo. They even took the microwave.”

  “They broke in while I was out,” she said, nodding. “We can always get new things, but they took something that’s harder to replace.”

  “What else did they get?”

  She smiled lazily, her face once again that of a beautiful temptress.

  “Let’s just say I’m pretty sure Marco and his gang were the ones who did this.”

  “I still don’t understand,” I said, suddenly worried.

  “They took your blood,” she said with a frown. “All of it.”

  I scrunched up my face, confused.

  “The wine bottles in the refrigerator,” she said. “They were filled with John’s blood. He always kept a fresh supply on hand in case of emergencies. Even worse, they took the bathroom trash and one of your polo shirts, I think.”

  I was glad to be rid of the shirt, but I didn’t understand why anyone would want my trash or why I should care. I flashed back to the Kanari on the shelf above Marie’s mantel and the one at the barn and remembered how they contained pieces of hair and other personal items from the people whose souls they contained.

  My stomach turned cold.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, next to Sybil, and placed Gus across my lap, thinking. The walnut fret board felt cool and smooth beneath my fingers.

  It reminded me of how lucky I’d been to have Chaz give me one of his handmade guitars from his own private collection.

  And that’s when it hit me.

  “I’m going back to the bookstore—maybe try to sell someone a book or two—maybe read one myself.”

  “What about Marco?” Sybil said.

  “I’ll talk to him on my way home.”

  “I should go with you. Shadow, too. I can show you where the Olmecs hang out and be there for backup.”

  She was right. I needed to find Marco and confront him about robbing the house. John never would have let him get away with that. But speaking with Marco would have to wait until I went back to the bookstore. And I needed to do that by myself.

  “What would John have done? Would he have taken you and Shadow with him?”

  She shook her head.

  “He would have gone alone.”

  “Then, that’s what I’m going to do. Marco already suspects something’s wrong, so I need to act as normal as possible. Speaking of which, do you have the wish list for next week?”

  She pulled out her phone and started tapping the screen.

  “Check the printer in the kitchen on your way out. If you had a phone, I could just send it to you, you know?”

  “I’ll get right on that,” I said, sarcasm soaking my words more than necessary. Sybil didn’t deserve my attitude, but I was busy trying to be Ahriman’s enforcer and figure out what was going on, and finding John’s phone or getting my own would have to wait. Before I did anything else, I had to check the bookstore again, this time using my goggles.

  Because if Chaz had a secret room in the back of his shop, I was pretty sure John had one, too.

  Chapter 29

  TEN MINUTES LATER, I stood inside Ancient Pages, with Gus hanging from my belt on a loop I’d made from a leather shoestring.

  I slipped my goggles on and examined every inch of the walls in the main room of the store, then I started walking toward the little office in the back of the shop. I checked each wall for signs of magic and spotted a faint line of glowing red energy at the foot of the wall Sybil had punched through.

  Sybil had checked behind the wall, but there had to be something hidden there that she’d missed.

  If I needed a code word or the right magical incantation to find the hidden door, I was out of luck. The closest I came to knowing magical words were a few phrases in Latin I’d used once in a song I wrote a long time ago. The words had sounded dark and ominous at the time, but after the single was released, I discovered they translated as something close to My Chicken Eats Corn with Peasants—not at all the vibe or the message I’d been going for.

  I thought about kicking through the drywall, but John wouldn’t have created a secret room without including an easy way to enter and leave.

  I moved the framed newspaper page to one side and looked through the hole Sybil had made with her fist. There was nothing there other than the metal studs that made up the store’s infrastructure.

  Desperate, I placed my hand on the wall and tried to envision my arm passing through to another dimension.

  That didn’t work either.

  I slumped against the opposite wall and tried to figure out what I was missing.

  Chaz had used an actual key, so maybe I needed one as well. I searched my pockets and pulled out the Audi’s key fob—a thick rectangle of hard plastic with three inlaid buttons.

  By all accounts, it was a normal key fob, but when I looked at it with my goggles, I could see that it crackled with angry red magic. I flipped over the fob and pressed down on a small button that was sunk into the plastic. A flat metal key popped out, and when I touched it to the wall, a door appeared.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  I took a deep breath, turned the door knob, and stepped into a space that was so large, there was no logical way it could have existed within the physical dimensions of the store.

  In fact, it was hard to tell how big the room was at all, partly because it was dimly lit, but also because it was filled with rows and rows of shelves stuffed to capacity with old books and piles of oversized parchment sheets stacked taller than my height.

  I watched where I stepped, trying not to upset anything and let out a low whistle. There were more books in John’s hidden room than in the rest of the store and probably more than owned by most local libraries.

  On the dusty floor in front of me, dog prints led off to the left. I followed them to a small side table with a clear spot where the dust had not gathered. I took off my goggles and set them down. They fit the dust imprint perfectly.

  Maybe Sybil didn’t know about John’s secret place, but Shadow did, and he’d entered it earlier to fetch my goggles. Ahead of me, I saw more paw prints, and I followed them deeper into the mysterious room.

  My fingers glided along the ragged edges of a large dusty book as I walked past it. The page I touched separated from the spine and jutted out from the volume.

  Before I could take the oversized book down from its stack to examine it more closely, I heard a distant scratching coming from deeper inside the room.

  “Who’s there?” I said, my voice muted by the density of the room’s clutter.

  No one responded, so I followed the scratching sound, turning again and again through the maze of stacked paper and bookshelves. With every step, the noise grew louder. Whatever it was had a rhythm and a familiarity that was somehow comforting.

  After passing a set of shelves that were as tall as the ceiling and crammed with oversized books, a small clearing opened up on my right. In it, an old man sat naked and hunched over in front of an enormous wooden desk.

  The man had long, white, tangled hair and was writing with an old feather pen on a large piece of paper four times the size of a regular sheet. Next to his left hand—the one with which he wrote—was an ink well the size of a bowling ball.

  I moved closer until I was five feet away.

  His hands w
ere long and gnarled with bulbous knuckles, but his writing was fluid. I looked to where he sat, and I curled my lips. The flesh of his buttocks had grafted itself to the wood of the chair, and he was chained to his station by an iron manacle anchored to a concrete plug in the floor.

  “Why are you a prisoner here? Who did this to you?” I asked.

  The old man didn’t react or respond, but I thought I saw him cringe slightly.

  I circled around the desk so he could see me, but he didn’t look up or pause in any way.

  “Is there anybody in there?” I asked, but once again, he remained silent. I reached out my hand, ready to tap him on the shoulder.

  As my finger neared him, he lifted the page with a mechanical flourish and dropped it to the floor, so that it landed on top of an existing stack of paper. When he turned, I could see his face clearly for the first time. Although he wrote with perfect penmanship, his eyes were dull white orbs in his head—those of a blind man. And even though his body showed his age, his face was smooth like that of an innocent boy.

  “Do you know where the keys to your chains are? I’ll get them and set you free.”

  When he still didn’t answer, I searched the nearby tables, until I looked up at one point and noticed there was no key hole in his ankle cuff.

  I stood and watched him some more. His hand traveled sometimes from left to right and other times from right to left as he filled the fresh piece of paper in front of him with words and symbols.

  I leaned against the side of his desk, wondering what, if anything, I could or should do. I didn’t understand how he was still alive, how he ate, or even how he went to the bathroom. But mainly, I wondered why John had imprisoned him in his secret room in the first place.

  The pen’s path across the paper was mesmerizing, and after twenty minutes, he’d almost filled up the sheet of paper. Just as before, when he finished, he lifted the giant leaf of paper from his desk and dropped it on top of the stack of paper on the floor next to him.

  I bent over, picked up the page and placed it on an empty table to take a closer look.