Queen of Wands-eARC

by John Ringo

  The patron in front of her, a society matron very similar to the ones Barb dealt with every day at home, looked over her shoulder and frowned.

  “Private conversation,” Barb said, smiling thinly.

  The woman sniffed and turned back to the wait.

  “And the other reason I’d rather not get into anything in line,” Barb said, trying not to chuckle.

  Eventually they got up to the cash register and the harried brunette working it.

  “Croissant and a mocha,” Barb said, smiling. “No whip cream.”

  “I’ll take an espresso and an éclair,” Kurt said.

  “Those will make you fat,” Barb noted.

  “And mochas won’t?” Kurt asked.

  “Everyone has their weaknesses,” Barb said as she paid for the food. “Mine is chocolate. I’d love an éclair. But I will not be tempted into gluttony.”

  They chose to sit outside and picked one of the iron tables at the back of the large, stone-flagged courtyard near a dry fountain. The area was shielded by large, mature trees and had a pleasant air. Barb had a hard time imagining it as a seat for malignant powers.

  “Okay, let me be clear,” Barb said, taking a sip of her mocha. “When I open up, it’s possible that whatever attacked Janea will attack me. Unlikely, but possible.”

  “What do I do if that happens?” Kurt asked.

  “I’ll try to keep the uproar down,” Barb said. “But I may get strange. Things may get strange. Operate as if there is a bomb threat and I’m the bomb squad. Figure out a way to evacuate the civilians, cordon the area and leave me to the battle. I’m…somewhat more powerful than Janea.”

  “You’re not going to start chanting or anything, are you?” Kurt asked.

  “Not unless things get bad strange,” Barb replied. “And it’s very much like a bomb tech. If I start running…try to keep up.”

  * * *

  Barb still wasn’t totally up on the psychic thing. The Lord granted her powers to fight evil manifest in the world, but He didn’t always tell her where it was. And this time the best she could get was a slight feeling that things were not quite as pleasant as they seemed. She was trying to get a better feel for it when she sensed a presence near the table and opened her eyes.

  “Are you well?” the woman standing by Kurt’s shoulder asked.

  “I’m fine,” Barb said. “Slight headache.”

  Which was made worse by the woman. Like the neurologist, she had a demon that had so fully consumed her, her aura was black.

  “I am Vartouhi,” the woman said, smiling at her. “I welcome you to Rembrandt’s. I always like to say hello to our new customers.”

  Vartouhi was tall and slender with an olive complexion and looked faintly Italian or at least Mediterranean. Pretty, edging to beautiful, she was elegantly dressed in a rose pantsuit with orange-yellow highlights. Her one touch of accent was a strange brooch. It was similar to some Celtic designs Barb had seen but much simpler, just three curves forming three lobes. And, simple as it was, it was sounding alarm bells in Barb’s soul.

  “I’m Kurt,” Kurt said. “And this is Barbara. She’s just visiting.”

  “Yes, Kurt, I’ve seen you here before,” Vartouhi said, smiling again. Perfect teeth, Barb noted. Something about the woman, possibly her too-perfect attitude, just made her skin crawl. “Barbara, we hope that you enjoy your visit and come back often.”

  “It’s a lovely place,” Barb gushed. “When was it built?”

  “At various times,” Vartouhi said. “The buildings used to be apartments and were built mostly during the sixties. They were rather run down when the current owners bought them and fixed them up.”

  “Well, it’s one of the nicest coffee shops I’ve ever visited,” Barb said. “And you seem to do a brisk business.”

  “It suffices,” Vartouhi said. “I’ll leave you to your coffee. Take care.”

  “Nice lady,” Kurt said. “She’s always circulating.”

  “Uh-huh,” Barb said.

  “What? Did you, you know, sense anything?”

  “Well, ‘something is fishy in Denmark’ is about the best I can do,” Barb said, watching the hostess. “Except about the hostess, who is anything but a ‘nice lady.’ There’s something here but I can’t put my finger on it. And I’d bet dollars to donuts that our hostess could. I wonder what’s under these buildings…”

  * * *

  “Rock,” Kurt said, looking at the set of blueprints he’d requested. “The sewer runs down towards the Aquarium then across the river via the Market Street bridge. They’ve got a couple of basements…”

  “There was something there,” Barb said. “I’d say not far above river level. But it’s hard to tell distance with this kind of thing.”

  “Well, if it’s there it’s not on the blueprints,” Kurt said, rolling them up. “We’re going to have to find a way to search for it. I can ask the management, but if they get sticky we’ve got nothing for a search warrant.”

  “It’s possible that the management is totally unaware,” Barb said. “Equally possible that they’re some sort of source. Who owns it?”

  “A corporation,” Kurt said. “I’ll check into ownership of the corporation.”

  “And see what you can find on that hostess,” Barb said. “Vartouhi.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Check on Janea.”

  * * *

  Barb had to show ID to get into the house where Janea was being kept. At one level she was relieved—whoever had attacked Janea might try again—but on the other hand she wasn’t sure that a rent-a-cop, okay, a high-quality one from the look, was going to do much good.

  On the other hand, as soon as she stepped through the door she realized there was far more than mundane security on the house. It was “clean.” Not just physically clean—in fact, it was rather cluttered—it was mystically clean. She hadn’t examined it mystically the last time she was there, but this time it was clear that there were no malevolent entities or “vibes” to the place. Mystically it was more like a really good church. In fact, instead of dark shadows, there were flashes of light in the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t sure what that represented, but it wasn’t bad, whatever it was.

  However, the house was physically crowded. There were six people in robes holding hands in a circle in the center of the main room and a young woman in a blouse and peasant skirt sitting on a chair watching them. Barb quickly realized that it was, in fact, a “circle.” A Wiccan prayer group that was “calling power.” She suddenly realized that although she worked every day with pagans, she had some deep-seated prejudices about being around a Wiccan gathering. She knew they weren’t evil per se. She wouldn’t be able to do what she did to support them if they were working with the devil. But watching them essentially worshipping “false gods” triggered childhood responses.

  The young woman stood up and tiptoed over, putting her finger to her lips.

  Janea? Barb mouthed.

  The young lady motioned for Barb to follow her upstairs. Barb let Lazarus out of his bag and followed her.

  The cat checked out the circle for a moment, sniffed, then followed.

  “I’m sorry,” the young lady whispered as they reached the top of the stairs. “I was afraid you’d disturb the circle. We would have put it somewhere besides the front room, but the energies were best there. Are you Mrs. Everette?”

  “Yes,” Barb said, shaking the young witch’s hand. “Call me Barb.”

  “Janea’s in the back bedroom,” the young woman said, leading the way.

  It wasn’t just Janea in the room. Cots had been moved in, and Sharice, Drakon and Wulfgar were stretched out on them, apparently asleep. All three of them were clearly in REM sleep; their eyes were twitching like mad, and Janea was slowly writhing as if struggling against invisible bonds.

  “Wish I could take a nap,” Barb said.

  “Astral projection requires a trance at the least,” the witch said. “They’
re actually deep in the Moon Paths. Can’t you feel it?”

  “I’m…just starting to figure some of this out,” Barb admitted. “I only recently got the, hah-hah, ‘Gift’ of Sight. And given some of the stuff I’ve seen today, I’m just as glad that Sharice taught me how to not use it.”

  “You have many other Gifts. Use your Sight. There are no dark spirits here.”

  “I noticed,” Barb said, opening up to the mystic.

  The first thing she Saw had nothing to do with the foursome. There were clouds of…sparkles hanging in the air. She wasn’t even sure what they were. But there were a lot of them. The room was packed. It looked like a bad special effect.

  “What are…those?” she asked, pointing.

  “We call them light spirits,” the young witch said. “You would call them angels.”

  “Angels?” Barb asked. “Like, angels of the Lord? Messengers of God?”

  The angels suddenly swarmed around Barb in a dancing light show that was hard to ignore.

  “Uhmmm…Yes. And…no,” the young witch said, chuckling. “More like guardian angels. These are what Christians term cherubim. Not the little babies with bows, but…”

  “Cherubim are fairly high angels,” Barb said, wonderingly. “Higher than seraphim, according to most texts. Where did they come from?”

  “They apparently come with the house. The house belongs to Memorial Hospital.”

  “Catholics,” Barb said, nodding. “Okay, starts to make sense.”

  “They sometimes carry messages,” the young witch said. “But mostly they just sort of swirl around and squeal ‘Look what I can do!’ They’re not warrior light spirits, they haven’t been tested greatly. Cherubim are mostly concerned with the element of air. When they get out of hand they tend to cause storms. And they’re always glad when someone notices them. These are…young isn’t the right word. Innocent. Early. Lacking in mass or sophistication. But they serve as effective mystic guards for the house. Not because they would battle well, but because demons avoid all angels, and if one was powerful enough to try them, they could call for fiercer guardians. Seraphim, although lesser in power, tend to be way more serious. At the worst, they could call upon the true warrior spirits. Let us hope it never comes to that. It’s worth remembering that all demons were once light spirits. It is why we simply call them dark spirits. And the warrior light spirits are different from greater demons only in which side they take. They’re really rather unpleasant, from what I’ve been told.”

  “You hold to the doctrine of the Fall?” Barb asked.

  “Not…exactly,” the young witch said. “But we have some similar understandings.”

  “I’m getting a lecture on angels from a Wiccan,” Barb said, shaking her head. “What, exactly, happened to my life? So…Janea?”

  “They were able to extract her from the place of torment. Other than that, no change.”

  “Any idea what is happening in there?” Barb asked.

  “Not so far.”

  Lazarus jumped up on Janea’s bed and sat down in a perfect Egyptian cat pose, looking around the room. Barb realized that he was tracking on the Cherubim.

  “He can see them,” Barb said. “Is that some effect from him being bonded to me?”

  “You’re serious?” the young witch asked. “All cats can see spirits. So can babies. At least light spirits. The only place I’ve ever seen more packed than this place with light spirits is a neonatal ward.”

  “Nice to know.”

  Lazarus licked his shoulder, swatted at an angel that got too close, then climbed up on Janea and lay down with his head between her breasts.

  “That cat is definitely a tom,” the witch said with a chuckle.

  “Oh, yeah,” Barb said, putting her hand on Janea’s forehead. The Asatru was so still, Barb worried that she’d feel the same complete lack of soul that she’d felt in the victims of the Madness. But Janea was still alive.

  “Lord, bless and keep this warrior,” Barb prayed. “Though she walks a different path, she walks a path of righteousness. I beg of You, give unto her Your aid in this battle. In Jesus’ name we pray.”

  “Amen,” the young witch said. “Hope that doesn’t bother you.”

  “Nope,” Barb said. “Every little bit helps.”

  She wasn’t sure it had helped at all, but Janea seemed to be resting more comfortably.

  “I guess it’s time to get back to work,” Barb said, holding out the bag. “Come on, Laz.”

  The cat just looked at her. He looked comfortable where he was.

  “I need to go,” Barb said, gesturing to the bag.

  “Cats have minds of their own,” the young witch said.

  “Well, this one has to keep with me,” Barb replied.

  “I’m familiar with your…” She paused and frowned, “companion.”

  “Come on, Laz,” Barb said, reaching for him.

  Laz didn’t even get up, just swatted at her hand, claws retracted. Then he held up one of them with the claws extended. The meaning was clear.

  “I can’t get far from you, dummy,” Barb said.

  Laz plunked his head down between Janea’s breasts and looked at Barb out of one eye, balefully.

  “Seriously,” Barb said. “You’re staying?”

  “I think he’s staying,” the witch said, frowning. “Generally the familiar bond is not something to be stretched. But yours is…unusual. And at least you can be assured he will be safe in this house.”

  “Hmmm…” Barb muttered. “Okay, I’ll try it. If it doesn’t work, though, you are definitely coming with me.”

  Laz got up, turned around, kneaded Janea’s breasts for a moment, then plunked back down and closed his eyes.

  “I have never been sure that cats can walk the Moon Paths,” the witch said. “But it looks as if that is his intent.”

  “A year ago I was a housewife,” Barb said. “I had, still have, a husband that couldn’t cook. I was president of the PTO. Chairman of the bake sale. Now I see angels and demons and have got a familiar wandering around the astral plane.”

  “It does take some getting used to.”

  * * *

  “I’ve got some interesting information,” Kurt said, looking up then frowning. “Where’s the cat?”

  “He seems to prefer Janea’s company to mine,” Barb said, shrugging. “I was warned that I shouldn’t get too far from him and always make sure he was safe. But it seems I’m going to extend the distance. We’ll see how far I can go. What’s the info?”

  “You’re going to love it,” Kurt said, gesturing to one of the seats in the empty waiting room. “I ran a search in the ‘mundane’ files on that symbol of Vartouhi’s you didn’t like.”

  Barb clicked on the link and blanched. The link led to the website of a corporation that used the same symbol. And, again, it gave her what her daughter would call “major creep factor.”

  “Trilobular,” Barb said, flipping through the pages. “Pretty widely invested…Defense contracts. Biotech. Coca-Cola bottling stock?” She paused and blinked rapidly.

  “You hit the part on ‘psychological research,’ didn’t you,” Kurt said, grinning. “Skip the rest of the brochure and take a look at their grant list.”

  “Dr. Stewart Downing,” Barb said, musingly. “First we infect them, then we cure them. How interesting.”

  “Still doesn’t tell us what’s going on,” Kurt said. “But I think I’m starting to get an interesting smell. You think this is some sort of bio research gone wrong?”

  “No,” Barb said. “Or not in any normal way. This is paranormal. Those patients are D-E-D dead. It’s possible they’re combining scientific neurological research with paranormal, but you’d be surprised how hard that is to do. The various powers that be seem to have an aversion to mixing the two. And since they have all sorts of earthly controls, they can make sure that paranormal activities don’t conform to clinical results. That seems to be the case for both sides of the street. God prefers
Believers, thank you. Trying to derive some philosophical rationale for God? All well and good. Trying to prove His existence empirically? He is going to make sure you cannot. The Adversary seems to agree on that subject if nothing else. If they are combining paranormal with standard biological research…it’s going to require a power supporting them that is at odds with both the Lord and the Great Adversary.”

  “Which are?” Kurt asked.

  “Don’t know,” Barb said. “As much reading as I’ve been doing since I started this job, I’m still playing catch-up. But there are experts I can call and ask. That’s still only a possible, anyway. There is a Power here, and a group of supporters, and five gets you ten it’s connected to Trilobular or the Art District. Somehow. What did you get on Vartouhi?”

  “High school graduate,” Kurt said. “A local private school called Girls’ Preparatory Academy. Scholarship; she’s not from money by any stretch. Community college. Address is listed in a house near the Art District. High-end housing for a high school grad but no indications why. About all I can get without a court order.”

  “So what now?” Kurt asked.

  “It’s late,” Barb said. “Let’s go find out what the Art District is like after everyone’s gone.”

  * * *

  At night, with everyone gone, the Art District was definitely spookier. The pleasant paths reflected the surrounding lights oddly, as if they were going through thick glass. The wind from the river whistled between the buildings with the moan of a dying man.

  Barb ignored that, walking along the sidewalk with her thermals on. Some demons had been reported to produce an image of heat higher than the ambient. If there was something stalking the grounds, she wanted to see if it would turn up on thermal imagery.

  “Anything?” Kurt asked.

  “The feel from underneath is stronger,” Barb said. “But I don’t see anything under thermals.”

  She took the goggles off and looked around. There didn’t seem to be anything abnormal—then she caught a flicker in one of the upper windows. It wasn’t hot, it didn’t even have the feel of a demon. But something was up there.

  “There’s something there, but not the target,” she said. “I wonder how long the demons, if they’re here, have been on this hill? They don’t have the feel of American Indian spirits.”