Four Summoner’s Tales

by Kelley Armstrong, Christopher Golden, David Liss

  Addie exhaled in relief. She ought to be more careful. She’d been checking the room for him when she’d gotten distracted by the feather. She tucked it under her jacket now and silently tiptoed to the door joining the two rooms. He never stirred.

  The adjoining door was closed tight. Addie turned the handle as carefully as she could and then eased it open. Through the crack she could see Charlie. He sat in a chair, leaning back, his eyes closed, looking like . . .

  Well, looking like Charlie. Exactly like the Charlie she knew, his color coming back, the swelling fading. His dark hair hung in a cowlick over one eye, and Addie smiled, expecting him to reach up and push it impatiently aside, as he always did. He seemed too tired for that, though, and just sat there, slouched in the chair.

  Eleazar was across the room, rummaging in his pack. He muttered to himself as he did, doubling the noise.

  “Charlie?” Addie whispered.

  No response.

  A little louder. “Charlie?”

  His eyelids flickered. Then they opened, and she was looking straight into those eyes she knew so well, gray-blue, like the sky on a windy day. She looked into them and saw . . .

  Nothing. Not a flicker of recognition.

  Because he can barely see me through this crack in the door.

  She glanced at Eleazar. He was still retrieving things from his pack, turned away enough not to see her. She inched the door open until her face fit in the gap. Then she grinned at Charlie and, in her mind, she saw him grin back, as he always had, ever since the first time they met, when her ma brought her to town for supplies. Charlie had been in his father’s shop room, and he’d snuck a licorice whip from the jar for her. That’s who Addie saw in her mind—that boy, that grin—and it took a moment before she realized she wasn’t seeing it in front of her.

  Charlie wasn’t even smiling. He looked right at her and that expression in his eyes never changed.

  He doesn’t know me.

  Because he’s tired. He’s confused.

  She lifted the eagle feather and waggled it. He frowned.

  Addie glanced at Eleazar. He was reading a book, muttering to himself as he turned the pages. Addie opened the door a little more and slipped through. Charlie sat barely three paces away. She crossed the gap and held out the feather. He only stared at her. She laid it on his blanket-draped lap.

  “Here,” Eleazar said. “I’ve found that—” He looked up and saw her. “Who are you?”

  “I-I’m Addie. Adeline. I came to see—”

  “He’s not ready to see anyone. Begone, girl.”

  She backed up to the doorway. Charlie didn’t look down at the feather, as if trying to remember where it came from. He didn’t look at her either. He closed his eyes as if she’d already left.

  “Charlie?”

  His eyelids flickered open, and he glanced over with annoyance.

  “He needs his rest, child,” Eleazar said, striding toward her. “He’s not himself yet. You need to leave.”

  She retreated through the door into the rear.

  “No!” Eleazar said, raising his voice. “Not that way.”

  But she was already through, already racing across the room. As she reached the kitchen door, she heard Charlie’s voice, and she thought he was calling her back, telling Eleazar he remembered her now. She turned, and as she did, she saw the assistant, Rene, saw his face now as he sat there, head bowed. Saw the bruises around his neck. Saw his eyes. Open. Bulging. Dead.

  Addie spun and bolted out the kitchen door.

  BROWNING

  Mayor Browning’s wife was home now with Charlie. When he’d left, she’d been sitting at his bedside, watching him sleep, looking very much as she had the night before, sitting at his coffin’s side. She’d even had the same look on her face, anxious and afraid.

  When he’d first told her the news, she’d shouted at him, for the first time in their marriage. She’d even thrown something—a plate she’d been washing, shattering it against the wall as she cursed him. She seemed to think he was pulling a prank. Yes, he’d been known to make them. Yes, sometimes, perhaps, they bordered on cruel, but this was not one he’d ever have attempted. He’d struck her, another first for their marriage. Struck her full across the face, bellowing at her that she was an ungrateful wretch, that he’d done this for her—brought back her boy—and this was how she treated him.

  She’d raced out of the house then, not even pausing for a bonnet or a cloak, gathering her skirts and running like a girl through the streets, graying hair streaming behind her.

  Now they were home. Her boy was home. Yet she was not beside herself with joy. Not falling to her knees to thank the Lord. She hovered over Charlie, pushing his cowlick aside, tentatively, as if the slightest touch might send him back to the other side. It was not what Browning expected. Not what he wanted. But he supposed it might take time for her to accept the miracle as real.

  Eleazar had summoned him back to the community hall. Yes, summoned him, as if he were a common innkeeper. That rankled, but Browning reminded himself of the incredible debt he owed the man. Eleazar wished to speak about the other children, and he had a right to be somewhat abrupt—time was wasting, the children were wasting.

  So Browning returned to the community hall. Doc Adams and Dobbs were already inside with Eleazar.

  “How is Charlie?” Dobbs asked.

  “Tired. Sleeping.”

  “That’s to be expected,” Eleazar said. “I fear he will not be his usual self for several days. He will require sleep, and he may be somewhat confused. His memory is weakened also. Do not overtax him.”

  “We won’t,” Browning said.

  “Now, on to the matter at hand—the rest of the children. Doctor? As I was saying, I’ll ask that you go round the parents up now. I’ll need them all here to discuss my fee.”

  “About that,” Doc Adams said. “I’ve been thinking on the . . . other part. I-I’m not certain how to tell—”

  “You won’t. Just bring them here. I’ll discuss the rest with these two gentlemen.”

  As the doctor left, his words repeated in Browning’s mind. The other part. How would they tell people that to bring their children back, they had to pay a life? Before Charlie was resurrected, it had seemed simple enough. Of course people would pay that price, terrible though it was. This was their children. His own wife would have gladly given her life for their son.

  Except, now, having seen Charlie return, Browning wasn’t as certain. No, in fact, he was quite sure that if he’d told Dorothy the cost, she’d have flown at him like a harpy, as she’d done when he said Charlie was back. She’d never have believed him. She certainly wouldn’t have offered to die for the chance to resurrect their son. She’d have thought him mad.

  It is madness. Desperate madness. How had they ever agreed—

  No, not madness. Charlie was alive.

  “How’re we gonna do it?” Dobbs asked, and when Browning looked over, the blacksmith was sitting down, his face pale.

  “Strangulation,” Eleazar said. “That is the swiftest and cleanest way.”

  Dobbs raised his gaze to the man, his eyes filling with horror. “I only meant finding volunteers. We don’t need to . . . to . . . take them, too, do we?”

  “Do you expect me to?” Eleazar’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “I took Rene’s life because I owed him as much, for his years of service. He trusted me to be swift and kind. It is still an unpleasant task, one I don’t intend to repeat six times.”

  Dobbs looked as if he might be sick. Browning’s mind reeled. Six times. Strangle six people. Take six lives. How had this seemed simple before?

  “Now, you must do it quietly,” Eleazar said. “You cannot announce this price or you will have chaos. Even if you get your volunteers, there will be resentments and rancor for years.”

  “Even if we get our volunteers?” Browning turned to the man. “I thought . . . You’ve done this before. People must have volunteered.”

  �
��Certainly. If, as I said, they are ill or elderly and wish to escape this life. Sometimes, though, that is not the case, which is what it seems here.”

  “Then how . . . ?” Browning swallowed. “You brought Charlie back in front of them. Now the doctor is out telling them they can have their children back for three hundred dollars. If they arrive and we say it’s not true . . .”

  “It damned well better be true,” Dobbs said, pushing to his feet. He turned on Browning. “You tricked me.”

  “What—”

  “Your son was the demonstration. He’s alive, and you didn’t have to pay anything for it. No money. No life. Now my boy lies in his coffin, and you’re telling me he’s not going to come back unless I kill someone?”

  “I never said— I didn’t volunteer Charlie. Mr. Eleazar asked for him. You were sitting there when he did. You heard everything.”

  Browning turned to Eleazar and the man nodded, but his agreement seemed a moment too slow.

  “You two made a deal,” Dobbs said to Browning. “On the side, before Doc and I arrived.”

  As Browning sputtered, Eleazar rose, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. His Worship heard the plan when you did.”

  The words were the right ones, but something in Eleazar’s tone didn’t properly support them. Browning could see it as Dobbs’s meaty face mottled with fury.

  They won’t believe me, no matter what Eleazar says. They’ll think I used my position to get a bargain.

  “I’ll pay,” Browning said quickly. “I will offer my three hundred to help anyone who falls short, at no rate of interest.”

  “And the rest?”

  “I had nothing to do with the rest. Mr. Eleazar offered his assistant. Everyone else will have to find a suitable volunteer.”

  “How?” Dobbs’s voice rose. “My wife? Myself? Bring back one child and leave the rest with no one to raise them? No one to support them? Another of my children? Pick the one I like least? How is a father supposed to do such a thing? There is no one else. We have no other family in Chestnut Hill.”

  Perhaps you ought to have thought of that before you agreed. That’s what Browning wanted to say as his guilt turned to outrage at the injustice of it all. He hadn’t offered Charlie. He hadn’t brokered a special deal.

  Browning squared his shoulders. “If you cannot pay, then perhaps—”

  The mayor never saw the blow coming. He felt Dobbs’s fist hit his jaw, sending him reeling back. He recovered and swung at Dobbs but missed, the younger man grabbing his arm and wrenching, sending him flying into the wall.

  “Gentlemen,” Eleazar said. “Really. Must it come to this?”

  He sounded almost bored, and Browning turned on him, the outrage filling him as pain coursed through his jaw. They were turning on each other now, and Eleazar was to blame. Eleazar had brought this to Chestnut Hill. He’d—

  Resurrected Charlie. This was the man who’d granted his fondest wish.

  Browning’s fists dropped to his sides.

  “There are other ways,” Eleazar said. “They may be distasteful, but given the alternative of not returning the children . . .”

  “What do you propose?” Browning asked.

  Eleazar took a seat again. “In every village, there are . . . those who are not fully contributing to community life.”

  The blacksmith’s face screwed up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean those who live on the outskirts, both physically and metaphorically. Those living outside the village. Those who drink more than they ought. Perhaps aren’t quite as intelligent as others. Perhaps not as mentally sound. Perhaps don’t fit in—the native population and such. Are there any of those around Chestnut Hill?”

  “Some,” Dobbs said. “There were little Adeline’s parents, but they’re dead now. There’s others, too. Old man Cranston and his wife. They’re crazy, both of them. Trapper Mike. He’s half-Injun, with a squaw wife. Timothy James, another trapper, when he’s not too drunk to remember to empty his traps.”

  “See, there’s five, with only a few moments of thought. I’m sure there are more.”

  Dobbs nodded, thinking it through. Dear God, was he really thinking it through? No, he couldn’t be. Not that way. He was seeing a solution and seizing it, with no thoughts except how this brought his boy back.

  “You’re . . . you’re suggesting we commit murder,” Browning said slowly.

  “Hardly. I’m suggesting you remove an unproductive segment of the local population. A potentially dangerous segment. Have any of these people ever caused problems for you?”

  Dobbs nodded again. “Timothy James went after one of Millie Prior’s granddaughters a few years ago. Grabbed her in the forest and touched her before she got away. Old man Cranston shoots at anyone who steps on his property. He doesn’t even have property. No one knows what he considers his, on account of him being crazy. And Trapper Mike? Folks around here swear he steals from their traps. Never caught him, but he’s sneaky. I don’t doubt he does it. Then there’s Paul over by the lake. Won’t tell nobody his last name. I hear he’s a fugitive. I’ve been trying to get an accounting from the Mounties, but they haven’t come by Chestnut Hill in near on a year.”

  “Because you aren’t on the railroad route,” Eleazar said. “The authorities are ignoring you. Leaving you to defend this town all by yourself . . . Sheriff. I’d say it’d be your God-given right to go talk to those folks, and if they give you any trouble, well, I think you’ve had enough trouble from them. Who knows what they’ll do next? You need to look after your town.”

  Dobbs nodded. “I do. Look after my town and its children.”

  “Now, you, Mayor Browning.” Eleazar turned to him. “I’d say it’s your responsibility to accompany the good sheriff.” He paused. “If your people don’t get their children back after you got Charlie . . . ? I’ve seen some ugly things in these wilderness towns. Folks can go a little wild themselves out here. A mob is a wicked thing, Mayor.”

  Browning looked from Eleazar to Dobbs. And he knew he didn’t have a choice. This was the cost of bringing his boy back. The real cost.

  ADDIE

  Addie raced all the way home. She got there just as Preacher and Sophia arrived. Any other time, walking together, they would have been talking or whispering, and Preacher would have had his hand on Sophia’s arm. Today it was as if each walked alone, silent and stone-faced with shock.

  Preacher saw Addie first. He seemed to take a moment to recognize her. Then he said, “Adeline,” and Sophia started from her stupor.

  “You were there,” Sophia said. “You saw.”

  Addie nodded.

  “I—we don’t know how to explain it,” Sophia said. “It is . . . beyond reckoning.”

  “There must be something to it,” Preacher murmured, as if to himself. “Some science. Perhaps the boy was not dead. I’ve read of such things. Perhaps it’s not diphtheria but some new disease. These men pretend to raise the dead, but they know the children were never truly gone, so . . .” He shook his head. “No, I don’t see how that’s possible. Doc Adams would have noticed.”

  They reached the porch. Preacher ushered them inside. Neither seemed to have noted that Addie hadn’t breathed a word. As soon as the door closed, she said, “Something’s wrong with Charlie.”

  Preacher blinked, as if waking from sleep. “Wrong . . . ?”

  “Besides the fact that he’s been raised from the dead?” Sophia stopped and her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry, Addie. I don’t mean to be sharp. I’m still trying to reconcile what I saw. That a boy could rise—”

  “It’s not Charlie.”

  She got them into the living room, prodding them along as if they were the children. “I went inside to see him. Whoever—whatever—is inside Charlie, it’s not him. Or he’s wrong. Very wrong. He didn’t know me at all.”

  Preacher lowered himself into a chair. “Eleazar said he’d be exhausted—”

  “It was more than that. He had no idea
who I was. He didn’t recognize a feather that he wore in his cap for half a year. He didn’t care to try to recognize it. Or me. It was not Charlie.”

  “But that’s . . .” Sophia trailed off and shook her head. “I’m not sure if that’s more or less incredible. How would it not be him? Who would it be?”

  “What would it be,” Addie said, correcting her. “Eleazar has summoned a demon into Charlie’s body. He is possessed.”

  * * *

  Preacher and Sophia didn’t much like Addie’s possession notion. It seemed quite reasonable to her. She’d grown up in a world where monstrous things happened, and rather than run from the idea, she’d always embraced it. Nothing thrilled her so much as stories of hags and squonks, loup-garous and wampus cats.

  She knew all about possession. It was right there in the Bible. And it was real, too. Millie Prior’s cousin up in North Bay had been possessed, and they had to bring a priest all the way from New York City to exorcise her. If priests did it, then it must have been real. Addie didn’t see how you could argue with that. Preacher still did.

  Eventually, they seemed to accept that something might be wrong with Charlie.

  “If he was brought back, it would make sense that he’d be . . . not right,” Sophia said. “It’s unnatural. It’s not the work of God. I know that.”

  “The work of the Devil,” Addie said.

  She could tell Sophia didn’t like that idea much either. If Addie found herself pulled toward demons and evil, Sophia sought out angels and goodness. That’s the way she was. As for Preacher, Addie figured he didn’t quite believe in angels or devils—he just knew this was wrong. The dead ought not to come back, however much one might wish it.

  “His assistant is dead, too,” Addie said.

  Sophia stared at her for a moment, then managed to say, “His . . . ?”

  “Rene,” Preacher murmured. “Or Mr. Rene. I’m not sure if it was a Christian name or family.”

  “There is no Christian in these men,” Sophia muttered. “You mean the old one, then? He was the assistant? And you say he’s . . . he’s . . .” She couldn’t seem to finish.