Divine 05 - Nevermore

by Melanie Jackson

  “It is another of the gifts that comes with our transformation. Some of us are better at it than others, but all of us can manipulate weather to some degree when we want to. My clan is especially adept.”

  “Even me?”

  “Yes, with practice. Just remember, there is a cost for the effort. Go too far and you will be lost in storm madness. I have seen men stand in the storm and be hit again and again by lightning until even our hearts finally fail.” He also touched his breast and I could see through the thin cotton of his shirt that he also had a strange, fist-sized disc of erect tissue darkening on the skin. “It is one of our few vulnerabilities.”

  He had warned me of the madness and I believed him— even to the point of questioning if my earlier feeling of attraction to Emerson was because of a reaction to the weather and not his handsome self— but neither of us moved indoors. Nor were we gazing into each others’ eyes, though I felt lust still rising in me. I think we were both still questing outwards, using all our deranged but keen senses to see and feel and hear and taste if anyone was there, watching us. For by the pricking of my thumbs I knew down inside that something wicked our way comes, and I said as much to Emerson who recognized my corruption of Macbeth. To his credit, he did not try and tell me that my inner voice was less reliable than his spy in the sky.

  Black clouds began closing fast. Lightning struck nearby. Great flashes of it, dozens striking right on top of each other though there were no clouds above us yet. Snow shimmered under the touch of the winter moon, pure and cold. The ground was soft, silent. Snow lay atop a cushion of centuries— millennium— of fallen oak leaves and pine needles and beneath that was solid stone. We would feel nothing less than an earthquake moving through the land, but it seemed to me the earth screamed and shuddered at every blow from the lightning. And there were other senses— new ones— that told me however empty and silent the world around us that we were not really alone.

  I stared into the dark beneath the trees and saw nothing but when I looked away I sensed shadows shifting from the corner of my eyes. I also caught a whiff of something familiar. Something earthy but rotten and overlaid with a vague smell of cedar and mountain misery.

  I breathed in again and placed it. This was the smell of the grounds of the pet cemetery, the scent that had been in my vision of Gus. Soil is poor for gardening here in the mountains, but at the cemetery the plants grew lush because of all the un-embalmed bodies that fed them. Dread blossomed.

  “Emerson—”

  “I know. It isn’t me now. This storm is changing in unnatural ways and there are the things hiding in it.” He inhaled. “Gravedirt. Is there a cemetery nearby?”

  Overhead the raven screamed.

  “Oh God,” I said weakly. “It’s real. The vision was real, not a symbol.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the pet cemetery.” Where my dog was buried. I told myself that after three years surely he was more dust than flesh and could not be walking around. My voice was barely a whisper. “Gus is there.”

  I didn’t need to say anything else and Emerson’s glance was filled with equal parts compassion and horror. I recalled his story of The Black Cat and wondered hysterically if any of it was autobiographical.

  “He is using the lightning to raise the dead.”

  “How? It was bright as day with the moon up there when I had my vision. The light—even moonlight— is supposed to be the enemy of evil,” I complained, feeling put out as the last finger of moonlight disappeared into the sinister black clouds. I knew Emerson would tell me that most, maybe all, of my assumption about monsters being things of nighttime imagination were wrong. This made me frightened and angry.

  “No, the light is the enemy of darkness. Evil can exist anywhere and in any form.”

  “So, are there other things out there in the night besides dead dogs and cats? Vampires? Werewolves? Creatures from black lagoons?” I was trying for funny. It was inappropriate though and I sounded a little hysterical.

  “Yes. But not tonight. And not all of those things are evil. Or even ugly. One can not make assumptions in the old ways, Anna.”

  “So, basically you’re saying that evil is as evil does.” I looked toward the trees. Nothing was visible yet. “Are… are these things evil now?”

  Gus, I thought with anguish. My dog could not be something evil!

  Emerson turned and took me by the shoulders.

  “No. Do not allow this thought. These creatures coming for us are victims of Saint Germain’s insane magic. They are potentially dangerous and must be put down, but see it as an act of compassion. We will help them as we would any suffering animal.”

  “Well hell.” I refused to let myself cry. “I’ll get the guns.”

  “Don’t worry, Anna. You’ll know true evil when you see it. In the meantime, I think you should go inside and let me deal with this.”

  I didn’t want anymore death weighing on me, but I would be damned before I would leave Emerson to fight the poor shambling animals alone. And if Gus was there among them? I had to know, no matter how horrible the truth. I hurried for the kitchen. I got out the shotgun and also a pistol. It took a moment to check that they were loaded and to gather up more ammunition.

  Emerson was still on the porch, his gaze still distracted but able to take the shotgun and check it over. He put extra shells into his shirt pocket and started down the steps. I followed.

  The stench from the dead pets rolled over us, stronger now and too heavy to be completely dissipated by the sly wind creeping over the frozen ground from the wrong direction.

  “Go inside,” He said again after glancing at my face. “You don’t need to see this.”

  “Like I’d leave you to face this alone. Get real.” I sounded tough. The pistol in my hand helped. It was my grandmother’s and I knew exactly what it could do. “Besides, they can’t hurt us, can they? I mean, we can’t get infected by diseases or anything because of the Frankenstein thing?”

  “The bites hurt, but no, we will take no sickness from them. Only injury.”

  The first creature crested the hill and my new vision showed it to me clearly. I could see a ridge of pointy teeth pressing against the rotting flesh of its almost canine face. Emerson raised the shotgun. He was casual, distracted even. Like his attention was focused on something else. This did not interfere with his aim though. The gun coughed and the creatures skull cracked open spilling out what looked like scurrying beetles that burrowed into the snow.

  “I don’t suppose there is any chance of getting voted off this island?” I muttered. He looked at me blankly and I realized that he probably didn’t watch a lot of television. “Never mind. One to the head and one to the heart?”

  “Yes. Just to be safe.”

  Before my courage failed me, I took aim and felled the second creature coming over the hill. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it might have been Missy, the post-mistress’s collie who had died at Thanksgiving. Most of the animals interred there had been cremated, but not all. There were many informal burials of strays there.

  “Excellent,” Emerson praised, taking out another beast. It had been a calico cat. I blinked away tears and sighted down the pistol’s short barrel, pretending it was Saint Germaine I was shooting.

  “I hope the neighbors don’t come out. I don’t know how to explain this.” I lived on acreage and Dave was likely the only one who would be nosy enough to come looking, but others might hear the gunshots and call it in to the sheriff. If Sheriff Murphy got involved…. Well, there just wasn’t any good way to explain this. Murphy would have to call in… someone from the government to help. And there we were, Emerson and I, two freaks that would probably be of much interest to certain people— besides Saint Germain. I didn’t fancy being a guest of either the government or the monster who had raised these animals from the dead.

  “They won’t. I’m sure that Saint Germain has laid a sleeping compulsion on them before he raised the cemetery. I wonder if he reali
zes that these are animals and not humans he has raised.” Emerson shot again. You would think the poor, stupid creatures would get the no-trespassing message and back off, but they kept coming, tails wagging.

  “Why don’t they turn back? They can’t… can’t move fast enough to do anything useful. This is pointless.” And some of the cats were climbing trees. I saw one dog digging. He was hampered by a missing left forepaw. “And why are they doing these things?”

  “Pulled from their cold tombs, the dead are not reasoning. Or faithful— even to their conjurer. They were animals in life. What is left of their brains is doing what is natural for them.” Emerson exhaled. “Only a madman would show such a reckless disregard for discovery though. His brain must be rotting. Too many suicides and the insanity begins. It was just so with the Dark Man.” This last he added to himself.

  An evil Saint Germaine was bad. An insane one wasn’t something I cared to imagine.

  “Can you disperse these remaining creatures on your own?” Emerson asked me.

  “Um…” I had been doing well, staying calm, but that was because Emerson was beside me and I could borrow from his strength. Could I actually stand there alone and shoot cats out of trees?

  “More animals are coming up behind us. I think these are wild animals. Mainly deer. The resurrection spell was cast widely. The effort is sloppy.” Sloppy but effective. I could not see, hear or smell them, but I saw the giant black bird circling overheard and figured Emerson was seeing things I could not.

  “I’m fine,” I said firmly—I was turning out to be such a liar. “Take care of it. Call if you need help.”

  And in an instant he was gone, moving with speed I had never imagined a human capable of. Would I eventually be able to move like that?

  Strange things happen when you are in a life and death situation, especially all alone. The mind does not feel time as it normally would and also one has thoughts that would not occur in any other situation. Perhaps the oddest of these was that though I needed to help Emerson, I also felt obliged to stay unhurt while doing it. I recalled what Emerson had said to God when he changed me. The death of his mother, foster-mother and wife had haunted him all his normal life. That there was absolutely nothing he could have done to save them in that era before antibiotics wasn’t the point. Emerson came from an age of moral inflexibility. He was male and therefore it was his task and honor to protect the women in his care.

  That meant me too. But I didn’t want to be seen as a burden. I was not a shrinking flower and didn’t want to be one of those women he pushed away because of the danger. I could and would be strong and safe.

  The snow was rising off the ground, driven by the wind and flinging itself at my legs, grabbing with icy fingers and biting with frozen teeth. I heard it hiss as the crystals melted, vaporized by my own rising heat. Like in my vision.

  “Please, God,” I whispered. “Don’t let me see Gus. Don’t make me shoot my dog.”

  Saint Germain was another matter. Had he appeared before me I would have shot him. And shot him and shot him until I had no more bullets. Never, not in my whole life, had I felt the kind of hatred and rage that I did on that night. I was truly ready to kill—and even to die— if it meant a chance to rid the world of the monster who had raised the four-footed dead.

  The shotgun sounded. Again and then again.

  An ice fog began to close in. I thought about attempting to push the icy fog away since Emerson said that I could manipulate weather at least to a small degree. The damned stuff hurt my lungs and impeded my vision while muffling the sounds of any creatures sneaking up on me. But the fog was also hiding me from anything out there and I figured that if Emerson wanted it gone then he would do the heavy lifting and make it disappear. I was simply too tired to do anything but listen carefully and then lay the shambling horrors around me to rest.

  I pushed all thought of what I was doing to the back of my brain and also took aim on the next target; a black cat sitting on a boulder cleaning itself less than a yard away. I went about methodically putting down the poor furry wretches who lurched mewling through the snow, too far gone to decomposition to be a threat to anything but my mind.

  I never did see Gus. I liked to believe that my dog refused the evil summons and chose instead to come to me in a vision, but I know that he may have been one of the creatures Emerson shot. If he guessed his identity, Emerson would never tell me and I didn’t ask. The heart can only endure so much.

  *

  “Your mountain, from above, is impressive. There are some deep ravines.” Emerson was still submerged in the raven’s sight. I couldn’t remain upright any longer and slumped against the front porch. Snow was melting under me and forming an icy puddle but I was too tired to move.

  “Is that where we are going to put the bodies?” I was appalled at the idea of touching the dead animals but trying not to show it. “There’s a mine shaft about a quarter mile straight up the hill.”

  “I would prefer to burn them. Is there…?”

  “There’s a fire pit out back. But we don’t have much time before dawn. And we need to make sure Dave isn’t skulking first.”

  “He won’t be.”

  I didn’t ask Emerson why he was so certain of this. My brain wasn’t able to take in anything else.

  We put my wheelbarrow to good use. I was unutterably grateful that the poor beasts didn’t thrash like the ape-thing. By dint of constant imagining and shallow breathing, I was able to more or less convince myself I was picking up garden detritus, the same as I would after any storm and getting rid of it in a normal burn pile. And if I cried some while doing it, it was because smoke got in my eyes and not because I was burning something besides branches.

  Later I slumped at the kitchen table, looking out the picture window as dawn fought its way into the storm. The bird feeders were almost empty. On the heels of this observation came the question of whether we had actually found all the animals. What if the conjuration had included dead birds who could still fly away? Would they attack people?

  “What’s wrong?” Emerson asked, attuned to me mood. He set a cup of coffee in front of me.

  “What if there were birds out there?” I asked, not explaining the rest because I knew he would follow the thought.

  “The raven will find them.”

  “Oh.” I reached for the coffee. I wanted the normal morning ritual and something warm in my hands.

  “Can you force a vision?” Emerson asked.

  I understood what he was thinking. It was uncanny how in tune we were with each other’s thoughts.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.” And I didn’t want to, but it would be handy to know what the bad guys were getting up to before they actually got up to it.

  “Will you attempt to mesmerize yourself if need be?”

  “Yes.” But later.

  “We must leave now,” Emerson said. “He knows we are here. This attack was ineffective, but the next one may not be so.”

  “I know.” This was harder to say than agreeing to mesmerize myself. “Today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will I need my passport?”

  “Bring it. I would prefer to avoid leaving a trail, if we can, but it may be necessary to have some identification. I will arrange a new identity for you later.”

  I shook my head, not denying his words but rejecting the entire situation. I just wanted to sleep. Sleep and sleep and maybe wake up when the daffodils were blooming.

  “I have to make arrangements. I can’t just disappear—and what about Golden Words?” The helpless tone wasn’t attractive, but I was exhausted.

  Emerson’s face softened.

  “The magazine can be done from anywhere, yes? All you need is a computer— a portable kind would be best. We can acquire that. You have some method for storing data from your machine?”

  “Yeah. I can load it all on a memory stick.”

  “Excellent. We can stop at the printers and pickup the covers that you sai
d are ready and assemble things later. And we can arrange to have your mail sent on. Eventually. Leave the utilities on for now.”

  Those I could pay online. As long as there was money in the bank.

  “I can send my mail to Clarice, if need be. But what about my sister? What should I tell her?”

  “Tell her you are taking a vacation with the new man in your life.” Emerson’s gaze was steady. “It’s true, more or less.”

  “She might believe that.” I ducked my head and hoped he didn’t notice my sudden blush. “I’m not saying we are in love though. She’ll have us running off to Vegas to get married if I do.”

  “How odd. Tahoe is much nicer than Las Vegas.”

  “Uh-huh.” Was he kidding? I couldn’t tell.

  “The sooner we leave, the better,” he said gently. “I know that you are exhausted, but you may rest as soon as we are away.”

  “Okay.” It took an effort but I pulled myself to me feet and reached for the phone.

  It seemed at first that luck favored me. I got my sister’s answering machine.

  “Clarice— hi, sweetie. Look, I didn’t say anything before because I wasn’t sure it would come up again, but I met someone in Baltimore. He’s a writer and—”

  “Anna!” There was a clatter and my sister’s breathless voice. “Sorry. I was outside. Who is this guy you’ve met?”

  “He’s a writer,” I said again, hoping that would suffice.

  “For your magazine?”

  “Sometimes. He’s a bit famous for that now days.”

  “What’s his name?” I turned to look at Emerson, asking what I should do. He shrugged and then nodded.

  “Emerson James.”

  “The Emerson James? Oh my God!”

  “Yes. Anyhow he’s asked me on a trip and—“

  “But what’s he like? Is he handsome? How long have you known him?”

  “Well, he looks like Johnny Depp. “ This got me a lifted brow and I resisted the urge to specify in which role. “And he’s brilliant and charming and all that great stuff.”

  “Anna!” She was shocked at my brusque tone.