by Sharon Joss
“Do you think the swamp lights we saw that night were the trapped spirits you released from the house?”
“I don’t believe so. Trapped souls ain’t the same as spirit messengers. The People believe they can travel between the worlds of the living and the dead. Will-o-the-wisps tain’t neither nor.”
I sagged against the back of the couch. “So you don’t think that the message I got tonight came from the trapped souls you released.”
Charlie gave me a puzzled look. “I asked you if you could feel them spirits when we walked into the house that day. You said no.”
“I couldn’t. But when the will-o-the-wisps attacked us on the porch, they spoke to me. It’s happened three times, now, and they said the same thing every time.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, frowning. “Jaysus Mary of Morgantown. You say you heard ‘em speak?”
“Yeah. They said loosa loosa, or something like that. I just assumed you’d heard it too.”
“I didn’t hear it, but I believe she heard something.” Rhys said.
“Honey thought they might be speaking the language of the Senequois people. That’s why we came over here. Does it mean anything to you?”
“Gimme a minute.” Charlie got up and walked to one of the cupboards in his kitchen and took down a quart-sized canning jar, half-filled with a dark liquid. He unscrewed the lid and the liquid became a smoky mist. It drifted up from within the jar. Charlie closed his eyes, inhaled a lungful of the vapor, then resealed the jar and replaced it in the cabinet. He stood motionless, his eyes closed, his palms held up as if in supplication for a long moment, and gradually exhaled, nodding slightly.
Annie gave a soft chirrup as he returned to his chair. His eyes had an unfocused look.
Rhys and I exchanged a look. This couldn’t be good.
Charlie wiped his mouth and began to speak. His voice sounded faint at first, as if recalling some faraway memory, but gradually grew stronger.
“In the beginning, there was the land. And from the land, the creator fashioned the first People. And the People crawled from the land and lived in the light. And they hunted and gathered food from the bounty of the land, and they raised their children to do the same.
“But there was one who did not like the light. He did not want to live among the People. He was a shape-changer. Sometimes, he took the shape of a night-raven. At other times he was a long narrow man with pointed ears, and glowing red eyes who crawled along his stomach like a snake.
“And it was said that when people allowed dark or depressing thoughts to enter their minds, it crept inside them and consumed their essence, leaving only a ravenous, hungry husk behind. And it was also said that disobedient children were lured into the forest, where it took them for its own. It could bewitch hunters by mimicking the cry of a wounded animal, and when they followed the sound into the woods, it would prick them with a thorn that would enslave them to its terrible bidding. As its strength and appetites grew, stories were told of unhappily married women stolen from their homes by the tall, narrow man, never to be seen again. When the first swamp lights appeared, it was said they were the children of this spirit and the stolen women of the People.
“The People named this creature Nalusa Falaya, and it was an immortal evil of great and terrible power.
“And it is said among the People that the Nalusa Falaya claimed the great forests where the Senequois people lived and the banks of the Great Spirit Lake as his own. And it saw the how the water sparkled and the People lived in peace and harmony with the land and it despised such order and harmony. It demanded human sacrifice, and when the People refused it swore to eat the souls of everyone in the tribe. For many years, the tribe was preyed upon by the evil being. By the time the first white settlers arrived, the great Senequois nation had been reduced to a single clan. Eventually the shaman of the clan trapped the spirit, and imprisoned the Nalusa Falaya in a spirit tree, where it remains to this day.”
Charlie shook his head. “I can think of no other meaning for the warning of the swamp lights. That ‘loosa loose’ you heard sounds to me like someone is plannin’ to release the Nalusa Falaya.”
Rhys and I exchanged a silent look.
Charlie pressed his lips together. “I don’t think it’s possible. It makes no sense why anyone would. It’s a powerful, evil thing.”
“I’ve witnessed the containment of a powerful demon only once,” Rhys said. “This was in Europe. The trap required a heavy buildup of concentrated power wrapped around an enticing lure. The king’s sorcerer sacrificed the lives of a dozen prisoners to bait the trap. Once the summoned deity had materialized inside the circle, the power crucible held it secure until it was forced into a prepared containment vessel and sealed.”
Jeeze. “What kind of vessel?”
“It depends on how dangerous the entity is, and how long it must be imprisoned. In the case of djenie, it could be something as portable and innocuous as a lamp.” Rhys said, with a look of distaste. “For the Merlin, only a crystal-lined cave would work.”
“No,” Charlie said. “There was no cave. An’ no box could contain the Nalusa Falaya. The People trapped the evil creature in a spirit tree. In this instance, every part of the tree is poisonous—the poison saturates the spirit and keeps the creature weak--unable to take shape and escape.”
“Where is this spirit tree?” asked Rhys.
”It has to be that big yew tree,” I said. “Inside the old cemetery. I got a really bad feeling from that tree.”
“That makes sense,” Rhys agreed. “I felt the same way.”
I pulled the coin Lou had given me from my pocket and showed it to Charlie. “Lou says this can detect black magic. I’ll bet that if I touched it to the bark of that tree, we’d know for sure.”
The People believe that any spirit held inside a spirit tree takes on the characteristics of the spirit tree. The tree holding the Nalusa Falaya captive is especially accursed.”
“If we cross that circle, I’m convinced the cult will know,” Rhys said.
“Yeah, but if we chop it down before the ritual, that’ll kill it. The summoning won’t work, right Charlie?”
The old man frowned. “The spirit is immortal. Cuttin’ down a spirit tree won’t destroy the spirit trapped inside. Nor will burnin’ it. It will only kill the tree. Over time, the spirit would eventually gather itself together and escape. No one in their right mind would do such a thing.”
“That explains the double circle,” I said. “The Fewkes must want something from it.”
“No,” Charlie said. “The Nalusa Falaya is an ancient creature. It has nothing to offer but death.”
“Based on what we’ve heard, I doubt that concerns the Fewkes.” Rhys said. “If this demon could grant them immortality, or power, or wealth, or knowledge, or anything else they believe they must have, chances are the Fewkes plan to negotiate for what they want in exchange for giving it its freedom.”
“That’s crazy,” I said. “Surely they’re not going to actually set it free.”
Rhys made a face. “I expect they’re confident they can get it back in the tree once it’s given them what they want. Although they’d need the same kind of bait to release it that they used to trap it.” Rhys said. “We’re talking about couple dozen victims here.”
The answer hit me like a punch in the chest. “Charlie, you said it was a soul eater. Couldn’t they use trapped souls?” I could hardly get the words out. “Like the ones trapped in that house. Maybe they were just being stored in the house until they were needed. That’s gotta be it—Charlie, you said they were scared. Terrified. At the time, I didn’t believe you. I mean, what do the dead have to be afraid of? But being consumed by the Nalusa Falaya, that would scare them, wouldn’t it?”
Charlie looked positively ill. “Mebbe. It was Senequois magic used to trap the Nalusa Falaya. One of the People would have to be present during the ceremony. Not many left.”
“What about one of the
cult members?” I asked.
Charlie gave a snort. “Ain’t a single drop of Senequois blood in any of ‘em anymore.”
“Honey and her grandmother are both Senequois. And both of them were members of the Penfield eight.”
“Not many know that,” admitted Charlie.
“She also said that her Grandmother died shortly after she moved in with the Fewkes. She was a full-blooded Senequois. Her spirit could have been trapped in that house for years.”
“Good night,” Rhys said.
“That would do it,” Charlie agreed. “I heard them souls screamin’ from the banister as soon as I walked in. Makes me double glad I released ‘em.”
A shiver crept up my spine. Something he said tickled a memory, but then it was gone.
“If they plan to put the Nalusa Falaya back in the spirit tree, they’re gonna need a whole lot more souls than they planned to replace all them ones we freed,” Charlie said.
Shit. “Thanks, Charlie. We gotta go,” I said. Rhys was already moving toward the door.
“Where you goin’?”
“Halloween is tomorrow,” I said. “Gotta see a man about a wolf.”
CHAPTER 15
RHYS AND I arrived home in the pre-dawn hours of Saturday morning, intent on grabbing a few hours of sleep. Rhys stumbled upstairs to bed, while I put Blix to work on the Internet.
Three hours later, we were up. We had a lot to do today, and not much time to get it done. Rhys had already left.
Blix had not been able to find any information on the Internet on how to stop a demon summoning. I guess everyone wants to learn how to summon one, not how to screw one up. And while there was a lot of information online about many different kinds of demons and evil spirits, he’d found next to nothing on the Nalusa Falaya.
Blix still couldn’t speak yet, but his wings had completely sprouted from his shoulders over the past few days; ever since he’d started reading and researching for me. He couldn’t actually fly, but that didn’t stop him from jumping across the room and flapping them at every opportunity. His inability to speak didn’t prevent him from communicating any more. He was so good with my cell phone keypad, I’d gotten him his own phone so he could text me.
Maybe you are over thinking this, he texted. Perhaps there is no special way to break up a summoning, other than causing a distraction. Simply crossing the plane of the summoning circle could do it.
“I hope you’re right, Blix. Keep digging, and text me if you find anything. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Doc had called to let me know that my car was ready. As much as I loved the bike, the streak of summer temperatures we’d been enjoying was at an end. Forecasters were predicting snow within the next few days. As much as I loved riding the Vic, I was looking forward to using the Honda’s heater.
Lou was being released from the hospital this afternoon. I’d promised Honey I’d drop by with a load of groceries and help her set up the hospital bed at his place.
I turned over the Vic to Doc and paid him what I owed, then drove out to Henrietta to the Outdoorsman’s Cavern to pick up a few essentials we’d need tonight. Given that hunting season was in full swing, the place was packed, but I managed to score a lightweight cot we could use as a stretcher for carrying Lou, flashlights, batteries, and even a couple air horns that were on sale. After a drive over to Wegmans in Pittsford for groceries, I was feeling pretty confident that our plan was going to work.
I just had one more stop to make.
The Shore Haven Public Library was located on 6th Street, between Empress and St. Leonard. Built in the 1940s, the squat, two-story building had been renovated several times over the years, but to me, it still looked the same as it had when I was a kid. Built of rough-hewn grey granite, it resembled a prison more than a temple of learning. Only the stone courtyard in front, rimmed with bright orange marigolds and benches, softened the severity of the place. A wide stairway led up to the double doors, and once inside, the narrow windows and deep sills made for a perpetually gloomy interior.
I entered the vestibule, where dozens of jackets in a variety of colors and sizes hung from wall hooks placed at varying heights around the room, awaiting the return of their owners. It looked like Saturday was busy day. In a month, down parkas would line the walls and the place would look like a patchwork padded cell.
I stepped up to the information desk, where an older woman appraised me with a bored expression. My friend Karen used to work here, but she left six months ago, and this woman didn’t look familiar. Silver hair cut shorter than mine and cat’s eye glasses gave her a decidedly un-librarian-like look. Kind of arty. Maybe she was a volunteer.
“Can I help you find a book?” She asked.
“Um, I’m looking for the demon section.”
She gave me a disapproving look. “Excuse me?”
“Or sorcery. Specifically. I’m looking for any information you might have on summoning a demon.”
She picked up a pencil twiddled it between her thumb and forefinger. “What is the name of the book?”
Yeah, I really hadn’t thought this through. “I don’t know the name of the book.”
“The author then.”
“Can’t you just point me to the demon section?”
She gave me an angry, doubtful look that I remembered from every teacher I ever had in Junior High. “Wait right here.” She marched swiftly to the far side of the library and spoke to a dark-haired, younger woman replacing books on the shelves from a cart. The two women spoke for several minutes, all the while, glancing sharply over at me.
I was just about to slink out, when the second of the two women approached. The crescent-shaped scar on the palm of my hand began to itch like crazy. A rush of adrenaline spiked through me. The woman was no djemon. And she had a lifeline, which ruled out a vampire or any other sort of undead. She was human, but something about the way she looked at me reminded me of the women at Growlers. My heart skipped a beat.
Could she be one of the cultists? A sorceress?
Oh jeeze. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I really should have talked to Lou first.
My hand began to burn, warning me to get out. I backed away. “Um, never mind.” I said.
She stopped just short of the information desk, watching me, not saying a word. She was about my height and wore her long brown hair pulled back in a single braid. She wore a simple black t-shirt and skirt which accentuated her wiry, muscular build. She didn’t look like a librarian, either.
I edged my way toward the vestibule, but with each step, my feet and legs became heavier—as if I were wading through invisible quicksand. I didn’t know what was going on, but whatever it was, I trusted the little voice in my head, telling me to get the frack out of here! My heart pounded.
As hard as I tried, I could not take another step.
The dark-haired librarian raised an eyebrow at my predicament, a look of sly amusement on her face.
Morta’s shears slid into my hand and reflexively. I clenched and released my fist. The scissor action seemed to diminish the sluggishness in my leaden legs.
She closed the distance between us, stopping just out of arm’s reach.
I held up my shears. No one else in the library seemed to see me, or notice anything at all.
“You don’t belong here,” the librarian said. “We don’t serve your kind.” The weight around my legs seemed to increase. I flexed the shears again.
“It’s a public place,” I said. “I don’t like bullies.” As a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, I’d met more than my share of them. I probably had ten pounds on her, but she was solid muscle.
She gave me a superior sort of sneer. “Maybe I’ll just hold you there and call the Sheriff.”
I know a bluff when I see one. She wasn’t going to call anybody. Two could play that game. I pulled my newly organized cell phone out of my pocket. “Yes, by all means, let’s call Sheriff Jim. He’s a good friend of mine.” Well, maybe I was stretchin
g it a little. “Better yet, I’ve got the FBI on speed dial.”
The heaviness around my legs lifted so suddenly, I fell right on my ass. Of course, everyone in the library saw that. I scrambled to my feet, and got out of there, the sound of the women’s mocking laughter ringing in my ears.
* * *
Lou and Honey lived on St. Drogo’s Street. Most of the streets in Shore Haven are named after obscure Saints or Tarot Cards. Every school-aged kid in Shore Haven knew that Saint Drogo had been a shepherd in 12th century France who possessed the magical ability to be in two places at once. He was the patron saint of deformities, mental illness, and coffee houses.
I arrived at the duplex where Honey and Lou lived around three o’clock--later than planned, but it couldn’t be helped. Unlike many of the wood-shingle beach cottages in the neighborhood, the duplex was yellow Tudor-style stucco with a steeply-pitched roof and dark brown trim. Each side of the duplex had its own entry and tiny walled garden in the front. On Lou’s side, the garden consisted of a fountain and patio with potted plants, now withered and brown, while on the opposite side, an unraked lawn and paved walkway were strewn with plastic toy soldiers and a soccer ball with practice net.
Lou’s door was wide open when I arrived, and the hospital bed had already been delivered, and was sitting in the middle of the front room. Nine year-old Arby was seated at Lou’s dining room table, drawing a ‘welcome home’ picture on poster paper.
“Oh good,” Honey checked her watch and flashed a harried smile. “Nate Junior is at a friend’s, so you can help me with the bed. Knowing Lou, I doubt he’ll be needing it for very long.”
She turned to her son. “Pick up those crayons and go on home. You’ve got homework to finish. Mattie can help me with the rest of this.”
“Okay, Mama.” Arby slipped from the table and carefully set his drawing on the adjustable bed table that had been delivered with the hospital bed. He gave me a thoughtful look.