Moonset 01: Moonset

by Scott Tracey

Bailey twisted in her seat, her eyes meeting mine for the first time tonight. She looked afraid. But more than that, she looked aware. Like she knew something the rest of us didn’t. “Oh no,” I muttered, getting to my feet. Not now.

  Ash looked up at me. “Justin?”

  One by one, like items being checked off a list, each one of the light bulbs exploded with a paff. Darkness was gradual, but by the time the last one popped, the only light was from the projector. People screamed, and there was movement all around me.

  “Justin,” Bailey called warningly.

  I spun around, looking for the source. If this was a Maleficia attack, there would be a feeling. A sense in the air where nothing was visible, but something was definitely there. “Please be wrong, please be wrong,” I whispered.

  “What the hell?”

  The shout came from the floor, and I whipped around immediately. Someone had come into the theater while I was distracted. The emergency lights flicked on, spotlights that did little more than create an ominous amber glow.

  “We … we … we … we … ” The movie began to skip, cutting the same moment of an earnest blonde dropping a cell phone onto a table. Over and over again, that same two second clip. I took my eyes from the floor, from the new arrival, and that was long enough for chaos to break out.

  Another shout, pained this time, as a body went flying through the air. From beside me, Ash’s shock was palpable. “Santa?”

  She was right. It was Santa. More specifically, one of the zombie Santa mannequins that had been set up all over the megaplex. And he was heading directly for my sister.

  I leapt over the chairs in front of me in an instant, already shouting for her. Bailey took one look at her friends, and then a longer look at the Maleficia-possessed spirit of Christmas, and started backing away down her aisle.

  “Only … only … only … only … ” The movie jerked again, cutting to a totally different scene. The man’s voice was hoarse and full of rage.

  More Santas surged into the theater, their movements jerky and awkward. As people tried to run, the Santas grabbed them in mitted hands. Most they pushed aside, but a few they threw. Quickly, the crowd of theatergoers realized that running for the door was not an option. The crowd, however, was evenly divided on an alternative route. Half ran down the stairs on the far side, heading for the emergency exit that led outside. The other half ran for the top of the theater … and no route of escape.

  “What’s going on?” Bailey grabbed my arm, squeezing for dear life. “What’s happening?”

  “It’s going to be okay,” I lied. The first row of seats had a pipe railing over it and open space for wheelchairs. Since the stairs were occupied, I pushed Bailey under the railing and climbed up after her.

  One of the Santas lunged for us, but tripped over his own feet and clattered to the ground.

  “Eed … eed … eed … eed … ”

  “We have to get everyone out of here,” I said, trying to think. With a row and a railing between the advancing army of Santas, they couldn’t come directly at us. At Bailey. They were going after her first. It was just a theory, but I wasn’t about to test it out.

  We ran to the end of the row. Most of the kids who were making for the theater’s exit had already passed us, but they were cut off from the exit by one of the Santas. I looked towards the place we’d entered from, and Santas were guarding it, too. They’re cutting off escape routes. But how was that possible? Maleficia was supposed to destroy things. Break them down. Not play puppetmaster.

  “They’re not hurting anyone,” Bailey said at my side. “Just the ones who get in their way.” And then a moment later, “They’re after us, aren’t they?”

  “One … one … one … one … ”

  “Yes,” I said, keeping my voice short. “Stay away from them,” I shouted to the one or two kids who still thought going up against the Santas was a smart move. The majority of the red-suit pack kept heading towards us.

  The Santas by the emergency exit couldn’t be toppled by any of the kids rushing for the door. Time and again, they shoved back anyone who attempted to run away. Eventually the crowd panicked and ran for the stairs, though the rest of the people were still hiding on the top row.

  A shift seemed to come over the monsters then. It was like Bailey’s first question had reminded the Santas that they were supposed to be the demon-filled patriarchs of a bloody Christmas, because where they’d been content to push people out of there way a moment ago, now the violence was escalating. Their movements stopped being as jerky, and they kept their balance better. Mouths that had been painted closed now opened, revealing bloody teeth.

  It’s like they’re becoming more alive. But I didn’t know what that meant. Or how it could help me.

  One of them shoved a boy to the ground below us, crawled on top of him, and started punching. Bailey gasped. “Jesse!” She dropped her hand and bolted down the step towards the Santa.

  “Bay!” I yelled profanities, jumping under the railing and trying to cut her off. The Santa raised its fist like it was going to punch her, and I threw myself between them. “Bailey, run!” There’s the curse to think about. Come on, hit me. When the curse had activated before, it had been like being covered in something heavy, right before it had cut through the wraith that had attacked me. Hopefully, history would repeat itself. I turned my neck, giving the creature a perfect target to hit.

  The Santa raised its fist … and then it hesitated.

  “Hit me! C’mon, hit me!” I shoved it, but the Santa wouldn’t complete the act. It took the shove, then turned its head to look down at Bailey.

  “Hit me!” I shoved it again, and this time it toppled backwards. Jesse, the hair-swooping boy that had been sitting next to Bailey, struggled to his feet, Bailey at his side.

  They know what happens when we’re threatened. Everything Quinn told me was wrong. Maleficia wasn’t stupid at all. It was smart. Really smart. I raised my voice into a yell. “You want us to go with you?”

  “Justin, no!” Bailey looked up from the boy, shaking.

  “You only need one?” I continued, raising my hand to point at them. “Take me. But you leave my sister alone.” I looked around the theater, pretending it was so I could look at each of the Santas, one by one, as if I really were speaking to them and not whatever was pulling their strings. But the truth was I had to figure out a way to keep thirty people safe from creatures that were about to be really, really, pissed off.

  I’d seen enough creepy things in my life. The wraith, the Harbinger, the Moonset symbol. But all of those were trumped by a legion of devil Santas all cocking their heads to the side, as if they were contemplating something.

  I dropped my voice, and spoke out of the corner of my mouth, moving my lips as little as possible. “Bailey, remember that thing I made you promise to never, ever do again?”

  She looked startled. “What?” Then recognition hit her, and her face knotted up. “You said never. Not even if it was an emergency.”

  I looked at the army of zombie Santas. “We’re a step past emergency.”

  I backed up and took a step down the aisle, moving toward the screen and never once turning my back on the Santas. I kept my hand raised, finger pointed. They seemed to follow it with their eyes. I grabbed Bailey by the shoulder, and once she was behind me started to back up again, only this time I was heading for the emergency exit.

  The few who were still there by the door backed away from us—a few of them Bailey’s friends from the group, I noticed.

  The guards couldn’t be moved. They were like statues. But I was willing to bet that those rules didn’t apply to me, either. “You can’t hurt me,” I said to the pair of them. “And you can’t stop me either. Can you?” I shoved first one, then the other, and both tumbled away from the door like they were nothing.

  Above us the screen started skipping agai
n, a blurring of images and sounds as each second of the movie was extrapolated and thrown out of order. Until it finally settled on the words it was looking for.

  “They … die. They … die. They … die.”

  My eyes widened. Even as I’d opened up an escape route, the Santas had turned on the crowd, and were now heading up the stairs, single file. A boy in a white T-shirt was collapsed on the ground, unconscious. One of the Santas approached, settling his black boot over the boy’s neck.

  “No!”

  I stepped forward, throwing out my hand the way I’d seen Quinn do against the wraith. What was the spell? “Les divlock.” Nothing. “Lex davlock.” Nothing. Shit, what was it?!

  Ash appeared at my side, punching her fist forward. “Lex divok!”

  The Santa went flying back, spinning up in the air like a top. My brain went spinning in much the same direction. Ash just used a spell. Ash just used magic.

  I opened my mouth, expecting to confront her about being a witch, but what came out instead was, “You knew who I was all along?”

  She looked guilty, but determined. “Justin, we’ve got to get them out of here. I’ll explain later.”

  “The hell you will,” Bailey muttered, a suddenly fierce expression crossing her face. “Now, Justin?”

  I shook my head, trying to regain my focus. “Yeah,” I said, my mouth dry.

  When people thought about which of us was the most dangerous, they always picked Jenna. Occasionally Cole. Rarely me. But never Malcolm or Bailey. But Bailey had the talent for evocations, and an inability to understand the difference between when to use her powers and when not to.

  Bailey dropped her head, whispering words to herself.

  Fascinations were brainwashing spells, in which the subject is literally fascinated into believing whatever the witch wants them to. Witchers were basically the reigning lords of fascination magic—they used it the most frequently, and they limited who they taught it to. But Bailey’s gift was self-taught, something innate she was born already knowing how to do.

  The night of the Harbinger’s suicide, the Witchers had split the crowds up into fours and fives because that was the limit that most people could influence at one time.

  Bailey looked up, and near on thirty pairs of eyes stared at her blankly, awaiting orders.

  “Tell them to avoid the Santas, to help each other, and to head for the emergency door,” I said.

  Bailey nodded, concentrating. She didn’t have to say the words out loud.

  “You can’t let them go outside,” Ash said. “Lex divok!” She turned her palm towards the Santa at the top of the chain on the stairs, and pulled. Instead of flying forward, the Santa went tumbling back, and like a stack of dominos he knocked down every Santa below him until the entire line was off their feet.

  “Why not?” I demanded. “We have to get them out of here. Did you miss the big warning?” I gestured towards the screen. “They’ll kill everyone.”

  “And if this is just a trap to get you out in the open?” she snapped back. This was not a side of Ash I’d seen before. Confident and in control, yes, but never angry and harsh. Even knowing she’d been lying to me since the beginning, I was fascinated.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  It turned out that she did. “Clear a path to the main door. Get everyone out into the lobby. The Witchers are probably on their way already.”

  Right. Witchers. “They’re already here.”

  “And if they’re not in here, that means they’re neutralizing whatever else is going on. Distractions to keep the Witchers busy while the warlock came after you.”

  “Lex divok!” I shouted, sweeping my hand from left to right. The Santas I’d pushed from the door had climbed to their feet, only I knocked them back down again, sending them sliding against the concrete floor towards the other wall.

  “Bay, change of plan,” I said. “Make them go for the lobby exit. We’ll clear a path.”

  Bailey didn’t say anything, but there was a brief jut of her chin that I took for understanding. She was sweating. I wondered how long she could keep the spell going before it overwhelmed her. Mind magic was a lot of things, but easy wasn’t one of them.

  As hard as it was to admit, Ash and I worked well to-gether. She kept the demon Clauses on the stairs tumbling down, and I knocked the ones that had blocked the exit toward them. Between the two of us, we kept most of them down at all times. Bailey stayed behind and between us, head down and hands balled up into fists.

  She’s not going to be able to do much more. About half of the kids were in the hallway, moving orderly but a bit slow. But the way everyone was moving, I didn’t think Bailey would be able to hold out until we all out of the theater.

  “Can you set off the sprinkler system?” I asked, looking over Bailey’s head at Ash … who wasn’t in much better shape. Constantly using the knock-down spell was taking a toll on her, too. I was barely winded, but she looked like she was in the middle of a marathon.

  “What?” Ash squinted up at the ceiling. “Why?”

  “Can you do it or not? I would, but I don’t know the right spell.”

  “I think so,” she said. “When?”

  “When I tell you.” I leaned over, put my arm around Bailey’s back. “Bay, when I tell you, you’re going to drop the spell, okay?”

  “But everyone’s still—” she tried to protest, her voice flimsy and weak.

  “I’ll get everyone out, okay? You did good.” I rubbed her back, then nodded my head at Ash, who concentrated on the ceiling. Fifty feet above us, tiny fires sparked to life, in tune with the spells coming out of Ash’s mouth. One by one they circled, until each of them targeted one of the sprinkler heads. Just as the first drop of water struck my head, thirty people regained awareness and my sister started to drop.

  I scooped her up immediately, having expected exactly this. “Fire!” I shouted. “Fire!” One side effect of fascination was the period of disorientation after the spell ended. Minds were jumbled around, and it took a minute for the brain to reboot itself. Unless, of course, you provided people with a shock. Like a fire in a movie theater.

  There were screams and shrieks, but since everyone was already in the process of leaving the theater, they kept at it, only faster. Ash and I were the last two in line, and before we even reached the doors, a man and a woman in black suits appeared. The Witchers. Finally.

  “In there,” I said, gesturing backwards with my head. “The mannequins.”

  “Get them out of here,” the man said to his partner. She took one look at Bailey and nodded sharply.

  “We’re fine,” I insisted. “Bailey just used too much magic. Is there anything else out there?”

  “We banished the rest,” the woman said. “We’ve been checking theater by theater to make sure we got it all.”

  “Big mess in there, then. Might take both of you.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Ash said quietly from my side.

  Whoever she really was, they seemed to know her. “Make sure they stay in the lobby. No one’s being allowed to leave until the mess is cleaned up.”

  Once out of the theater, we saw people milling around in groups near the lobby, but the theater hallways were clear.

  “You have an in with the Witchers,” I said as we headed for the concession stand. There was an argument going on between two of the groups, trying to decide what had happened. One side thought fire, the other suggested a gas leak, but neither could explain why the building hadn’t been evacuated yet.

  Ash was subdued. Quiet. “I’ve been training with them since I was a freshman.”

  “Of course you have.” I shifted my grip on Bailey, and Ash looked up immediately.

  “I can help,” she offered, but I shook my head.

  “She’s my responsibility.”

  “Justin
… ” but she couldn’t follow it up with anything. What could she even say? Sorry I lied to you? Sorry I knew all along who you were? Sorry you thought I was normal and bizarre and sweet?

  It was almost ten minutes before the Witchers emerged, declaring the threat banished. The Santas had dropped almost as soon as we broke for the doors, but Maleficia could have been lingering in the shadows and corners of the theater. Backup, in the form of a half-dozen plainclothes twenty-somethings with a military way of moving, arrived not soon after.

  It only took another ten minutes to turn a potential attack into something less stable than a dream. The Witchers worked quickly, wiping memories and replacing fears with a sense of calm. Under their direction, kids with footage on their phone deleted the evidence, and the theater’s security cameras were erased. I looked around while all this was going on, not sure what I was looking for exactly, but knowing I didn’t find it. Something’s not right.

  They decided to blame it on a gas leak, exacerbated by someone, probably a teenager, pulling one of the fire alarms and setting off the sprinkler system.

  Quinn arrived with the reinforcements and grabbed Bailey out of my hands after I stumbled.

  “I’ve got her!”

  He shook his head. “You need to take a minute. Catch your breath. Stretch.”

  “I can take care of my sister,” I snapped, reaching for her.

  “You already did,” Quinn said in a soothing tone. “You kept her from getting hurt. But now we need to take care of both of you and make sure you’re both okay.”

  I didn’t like what he was implying. “We’re fine.”

  “Maybe it looks that way … ”

  I reached out and grabbed for Bailey. Quinn only resisted for a moment before he helped shift her weight over to me. “We’re fine. We kept the warlock from hurting as many people as we could. And now you’re just going to imply that there’s something wrong with us?” My stomach turned. “We saved people tonight. And you’re still looking at us like we’re the bad guys.”

  “Justin, that’s not what he’s saying.” But I didn’t want to hear what Ash had to say either.