“If I find I have only thirty seconds to live,” Michael said as he brandished the phone, “I’m calling my mother.”
With his white terrycloth robe billowing behind him, Michael dashed around the corner of the barn. Looking first to ascertain that no one was watching, Eleazar casually pitched the T-square under Michael’s trailer.
* * * * *
Marc heard Eleazar’s frantic voice over the whistling outside:
“Marc! Milord! What the Hell are you doing?”
Marc slung the backpack spray unit filled with Diazanon on his back. If his first assessment of the situation was right, this would be all he needed. Just in case, he also picked up a shovel and an over-sized aluminum flashlight that doubled as a police baton.
Marc carried his load of equipment out of the barn where Eleazar waited for him.
“Now, I’m loaded for bear. Well, bugs, actually.”
The whistling was still getting louder. It had a fingernails-on-chalkboard quality that was beginning to irritate Marc. He growled to himself as he surveyed the trees around the camp.
“I’m afraid you’re going to need more than that, sirrah.”
Eleazar twitched as he tried to put his eyes all places at once.
“Don’t get worked up,” Marc said. “These mystery noises happen all the time. Usually, it’s some obscure fish or insect that’s just over-sexed and out of control.” Marc looked over Eleazar, who must have dressed quickly after entertaining in bed. His shirt was inside out. “Just like you.”
Marc stepped over to the tree line near Theodora’s shed. He scanned the bushes and treetops with the flashlight. Blurs of motion proved to be some of the local tree spirits, leaving the area in a hurry.
“Besides, you should see how I can whack a demon with a shovel.”
Eleazar was constantly circling now, trying to localize the sound. He held his club at ready, set to strike out in any direction.
“It is so reassuring to be protected by a knight errant armed with Craftsman tools.” Eleazar did not sound reassured. Marc wasn’t feeling so comfortable himself.
Michael popped back around the barn suddenly. Eleazar and Marc both leaped and cringed when Michael shouted:
“Good news! We’re not going to be blown up!”
The whistling grew even louder. A hundred yards past Marc, a section of treetops shook and thrashed from side to side. All eyes in the camp turned in that direction.
“Of course, that is still the bad news,” Michael said. “What the Hell is that?”
Marc had no answer, not even a good guess, which was not good for the morale of his troops. Michael and Eleazar cautiously retreated towards the trailers. Marc shed the sprayer and backed away from the tree line. He stopped at a calculated point where a desperate leap for the barn or Theodora’s shed would be the same distance.
Marc stepped on something then, probably just a big chunk of gravel, but he felt the urge to check on it. When he lifted his work boot, he saw it was a ring: a pewter skull with glittering red eyes.
What the Hell is that doing here, was Marc’s first thought. Then his over-active imagination brought to mind dozens of unpleasant things it could be doing right then.
“Rat’s ass.”
There was a new noise, as if a whistle could sound angry. Fifty yards in from the edge of camp, a chunk of the canopy disappeared as if fed down a gigantic garbage disposal. A deafening burst of crackling and grinding noises followed. Wood bark and branches flew everywhere. A broken tree trunk the size of Theodora bounced into the middle of the camp.
Michael and Eleazar retreated behind Michael’s trailer.
“You guys all right?” Marc shouted over to them.
“Just hiding like scared rabbits,” Eleazar replied. “You, milord?”
“I’m about average, for this town, anyways. You actually seeing this?”
“No shit, Marc! Everything but the invisible monster.” Michael sounded like he was personally insulted by being attacked by something irrational.
“Good,” Marc shouted, “I’m not crazy.”
Marc discarded the flashlight and took up the shovel in both hands, kendo-style. He dodged debris, deflecting what he could with the shovel’s blade.
“Okay, you son-of-bitch,” Marc muttered. “Quit playing games and come out where I can see you.”
* * * * *
Whereas his Fearless Leader had chosen to make a heroic stand, Eleazar thought it far more appropriate to demonstrate the greatest part of valor behind the Airstream trailers. At least the aluminum skins would deflect the smaller bits of tree being thrown into the camp.
A grey, furry bundle hit the trailer near Michael and Eleazar. It made a booming thump and bounced to the ground at their feet. It was a squirrel, stunned but not dead. It shook its head and retreated to the bushes.
“Flying squirrel,” Eleazar observed.
“Maybe we should be moving a bit further back?” Michael suggested. “One of those branches could punch straight through a trailer.”
“You’re right, milord,” Eleazar agreed. Then, a sudden horrible realization hit him. “Oh, Good God in Heaven!”
“What now?” Michael looked over his shoulder in distress.
“She—her—I mean—”
Eleazar was not speechless, but what speech he had was of absolutely no use. Eleazar leaped up and ran for his trailer.
“What’s-her-name is still in my trailer!”
“Christ!” Michael muttered from his secure hiding place
Eleazar tapped urgently on the door of his own trailer.
“Oh, Rebecca?” Eleazar kept his voice even and honey-sweet in spite of impending disaster.
Eleazar thought for a moment and tapped again.
“Brittany, dear!”
“It’s Bethany!” the comely lass shouted through the closed door. “Can’t you even remember my name?!”
The debris continued to whistle past Eleazar’s head. He even thought he saw another rodent taking up aviation.
“I’m sorry, Bethany darling,” Eleazar wheedled, “but there are some very distracting things going on out here. You have to get out of the trailer—RIGHT NOW!”
“I’m naked!” Bethany angrily replied. “Give me a second to find my clothes. What the heck’s all the noise out there?”
“I don’t think—”
Eleazar never got a chance to finish his sentence. A flying branch hit the trailer’s corner and punched out the other side.
Bethany flew out of the door, holding one of Eleazar’s kilts and an oven mitt to cover her nakedness. She dove behind Eleazar and clutched him while screaming uncontrollably.
* * * * *
Marc did his best to hold his ground as it rained bits of wood. The invisible attacker kept lobbing chunks of debris into the camp, always pushing him in one direction. Its purpose seemed to be to drive Marc away from the shelter of the barn.
“This is beginning to piss me off!” he shouted at the trees.
A log flew directly at Marc, bouncing at his knee level. Marc leaped over it, tucked into a roll and came back to his feet.
“Come on!” he raged. “Come out and fight like a man.”
Michael popped out from behind his trailer long enough to catch Marc’s attention. He was waving his cell phone over his head.
“I don’t care what you say,” Michael shouted, “I‘m calling in the cavalry.”
Chapter 22
Goddesses Who Kick Ass
AT FIRST, BRENWYN THOUGHT THE DREAM was her subconscious mind’s rehashing of Forbidden Planet. That was the only science fiction movie her parents had let her watch as a child, since it was Shakespeare dressed up in a robot suit. The invisible monster and the screaming men all seemed to be just fragments of what she remembered in the film. But then she saw that three gleaming trailers stood in place of the flying saucer and the alien landscape was filled with leafless trees and a ramshackle barn.
Brenwyn woke with a start. Whatever Jeremiah Stone had bee
n planning, it was happening tonight, perhaps even now.
She rolled out of bed and padded over to her vanity in the dark, shedding her silk pajamas on the way. She went through a very hurried purification ritual, all of it done by touch and scent. For any normal ritual, she would have spent hours in taking a full bath and anointing herself in a series of oils. Tonight, she rubbed a few drops of anise oil into her skin and prayed for time, all the while her heart fluttered in her rib cage like a trapped bird.
She pulled on a white linen top and her favorite Navaho ribbon skirt. She scooped up a pair of flats and hurried to her worktable in the living room. There, she collected her magickal tools: her black-handled athame; the white-handled bolline; a silver mounted hand mirror; her bronze incense burner; and finally, cloth bags of chalk, salt, and incense. She rolled it all into her cloth carrier and bound it up. With the tool roll tucked under one arm, she picked up the cassette that held a recording of her latest project.
A week ago, Brenwyn had felt compelled to create a new invocation. Her intention was to invoke all the most powerful goddesses for protection and to battle evil presences, the “Goddesses Who Kick Ass,” as Feather had put it. Brenwyn had only the slightest idea of what Jeremiah planned, but this felt to be the best response.
She flicked on the living room light and drifted over to the table where her phone and answering machine sat. It began to ring just as she arrived.
She snatched up the phone in the middle of the first ring.
“Michael, what is happening there?” she said.
“Brenwyn, I know you and Marc aren’t—”
Michael sounded both anxious and terrified on the other end of the line. A vibrato whistling sound in background nearly drowned out his uneven voice. She did not know what made the noise, but she recognized the primal pain and rage it voiced.
“There is no time for that nonsense,” Brenwyn said to cut through his roundabout approach. “What is happening, Michael?”
“There’s a big whistling thing in the treetops,” Michael said. “It’s chewing up trees and throwing them at us. I think Marc’s going to whack it with a shovel.”
The whistling thing was no doubt some Qliphotic evil brewed up by Jeremiah. Marc’s response would naturally be to do something both heroic and stupid.
“Just as I thought,” Brenwyn said. “Tell Marc to sit tight. I will be there in five minutes.”
“It takes me twelve to get into town,” Michael said.
“I will use my broom,” Brenwyn said. “Keep Marc from doing anything too . . .” She went through several word choices before settling for the most diplomatic: “Aggressive.”
Brenwyn hung up before Michael could say anymore. She snatched up her roll of magickal tools and the study tape. She swept into her traveling cloak and past Wortcunning, who slept on a shelf next to her rutilated quartz crystal ball. He dropped to the floor and followed her to the door. He sat himself on the entryway rug and meowed plaintively.
“Relax,” Brenwyn said, “I will be right back.”
She locked the door behind her and rushed down the stairs. Behind the building, her grandmother’s car waited in its space. She slid in and started the engine, taking a moment to let it warm and for her to draw power from the Earth. She used the power to push the Impala’s engine to its maximum output. With a jerk, she backed it out of the space and into the alley. It bucked and lurched as she guided it onto the main street.
Once she was out of town, she placed the cassette into the car’s tape player. She had a few minutes for a final review of the invocation.
“Sekhmet, Lioness of the Eastern Desert,” her own voice intoned over the speakers, “the One before Whom Evil Trembles, I invoke your power.”
She repeated the words along with her taped self as she pushed her Impala to its utmost to make it to Camp Arcanum in time.
* * * * *
Michael stared at his phone.
“Keep Marc from doing anything too aggressive, she says. Who’s the crazy one here?”
Michael made his way carefully to the edge of the trailer nearest the clearing.
Marc was still dodging and parrying flying objects. The trees were still shaking, and the Damned Thing was still whistling. Status quo was maintained for the moment.
“Marc!” Michael shouted. Marc didn’t respond, focused as he was on flying wood.
“Marc!” he shouted again.
“I’m really busy here, Michael!” A fairly large branch flew straight at Marc’s head. He ducked beneath it and went back to his original fighting posture.
“I know!” Michael replied. “I called Brenwyn! She’ll be here in a few minutes!”
The whistling stopped. One last branch fell at Marc’s feet. In the quiet, the panicked squeals from Eleazar’s one-night friend were suddenly very loud.
Michael looked all around the tree line and into the denuded canopies, though if this thing were actually invisible it would do no good.
“Did we scare it away?” he asked.
Marc backed towards the barn. He, too, was looking for things that weren’t there.
“No, we couldn’t be so lucky,” Marc said grimly.
“Then where is it?” Something big enough to do that kind of damage shouldn’t have been able to tiptoe around in the dark without being noticed.
There was a sound of cracking wood and Michael wheeled around in the direction of the noise.
Something large and totally invisible pushed apart the trees behind Marc’s trailer. The upper limbs, any one of which was big enough to crush a parked car, were torn free and thrown in opposite directions. The whistling from thin air started again.
The woman screamed once and ran for her life in the direction of the barn. Eleazar was right on her naked heels. The Damned Thing seemed to follow, knocking Eleazar’s trailer to one side.
* * * * *
Terrific, Marc thought, More Qliphotic Elements. His late brother’s obsession and Jeremiah’s favorite tool was becoming a real pain in the ass.
This thing was just like the shadow demons he encountered on Halloween: a constantly shifting mass of tentacles, spider limbs, eyes, and teeth. It was translucent as if made up of smoke and shadows. The only difference was, this particular specimen was the size of a two-story building.
“Roasted rat’s ass on a stick,” Marc muttered to himself. Even if a blow from his shovel could injure it like the others, it might take him a week to cut it down to size.
“I can’t see anything!” Michael yelled.
“Be glad you can’t,” Marc yelled back. “It’s ugly.” This thing was more than just ugly: it was layered like a parfait, ugly over repulsive over pure malevolent evil.
“An invisible monster,” Michael almost whispered then. “I was hoping it was just hiding.”
“You’d better get out of here,” Marc suggested.
“Good idea.”
Michael backed away with his eyes locked on where the monster should be. Not looking where he was going, he stepped in a hole and fell flat on his back with a squeal of surprise.
The noise and motion attracted the creature. The thing moved toward Michael like a slow-motion avalanche, tentacles and organic meat hooks raised high.
“The fun in Arcanum just never lets up,” Marc muttered under his breath. He stepped forward, waving his shovel to get the creature’s attention.
“Hey, Peckerface!” he shouted. “Your argument’s with me!”
The creature twisted on itself, turning inside out and backwards to face Marc and stare down at him with a half-dozen eyes the size of bathtubs.
“Tell Jeremiah that he’s next!”
“Brenwyn said—” Michael started to warn Marc.
“Brenwyn’s not here!”
Marc roared and slashed the shadow creature across its toothy snout. It reared back and retreated across the camp with Marc slashing and screaming close behind.
Michael got to his feet and disappeared in the direction of the foundry
shed. Marc allowed himself a brief feeling of relief when he saw that.
The shadow wrapped several limbs around the lamppost in the middle of the camp and uprooted it. Sparks showered down on Marc as the light came loose from the power line, leaving him only moonlight and the single bulb on the barn for light. The shadow creature swung the pole like a baseball bat as it approached.
“Uh-oh,” Marc said. “This can’t be good.”
An overhand swing barely missed Marc and splintered the picnic table beside him. Marc was then driven around the camp by a series of near misses as the shadow demon played a vicious game of “Whack a Mole,” with Marc, of course, being the mole.
“Michael? Eleazar?” Marc bellowed. “I could use a little help here!”
* * * * *
Eleazar stroked Bethany’s hair as she wept at his feet. Normally, he was quite good at soothing hysterical females, but this attack by an invisible fiend from Hell had proven to be quite distracting. His head snapped around to the open door as he heard Marc’s call.
“Oh, God. Marc is trying to get himself killed and I have to help him.” Eleazar realized that was not quite what he meant. “I-I mean, I have to save him. So, let go, Bethany. Please?”
He tried to slip his hands along his leg and lever Bethany’s arms away, but she was holding tight as a limpet.
“Milady, we have two choices here,” Eleazar explained. “Either you let me go to face a noble but certain death outside or I’ll have to face the monster with you wrapped around my nether regions.”
He stroked her hair again, hoping for at least a moment of calm as a result.
“Now, what’ll it be, m’love?” he asked.
Bethany sniffled, sobbed, but then released him. She curled up into a moist, quaking ball on the ground. Eleazar draped a canvas tarp over her shoulders and kissed her forehead sweetly.
The distressed young damsel as settled as she was likely to be, Eleazar fell to collecting weapons from the tool barn. After several seconds’ effort, he went to the door bearing an ax, a bush hook, two machetes, and his collection of throwing knives.
“And now to bravely face the dragon,” Eleazar said, “the greatest—and probably last—performance of my life.”
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