by John Levitt
Campbell listened soberly. When I was finished, she said, “My grandmother used to tell a story very similar, although in her version the person never made it back home. So I don’t know how she could have known what happened, but she was an amazing woman, not Wiccan, but far stronger in craft than I will ever be. One thing that’s clear is that the wolf is your totem.”
“My totem?”
“Your guardian spirit. An archetype. Some people have them and some people don’t. It has nothing to do with who might deserve it and who might not. There doesn’t seem to be any reason why some people are blessed—it hardly seems fair, but that’s apparently just the way it is.”
Sort of like Ifrits and practitioners, I thought. “And have you got one?” I asked.
“No,” she said, looking suddenly so sad I was sorry I had asked.
“So, this wolf totem protects me?” I tried hard to keep the skepticism out of my voice, but I don’t think I succeeded very well. “Then why haven’t I ever run into them before? I’m sure I would have remembered.”
“Mock if you wish, but my grandmother knew a lot, and she took it for granted that there were such things.”
“But she wasn’t Wiccan?”
“She was a Catholic. As was my mother.”
“What happened to you?”
“It’s a long story. In any case, a totem only appears when it’s needed. Have you ever had a magical attack on your life before?”
I hadn’t. You’d think the life of a magical practitioner would be full of excitement and danger, but it wasn’t. Apart from music, I led a relatively placid existence.
“And what, pray tell, would be your alternative explanation for why a pack of wolves would suddenly appear and help to transport you back home?” she added.
She had me there. “Perhaps I’m a werewolf,” I said, teasingly.
She grabbed my hand with enough force to make me wince, turned it over, and stared into the palm.
“No, you’re not,” she said, exhaling with relief. “After last night, I couldn’t have handled that.”
I looked at her closely. I couldn’t tell if she was putting me on or if she really thought there were such things. Then again, I wasn’t so sure myself anymore. This last week had shaken a lot of my cherished rationality.
“Hold on a second,” she said, getting up from the table. She walked over to a wooden trunk on the other side of the room, rummaged around in it for a while, and came up with a small, tarnished silver box. She brought it back to the table, opened it, removed a small object, and set it on the table.
“My grandmother gave me this,” she said. “Her mother gave it to her, and she was supposed to give it to my mother, but she gave it to me instead. She said I had the greater need.”
I examined the object closely. It seemed to be made of ivory and wood, the wood black and polished, the ivory yellow with age. It was a figurine no larger than a pack of gum and appeared to be a man with the head of a wolf, or maybe a wolf with a deformed body. The wolf motif again.
“This is very old,” I said. Campbell nodded. “And kind of creepy.” She nodded again.
“My grandmother said it was a talisman of protection, the only real talisman she had ever possessed.”
“What is it supposed to do?” I asked.
“I have no idea. My grandmother said I would know what to do with it if the time ever came.”
I turned the figurine over in my hand and sent out a cautious probe. I was careful—one of the few rules I abide by is to never mess with things I know nothing about. Something about it was unsettling, but I couldn’t tell just what that was. What seemed to be a smooth skin covered it, so that my probe just slid off. It was like trying to grasp an egg yolk out of a bowl without breaking it or having it slip away. Whatever it was, I had no desire to break it open to find out.
“Interesting,” I said.
“It’s yours. This is what I’m supposed to do with it.”
I shook my head. “I really appreciate the thought,” I said, “but it’s not my type of thing.”
Campbell leaned over and took my hand. “Mason, listen to me. There are things I sometimes know. I don’t know what the mechanism is, but there are some things that I just know. You’re meant to have this figure. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but I do know it’s protection for you. Take it.”
“It’s from your grandmother. It’s clearly valuable. I wouldn’t feel right about it.”
She took a deep breath. “You owe me,” she said. “Remember? Well, here’s your chance to pay your debt. Take it. If nothing else, it will give me some peace of mind.” Her voice broke a little. “Do you honestly think I sleep with just anyone who turns up at my door? Take the goddamned thing.”
“You mean goddess-damned, don’t you?” I said, trying to lighten the tone. It didn’t work. “Okay, okay. Thank you.”
What else could I do? I slipped it into my pocket as we sat there in an awkward silence. The sun streamed through the window and fell across the table. She looked at me and smiled.
“You don’t know nearly as much as you think you do,” she said.
“Believe me, I’m aware of that.”
I stood up and stretched. Campbell took the hint. “I suppose it is getting to be about that time,” she said.
“I’m afraid so. I’d like to get home before dark, and right now, I don’t even know where my car is.”
She stood up, still holding onto my hand, and pulled me toward the front door. We stepped out on the porch, and it was a beautiful day. The temperature had risen into the high thirties, and an unbroken blanket of new snow glistened over everything in sight. The air was crisp and fresh. I could hear the sound of a snowplow working a few miles off. Campbell pointed down the gentle pitch of the hill which led to her cabin. No more than a hundred yards away, at the bottom of the slope, I could see a Navigator-sized lump with a car aerial sticking up through the snow.
“Fuck!” I said. “I wandered around for two hours last night trying to find your place when I was practically on your doorstep.”
“Count your blessings,” she said. “People have died up here within sight of their own houses. Mountain country in winter is not forgiving.”
As we stood there, a snowplow churned by on the road below the house, throwing plumes of snow ten feet in the air. Several streamers landed on my already buried car.
“Great,” I said. “I was hoping for an extra half hour of shoveling.”
I packed up Louie in the backpack again—the snow was melting fast but it was still deep enough to be over his head. My shoes were finally dry, but since they wouldn’t stay that way long, I borrowed a pair of Sorels that apparently had belonged to Campbell’s ex. They didn’t really fit, but they were better than what I had. After she produced a shovel from the back of the cabin, I was ready to take off.
“Just leave the shovel sticking up in the snow,” she said. “I’ll get it later.”
“You’re staying put? A true lady always walks her gentleman caller to his car,” I pointed out.
“So I’ve heard. Tell you what—if you’re still digging two hours from now, I’ll ski down with some hot cocoa.”
Neither of us mentioned last night. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek as I turned to go, grabbed me by the arm, and said, “I will see you again.” It was not a question.
“That does seem likely,” I agreed.
“Unless you end up dead.”
“I’ll try to get back up here first.”
“I would appreciate it.” She suddenly changed her tone into serious. “Be careful. And keep that talisman with you whether you believe in it or not.”
It took me an hour and a half to dig the Navigator out. Campbell did show up with cocoa, knocked the snow off the hood of a smaller lump that turned out to be an old Toyota Land Cruiser, and sat there chatting while I took a break. She finally broke down and offered to help dig, but I waved her away. “Man’s work,” I said grandly, in between wh
eezing gasps. I hadn’t factored in the altitude. Finally I graciously allowed her to assist and she threw shovelfuls of snow aside with a smooth and steady rhythm that made a mockery of my previous flailing attempts. I’d forgotten she was a cross-country skier, probably the most aerobic-intensive activity on earth.
“I’m acclimated to this altitude,” she told me, in between swings of the shovel, providing me with a crumb to soothe my ego.
We traded off and finally cleared enough space for me to rock the Navigator back and forth, then gun it backward down onto the main road, almost spinning it out off the other side. I waved my thanks and took off down the hill. Once I got back onto the road it was smooth sailing. The plows had managed to scrape the road into good shape, and when I reached the interstate cars were whizzing by as if there had never been any storm at all. A couple of thousand feet lower, and the only signs of snow were a few lingering patches under the trees by the side of the road. By the time I reached the Bay Bridge, winter was a distant memory. I couldn’t wait to get back to my own house and finally relax. Nobody was going to be waiting inside for me this time. Well, I was right. This time, the problem was waiting outside.
Eleven
He was standing right beside my front door. Or maybe I should say it was standing there. I momentarily mistook it for a person, and a person who was obviously unwell at that. The face had a sickly, pale yellowish cast as if long devastated by disease, and its body was so bony and cadaverous it seemed improbable it could even stand upright. On second glance, the thing looked diseased but it didn’t look weak.
Lost in my thoughts about Christoph, I didn’t notice it until I had already closed the door of the van. Louie stiffened immediately but didn’t make a sound. He knew there wasn’t any need to give a warning, even for someone with senses as dull as mine. There might as well have been a neon sign spelling out “DANGER” around the thing’s withered neck. It was wearing a long black Columbine-type goth trenchcoat and a slouch hat pulled down to partially cover its ravaged face. It was the most grotesque figure I had ever seen. It reminded me of the vampire in the silent film Nosferatu, none of your suave, elegant Bela Lugosi type vampire, but a creature that looked like a walking corpse. It made me feel a visceral mix of horror, disgust, and fear. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Then it spoke.
“You are Mason, yes?” it rasped. Its voice sounded as if it were passing over old and distant bones. The tone was flat and uninflected, but with a definite undercurrent of cruelty and hunger. I didn’t see any advantage in answering it. Besides, I was concentrating on gathering magical energy.
“I am…Gaki,” it said, shuffling toward me with one long bony hand outstretched in a parody of friendly welcome. I wasn’t sure if “Gaki” was a name or a description or an emotional state, but I backpedaled as rapidly as I could, keeping as much distance between us as possible. Lou backed up even faster; whatever this was, he wanted no part of it. It closed the gap between us with a herky-jerky motion that was both clumsy and frightening, moving with blinding, flickering speed. None of that Bela Lugosi slow creep toward his victim. One moment it was across the driveway; the next it was standing close enough for me to smell its rancid breath. I had barely seen it move. Its wasted fingers closed around my arm and I could feel cold seeping in through my shirt. It pulled me close and I could smell the sour odor of putrescence emanating off it in waves. I gestured with my free hand, using its own corruption against it, coupling it with a wilting trellis of ivy that clung discouragedly to one side of my house.
“Dissolve,” I breathed.
The fingers which were grasping my arm shimmered for a moment and then solidified as the grip on my arm grew even stronger. This was not how it was supposed to go. Those fingers were supposed to dissolve into flat digits with the consistency of cooked noodles. It smiled and I could see yellow teeth, long and pointed like a shark’s.
“No, no,” it chuckled, “you cannot affect me.” The smile grew. “But I can affect you.”
It pulled me closer. The body might have been skeleton thin, but it was horribly strong. I tried to twist away, but had about as much success as a five-year-old in the grip of a strong man. Louie had circled around behind and was edging closer. His tail was tucked tightly between his legs and he looked terrified, but he lunged forward and sank his teeth into the thing’s calf. No snarling and growling this time; he was deadly silent. The creature didn’t even flinch. It glanced down at the small figure attached to its leg.
“Ifrit!” it hissed, and without letting go of me reached down toward Lou with its impossibly long free arm.
“Louie!” I yelled. “Back off!” This thing would snap his backbone in a second if it got hold of him. Lou let go and ducked away inches from the grasping fingers.
Once again, the distraction had given me a moment to think. Maybe I couldn’t affect this demon, or whatever the hell it was, but I could affect myself. I noted the accumulation of oil in the driveway where my car lived, sucked out its essence and let it flow into my arm, enhancing it with everything I had. I could feel my arm changing, becoming slick and almost boneless, like a Teflon jellyfish. As the thing bore down, my arm squirted out like a watermelon seed and I was suddenly free.
“Clever,” it said, mockingly. “Crafty. But no use.”
I didn’t waste any time in arguing with it. I stepped back and spoke a binding spell, one of the few prepared pieces of magic I know. If it’s done right, the spell is guaranteed to stop a charging rhino in its tracks, at least temporarily. Either I hadn’t done it right or this thing was truly immune to magic, because it just flashed its horrible grin and continued walking toward me.
The success of my oil slick idea gave me another. If I couldn’t affect it directly, at least I could affect what was around it. It was too bad I didn’t have enough power to bring a tree down on its skull, or cause the earth to open under its feet, but the principle was the same. I glanced up at the roof, recently tarred against the winter rains, and gathered up what was left of my energy. I pressed my hands together as if I was kneading taffy, threw the energy out and down toward the thing’s feet, and made a sort of squishing sound in the back of my throat. It hurt my vocal chords. My voice was going to be hoarse for a couple of days, assuming of course I survived.
The thing took one more step toward me and a puzzled expression appeared on its face. Its foot sank into the suddenly soft pavement halfway to the knee and when it tried to pull out, its other leg sank in nearly as far. The ground beneath its feet had become a sticky morass with a consistency somewhere between warm tar and Turkish taffy. Its strength would now work against it; the more it struggled the further enmeshed it would become, like a mouse in a glue trap. I stepped back to admire my work.
It screeched, making a high-pitched noise that hurt my ears. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Louie flinch. It thrashed for a brief moment, then stopped and remained motionless, not attempting to pull either leg free. Unexpectedly, it sat down, then lay on its back and extended its arms to either side like a man caught in quicksand. Grunting with effort, it managed to pull one leg free. The leg came out with a sucking, slurping sound. I didn’t wait around to see what was going to happen next. I jumped back in the van, yelling at Louie to get himself in gear, and backed out onto the street with tires squealing. As I accelerated away down the street I could see in the rearview mirror that the thing had got its other leg free as well. I wished my van was faster; I didn’t think there was any way in hell the creature could be fast enough to keep up with a motor vehicle, but I had been wrong before a time or two.
The only place I could think of to go was back to Victor’s. I didn’t relish having to run to him every time something difficult turned up, but it was preferable to being torn to shreds by an unstoppable demon. Marginally. Besides, if I was lucky, Eli might be there. If anyone could tell me what this thing was, he could. For about the twentieth time I thought, I have got to get a cell phone.
When I pulled up in front of the beac
h house I was greeted by the reassuring sight of Eli’s Volvo parked in the driveway. I piled out of the van and sprinted through the front door and up the stairs to the study, Louie close on my heels. Common sense told me that the thing couldn’t possibly have followed me so quickly, if it could follow me at all, but that didn’t stop me from glancing over my shoulder every few seconds. Victor and Eli were sitting across from each other at the big desk, papers piled up between them. Eli, working on his project again, and at a most inopportune time. They both looked up as I burst through the study door.
“Mason,” said Victor. “Come in, won’t you?”
“I’ve got trouble,” I said, out of breath.
Victor started shaking his head in mock resignation, but Eli simply asked, “What happened?”
I told them, not leaving anything out, since there wasn’t really that much to tell. The whole incident hadn’t taken more than five minutes, if that. Even Victor listened intently. When I finished, I turned to Eli and asked him what the thing was, and more importantly, how it could be stopped. He stood up from his chair and stretched. I could hear his back pop from across the room.
“Fascinating,” he said. “I’ve never seen one. I half thought they were only legend.”
Victor had moved out from behind his desk and was fiddling with the dial on the safe that stood in the corner of the room.
“Not legend,” he said.
I looked at each one in turn. “I’m glad I can provide you both with some interesting research material,” I said, “but what the hell is it?”
Eli chuckled in a particularly nettlesome fashion. “It told you,” he said. “It’s a Gaki.”
I resisted the impulse to bound across the room and shake him by the lapels of his jacket. It wouldn’t speed up his explanation, not to mention that he was quite capable of lifting me off my feet and pinning me against the wall if he cared to. I forced myself to speak calmly.
“And what, may I ask, is a Gaki?”
“Like many things, that is something not entirely clear. They’re mostly specific to Japan—you seldom hear of one anywhere else.”