We had a small contingent of Roma and a coven of witches possessing varying degrees of power.
I’ve already mentioned the CIA Spooks. Their superpower seemed to end at glowering at us. However, Manhattan claimed that, though their remote viewing skills were poor, one guy was a psychonaut who explored alternate dimensions with psilocybin mushrooms. She said she scored some excellent weed off that guy.
There were a couple of shifty yoga practitioners who claimed to be able to slow time due to the fact that they were vegan. We had several symbolists, all of whom claimed to be the inspiration for the hero of The Da Vinci Code. A group of dead language translators worked in the Keep’s history vault and a bunch of xenosociologists mostly looked for hidden codes in rune shadows.
There were seven charm polishers, six healers, five firecasters, four Amish warlocks (who preferred the term prophets but it didn’t stick), three Jinn, two guys who called themselves scientific Animists (no, I don’t know what those are, either) and an agoraphobic sorcerer I’d never seen, not even at lunch.
Insert your own partridge in a pear tree joke here.
With Wilmington forging the way, we brushed past four Magicals on C&C sentinel duty. The Amish warlocks yelled at us as we passed, but I don’t speak German.
Wil showed us the way through the labyrinth. The vegans, a man and a woman with matching ponytails, called the C&C, “the brain at the heart of the soul of the mystical mandala,” but that wasn’t nearly as catchy as Music Factory.
Nobody liked the vegans. They managed to be even more condescending than the Spooks. I’m not saying all vegans are obnoxious, but that pair sure hurt their cause. The harder they pushed, the more we all wanted to eat meat. Alive. In front of them.
As we approached C&C, a dim tunnel reinforced with steel and concrete gave way to a large room. Banks of monitors and computer screens lined the walls. The small tech crew lived down here full-time and had meals delivered. When they weren’t connecting wi-fi and wiring, Rory once told me they played a lot of COD.
The old ghost had looked more wistful than misty as he spoke of video games. “Have you ever played Call of Duty? It looks like fun. Ooh, and GTA is fascinating and more than a little racist.”
I had just finished my first grueling training session with the archery taskmaster, Devin Anguloora. I was so exhausted and embarrassed at my showing that I did not answer Rory with patience. “My life is Call of Duty. I don’t play video games.”
I liked Rory, but I also resented him a little. He could be anywhere and see anything. He was a member of the Choir Invisible, but he had less to lose. He hadn’t moved on to Elsewhere, but technically he was already dead. He wasn’t risking much by sticking with us.
I’d still held to a vestige of that resentment until I saw the replay of his burning binding spell on the big screen. He didn’t look like a ghost. Rory had been trapped, fully present in the center of the Keep’s courtyard, caught on sacred ground. The curse of sacred ground was much worse for ghosts than it was for demons. Rory looked like a man burning alive, only the burning and screaming didn’t stop. His misery went on and on.
Chumele finally found a way to crack the binding spell open and Rory had disappeared. The witch said he had to get away from the burn of all the sacred stones that lined the Keep. Wil said he went to the Arctic. Chumele added that he went deep into the sea ice below the North Pole.
“The old ghost will recover,” Chumele said, “but terror doesn’t heal so quickly, does it, Iowa?”
The little Magical looked at me pointedly, as if she wanted me to pull up a couch and discuss my newfound neuroses following the evening’s traumas. I ignored her question.
The tech crew examined the replay, looking for any sign of the traitor who cast the curse. As they stopped and started the recording, pausing at intervals to find a guilty face among the Choir, I wanted to cry again. Had I been present for Rory’s immolation, I’m sure I would have run out into the courtyard and sent him on with my own sword and without Victor’s orders.
The realization that I would have given Rory mercy too soon made me think of Clyde. I’d made a split second decision to end his suffering. I wondered if I did the right thing. I will always wonder, in this dimension and wherever I go after this dimension.
Victor called to me from the center of the room. He sat on a podium, balancing himself atop a Swiss ball that sat in a hoop so his chair wouldn’t roll away from him when he stood.
The Swiss ball chair was Victor’s final touch to the C&C. He had complained he spent too much time at computers. “Sitting is the new smoking,” he said. Without the green ball, the old man’s low back hurt and, lately, he actually needed his sword cane for more than defense.
Victor’s eyes widened when he saw my arm.
“Medical is on the way,” Wilmington said. “Every section is on alert and is formed up. What’s the new alarm about?”
“The Spooks have raised the alarm again,” Victor said. “Three of them got a hit. They say two, possibly three demons.”
“Within our own walls!” Wil spoke through gritted teeth.
“They’ve been wrong before,” I said. “Maybe the storm is messing with their mojo. Hey, uh…could I get a painkiller, please? Maybe eight painkillers? I’ve run out of adrenalin to run on and really need to sleep for a few days.”
None other than He Whose Hair was a Blonde Irish Cloud, Trick Aonghus, rose from a seat behind a computer beside me. He offered me his chair and, preferring not to fall down, I sat.
Trick patted me on the shoulder and whispered, “You’re sure a trooper, aren’t you?”
“Anything else, Mr. Trick?” Victor asked sharply.
“The grid is still out across the five boroughs, Mr. Fuentes. It could be the storm. The Magicals still aren’t convinced it’s a natural phenomenon. Sadly, we did catch some NYPD radio chatter. The roof has fallen in at Castille. They’re letting it burn and containing the blaze now. There appear to be no survivors.”
Victor looked back to me, his face pale.
Lynda caught his eye and he nodded her way. “Castille has fallen, but there were survivors — ”
“I have some messages to relay before I pass out, Victor,” I said. “Perhaps, given the circumstances, we could speak privately? Just…if you could wheel me around so I stay in this chair while we chat, that would be so awesome.”
When I asked for privacy, I was thinking of Trick and not in a good way. If I was going to send a double agent into the Keep, I’d make him a pretty boy or a pretty girl. The pharmaceutical industry only sends hotties into doctor’s offices to sell drugs. Trick could be a spy.
I had other reasons besides his six-pack to be suspicious. His name was Trick, a red flag, if a little obvious. Second, he was a noob who hadn’t been initiated yet. He still had his birth name, not that of his birthplace. Cool as Trick seemed to be, I wouldn’t trust him until he officially announced he was Dungarvan.
Most important, he was a noob who had quickly insinuated himself into the C&C. If he wasn’t so clueless with weapons, that would have been very suspicious. However, Victor’s policy was to turn no one away. Everyone found a role in the Choir Invisible. By all reports — including my own — Trick was best suited to the Nerd Squad.
“I haven’t seen you in ages, Lynda,” Victor said. “So glad you’re alive and here, thank God.”
Lynda limped forward and smiled. “Thank all the gods, Victor.”
The old woman pulled Samantha’s pistol from under her jacket and fired as fast as her arthritic hands would allow.
Lesson 126: Learn German and listen to Amish warlocks when they’re trying to warn you something awful is about to happen.
Chapter 20
I didn’t know then if the vegan yogis could really slow time or by how much. Until then, I’d only seen them slow time by lying endlessly about how vegan hot dogs and burgers tasted like the real thing. However, under stress, the mind can do lots of things. For instance, one thing th
e brain does (when flooded with the right freak out neurotransmitters) is sharpen perception.
Lynda, Victor and I were the only people in the C&C who weren’t wearing armor.
The first two shots went wide and blew out two security cam monitors behind Victor. Wilmington was two steps away from the boss. She tackled him. Wilmington took one bullet under her right shoulder blade. Whether we’re wearing chain mail or plate armor, we all wore ballistic vests, as well.
Lesson 127: despite what you’ve been told, there aren’t really such things as bulletproof vests or bulletproof glass. It’s all merely bullet resistant. Either way, it hurts to get shot. A lot.
Wil and Victor both rolled over the Swiss ball chair and crashed down the podium steps. I assumed they were both dead.
As I rose to tackle Lynda, Trick was in my way. Lucky for me because Lynda turned the gun our way next. The noob I’d suspected of treason to the human race took two shots for me.
I stood and, with my right arm, swung my chair around in a circle before launching it at the old woman. The chair was airborne for a second, hit the floor and rolled past her.
Lynda was still laughing as I went down on one knee to present a smaller target. My right hand fell on the knife in my right boot. It hurt to move, but I tried for one fluid motion.
In my mind’s eye, I could picture the path of the blade arcing through the air, slicing the space between us in the span of a hummingbird’s heartbeat. The blade buried itself to the hilt in Lynda’s throat as her eyes widened in terror and surprise. In my imagination, she’d have to give up a little respect as she went down, too.
In reality, my knife’s flight was a lame duck and the blade clattered to the floor at her feet harmlessly. I’d missed our attacker by three feet at least.
The old woman’s eyes glittered as she pointed the gun at my head and shouted, “Bang!”
More shots cut her cackling short and she crumpled to the ground. Wilmington was still on top of Victor, shielding him. She kept firing her pistol after Lynda went down. Wil kept firing until her weapon clicked empty.
As my friend changed mags, Lynda looked to me and, in a creaky voice barely above a whisper, said, “Tell them all.”
Wil looked ready to empty her pistol into Lynda’s corpse again but Victor put a light hand on her wrist. Wilmington held her fire.
We all gaped as a tall figure rose from the dead woman’s corpse. It was a white demon with two ram’s horns curling up from his head.
He stood in the C&C and yet he did not. Like the misty wistfuls, he had retreated to the space between dimensions. He stood on an energy bridge between worlds. The thing gazed in at us and smiled. His rotted teeth looked like two rows of caramel corn.
In a blink, the thing was gone. At his feet, Lynda lay twisted, broken and aerated. I couldn’t remember her last name. I’d hardly known her. All I knew was I couldn’t take out a little old lady.
“Well,” Victor said from the floor beneath Wilmington, “Lynda beat cancer after all. Everybody okay?”
“I’m guessing a broken rib, maybe,” Wil said. “Armor saved me, but not from pain.” Her eyes shot wide in agony as she tried to take a deep breath. “Where’s the medic?”
I looked down at Trick. “How about you?”
He was in pain. “I’m armored, but I think my bruises will be purple and black tomorrow.”
“Thank you for saving my life,” I said.
“I don’t know that I did,” Trick said. “She could have shot you. For some reason, she didn’t. I mean, the demon could have. Weird.”
“Demon possession,” Victor announced. “That’s a very old deception I shall never get used to. You never really know to whom you are speaking.”
Wil sat in a chair heavily and winced. “We need Jesus. I recall he was always casting out demons.” She shot me a grin. “Dunno, for sure. My Bible reading is sketchy. Mine’s probably the only Buddhist family in my piece of Vermont.”
Victor stood slowly and cautiously, apparently testing his body for pain. “You’re no doubt alive because you hadn’t delivered your message yet, Iowa. If you’d spoken outright, the demon would have shot you, too.”
“Key said…the demon I fought at Castille, I mean, said…to tell my friends. I’ve got fewer and fewer friends all the time.”
I stared at Lynda. She wasn’t Lynda anymore. Her eyes were open but she saw nothing. Her blood spread as if reaching for me.
Trick sat up, held my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You okay?”
“I should be dead. That demon saw his chance and…that was Sam’s gun.”
Wil stared at me. “Iowa?”
I began to cry hard. “I already feel dead inside.”
Clint Eastwood and Chuck Norris cried on film once each, I think. What chance do mere mortals have?
Chapter 21
The Keep had a portable X-ray machine and medics. The Keep’s chief doctor was a large man with the cataclysmically unfortunate name of Moosejaw. To make matters worse, he had a large jaw, too. He confirmed the break in my left radius bone.
“How long before I’m up and saving the world, Doctor?”
“Six to eight weeks,” he said, “so I hope D-Day doesn’t come that fast. Squeeze a tennis ball and flex your muscles in the cast I give you. Otherwise your muscles will atrophy and your arm will look like a little stick when I take the cast off.”
While he went off to get my cast ready, Victor came into my room and closed the door behind him. He paced for a while before he sat opposite me and drew his chair close. “Does it hurt very much?”
“Yes. It does.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault. I’m sorry about Samantha. I tried to save her.”
“Of course, you did,” Victor said. “The Ra will do anything to get at me. Cut the head off the snake and all that.”
Lesson 128: In a war zone, there is no such thing as a civilian. Not everyone is a combatant, but everyone is a participant. Sam never wanted any part of the Choir Invisible but she may as well have been a sword singer. She might have had a chance if she’d joined up. Now her children would be motherless. Modern warfare conductors use misleading terms like surgical strikes and collateral damage, but the rule in any conflict is that the women and children suffer more casualties than soldiers do. It takes a lot of steel and armor to remain untouched. I wished Sam had armored up, too.
I looked into the old man’s kind eyes. I had no idea what I was in for when I met Victor Fuentes that day on a bench in a cemetery. He seemed to have all the answers then, so I asked another. “How did a demon take Lynda?”
He shrugged. “There’s some debate about that. It can be done by force if there is some weakness the demons can take advantage of. I hope it was force, or…I don’t know. There are several possibilities, none of them good. I’d like to say that Lynda must have been duped. Perhaps through some drug or spell or deception, she let the demon take over her body. I’ve rarely seen demon possession, but in the cases I know of, the human entered into the pact knowingly.”
“Pact?”
“A contract. Give them your body to move around in and they’ll do something for you.”
“Lynda was a loyal employee. She said she knew you for years.”
“True.”
“She was dying, What would possess her to — sorry, I didn’t mean to put it that way.”
Victor pursed his lips. “You may have answered your own question. She was dying. If I had to guess, and it’s only a guess, I would say the demon offered her a way to die quickly instead of by inches. Her last husband died of early onset Alzheimer’s. Her first husband died of Huntington’s disease. She had no children and I’ve been so busy with the Keep and the Choir, I haven’t had time to be a great friend to her. The demon might have tricked her, or — ”
“Or offered to rip off the band-aid instead of allowing her to suffer? She did say something about assisted suicide earlier today.”
“Maybe he offered t
o cure her. We’ll never know,” Victor said. “But if it was a quick death she bargained for, the demon delivered on his promise.”
“Wait. Cure her? Is that possible?”
“There are many possibilities. I only meant to say that, when we are old and the pain of death is made real to us, we want to meet our mortality painlessly. The closer you get to death, the better you’ll understand. At your age, that all seems very remote, I’m sure.”
That irritated me like sandpaper underwear. I’d already faced death that night, certain I’d die in horrible ways several times. I didn’t appreciate being treated like a child, but someone had already tried to kill Victor that night so I shut my mouth and resented the conductor silently. I resented him hard, but he was still a better father figure to me than Peter Smythe ever was.
“The Keep is still on high alert,” Victor said. “Tell me what happened tonight.”
I told him, message and all. My arm throbbed and I wanted to sleep, but Moosejaw wasn’t back yet and Victor pinned me to the chair with his anxious gaze. When I was done, the old man slumped in his chair, tears sliding down his cheeks.
“Poor Samantha,” he said. “She was so beautiful and smart. I never imagined she’d be in any danger at Castille. Who would have thought she would be in the line of fire while the Keep remains safe? I’m going to have to tell her family.”
“Don’t tell them the truth. Tell them she went quickly, in her sleep, not tied to a desk.”
He nodded and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Did Peter Smythe know about you and Samantha?” I asked.
“Yes, he knew our private lives intimately. Your father was my friend.”
“That’s why the demons knew to find her at — ”
Victor shook his head and waved me off that sensitive topic. “About the message from Key — ”
“The one where we kill all the Magicals in the Keep and run away hoping the Ra will spare us?” I said. “Yeah, between you and me, I think we should keep that between you and me.”
The End of the World As I Know It (The Ghosts & Demons Series Book 2) Page 9