Chance in Hell

by PATRICK KAMPMAN

  A small, frail-looking woman who had to be nearly eighty got up from a chair, rushed forward, and put her hands over Lacey’s.

  “Lacey, my dear! That’s twice in as many days. This is a rare surprise! We don’t get so many young pretty things in here anymore.” She glanced at my brother and I felt even more uncomfortable.

  “Dear me, I forget my manners,” she said, looking at my brother and me. “I’m Mrs. Brewer.”

  “Chance,” I said. “This is Bryan, my brother.”

  “So nice to meet you. Now, Lacey, what can I get you and your friends? We don’t normally do men’s hair, but I’m sure Fran would do a wonderful job!”

  Lacey looked uncomfortable. “We’re not really here for haircuts, Mrs. Brewer. I’ve come to ask a favor. It’s a big one.”

  “I see.” Her eyes scanned Bryan and me once more. She looked like she was amused at some inside joke. I could see that she made a decision in that moment, and said, “Follow me, then, honey; we can talk in the back room.”

  We followed her through a doorway in the back of the shop, past an office, a supply room, and a janitor’s closet. We wound up in a back sitting room, where I gingerly took a seat in a small wooden chair I was afraid was too delicate to handle my weight. Looking around I could see a small kitchen through an open doorway. On the opposite wall was a closed door with a deadbolt. The door had no knob and the lock was missing its key, leaving the impression that this was some sort of prison entrance. Next to the door, a stairway led upwards.

  “Would you like some tea? Coffee?” she asked us.

  “Iced tea?” asked Bryan.

  “I’m afraid not, dear. Only hot.”

  “No, thank you, though.” I passed as well, but Lacey took her up on the offer and Mrs. Brewer bustled off to the kitchen. We sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments until she came back with a tray holding two cups of tea, milk, sugar, and an assortment of cookies. She must have had the kettle already going.

  “Now, then, tell me what is so serious that you bring your friends here, to me, to ask a favor?” Her smile had vanished, and I think she had just told Lacey in no uncertain terms that this had better be important.

  Lacey looked at me, swallowed, and grabbed a cookie. She washed it down with a sip of tea and seemed fortified enough to continue. “We need the help of the coven to banish some demons.”

  Mrs. Brewer blinked once, then looked again at Bryan and me, probably trying to figure out if we’d taste good in a stew. “And who is responsible for calling these demons?” Now she looked at Lacey. “Demons aren’t summoned lightly, dear. It’s forbidden, you know, and one generally speaking does not summon a demon, let alone multiple demons, unless one is quite sure one can put them back again.”

  “It wasn’t us,” Lacey said. “It was King Solomon.” At this Mrs. Brewer looked surprised. She was about to say something when someone came down the hall from the parlor. A middle-aged woman in a pink sweat suit with an oversized purse, out of which peered a little dog-rat-thing, waved at Mrs. Brewer, frowned a little at us and then headed up the stairs.

  Mrs. Brewer looked annoyed by the interruption. “Let’s continue this upstairs, shall we?” Lacey looked a little confused, but nodded. Mrs. Brewer led us up the stairs, and we came to a landing and what appeared to be a second store.

  This one sold the kinds of things one would imagine witches would use in potions. Shelves were stocked with jars full of herbs, parts of animals, powders, pastes and lord knew what else. Several rows of bookcases were packed with everything from paperbacks to large leather-bound tomes.

  Lacey seemed surprised when Mrs. Brewer continued up the staircase to the third floor of the building. I looked over at Bryan, who had been unusually silent. I could tell he was uncomfortable; he wasn’t used to being around older people. And this particular older person was a little off.

  We walked up the next flight. The stairs ended at a small landing with a door. Mrs. Brewer brought out a key and unlocked it. We followed her into a very nice, if slightly dated, apartment.

  She set the tray down on an old-fashioned wooden coffee table and motioned for us to find seats. Between the sofa and several armchairs, we were all able to find a place to sit down.

  Mrs. Brewer sat on the flower-patterned sofa, with perfect posture. “So, you were saying something about Solomon, Lacey dear?”

  “King Solomon, yeah. Are you familiar with the Seal of Solomon?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  “Well, he used it to seal seventy-two demons in a brass vessel.”

  “As legend has it, yes.”

  “Well, that’s what I need to banish.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Chance—well, I guess we really—have the urn. You know, the vessel he used? And we need to get rid of them—the demons. I think I know how now. I’ve been reading up on it, but I could use some help.”

  “I think you’re mistaken, dear; it’s a myth. And even if it really did exist, I doubt you or your young friend here would have it.”

  I had taken off my backpack when I sat down and put it on the floor between my feet. I unzipped it and pulled out the urn, setting it down before her on the coffee table.

  She drew in a sharp breath and leaned over to examine the urn. She gently touched it once, and when it didn’t explode, she touched it again and slowly turned it around to examine it from all sides. I could hear the crunching of a cookie; Lacey, in her excitement, had forgotten to close her mouth while she chewed.

  “Well,” she admitted, “It certainly could be the urn. Where, may I ask, did you get it, my dear?”

  “It is the urn, Mrs. Brewer; I checked. That’s why I borrowed those books. It fits the description perfectly. And, as far as where we got it—” She looked my way, and I shrugged and then nodded for her to go ahead. We’d managed to tell every single other person we’d come across—why stop now?

  “It was Jonathan Powers. You know, the computer guy?”

  “Yes, dear. I know who he is.”

  “Well, it was kind of stolen from him, and we kind of ended up with it, and now we’re kind of trying to destroy it, or at least render it impotent.” I thought I heard Bryan snicker.

  “Well, then, you do have a problem.” She considered for a moment, finally withdrawing her hand, which had been, from what I could tell, starting to lovingly caress the urn. “And you plan to destroy it?” she asked, frowning.

  Lacey and I nodded in unison. “Or at least get rid of the demons,” I said.

  “Why on earth would you want to do that?” She seemed genuinely startled.

  “Because we got it from Jonathan Powers and he wants it back, and we’re not so sure that letting him have it would be such a good idea,” I said.

  “I see.” She sat up even straighter. “This isn’t something I can decide on my own. Consorting with demons, even if well intentioned, is forbidden magic. It’s not something we do lightly. Still…” She didn’t complete her thought, as her gaze had drifted back to rest on the urn.

  “Uh, we aren’t exactly consorting with them.” I said. “We’re more trying to make sure that no one else consorts with them.”

  “Still,” she said, “I will have to consult the rest of the coven before making such a decision. Why don’t you leave it here with me for safekeeping? We should have an answer for you sometime next week, after we’ve had our monthly ceremony.”

  “Sorry.” I shook my head. “We don’t really have that long to wait, and I’d rather not let this thing out of my sight. It’s caused way too much trouble already.”

  “Which is precisely why you should let us look after it,” said Mrs. Brewer sternly. “We can keep it safe, even from someone like Jonathan Powers.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but it was entrusted to me. I gave my word that I would see it destroyed.” I decided that, as of now, I was going to start leaving off the part about “or hiding it really well,” because I got the feeling that if it wasn’t rendered useless soon
, far too many people were going to come for me, looking to find it.

  “I’ve managed to hold on to it for a while now; a little longer won’t kill me.” At least I hoped not.

  “It’s an awful lot of power for a boy to have,” she said, her eyes narrowing just a bit, making her pinched face look ferret-like.

  “It’s an awful lot of power for anyone to have, which is why we’re going to destroy it,” I said. She was making me a little uneasy. I really wanted to ask Lacey what she knew about this coven of hers.

  “I see. So, Lacey dear, when exactly do you plan on doing this banishment?”

  Before I could kick her under the coffee table, Lacey answered, “Tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I see. Well, then, I’m not sure how much help we can be on such short notice, but let me talk to some of the girls and see if there is anything we can do.” She set her teacup down and looked directly at Lacey. “I really wish I could get you to reconsider your actions, dear. One should always consider all of the angles before acting so rashly.” I was thinking there was a threat in there somewhere, but maybe not. Maybe I was getting a little paranoid. “I’m sure, given time, the coven would agree to help you.”

  “Sorry. We can’t wait.” Lacey squirmed a little under Mrs. Brewer’s gaze.

  Mrs. Brewer leaned forward toward Lacey. “You have potential, Lacey, but I’m afraid you will not live long enough to realize it. What you plan on doing is far out of your current abilities. You won’t survive it; at least, not as yourself.”

  Lacey just gave a little shrug, and I knew that she had come to the same conclusion.

  “What do you mean, not as herself?” I asked. I got the part about her not surviving it—that was pretty clear—but I didn’t understand the other part.

  “If she fails,” said Mrs. Brewer, “then instead of being banished, the demons may be released. And if that happens, my dear boy, we have a problem. The demons would be free on the earth to pursue whatever…options they chose to. Several things could happen, and none of them very pleasant. They might simply kill everyone around, they may head home, but in all likelihood at least one would decide to possess the body of a mortal, and they tend to pick on the ones that have just been meddling with them.”

  Lacey looked a little green around the edges, but said, “I understand the risks, Mrs. Brewer, but we just can’t wait. Thank you, though, for offering to bring up the matter up with the council.”

  “It’s a pity you won’t wait. Children these days all seem to be in such a hurry. Fast cars, instant information on the Internet, movies on your TV whenever you want them. People have forgotten the value of patience.

  “But I do understand, my dear.” She stood up. “And, like I said, maybe I can talk to some of the girls and see if we can’t come up with something to help you out.”

  “Thanks,” said Lacey, rising.

  “Yeah, thanks for your time, Mrs. Brewer.” I said, getting up as well. We followed her out of her apartment and back down the stairs.

  “Um,” said Lacey, “I need to stop by the store and pick up a few things.”

  “Of course, dear,” said Mrs. Brewer. “You and your little friends have a good day, now.” She continued down the stairs as we stopped at the second floor.

  “I’ve got to pick up supplies,” explained Lacey, walking into the store. At least it was well lit. On one hand, that made it inherently less creepy; on the other, it illuminated the contents of the jars better. I couldn’t tell what some of the things even were, but unfortunately, they were well labeled. I read a few, gagged a bit, and decided to head over to the books.

  Predictably, most concerned the occult. Some were modern paperbacks, and some looked old and even handwritten. I picked up one of the older-looking ones, then quickly shelved it when I saw the five-digit price tag.

  Bryan made a few comments that brought glares from the few other patrons in the shop, all women of varying ages and looks. Finally, Lacey came up to us carrying a couple of bags of goods, as Bryan and I were trying to figure out who exactly would pay two hundred dollars for a goat skull. There was a pygmy goat farm down the street from where the trailer had been where you could get an entire goat for two hundred bucks.

  “All set!” she said.

  We headed back down the stairs to the first floor, then out through the parlor. The women were still sitting in the chairs with the large plastic dryers over their heads, chatting animatedly about local events.

  When we left the beauty parlor, Lacey looked at Bryan and voiced my own thoughts. “Well, you were sure quiet.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, babe, what can I say—just being in the same room with you knocks me speechless.” Lacey’s expression left little doubt as to her thoughts on the validity of that response.

  “Yeah, well, okay—that Brewer chick kind of creeped me out,” Bryan admitted. “I was sort of hoping that if I kept my mouth shut, she wouldn’t notice me.” This was a first for Bryan, who, as far as I could tell, lived only to be noticed. However, having just been in the same room, I knew what he meant. She’d creeped me out as well.

  Lacey unlocked the Jeep and we all piled in. “Where to?” I asked.

  “Home,” said Lacey. “If we don’t get there soon, Megan is going to kill us. I mean that literally.”

  “Hey,” said Bryan from the backseat. “So is this thing with the demons really going to kill you? ‘Cause if so, that’s messed up.”

  “Of course not. Mrs. Brewer was just exaggerating things to try and make us wait for them to hold their meeting. It takes them forever to decide on anything. That’s the problem with covens—they’re bureaucratic and they try to make all their decisions by consensus. It’s really frustrating.” Especially if your life might depend on a decision, I thought.

  “All right,” said Bryan, sounding as unconvinced as I felt. “I just don’t want you to go and die before my birthday. Without you jumping out of my cake, it just won’t be worth having.”

  “Thanks, I think,” said Lacey.

  “So when did you join the coven?” I asked her.

  “Huh?” she said. “I didn’t.”

  “Wait—I thought this was your coven. Wasn’t that the point of coming here?”

  “No, it’s the coven, at least here in this area. And the point of coming here was to get help. So I don’t die,” she added.

  “Hah, I knew it!” said Bryan. A second later, he added, “Shit.”

  “Anyway,” Lacey continued, ignoring him, “you can’t just join a coven; you have to be invited. Typically, they only ask the most competent practitioners, witches who are far more powerful than I am. And more powerful usually means older, which is why none of them are very young. Well, except for Vivian. But she’s a conniving bitch, and we won’t talk about her.”

  I was still digesting the part about Lacey dying. I was thinking we would be reversing the order and letting Padre try the exorcism first.

  “But anyway, most of the rest of us witches are on our own. I mean, not totally on our own; the coven helps us out, and they provide materials or training if you can afford it. If you’re lucky, you can get one of the members to take you under her wing. That way, when there is an opening, you have a better chance at getting nominated.”

  “Nominated? For what? Witch of the Year?”

  “No, a place in the coven. There are only thirteen spots. Someone has to ‘leave’ for a spot to open. Which usually means ‘die,’ because almost no one actually leaves voluntarily. Unless maybe they move out of the area or something, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen that happen.”

  It sounded a lot like some of the women’s groups we had in the South. Most of the small towns had them. The ladies organized town events, dabbled in politics, gossiped, and generally ran things from behind the scenes. Covens sounded kind of like the Junior League meets the Red Hat Society, with cauldrons. I said as much, and Lacey just gave me a look.

  “Well, duh. What do you think most of those organizations are?”
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br />   “Oh.”

  “So can guys be witches, or only chicks?” said Bryan.

  “Guys can, too, but then they’re called warlocks. But there aren’t very many of them, and they’re usually more powerful than witches.”

  “Cool.”

  “And evil. They’re usually evil.”

  “What?”

  “Warlocks are almost always evil.”

  “Hey, man, that’s sexist, or stereotypical or something,” Bryan tried.

  She shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

  “Well, they say absolute power corrupts absolutely,” I supplied.

  “Who knows?” She shrugged again. “All I know is that it’s a good thing there aren’t many of them around.”

  “So how do you become one?” asked Bryan.

  “Well, to be any good at it at all, your magic has to be innate. Not everyone can do magic, but even those that can need teaching.”

  “So where did you learn your magic from? Mrs. Brewer?” I asked.

  “Oh, God, no! That cow Vivian learned it from Mrs. Brewer.” I was sensing some hostility there. “My grandmother taught me. She passed away a few years ago, and since then I’ve been mostly teaching myself. Reading and stuff. Though I have taken some lessons from Greta.”

  “Greta?”

  “Yeah, she’s not a member of the coven. But she’s nice, and she’s really smart. She knows tons of things. Lots of stuff my grandmother never taught me. She’s the one who taught me blood magic.” That last sentence came out quieter, and I think she was either embarrassed or a little ashamed. I was thinking that Greta might not be an entirely positive influence.

  “So tell me about blood magic, or necromancy, or whatever it is that you do,” I said.

  “Well, technically, I’m a regular witch. I can do witch-type magic, like curses and potions and things. But, um, I can also do blood magic.”

  “Blood magic?”

  “Yeah. I’m not supposed to, though. It’s kind of outlawed. But it’s useful, you know?” Bryan nodded enthusiastically. “Now, necromancy is really just the name for any magic that has to do with the dead.”