by Kenny Soward
“Gruff was one of the old ones. A protector of sorts. Didn’t matter what world you were from or what walk of life, Gruff only wanted to greet you well and see you off even better.”
Lonnie nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing. He hadn’t known the man very long, but he’d come to know him as a caring and loyal person. Lonnie felt a flush of guilt. “Yeah, it’s our fault he’s dead, too.”
Torri stepped away from the edge of the porch, put the kettle down on the stump, and brushed between it and Lonnie. On her way through, she pressed up against him, face only inches from his. Her breath smelled bitter and sweet from the tea. “You can’t really kill an angel, you know.”
Jedi spat a chuckle. “An angel. That old fart?”
Torri sat down in the other rocking chair, facing Crash but just offset enough to also be able to see across the front yard, while Lonnie went over to lean against one of the log posts. She continued. “Well, I loved that old fart. And I’ve suspected for a long time that Gruff had somehow transcended.”
“Transcended? How?”
Torri’s feet pressed against the porch and she rocked slowly. “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes, if something wants to change badly enough, it will. It will become more. So, while I know old Gruff was from your world, from Hell, he wasn’t like any of you. Maybe he’d been some time ago, but not anymore.”
And then that subject died just as quick as it had started, though Lonnie was still curious to know more about what Torri had sensed about Selix and the gang. What had her dreams and intuitions told her? Maybe nothing. Maybe a whole helluva lot.
Lonnie sat on the top stoop, feet resting on the next step down, and leaned against the log pillar. He took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit up. He only had about half a pack left so he hoped Bess hurried her ass up. He wondered what sort of crazy shit she had in store for them. Couldn’t be good, but anything was better than getting back in that van.
Something moved out there at the edge of the woods. A little girl in a dirty dress. Scraggly black hair. Too thin.
“Heya, Torri.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a little girl standing out there at the edge of the woods.” Lonnie gestured in her direction with his cigarette. “She one of your patients?”
Torri laughed, musically. “Oh, y’all already met. That’s Tavia.”
Lonnie leaned forward with a squint. “That’s not a cat. She a changeling?”
“Something like that. She helps me with certain things. Been here a long time, just like me.”
“How long?”
Lonnie turned his head and almost laughed aloud. Crash could barely fit his ass in the other rocking chair to begin with. Huge without his shirt on, elbows sticking over the arms of the rocker with his wild dreadlocks in a bushel around his head. Holding a fucking cup of tea like some gigantic dignitary.
“Longer than y’all,” Torri said, “and that’s just here. I was someplace else before. The Old World.”
Ingrid stretched where she stood and put her arms up, fingers reaching to touch the awning. “The Old World. You mean Old Europe?”
Torri smiled, her lips curling playfully, her eyes with a muted glint. “I’m a lass of Scotland. A child o’ th’ moores and fens. I scampered like a rabbit through the highlands and was one of the first fae to ever set foot in the New World. Lord, do I ever miss the old speech.”
The abrupt change in her accent was startling. Part of that Scottish accent had been present in her voice this entire time, but he’d just not been able to pick it out so clean.
“I know how long it takes for a new language to work itself into ya,” Crash said in his Jamaican lilt. “I also know what it feels like to miss the old one. It’s like losing a little part of yourself.”
“True, I got this here way of speech after livin’ among the mountain folk day in, day out. I guess that’s when I knew my roots had got deep. When folks stopped askin’ me where I was from.”
Torri got quiet then, as did they all. Well, except that Lonnie thought about his own accent from a language ancient in Hell, a world known by his people as Septu. He could hardly remember the intonation of the language at all. His sister hadn’t spoken a word of it the entire time she’d been here.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
Lonnie twisted his attention to where his sister sat at the far end of the porch, leaning against the last post on that side. She’d turned to glare at Torri, her expression livid, the question she’d asked directed at the hill witch.
Torri just kept on rocking, regarding Lonnie’s sister just as openly as she pleased.
Makare tossed her teacup over her shoulder and out into the yard. She stood up and spread her feet, fists balled at her stomach.
“Fight,” Ingrid sang, stepping back to make room and crossing her arms.
“I’m putting my money on our new friend,” Elsa said, snickering.
“Makare,” Lonnie commanded, “settle the fuck down.”
Makare pointed at the hill witch. “This bitch has been giving me looks the entire fucking time we’ve been here. And there’s a buzzing in my ears that won’t go away. She’s doing it.”
Torri didn’t deny it. “Oh, I’m just curious. You’re the only one I can’t get a good read on. I’ll bet you’ve recently crossed over from Hell, or some other place. In either case, your aura is wild.”
Makare crossed her arms, glaring at the witch. “Be nice if you’d stop the fucking buzzing.”
“All right,” Torri said. “Done.”
His sister stuck her pinky finger in her left ear and wiggled it around, tilting her head while digging out whatever itch remained. Satisfied, she mumbled “thanks” and stormed off the porch.
After she’d gone, Lonnie laughed. “She’s my sister, and a complete bitch. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about her.”
But Torri wasn’t smiling.
Chapter 10
Lonnie stood away from the house to smoke, peering into the woods with a curious eye. He had no idea where his sister had stormed off to and neither did he care. Maybe one of Torri’s forest creatures would tear her to shreds and save him the trouble.
He shook his head and lit up, taking a long drag and blowing a line of smoke at the impending forest like a baby dragon pretending to burn it all away. Part of him was starting to feel better by degrees, but he was still pissed at himself for letting things go to shit the past several months.
Elsa’s talk had been what finally snapped him out of it, and the pond water had washed the rest of the guilt and depression away. He’d have to thank Torri next chance he got. Right now he was anxious to meet with Bess and see what she had to say. What he wanted for the gang was becoming clearer, but making it happen was a completely different story.
He’d probably need his sister if he was going to pull it off, and Torri, too. They needed to have a technical discussion about magic, as strange as that sounded. He needed to know what it would take to get the gang home to their real home.
But that discussion would have to wait because, soon after Makare stormed off, Torri started acting strange. Lonnie had caught a hint of fear in her eyes before she hid it behind that country stare of hers. The witch gave them a quick tour, first pointing to the outhouse and then showing them where they could sleep, their room filled old cots Torri said were from the Civil War days. After that, she’d stormed off into the very woods she’d warned them against.
Looking into the wilderness, he could see why. It was thick as ever around the back side of the house. The shrubs and bushes would be impossible to get through now. Had nature closed in on them since they’d arrived? Sure as hell seemed like it, and it left him with that ever-gnawing notion that there was a great and dangerous magic in the woods.
He shook off the feeling, turned in a circle, and stopped when he noticed a strange structure in the back yard. Taking his time getting there, Lonnie smoked his cigarette down to the butt. Then he stood there, hands on his
hips, eyes roaming over what could only be a sort of handmade jungle gym.
There were two sets of tripod-like structures made from thick limbs, like the skeletons of two tepees, and then cross-thatched with smaller branches. Both were connected by a leaning support structure shaped like an X. A swing hung there from two chains, the seat just a single thin branch curled into a circle and cross-woven with basketball netting.
Interesting.
Lonnie reached out and grabbed one of the tripods, checking its sturdiness. The wood was heavy and nailed together good and tight. He let his hand trace across the structural branches, gone gray with age, then squeezed between the chains and sat down on the swing, which reminded him of a dreamcatcher for his ass. The middle sagged in a little but it bore his weight just fine.
He kicked his dangling feet, enjoying the childhood pleasure for a moment.
Finishing his cigarette, he flicked it into the yard, promising himself he’d pick it up later or likely face the wrath of the hill witch. He couldn’t blame her though. If he owned a magnificent place like this, he wouldn’t want some shitheel coming up here and littering the place up.
He leaned forward and kicked his feet, which sent him swinging a little more. Then he leaned his head against one of the chains and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of sleep. It had been a long time since he’d actually slept well, but he could feel it coming on. The inevitable weight of it. The idea that, if he stretched out someplace soft, he’d be gone in two seconds flat.
Something bumped the swing set. Lonnie looked up to find a pretty pale face gazing at him beneath the center beam where the chains were bolted. Pale green eyes flashed, and Elsa jumped to grab the beam, hanging by her fingertips as she threw her legs up and around him, landing in his lap.
Lonnie closed his eyes, waiting for the structure to fall, but it held steady.
“Heya, Elsa.”
“Hi, Lons.”
Her face was just inches from his, arms snaking around his neck. Her expression held a smidgen of defiance. Lonnie could feel her reluctance, her hesitation. She was afraid of something.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said. “I’m glad you’re you again.”
“Oh yeah? What was I before?”
“Afraid. Unsure.”
Lonnie nodded, dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry I let you down. All of you. I took you out of your world, made you come to Earth and fight. We lost Selix because of it.”
“Shhh,” the whorchal said, putting her finger over his lips. “We don’t care where you lead us. As long as you do it. We’ll go to the far corners of Hell or Earth for you, but don’t ever fall apart like that again.”
Lonnie nodded. “I don’t understand why, but I’ll take your word for it.”
Elsa leaned back, resting her hands on his shoulders. “When Ingrid and I were little girls, we were almost killed outright. Two whorchals born of the same pod can never be allowed to live. It is some stupid superstition, some excuse for keeping our numbers manageable. But before they could kill us, we got away, squeezed into the air ducts of a long forgotten manse in the Ruins of Sooth. They tried everything to root us out. Burning oil, tearing parts of the castle to pieces—many things they tried until the whole place threatened to collapse on their heads.
“Eventually, they let us be. We sneaked about, hunting our own kind. Dropping like twin demons upon those whorchals who were isolated from the pack, those who were the easiest targets. And then we grew too big for any three or four of them to take down, and we earned their respect.
“They let us live among them without fear of reprisal. Ingrid and I became…more.”
“Incredible,” Lonnie said, trying to imagine what that must have been like.
“Still, we did not know love until we met you and Selix. Until you showed us what more truly was. And through you, we grew into the monsters we are today.”
Lonnie nodded, understanding. His eyes loved her pale skin and the tight, sharp cut of her hair. Those sharp, slanted eyes that would normally seem vicious but now appeared almost submissive. Another rare moment when Elsa actually looked cute.
The whorchal leaned forward and put her forehead against his. Her body was hot, the faint hint of black tea on her breath exciting his senses.
She said, “Wanna get high?”
“I do, but if we get high right now, Elsa gets no lovemaking. Fuck or fix, what’ll it be?”
Elsa made a pout, the slices of her eyebrows widening in an expression of helplessness, all the while her hands tugging at his belt. “Fuck. And then fix.”
Lonnie put his hands around the small of her back and pulled her close so he could feel the hardness of her body through his jeans. The whorchal’s lips dove in for his, a flicker of tongue and a flash of sharp teeth, but Lonnie pulled away, grabbing the back of her head and holding her tight.
He returned her viscous kiss with a gentle, careful one, his tongue at first flicking along her lips before pressing in. She responded, wiggling against him, a little too eager.
Lonnie had to stop her again with a quick jerk of her hair.
Then he tried again.
They made out that way for a long time. At first, Elsa fought the slow, lingering pace, but she eventually relaxed and allowed the pleasure to come of its own sweet accord.
And Lonnie would never tell her that he was imagining Selix throughout some of this, but he figured she probably already knew and probably didn’t care.
Chapter 11
Torri nibbled on a twiggy offshoot as she watched the two from her hiding spot in the undergrowth. Her eyes were focused and intent on each and every little move. The motions of their hips banging together brought back memories of the times Torri had done this very same thing with some boy or girl she’d taken back in the Old World. It was easy back then. The fae were full of love and openness. Copulation was as natural as breathing to them.
But things had changed since then, and Torri’s crossing to America had forced her to forget her free ways. She’d needed to survive, to develop a sharp edge that cut away any of the child left in her. She’d practiced fighting evil for so long that maybe she’d forgotten how to love.
In any case, it had been a very, very long time since she’d done that with anyone, and certainly with no one here in this country.
So, how long had it been?
She didn’t want to think about it.
Cocking her head as if the shift in perspective might give her more insight, Torri wondered what the two must be feeling. Despite all their hardness, all their posturing and violent propensities, their lovemaking was surprisingly gentle, almost as if they’d been lovers for a long time even though Torri figured Selix had been Lonnie’s true love.
Elsa moaned, her whorchal voice echoing through the treetops as the branches rustled with delight at the copulation taking place beneath their waving leaves. It almost felt like her woods were teasing her, telling her it was time for her to take a lover, too.
The one called Lonnie was a handsome man. Tallish and thin. He had thick hair darkened with sweat, and she wondered what it would feel like running her hand through it. What would it feel like kissing him square on the lips while looking into his stone gray eyes just like the whorchal woman was doing this very moment?
And, like a charm, thinking those thoughts for a single second sent a wicked tickle through her knees.
What about the other fellow? The one called Crash. He was a big fella. Torri imagined herself beneath him, his size dwarfing her like a darn grizzly. But flipped over and doing it like the dogs did, now that sent a pleasant chill up her spine, and she had to bite the twig hard to keep from giggling.
It wasn’t long before the two on the swing finished. They settled there on the seat, covered but for their bottom halves, Elsa’s skinny legs locked around Lonnie’s middle. Torri found herself wanting to do that, too.
Lonnie pulled something out of his jacket and set it between them. Opened it up and fished out some tools. He t
ook off his jacket and tied a rubber strip around his arm, patting at his veins. Torri’s heart sank. She’d seen this before. Folks in the hollers shooting drugs. It had become an epidemic in the hills of Eastern Kentucky. The black tar, the dark evil she’d dreamed of so many times. It was the hardest thing to beat, harder even then exorcising a demon because the black tar could crush a person’s spirit unlike any demon could. And once a person’s spirit was crushed, it was tough coming back.
Now here it was in her own backyard.
She had a mind to come out and lay into them right then and there, but she had other more important things to tend to just now.
Torri shook her head and turned away, moving through the woods to the north, toward Pondcliff where she’d brought them to clean up earlier. Before she did anything she’d need to consult with the others of her coven. They’d be shocked as hell to hear there were two Bet-Ohmans in their midst. Lonnie’s aura was good, just like Bess told her it would be. He was troubled man, no doubt, probably addicted beyond turning back, but his spirit hadn’t been crushed. He could be saved. Maybe he was even worth saving.
It was the sister Torri was concerned with. The one she’d had trouble reading. Why? What was blocking her powers? Could it have something to do with the fact that Makare was the granddaughter of the coven’s oldest enemy, an enemy they thought they’d put down?
The Turu Tukte.
Of course, witches were always shit when it came to following up on things. It was the fae in their blood, Torri figured.
Well, she just hoped it wasn’t too late.
The ground undulated and moved beneath her feet, green growth parting to let her through, sensing her urgency. With her way clear, she made it back to Pondcliff in just a few short minutes.