by J. R. Rain
“It’s always a good time pounding something.”
“Brother.”
He laughs. Guys, it seems, always have a knack to make anything sound sexual. “Is your favor official or your side business?”
I smirk. “Side project. I need to go back out to that chapel. I was hoping you could meet me there. It’s not a good idea for me to be alone there, so no wild stories about the crazy witch get made up.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“At best, look around and make sure an ‘anonymous tip’ of a suicide pact is fake. At worst, invoke a banishing.”
“Never a dull moment with you, Mads. Give me a few minutes and I’ll head out.”
“Awesome. See you there.”
I head downstairs. Caius, still on the phone, does a double take at me, mumbles something at the phone, then presses it against his chest.
“Going to the ‘office’ today?”
“No, but I am going out. Elise had a dream of bad shit happening with that Pastor Waters.”
He gives me the ‘one sec’ finger and puts the phone to his ear again. “Let me call you back in five minutes? Great. Call you right back.” He clicks off the call. “What’s up?”
I explain Elise’s dream, and her fear that Waters is about to do something drastic. More to the point, the shadow entity is about to make him do something drastic. “We’re out of time. This has to happen tonight. Your mother is making the preparations.”
“Be careful.” He pulls me in close, touching foreheads. “I need to hammer out a few more issues with Marla. Soon as I’m off the phone, I’ll head over to Mother’s. Unless you need me now.”
“I’m not planning to take the thing on myself, just kick it in the ass and run. Your mother’s getting the doll set up, so once I peel the thing off Waters, it might smell ‘Elise’ and go running. Better if you’re there to help contain it.”
“All right.” He pokes me in the stomach. “You didn’t eat anything.”
“I’ll eat when get back.” I am hungry, but this can’t wait. “It’s unwise to take on a shadowy coalescence of negative energy with a full stomach.”
Chuckling, Caius winks at me and dials his assistant back up.
I make a last-minute check over my pockets: gun, badge, keys, wallet… oh, wait.
One thing that I should probably do is bind a protection talisman for Waters. Might be tricky getting him to wear it, but I expect his ‘burn the witches’ act will stop once the entity has no further influence over him. So, I shoot Rick a ‘need 20 min’ text, and head into my greenhouse.
I take a blank pine talisman and weave it with some angelica root and clove. All three are strong protection against negative energy. While putting it together, I chant, “Root of angels, wood of pine, shield from darkness for all time,” over and over. Next, I combine some pine shavings with sage in a metal bowl, light it aflame, and hold the talisman in the smoke while repeating the chant three more times. “Spirits of Air I call upon you. Lend your power, protection true.”
A tingle at my fingertips where they touch the wood tells me I’ve been heard.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
After tapping out the burning incense, I rush across the house and out to my truck.
***
Rick’s already at the chapel and waiting by the time I pull into the small parking lot. He’s parked as far back as possible from the building. Guess he’s seen too many TV shows with demons: something always explodes. I park beside him and hop out.
“You know, it’s not a great idea for you to be here,” says Rick.
“Yeah. It’s less of a great idea for me to do nothing.”
We fall in step, side by side, and cross the parking lot.
“I’m getting sick to death of black Ford Rangers,” mutters Rick. “I’m half-tempted to request a temporary transfer to patrol again so I can ticket every last bleeping one of them I see.”
I chuckle. “Don’t do that. I’m as frustrated as you are. And bleeping?”
“We are at a church. Say, why don’t you throw a little magic at it?”
“Already did.”
Rick’s eyebrows go up. He pauses at the base of the stairway up to the chapel door. “No kidding?”
“No kidding.”
“So, we just roam around Olympia looking for a man who turned into a toad or something?”
Arms folded, I arch an eyebrow.
He cracks up. “Wow, Wims. You don’t need a sidearm if you can glare like that. The look on your face could stop a truck.”
I ignore him. “Magic doesn’t work that way. You’re lucky I know you and know you’re kidding.”
“Yeah, umm, so what’s it going to do?” He eyes the steeple. “More lightning?”
“No. I threw a jinx on him. At least, I hope I did. It’s difficult to hex someone you don’t even know a thing about.”
“Obviously.” He smiles. “You realize there’s something innately awkward about discussing hexing people in front of a church, right?”
“This isn’t a church,” I mumble. “It’s a church-shaped building owned by an atheist con-man. There’s no energy here.” Except, there is… but it’s not good. “Wait a minute. I take that back. There is energy here, but it’s not what I’d expect a church to feel like.”
“An aura of ‘wrap it up so we can go home and watch football’?” asks Rick.
“No. Usually, tranquility. This is dark. The thing is here. Thanks by the way, for coming along as a witness.”
The front door flies open.
A teenage girl in a plain white dress with raven hair, wild blue eyes, and a crowbar rushes down the stairs toward us. Rick and I both jump back and grab our sidearms. The girl stops a few paces away, pointing the crowbar at me.
“The Bible says suffer not a witch to live.” The girl grips the crowbar in two hands.
“The law says attempted murder of a police officer’ll get you put away,” replies Rick.
I raise my left hand in a placating gesture. “Easy. Hold on… I’m not here to cause any trouble.”
She grips the crowbar like a baseball bat. “You’re here to send us all to hell. You tried to burn us down once, but God protected us. I’m not gonna let you do it again. Don’t care if you’re a cop or not. You’re in league with Satan, witch.”
“I’m not in league with Satan.”
“Deceiver!” She takes a step closer, causing Rick to pull his gun.
“Stop,” says Rick. “Drop the weapon.”
“Look at me,” I say to the girl, holding eye contact, and taking note of a bruise around her left eye. “I’m worried your pastor is suffering a dark torment.”
The negative energy whirling around in the air gets stronger. It brushes over us, then gathers in a billow before pulling back and receding into the building. The girl appears to sense something, too, as the fierce look in her eye falters.
“What was that?” she asks.
“Do you believe in demons?” I ask.
“Yes. I’m looking right at one,” says the girl.
My hair flops over my eyes. “I’m not a demon.”
“Drop the crowbar, kid,” says Rick, his voice raised.
I pull my hair aside, but it falls right back over my face. Must mean the young woman isn’t a threat. I’ll suffer looking goofy for a moment to help her relax if need be. The girl lets out a nervous laugh that sounds pretty innocent. Rick’s still got his gun trained on the girl, but her posture is less aggressive, and her toes aren’t whitening on her flip-flops anymore.
“Please, at least lower your arm,” I say.
She does.
Rick relaxes his aim, but doesn’t put his weapon away.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Peyton.” She looks about seventeen, pale as a porcelain doll with gem-blue eyes. “And I’m not gonna let you cause trouble here.”
“We’re both people of faith, Peyton. You know that sometimes members of different f
aiths need to work together to overcome a common foe?”
“But you’re a witch.”
“There isn’t enough time for me to go into a lot of detail now, but trust me when I say that history is full of misinformation about us. The credo I live by is ‘an it harm none, do as thou wilt,’ or translated for 2017, ‘if it doesn’t hurt anyone, go for it.’”
Peyton lowers her arm the rest of the way, the crowbar hanging loose at her side. “Why should I believe you’re not here to hurt him?”
“Him?”
“Pastor Waters.”
I nod. “I’m only here to talk to him. I think he’s suffering a dark torment. If you thought a demon was threatening your pastor, you’d want to help, right?”
She nods. “Of course!”
“I’m here only to help him. I have nothing against your faith.”
She squints suspiciously at me. “But Pastor Waters says you hate us.”
“I don’t hate you or your faith. I hate being demonized.” I release my still-holstered weapon and gesture toward her face. “What happened to your eye?”
Peyton stares at her feet.
“Boyfriend? Father?”
“No,” mutters Peyton.
My eyebrows go up. “Did Pastor Waters hit you?”
She gasps, whipping her head up with a pleading expression. “He’s not himself. He didn’t mean to do it.”
“Peyton, why are you here?” asked Rick.
“My family goes here.” She shrugs. “I’m helping out at the church over the summer.”
“Are you under eighteen?” asks Rick, a note of anger in his face.
“I am eighteen,” says Peyton.
“Did the preacher touch you?” asks Rick.
Peyton fidgets and bites her lip. “Why would you even ask that? He’s a pastor. He got upset when I went into his study a little while ago to ask if he wanted any food.”
“Is that a normal thing for him? Does he hit you often?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “It’s not like him to be violent.”
I let her words hang in there a few seconds, then ask gently, “It’s out of character for him to have hit you only for asking him if he was hungry, isn’t it?”
My tone seems to calm her down even more, and she takes on an affect like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t have. “Yes, it’s not like him at all. He’s a sweet man, but these past few days, he’s been so angry. Ever since you―umm. I mean ever since the lightning hit the steeple.”
Rick edges close enough to tug the crowbar out of Peyton’s hand. He puts his gun away and takes a step back.
“There’s a dark entity here that’s latched on to him,” I say. “I’m only here to check on him, not cause trouble. I think he’s in danger and I want to help him.”
Again, the darkness in the air pulses with tangible dread.
Peyton shivers.
“You feel it,” I say.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Pastor Waters is in trouble.” I take another step toward Peyton and put an arm around her. “Let’s go check on him.”
“All right, but I won’t let you do anything bad. God is watching you, and this is His house.”
“I give you my word; I am not here to cause harm.”
She nods at me. “All right. Come on.”
Peyton glances at the crowbar in Rick’s hand for a second, but heads up the steps into the chapel without saying anything more.
“That was easier than I thought,” mutters Rick.
I flare my eyebrows. “We haven’t gotten to the hard part yet.”
Peyton leads us down the aisle between the benches, around to the left of the altar and into a back hallway. The whole place is plain wood, like something you’d see in the pioneer days. It still even smells like raw pine. A repetitive thumping, like someone pounding a fist on a wall, emanates from behind the third door on the left.
The girl approaches the door and grasps the loose knob, cringing back as if she expects to get in trouble again. A wail of anguish rips through the silence. That sounded like Pastor Waters. Peyton jumps back with a yelp of surprise. Rick catches her and eases her aside.
I grab the knob and pull the door open.
Pastor Waters lays curled on the floor in a fetal position in front of a wooden desk. Profuse sweat drips off his face, puddling on the dark hardwood. Bookshelves line the walls except for a blank space where a painting had been. The framed canvas lays face down on the floor on the left side of the room beneath a gouge in the wall.
“Tu vei muri,” rasps Waters. “Și omul acesta va muri.” The pastor shudders, vomits a mixture of bile and whiskey, and shouts, “Tu vei muri!” in a much deeper, guttural voice.
“Oh, crap,” says Rick behind me. “That’s not good.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Soul Searching
Saturday Late Morning – July 22, 2017
Peyton screams her lungs empty, then yells, “Pastor Waters!”
Shadows at the back of the room darken to the point the bookshelves vanish.
I grasp my amulets and focus on the ill energy in the air.
“Dark spirit, you are not wanted here. Leave this place and do not return.
“Leave this man and do not return.
“You do not belong here. I banish you from this place.
“Darkness begets darkness, light calls light.
“Leave now!”
Pastor Waters snarls, “Curvă!” and scrambles to his feet, his eyes solid black.
Peyton makes the sign of the cross over herself and starts praying, but gets only a few words out before she shrieks again. My guess, she noticed the eyes. She backs away into the corner of the room, refusing to look at him, and resumes her prayers while clutching a silver crucifix amulet.
Rick puts a hand on his gun, but hesitates.
Waters, or whatever is currently occupying his skin, lunges at me with a fist. I block it to the side and try to trap his arm for a takedown, but the old man’s way stronger than he looks. While I cling to his arm, he hauls me off my feet and throws me halfway across the room into a bookshelf.
“Oof!”
I hit the floor and shield my head from a waterfall of books.
Waters starts to come after me, but Rick dives on him. The men hit the ground, Waters face down with Rick on his back. I drag myself to my feet and rush over, grabbing Waters’ arm. Between the two of us, we get him upright, Rick holding him from behind. The old man puts up a hell of a fight, enough for Rick to struggle to keep him contained.
“Fiend!” shouts Waters.
“I’m honestly not sure if he’s talking about me or the thing possessing him,” I say, before grabbing my cluster of amulets again.
Peyton keeps belting out prayers. I really hope that girl believes. I’ll take whatever help I can get. I focus my thoughts, gathering myself.
“Creature from the beyond the veil, you are not wanted here,” I yell.
“You have no hold upon this place.
“You have no hold upon this man.
“You have no hold upon this world.”
Pastor Waters groans and twists, bending forward and lifting Rick off his feet for a moment. My partner’s weight proves too much for the old guy to sustain; he wheezes and nearly falls, but Rick holds him up. I pull the amulet I made for him out of my pocket and put it over the pastor’s head.
“I banish you back from whence you came.
“I bind you from doing further harm.”
Waters lurches forward with a retching noise. I leap aside, expecting a shower of vomit, but inky blackness blasts out of his mouth, nose, and eyes. In seconds, a cloud of shadow hangs above the desk, half the height of a man. Waters slumps unconscious in Rick’s arms.
“Holy sh―Christ,” says Rick.
I glance at him.
Peyton flattens herself against the bookcases in the corner, staring at the shadow entity.
I brace for an assault, but the creature
zooms into the blank spot of wall where the picture came from. Right then, as the sense of darkness lifts from the air, Waters comes to in a flailing fit.
“Gah!” shouts Waters. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Do you mean originally, or more in the sense of why are we in the room with you right now?” asks Rick.
Waters squirms. “Why are you holding me?”
“Demonic possession,” says Rick.
“And no, I didn’t send it after you.” I reach out and tap the amulet on his neck. “This is a protective ward. As long as you wear this, you’ll have some defense against it. It’s not infallible, but it should help. With any luck, it will prove to be too much of a barrier and the entity will go elsewhere.”
“Pastor Waters?” asks Peyton. “Are you all right?”
Rick releases him.
“Yes. I feel a little tired.” He looks around at the room. “What happened here? I…” He freezes at the sight of the bruise on Peyton’s face. “What happened to you, child?”
She looks down.
“He might not remember,” I say.
“I did that?” Waters shoots me a look. “What the fuck was that black thing?”
Peyton gasps.
Rick points at him. “Hey if a pastor can drop F-bombs in church, I’m going to as well.”
I shake my head at Rick and look at Waters. “As best I can explain it? An entity from beyond the veil. Pure negative energy. It’s been running around for a couple years and has a rather strong dislike of a friend of mine. Lately, that spirit has caused at least one death. It got into you and used you as a weapon.” I explain how he’d been campaigning against us and even go into the lightning strike potentially being the result of a karma blowback spell. “None of this is exact. It might’ve been a normal weather event, but doubtful.”
Waters sits against the edge of his desk, looking frazzled. “This shit is real.”
“Pastor!” says Peyton.
“I’m sorry, kid.” Waters tries to smooth his out-of-control white hair into some kind of order. “This stuff is more than I ever signed on for.”
“How did a demon possess a pastor?” asks Peyton.
“His, umm, faith faltered,” I say. “And he had a demon or two of his own already inside his head. Metaphorical ones.”