“We have a visitor.” Moo points toward the parking lot where we left the Bronco. There’s a girl walking toward us, dressed in an unseasonable trench coat, large-brimmed straw hat obscuring her face, and kicky strappy sandals. She looks like a flasher all done up to go to the Derby. She’s also carrying enough Styrofoam trays of Starbucks to caffeinate a flotilla.
“Oh, hey,” she says, when she manages to get close to us. She’s been weaving quite a bit on her walk, and I’d chalked it up to her sandals on grass and her coffee burden. But once she’s close enough, I can see her eyes are three-quarters pupil.
“Hey there,” I say agreeably. “What’s going on?”
“Just getting the coffee. Am I late? Are you new?”
I grin happily at her. Thank the gods we’re dealing with a Master who takes Starbucks breaks. Too bad for the girls he’s less into them wearing clothes, as it’s chilly out. Her trench coat has gaped open enough to show she’s wearing yoga pants and nothing else.
“You could say that,” I say. “We’re here to talk to your Master.”
“Oh. Does he know that?”
“I think he might.”
“Oh. Should I get him for you?”
I nod to Moo, who’s crept up silently behind the girl.
“That you shall, honey. Now hold still; we don’t want to hurt you.”
Moo strikes, wrapping a powerful Alfar shield around the girl so fast it’s like she’s stepped in a bear trap. We manhandle the girl well away from the border of where everything goes “dead,” so we know we’re safely outside the gnome’s territory.
“Dude, the coffee,” is all the girl has to say for herself, as she forlornly gazes upon the spilled contents of the overturned cups. Her hat has also fallen off, and I belatedly recognize her as Brittany, one of the last girls to go missing. She’s lost a bit of weight in the cult and has chopped off her hair.
“I know, hon,” I soothe. “Now I want you to scream.” She looks at me with confused eyes, and I sigh. I really don’t want to have to hurt her, but desperate times…
I yank sharply on a lock of badly cut hair, and she shrieks. I do it again, and she shrieks again. At the same time, Moo uses her power to batter at the subtle shields surrounding the field. It’s less a polite knock on the door and more the pounding of an enraged giant.
It’s not long before we see movement in the field. There’s nothing creepier than people melting in and out of a cornfield, as the director of Children of the Corn knew very well. One minute someone can be there, but they can disappear with just a few movements.
“They’re there,” Moo says.
“Amplify me,” is my only response. Moo does it with her magic so my voice will carry.
“We’ve got something of yours,” I call. “Why don’t you come out and talk?”
I give another vicious tug on Brittany’s hair, and she shrieks obligingly.
More stalks rustle, hinting at hidden watchers.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” I boom. A pair of horns is suddenly floating above a row of corn, but Satan stays put.
“I knew it,” he says, his voice furious. “I knew she’d betrayed her Master.”
I frown, unsure how he knows about Shar but even more intent on getting her back.
“Hand her over,” I say. I refrain from adding, “Or the girl gets it.”
There’s more movement in the corn.
“Why would I do that? I relish the chance to punish this little bitch, as she deserves. As you interrupted.”
I shudder, hoping the punishment hasn’t gone that far. We hadn’t taken long to uncover the site and get over there.
But if that jackass has hurt Shar, he’s gonna pay.
“Come out and talk,” I say. We need to get him in our line of sight. We need to engage with him. Then we need to piss him off. Luckily, Triptych seems to specialize in pissing people off.
The horns bob, but Satan doesn’t show himself.
“Are you afraid?” I boom. Sure enough, that does it.
Satan appears at the edge of the cornfield, looking rather surly for a reputed fallen angel.
“Of course I’m not afraid. I am the Master!”
I yank poor Brittany’s hair. She shrieks again. The Master twitches.
“A real master would keep a better handle on his girls,” I say, initiating Operation Annoyance.
Satan grumbles.
“So where is she? I’ve shown you mine.” I poke Brittany in the back, and she mewls in fright.
I don’t want to do anything else till I’ve seen Shar and know she’s okay. Satan narrows his yellow goat’s eyes at me, as if assessing his options. Eventually, he nods.
Out stumble Jodi, Shar, and the girl Laura.
Except Laura and Shar are holding Jodi, as if Jodi’s the prisoner.
I try not to act surprised, and Jodi’s in no condition to give us away. She’s badly beaten and barely conscious.
“How did you know?” I say, hoping Satan’s not too wily.
He’s not.
“She let that woman nearly get to me. And she was a spy! An interloper! Sent by our enemies! She’s talking to the parents, even now.” I assume he means Jodi’s parents, as he spits at her to punctuate his rant. The spit lands with an audible squelch on the bare skin of her belly.
Jodi’s eyes flutter. “I didn’t know,” she pleads. “Jenny lied to me, too…”
Suddenly I remember Jenny, the girl Shar beat out to meet the Master. Also a relatively new student, Jenny’s a loner. And, apparently, also undercover, with enough focus on her mission she didn’t magically forget what she’d seen upon leaving the gnome’s territory.
Laura turns Jodi to smack her hard across the face, and Jodi’s pleas subside. Shar’s eyes meet mine and I see a flash of concern. She’s not sure how much more abuse Jodi can take. Meanwhile, Shar’s more than capable of healing the cheerleader, but not without giving herself away.
I hand Brittany over to Moo and take a step toward Satan, then another. We’re only about two feet from each other, but with him in his gnome ally’s territory, we might as well be miles apart.
I need to bring that mountain to me.
“So,” I say, lowering my voice conspiratorially and praying I’m right. “I know you’re not really Satan.”
Satan’s expression turns mulish, my first clue that, while we don’t know what he is, he’s probably not a fallen angel. But he’s obviously sensitive about the subject, something I hope we can use against him.
“I am Satan! The Dark Lord! Lord of Pain and Glory!”
I shake my head. “Thou doth protest too much. What are you, really?”
“I am Satan!” he roars, spittle flying.
“No, you’re really not,” I repeat calmly. “So what are you?”
“I am the Master! You will bow before me!”
“Look, that might work on those children you’ve kidnapped. But I’m not a teenager.”
Satan frowns. “I didn’t kidnap anyone! They are minions!” he roars.
“Enough with the roaring, ‘Satan,’” I say, gesticulating great big air quotes with my fingers. “I’m right here.”
Satan stomps a hoof. I roll my eyes.
“You can’t be Satan,” Moo calls from over my shoulder. She’s realized my game.
“Of course I’m…” Satan roars. Then he catches himself, dialing down his volume. “…Satan!”
“Would Satan hide behind a gnome? And not even a fully mature gnome?” Moo once again tests her strength against the shields. They don’t break, but they waver right where she’s hitting.
“Well, let’s be fair,” I say to Moo. “It is an immature gnome. And he does like them young, even when it comes to gnomes.” I turn back to Satan, who’s obviously fuming. He’s been so careful to pick girls who are older than eighteen; I knew that was a nerve ripe for picking.
“Did you kidnap the gnome, too?” Moo asks calmly. Satan snaps.
“I kidnapped no one!” Satan’s b
ack to roaring. He’s also taken a delicious step forward, although he’s still safe behind the gnome’s barriers. We’re getting to him, but not enough.
I need a new tactic.
“Girls!” I call. “Oh, girls! Come out and talk to me for a second.”
“Stay back!” barks Satan.
“Why should they? If you’re the all-powerful Satan, what can I say to sway them? Only someone who wasn’t really Satan would be afraid of me.”
It’s cheap psychology, but it works. There’s movement in the corn. The girls have heard me, and, more importantly, “Satan” knows they’ve heard me.
“Come out,” he barks again. “This woman’s tongue is full of lies. You know your Master!”
Slowly the girls melt out of the corn. One minute they’re not there, the next they are—the magic of the cornfield. In the far right of my peripheral vision is the hooded figure, the immature gnome who nailed us earlier. It appears to be facing the wrong direction—an amateur mistake. Even an immature gnome is a powerful ally if it’s partially bonded to the land, as this one is, and it’s never a good idea to let your big guns dip into your stash.
“Howdy, ladies,” I say with a friendly wave. “My name’s Cappie, and I think you’ve been lied to.”
“Aren’t you the janitor?” one girl asks, her unfocused gaze wandering haphazardly over me. They’re all stoned to the gills.
“I’m actually a detective,” I say, which is true. Triptych does have a human PI license, even if we don’t need it often.
“Oh,” she says, then giggles inappropriately before closely examining the back of her hand.
“Like I said, I’m a detective, but a special kind. I investigate frauds that pass themselves off as magical. Does that sound familiar to you?”
The girls look around, their expressions confused. Satan tosses his horns.
“I am no fraud! I am Lucifer!”
“Oh yeah? The thing is, ladies, I think he is a fraud. I bet he’s not even magical, himself. I bet he’s hooked himself up with someone who is magical, but he’s probably just some schmuck who can’t even shift his own shape. I bet that whole Satan shtick is just a good glamour.”
“What’s a glamour?” another girl asks vaguely.
“It’s nothing!” Satan yells. “This is no glamour!”
“Oh yeah? How can we tell? You’re behind your special little barrier there. I bet the second you were to cross over, you’d be some redneck wearing overalls. Maybe you’re just a kid. I wonder if he’s just a kid?” I turn to Moo, who’s stepped up next to me. “It would explain why he kidnapped all the children.”
“They’re not children. They’re not kidnapped. And I am the Prince of Darkness.” Satan’s so mad now, his voice isn’t loud. He’s gone all cold and creepy with real rage. Just like I want ’im.
“Whatever,” I say. “You ladies believe me, right? You’re wondering why he’s still standing there, aren’t you? All he has to do is take one step out and you’d know he was really Satan, but he’s not even budging.”
Stoned heads swivel toward Satan, including the hooded form of the gnome. Satan hisses.
“Here!” he shouts, stepping over the invisible boundary that demarcates the immature gnome’s territory, and its power, from us. He’s still Satan, but now I can feel his power. It’s very, very familiar. I smile.
“Are you happy?” he yells, turning toward me. “Do you see?” He turns back to his minions. “I am your Master!”
I shake my head, then nod at Moo. The gnome, who’s finally managed to figure out which direction to face, raises a hand in warning, but it’s too late. Like a whip, Moo’s Alfar power lashes out and snares the being in front of us.
“What the—?” he squeals, struggling. “Let me go! I am Satan! I will crush you!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Whatever.”
Moo pulls Satan well back from the gnome’s boundaries. But we still have that same gnome to deal with.
It’s turned toward us, watching its “master” avidly from underneath its hood, which tracks my movement as I go to stand in front of it, carefully staying on my side of its territory.
“So,” I say. “You gonna give up gracefully, or are we gonna have to call in the big guns?” Speaking of big guns, I really want our reinforcements to arrive. If we can’t get the gnome to come out with all the girls still on its side of the barrier, we could be in trouble.
The figure mumbles something inarticulate and its manicured hands ball up into angry fists. They’re youthful hands, and feminine—it must be an incredibly young gnome. It starts to reach deep with its powers, trying to bond further with the land, extend its territory…
“Shar, now!” I yell.
With a powerful shove, our little succubus reveals she’s not just a bamboozled high school student. While I engaged with the gnome, Shar had crept up behind it. Using a combination of her own magical powers and the biceps she keeps toned in weekly sessions of Body Pump, Shar shoves the gnome hard, sending it flying toward me. Once the gnome’s over its own territory lines, its power fizzles with an audible pop and I’m left holding its robed figure.
Those same manicured hands form claws as it reaches up to take a swipe at my face, but I’m too fast for it. I’ve got it turned around and in a choke hold before it can land a hit, tightening its hood down low over its face so it can’t see its target.
Moo has Satan, and I have the gnome. Shar returns to heal Jodi, yelling that she’ll round up the girls. I’m just about to pull the gnome’s hood off when I hear an engine roar up behind us. I recognize one of the power signatures, and I’m pissed it took them so long even as I can’t help but feel smug, knowing we got everything taken care of before The Powers That Be could even mobilize.
Tom pulls forward in a battered Jeep, along with two other supes whose power I can feel from here. One’s an ifrit and the other’s an incubus, and from their strength I reckon they’re the local investigators, or supernatural police, for Springfield. Moo and I herd our prisoners toward their fate, and Tom, the incubus, and the ifrit meet us halfway.
“What do we have here?” Tom asks, eyeballing Satan. The Prince of Darkness looks defeated, his forked penis flaccid and no longer quite so impressive. Before we can respond, a seminaked cultist runs at Tom, holding a corncob like a spear. The incubus stops her in midstride with a negligible flick of his magic. Shar apologizes for the runner from where she’s rounding up the girls.
“We’re not sure,” I say, once everything’s calm again. “We were just about to do the unmasking.”
“Nahual?” Tom asks, pointing at Satan. I nod. Now that the gnome’s juice has been shut off, it’s easy to feel Satan’s power signature. Like Tom and my dad, “Satan” is really a shape-shifter, and a powerful one. But he’s no more Lucifer than I am, even when I don’t get my coffee in the morning.
I gesture theatrically toward the couple but Tom shakes his head.
“You do the honors,” he says, with a small smile I can’t help but return. The investigators shift impatiently, and I manhandle the gnome so it’s facing the crowd and me.
We all gasp when I pull back the hood.
“Stacey?” I ask.
The girl’s vapid blue eyes blink up at me, registering a combination of confusion and anger. The ifrit takes her in hand as I turn toward Satan.
“Well, if you’re the gnome, then I bet I know who’s under there. Come out, come out, whoever you are!” Satan’s yellow goat’s eyes blink mulishly at me, and I nod at Moo, who smiles ghoulishly and uses her Alfar power to crash through Satan’s power like it’s Styrofoam.
“Hi there, Frank,” I say, walking forward to shake him by the shoulders as if greeting an old friend. “So that was you under there this whole time?”
“Mr. McEachern?” babbles one of the girls, followed by a chorus of ews. Frank’s face is beet red with anger and humiliation, as he vainly tries to break through Moo’s hold on his power so he can shape-shift back into Satan form
.
“It’s not so forked now, is it, ladies,” Shar chuckles, and at least one of the girls actually gags. They’re glaring so accusatorily at Frank, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
He can’t meet their eyes, and I don’t blame him. But he can meet mine.
“You bitch,” he snarls.
I nod obligingly.
“If you hadn’t come along—”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s been said before,” I interrupt. “This is what we do, Frankie. We stop bad guys. You’re a bad guy.”
“Right, like you’re so good. You think you’ve done these girls a favor. But what have you done, really? I gave those girls pride. I gave them something to believe in. Everyone in that school treated them like garbage till I came along. They love me, and I love them.”
I feel Moo’s power blossom behind me, and I take a quick step back to place a hand on my friend’s shoulder. I make her meet my eyes and breathe with her until she calms down. Moo gets kinda upset when men like Frank claim they do what they do out of love.
She’s heard it before.
When I know she’s not going to slay him where he sits, I turn back to Frank.
“See, my friends and I have to disagree with you. You can’t say you gave these girls anything, when all you did was lie to them. They believed in something false, something you created.”
“And they were vulnerable,” Moo snarls. “You knew they were vulnerable, and you preyed upon their weaknesses. You’re a parasite.”
Moo’s mojo swirls, and Frank has the good sense to look nervous.
“They love me,” he insists.
“No. They loved your lies. They loved your drugs,” I say.
“They loved the revenge you offered,” Moo continues.
“Don’t forget the twofer!” Shar sings out from our left, making a lewd gesture with her fingers. We ignore her.
Frank’s changed his mind and now won’t look at us. The only safe place for his eyes is apparently the ground, but he’s still defiant.
“They did so love me,” he mutters to his shoes.
I sigh, then walk behind him and grab his hair. Yanking his face up, I make him turn to the girls.
“If they love you for real, Frankie my boy, they’ll love you even now. Ladies!” I call, so they can hear me. “How do you feel about Mr. McEachern here?”
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