by R D Martin
A flush raced up her cheeks as she realized the doll had its own ward. Peeling off more threads, she sent them to poke and prod the shield, looking for even the smallest crack. As solid as the spell felt, she couldn’t feel any source of energy powering it, which gave her hope. Her heart beat a fast rhythm and her hands shook as she pried at the magic surrounding the doll. With nothing feeding the magic shell, it was only a matter of time before her threads found either a hole or a weakness she could exploit.
Her threads pressing against the shield uncovered a spot softer than the rest, though calling it soft was like comparing concrete to steel. The magic of this spell tasted not only old, but like it had been strengthened so much over time it would be nearly impossible to break if it was still powered.
Giving the soft spot a push, she felt the magic give way beneath her, flexing without bending. So, she thought, not going to be so easy then. Changing the magic, she created a blade finer than a surgeon’s scalpel and tried to slice through the spot.
A sound like a gong exploded around her, forcing her to drop the doll as she clasped her hands to her ears. Her head vibrated with the noise and it felt as though her mind was on the verge of exploding as well. Dropping to her knees, she couldn’t hear her own scream tearing from her lungs.
When the din quieted from a cannon blast to a dull roar, she fell to her hands, panting as if she’d run a marathon. Sweat beaded on her forehead, dropping to the floor as she fought to control herself. Her body felt as though it had been wrung out and left in the wind to dry.
“Bella!” Ray’s voice called from somewhere in the house. “Bella! Where are you?”
“I’m, I’m here,” she yelled, or at least tried to. Her screaming left her throat raw and speaking was as painful as gargling glass. “I’m okay.” The last came out as a whisper.
She looked up in time to see him turn the corner and stop just inside the doorway. The worried look on his face only deepened as he saw her on her hands and knees.
“Bella, what—” he started. Crossing the room, he bent to help her up.
Waving him off, she needed another second before moving. Her head still rang with echoes of the gong, though they soon died as well.
“That was,” she said, sitting back on her haunches, “one hell of a spell.”
“Spell? What spell? What did you do?”
“I found something,” she said, pointing to the doll on the floor. “When I tried to see what it was, well, it wasn’t happy with me.”
“What? This?” Before she could say anything, he bent down and scooped up the doll.
“Wait. Don’t.” But the doll might as well have been a normal one, failing to react to anything he did.
“This is just one of Lucy’s dolls. She makes, made, them for Ade to sell in her shop.”
“I know, but that’s not—” another gong sounded, though this one wasn’t confined to her head. The duo stared at each other for a moment.
“Did you?” The question hung in the air, though they both knew what she was asking.
“No, not all the way. I didn’t have time,” he said, shaking his head.
Bella scrambled to her feet and the two raced out of the bedroom, through the kitchen and into the back yard.
Just beyond the burned-out fire pit was a man in a blue business suit, a teenage boy and a woman in a housecoat. As out of place as they were, they moved forward with the same jerking manner as the people who had attacked and killed Mama Ade. Their shuffling strides reminiscent of marionettes controlled by a bad puppeteer. Each person’s eyes were wide and unblinking, giving them a surprised expression. As one, they stopped advancing, though their bodies continued to twitch and jerk.
“Give me what is mine,” they said in unison, though the voice did not belong to them. “Give me what is mine.”
“Where are you, Baron?” Ray shouted. His hands curled to fists at his sides and he began to vibrate.
“Stupid boy,” their combined voice said. “I see your soul and see what you most desire. You would have the lion walk into his own cage. No, boy. I will not do that. Give me what I want.”
“You’ll get nothing here, Baron.”
She couldn’t tell if Ray was being stubborn or egging the Baron on, but his visible hatred of the man almost echoed her own.
One figure, the man in the business suit, stepped forward. As he did, she opened herself to magic and let it flow through her. If the Baron wanted a fight, even through proxies, she’d give it to him. The man reached behind him and pulled out a short kitchen knife. The silver blade twitched in his hand as the figure held it out in front of himself.
“Give me what I want, or you will suffer.”
“Face me in person, Baron. You’ll get nothing otherwise.”
The man in the suit switched his grip on the knife, pointing the blade at himself. Without a second thought or any hesitation, he plunged the blade into the center of his throat. A ruby fountain of blood sprayed from the wound, glistening in the sunlight as it fell. The figure stood there, holding the knife in place for a moment before ripping it and slamming it back in again. The spray of blood increased, changing the color of the grass at his feet even as it poured down the front of his pressed suit. Color started draining from his cheeks at the loss of blood.
“What are you doing?” Ray yelled.
“Stop it,” she screamed. Taking a step forward, she was about to launch herself off the porch when a hand grabbed her arm. Twisting, she looked at the hand, then up at Ray. His features had shifted from fury to revulsion, but his eyes still shone with bright determination. Without letting go of her arm, he shifted his gaze down and back up again.
His grip might as well have been an iron bar for all the give it had. Her stomach clenched and roiled at the carnage, but unable to do anything until he let go, she followed his gaze to the ground. She saw nothing at first, but as she was about to try jerking her arm free, she zeroed in on what he was looking at. A red line of dust, so thin she wouldn’t have known it was there if he hadn’t warned her, ran along the edge of the porch steps.
He must have put it there while she was in the house, but why didn’t he want her to cross it? It wouldn’t keep her out, and it was supposed to be a trap for the Baron, so why?
A thud in the dirt interrupted her train of thought, and she turned her attention back to the man in the suit. The knife still protruded from his throat, though he no longer grasped the handle, and he’d fallen to his knees. His face was ashen white and the front of his outfit looked as though someone had doused him with a bucket of water, the blood soaking into his dark blue suit and almost disappearing. He teetered a moment, swaying back and forth before toppling to the ground where he lay unmoving.
Her stomach, already in turmoil, threatened to disgorge its contents and she felt the burn of bile rising in her throat.
The woman in the housecoat was the next to step forward, and Bella noticed her outfit was covered with cavorting puppies.
“Give me what I want,” she and the boy said together.
“What… What have you done?” asked Ray, unable to take his eyes off the body on the ground. “Why do this, Baron?”
“I will have what is mine,” came the reply in a deadpan voice.
The woman reached into her pockets and pulled out a stick lighter, one of those used to light barbecues or gas stoves, and a small yellow can. There was a pop and, turning the can on herself, she sprayed a thin stream of liquid over her front.
“Stop, Baron. Don’t do it,” Bella cried, though she didn’t move. It didn’t take a genius to see what the woman would do.
“Will you give me what I want?”
She hesitated. It was one thing to kill someone in a fight, but this, this was something else. How could the Baron do this? Could she let these people die?
“I—” she started, but froze at the sound of a click. It was as if that one sound was the mute button for the entire world, and it seemed to echo around them. The rustle of lea
ves, the chirp of crickets, and even the wind whistling by went still. A whoosh followed the click and the front of the woman’s outfit changed color as red and orange flames shot up, encasing her chest, head, and shoulders in its devouring embrace.
Bella’s hand flew to her mouth as she watched the woman burn. She wanted, no, needed to stop this.
“No, don’t!” hollered Ray, though whether to the burning woman or to her she couldn’t tell.
Reaching out, she formed her magic into a vortex of wind, letting it build until it was too much to hold. She couldn’t hear her own words through the pounding of blood in her ears, but as she released the wind, she heard its roar as it flew toward the burning woman.
The wind from her spell slammed into the figure, lifting her up and throwing her back, dousing the flames even as they hurled her away. The woman bounced on the grass behind her before rolling to a stop near the edge of the yard where she lay unmoving. As far away as she was, Bella couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead, but at least she wasn’t burning any longer and a healing spell could repair the damage.
Laughter rang across the clearing as the boy, old enough to be out of his teens but probably still too young to drink, stepped forward.
“You will give me what I want,” he said in a voice too deep and menacing to belong to him.
“Yes,” she screamed, unwilling to see what method the Baron would use to kill the kid. “Yes, I’ll give it to you. Just, just don’t hurt him.”
The boy nodded and held out his hand. If the Baron wasn’t involved, she’d swear he’d been drinking too much caffeine.
“It’s not here,” Ray said.
She looked at him, and though still acting determined, she could see how shaken he was.
“Don’t lie to me, boy. Do you think so little of my power? I can feel it inside the house. I will kill this boy and every man, woman and child in the city if you do not give it to me now.”
“But we—"
Even as he said it, the boy reached down in that jerky motion and pulled a knife from his pocket. It wasn’t a kitchen knife though. This was a hunting knife, made for killing and skinning. The light reflecting off its silvered surface made it seem somehow scarier than the one already used by the man in the suit. This knife felt infinitely more final.
Raising the large knife, the boy brought the tip to rest just below his jawline and held it there.
“Stop!” Ray yelled, stepping forward, arm outstretched. He was down both steps before stopping himself from passing the dust line, though his toe edged it.
“Give it to me now,” came the Baron’s voice from the boy’s lips. Every word made the child’s jaw move, and every movement forced the tip of the knife to pierce his skin. Fat drops of blood welled to the surface and dripped down the blade, tarnishing its bright surface.
“We—” Ray began, but she interrupted.
“The doll, you want the doll.” It was a snap decision, but it made sense. After all, why else would the old woman put a barrier spell around something unless it was to keep it hidden?
The boy’s clouded eyes shifted to her.
“You want Mama Ade’s voodoo doll, the one she made for you.”
Though the boy’s face didn’t shift expression in the smallest, the Baron’s voice was harsh and guttural, filled with anger.
“Give it to me. Give it to me now or the boy dies.”
“It’s not here. Wait,” she yelled as the boy’s hand moved. “It’s not here, but we can get it, bring it to you.”
“I can feel it, girl. I know it’s here.”
“It’s a trap!” she yelled, desperate to stop the Baron from killing this boy as well. “Mama Ade set a trap for you. She wanted you to come here, lure you in and trap you. She knew she was going to die and set this up.” She hoped enough truth was mixed in with the lie that it was believable.
The boy stood still, as unwavering as a mountain and just as silent, while drops of blood from his chin fell just slow enough to count seconds passing.
“Bring it to me then,” the Baron said, the first to break the oppressive silence. “Bring it to me tonight.”
“Where?”
“Bring it,” the Baron said, pausing as though reconsidering his decision. “Bring it to the place where it all started.”
Light flashed off the knife as it fell from the boy’s hand, silver blade sinking inches into the dirt at his feet. Almost before the knife could stop moving, the boy crumpled to the ground as well, falling in a heap like the strings holding him up were severed.
She barely cast Ray a look as she raced down the porch steps and into the yard. She didn’t have time to waste. If anyone was still alive, she needed to get to them now.
“What have you done?” Ray called, steps behind her. “That wasn’t the plan.”
“The plan wasn’t working.”
“We could have,” he started, but she didn’t hear the rest as she leapt the fire pit. Ignoring the fallen boy, she made for the burned woman. There could still be time.
22
The truck’s fan-belt gave a high-pitched squeal as the vehicle came to a stop at the graveyard’s entrance. The sound echoed off trees, making it carry on longer than it should, and sent a chill running down her spine. The truck’s headlights shone on the rusted metal gate, already swung open like the maw of a great beast, waiting their arrival.
Taking a deep breath, she looked over at Ray. His straight back and shoulders shouted his determination, but his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel belied how scared he really was. She couldn’t blame him. They would either win here or never see another sunrise, and the odds weren’t in their favor.
After their encounter with the Baron’s drones, and his instructions to meet them where it had all started, they’d had a hell of a time trying to decode his clue. In the end, Ray’s large extended family came to their rescue. One of his cousins had an interest in genealogy, and after a few phone calls and a couple of promises, they knew where they had to go. The real problem then was getting there.
The last night of Mardi Gras was, to all accounts, a raucous party filled with parades, music, alcohol and people walking the streets as they squeezed the last bit of joy from the night before Lent. And it was the last part that caused Bella and Ray to take so much time crossing the city. While he did his best to avoid the worst sections, most of the city still celebrated to some degree or other.
Ray’s phone kept buzzing the entire trip as his family called, letting them know someone had spotted the Baron. In one area of town, they saw him smoking his cigar and whipping the crowd into a dancing frenzy to the music of a live jazz band. In another section they spotted him rolling dice and chugging bottles of whiskey like they were soda. The latest call came from a younger cousin hired to work as a waiter for a private party. The Baron strutted through the foyer of his employer’s home like it belonged to him instead and, grabbing the man’s wife, kissed her like a newlywed on his honeymoon. The husband took exception to this, of course, but a single touch by the Baron had him moaning on the marble floor. Paramedics were just wheeling the man away when the cousin called.
Using her own phone, she plotted his path and felt a certain relief to find it followed theirs, though it was far less winding. If the Baron kept up his pace, partying and inciting riot on his way, they’d arrive at the graveyard at close to the same time. The problem was what to do when they got there.
The first thing Ray suggested was burning the doll, keeping it out of the Baron’s hands forever. The idea had some merit, but she wasn’t willing to risk any more lives than necessary. The Baron had already shown them just how far he would go to get it.
The discussion went back and forth over the entire length of the trip as they tried to come up with different ways to dispose of either the doll or the Baron. When Ray suggested shooting the man, she almost laughed. Any Witch seeing a gun would deal with it in short order without breaking a sweat. And as old as he was, she felt sure the painted man
had dealt with more than a few assassination attempts. No, normal methods wouldn’t work in this case, leaving them only supernatural ones. That meant she’d have to do it.
As they left the city behind, the rest of the trip to the small church and graveyard was silent, though Bella’s mind worked furiously. She felt like Sisyphus pushing his boulder. Every time she thought of something capable of working, she trashed the idea as she came up with a half dozen methods to defeat it.
Turning the doll in her hand, she examined the magic shell around it. Trying to take her mind off their impending death, she probed the spell protecting the doll and couldn’t stop feeling a bit of wonder at how well it worked. Every thread of magic she sent at it told her the same thing. There was nothing powering the spell, but it was as strong now as when she’d first picked it up. None of her threads had so much as scratched the shield.
Even worse, it seemed to change the more she examined it. The first soft spot she’d encountered was gone, though two new ones appeared. Curious, she’d pressed the first one, bracing herself against the gong in her mind she feared coming. Instead, her magic turned in on itself and slammed back on her. The sudden shift made her stomach flop and she spewed its contents out the window and along the side of the truck.
Her grip on the door saved her from bouncing off the windshield as the truck skidded to a stop. Opening the door, she tumbled out and flopped on the scrub beside the road. Hanging her head between her knees, she drew deep breaths, trying to ignore the bile still coating the inside of her mouth. It was another five minutes before they left, and she refused to see what happened with the other soft spot.
Sliding out of the truck this time, she almost wished she was back on the side of the road.
Striding through the open gate, projecting as much confidence as possible, she couldn’t help feeling she was well in over her head. As she passed beneath the graveyard sign, a tingle like a small electric current raced along her spine and she shuddered. It was her second time passing beneath it, and this time she wasn’t sure she’d be walking out again. Fighting someone with magic was never easy, but knowing her opponent had more than a hundred years’ experience on her made doing this even more difficult.