Dark Arts

by Randolph Lalonde

  “Stop talking when you don’t have to,” she told him, pinching a tuft of his short blonde hair and tugging it as she walked away.

  “I’ll talk for you,” Samuel said. “Some pair we make, one with lips that have to stay still, the other who can’t catch his breath in humid weather. Max, you know more about that book than anyone here, your father wrote three volumes on it.”

  “That’s mostly the history, where it’s been, who had it when, and what the legends say it was used for,” Maxwell said. “I didn’t even believe most of what he wrote on how these rites work. It’s locked up in my room, by the way.” He whispered.

  “Good, may want to keep it on you though, it’s made of rugged stuff, it’ll stay together, but that’ll do for now. Maxwell, the covenant is a touchy topic here because there are people well practiced enough to break it, powerful enough to make that work for them,” Samuel said. “You break the covenant, and you take the balance of reality out of the divine’s hands. We bend the rules as much as a mortal can as it is, but if you use the keys in that book to take divine power out of the situation, you can throw the rules away. Knowledge truly is power, and as my fifth wife can attest, strange things happen when a High Weaver talks in his sleep. I summoned her Uncle Zini one night, and we were in separate beds for the rest of our marriage.”

  “So the shard is like raw power with endless consequences, and the book is temptation and power,” Maxwell said. He watched Allen carefully eat egg casserole and felt deep pangs of guilt. Eating was not pleasant for him judging from the sweat on his forehead, redness on his face and how slowly he chewed. The scratches on the inside of his mouth must have made it a misery.

  “Endless consequences,” Samuel said, nodding. “I like that. You must understand, the shard and the book were found together for a reason. Panos may have broken from the Purifiers if he had them. He must have had plans the two pieces are awful in concert. A thing that draws a powerful demon in it’s wake and attracts spirits combined with a book containing the definitive text on breaking or restoring the cycle of life and death in many different ways? You are trained well enough to know how dangerous that is, how tempting that is. Even I know I could be born again through such magic, and it would break the covenant utterly.”

  “Fear,” Allen said. “That’s what drives people to the book.”

  “Good point,” Samuel said. “I accept that I’ll be moving on soon, there are a lot of people I’ll see once I cross over, and I’ll be able to send a few messages back.” He checked his watch again, nodded, then snapped it shut. “There are plenty of people who not only fear death, but believe that there is a debt to be paid when they reach the other side. People who pray to Gods who yield obvious results are the worst of them. They’ll do anything to stay in this existence, away from whatever cost they’ve incurred. No one at this table has anything to fear. I’m glad you turned the Gentleman down.”

  “How would you know that?” Maxwell asked.

  “I can tell the time, boy,” Samuel said with a wry grin. “And you wouldn’t believe what the time tells me.” Maxwell could hear the gears inside Samuel’s pocket watch spinning, and the old man took it off the table then slipped it into his pocket. “Now there’s something about you and Miranda being separated,” Samuel said, looking up to the stairs where Miranda was coming down in blue jeans and blouse that laced up the front, its long sleeves were cut on a slant, so it was short above her thumb on one side, but drooped down past her fingertips on the other. Her hair was still wet from what Maxwell assumed must have been a cold shower. “Allen was actually there, but I know the why’s and the who’s, so I’ll fill you in.”

  Miranda crossed the floor and kissed Maxwell briefly. “Good morning,” she said before moving on, kissing Allen and Samuel on the cheek before sitting down.

  Her aunt Susanne was out of the kitchen with a plate with an egg, two pieces of toast and two pieces of bacon on it, in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. She put it down in front of her, kissed the top of her head then whispered something in Italian.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Miranda said sourly. “And good morning to you too.”

  “What was that about?” Samuel asked once Susanne was back in the kitchen.

  “Telling me I’m watching my figure,” Miranda said, stealing a waffle from Maxwell’s plate, taking a bite and waving it at the kitchen.

  “No complaints,” Maxwell said. “Samuel was about to tell us why you were whisked across the world when we were young,” he pressed in an attempt to change the topic.

  “Oh?” Miranda said. “I always thought there was something more to it.”

  “There was,” Allen said.

  “I’ll explain, keep that face of yours still, or you’ll never be as handsome as me when you’re my age,” Samuel told him.

  Maxwell took the opportunity to begin scarfing the contents of his plate down. There was so much talking during the breakfast so far, he’d spent more time staring at his food than eating it. The egg casserole was the best thing on the plate, firm and cheesy on the bottom, creamy and tart in the middle, with crunchy cheesy on top.

  “When you were just becoming teens, you were already very close,” Samuel explained. “We could see it in how you played music together, we caught Miranda often reaching out to hold hands with you, and while Bernie and Scott were welcome to tag along, you two were really each other’s world by the end. It came to the point where we had to make sure your family trees didn’t cross sometime in the past, and we were pretty relieved to find out that they didn’t. There was an engagement three generations back, but it was short lived, and it produced no children.”

  Allen rolled his fork in the air, looking at Samuel.

  “Right, getting on with it,” Samuel said. “Your mother was already planning to take a few years in Italy and Spain with her sisters, so you could know your people on the other side of the world. She also wanted to get you two away from each other so you could find your own way into adulthood, into a life of practicing magic. Even more importantly, she didn’t want Max’s refusal to believe in any of it to rub off on you, and even I could see it already was. Max’s refusal to believe, to live a simpler life was a strong notion, even Bernie and Scott were influenced for it for a while, but their parents forced them into initiation, so that put a stop to it.” Samuel took his last bite of egg casserole as he spotted Gladys coming towards their table.

  “More, then?” she asked.

  “I wish I could, but thirds is my limit I’m afraid,” Samuel said.

  “There’ll be more tomorrow,” Gladys said, shaking her head as she walked away with his fork and plate.

  Samuel looked at Miranda and smiled a little. “The day you arrived in Spain, after you had spent time learning and living in Italy, you found your way through the craft to Summoning. Yesterday, from what I hear, Maxwell took to Weaving like he was born to it, so that part of things worked. Your affinities showed through any distractions because they were removed from you as much as anyone could without making the two of you terribly miserable.”

  “There was more,” Allen said.

  “Right, your memories,” Samuel said. “I’m sorry, Max, but this is the bit I don’t agree on with your father, I mean, didn’t agree with. He cast a spell on you specifically so you’d forget how much you cared about Miranda shortly after she left. I bet you don’t remember your first kiss, either. It was with each other, and you were caught too, or at least your father was pretty sure that was your first kiss.”

  “I remember,” Miranda said. “We were caught snogging in the first barn stall. That was the first time I heard that word, snogging.”

  “Well, I have no memory of it,” Maxwell said.

  “You never forget feelings entirely,” Samuel said, smiling a little. “I knew that when you saw Miranda, you’d get them back. What would happen from there, well, that’s for you two to control. Your Aunt Gladys there believes that you’re destined to be together, but I c
an tell you that there are few destinies you can’t change, either by sheer force of will, or by believing that you don’t have to work for it to come true. You two ignore the destiny mumbo jumbo, and do what you want. You’re young, but you’re grown, so it’s up to you.”

  “Six marriages,” Allen said, shaking his fork at Samuel.

  “Maybe he’s right, I might not be the right one to give advice,” Samuel said with a chuckle. “But I’ll tell you something not many people can say for sure. Every time I got married there were good times, and I’m still hoping for just one more. Those good times are so precious.”

  Allen shook his head and laughed softly.

  “But you first, mister widower,” Samuel said.

  Maxwell had almost finished everything on his plate, leaving the other waffle uneaten. Miranda only had to point at it to get his nod to go ahead. Her plate was empty, and the waffle seemed to fill in the last of the gaps. “That explains a lot,” he told Samuel. “Too bad my father’s not around so I could thank him or give him hell, not sure which.”

  “You’re sure,” Allen said.

  “You’re right,” Maxwell said. “It would be a shouting match for the ages.”

  The sounds of drums echoed across the field, the sound of Scott finishing with the setup of his drum kit. “I hear the drums calling you,” Samuel said.

  “Right, glad I didn’t eat those waffles, I’d be too full to sing,” Maxwell said, He finished his coffee and stood with Miranda.

  “Thank you, guys,” Miranda said. “My aunts won’t talk about taking me to Italy, or anything before. That is, unless it’s about meeting Max again.”

  “I think your aunt Gladys lives through you a little, but let’s not share that insight,” Samuel said.

  Allen nodded his agreement emphatically.

  “Thank you again,” Max said, putting his hand on Allen’s shoulder. “I should be the one all scratched up this morning.”

  Allen waved it off, and when Maxwell didn’t leave he nodded. “It happened, and I would do it again.”

  The barn was all set up with all of Road Craft’s equipment, even the spare amplifier they kept in hand in case of break downs was on stage, along with all four of their microphones on stands. “You gonna sing for us, Miranda?” Scott asked with a big grin from behind the drums.

  “I’ll watch first,” she said. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing Road Craft live since your record came out,” she said, grinning back at him.

  “Thanks for setting up, guys,” Maxwell said. “Should have left something for me to do.”

  Bernie looked at Scott and a more somber mood descended on the pair. Scott came out from behind his drums and sat down on the edge of the stage beside Bernie, who was examining their longest microphone cable by pulling it through one hand foot by foot. “Listen, Max, we know how much you’ve sacrificed for this band, and Samuel had a talk with us this morning,” Bernie said.

  “Uncle Allen too,” Scott said, “Not that Sam let him say much.”

  Maxwell reached out, put his arm around Miranda and pulled her to his side, prompting an ‘oof’ and a giggle from her. “Hold tight, luv, it’s a serious band meeting.”

  “Well, yeah,” Scott said.

  “Samuel told us that you were planning on selling that book so you could give us money for college,” Bernie said. “Man, I had no idea, I would have helped you get it if that was why you were working so hard to track that thing down. Hell, you got shot at. If I knew what it was all for, I would have been there.”

  “No worries,” Maxwell said. “Buyers have dried up for it, and now I know it was a bad idea to track the book down in the first place.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Bernie said quietly. “Panos had it, even by reputation I know that guy’s crazy, and he’s hooked up with some weird former Purifiers. Who the hell knows what they were going to do with it.”

  “You did everyone here a favor,” Scott said, pointing out to the field across the road from the barn with thirty tents and many more campers. “I don’t know everything you and Bernie do, but if crazies like Panos get that thing, who knows? Big problems for peace and love in the world, I’d say.”

  “Either way,” Bernie said. “You kept this band together with the same lineup even though there were days when one half wanted to strangle the other. Sometimes that bus got pretty small. I guess what I’m saying is thank you, and we’ll be all right.”

  “Never had a doubt,” Maxwell said. “Couldn’t have kept the peace without you two. It wouldn’t have lasted as long as it did if I were with anyone else out there. I just thought you two had a right to a good start after following me out onto the road. Wish I could have done that.”

  “Oh, we didn’t follow you out,” Scott said. “Well, maybe the first time, but after that I couldn’t wait to get on the stage, behind those drums. Man, I’m going to miss that.” He could see the short drummer start to tear up. “Memories like I never thought I’d make. The things we saw, how far we got, like having a record together. I don’t know anyone else in town that can say that, and to do it with you guys? You’re my brothers.” He wiped a tear away and laughed. “I’m out of words, man.”

  “Touring with you guys,” Bernie shook his head, his eyes closed before continuing. “Best time, man. I’ll forget most of the bullshit, but those good times will stick. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “One last gig, then,” Maxwell said.

  “I hate to tell you this, but we got a call from the Nickel City, they cancelled our gig,” Bernie said. “Looks like this will be Road Craft’s last stage.”

  Maxwell didn’t realize how much he was looking forward to playing to a crowded bar room one last time. The wear and tear from months on the road was just starting to clear, and he had distractions waiting for him when he got home, so he was just starting to feel like he was actually back on the farm. A week off from rolling wheels and weekend shows was what he needed before one last weekend on stage, he knew it would be a show the few there would never forget. To hear it wouldn’t happen at all was emotionally gutting. Maxwell didn’t want to talk about it. He gave Miranda a kiss then let her go and started up the narrow side stage stair. “Let’s wake the dead,” he said as he put his case down and opened it.

  “We’re not opening with that, are we?” Bernie asked quietly.

  Maxwell strapped his new guitar on, accepted a lit cigarette from Scott and smiled crookedly with it in his mouth at Bernie. “La Grange then, yeah?”

  Scott started the low-key, drum rim tapping beat right away, smiling at the prospect of doing one of his favorite cover songs. Maxwell tuned the guitar, plugged in, and turned up while Bernie put his bass on then adjusted their ancient, small soundboard.

  There was a feeling about the song, La Grange, that Maxwell enjoyed, and it was one of the few he could sing well, with a low, gravelly tone that he’d practiced so much on the road that he could do it by reflex. He hummed into the microphone while he started playing the first riff in the song, repeating it until the microphone turned up.

  The sound in the large barn was always nice and clear, with stalls to absorb extra sound waves, heavy wood that didn’t rattle enough for anyone to notice, and a large interior in front of the stage.

  La Grange was one of their warm up songs, chosen so Maxwell could entertain the crowd with his limited singing skills while Zachary made his way to the stage, an almost nightly occurrence. “All right,” Maxwell sung, signaling that it was time to get past the quiet opening of the song. That, easy going, relaxed mood started to come over him, and then the drums and bass kicked in. He caught Miranda’s eye and winked at her without thinking.

  She danced at the foot of the stage, slowly raising her arms over her head as she moved to the music. By the time the first solo came along, people were walking in, dragging lawn chairs, and some were dancing their way into the barn. The morning was still cool, and many of them had been watching equipment move into the barn with interest, the pr
omise of live music irresistible to so many.

  “We jamming this?” Bernie asked.

  Maxwell nodded, and they extended the song by several minutes, repeating the main vocal parts, but instead of repeating solos, Maxwell took the opportunity to perform his own in a melodic blues style. His new Gibson guitar played like nothing else he’d ever had on stage, inviting his fingers to dance along the fret board, and the tone had the kind of growl he struggled to get out of everything he’d owned until then.

  He glanced out at the gathering audience and didn’t see Zachary. With no worries about having to get back on the bus and deal with his pouting, he decided to sing the one song he could accomplish that they recorded on their album. He knew he would struggle with the chorus, it was too high to suit his voice, but he decided that he’d give it a try anyway, and irritate Zachary, wherever he may be in the field outside the barn. Their singer was territorial about his duties, especially since he was terrible at everything else, especially guitar.

  Then a thought struck Maxwell as they brought their ten-minute version of La Grange to an end, and he leaned down towards Miranda at the edge of the stage. “Do you know Wake the Dead?” he asked her.

  Her eyes lit up, “Guitar or vocals?”

  He hadn’t even considered that she could play rhythm guitar, and shrugged. “Both?” He pointed to a backup, an old Greco guitar, a good knockoff of the Gibson Maxwell was playing, on a stand beside the drums.

  She nodded and ran up the stage side stairs, plugged into their backup amplifier and had the guitar tuned in seconds. Maxwell could see Bernie and Scott were happy with her addition at a glance, even though they seemed just as surprised at her familiarity with a guitar as he was.

  “What parts am I singing?” she asked.

  “The chorus is all yours, luv,” Maxwell said, hoping she had a good sound. He cringed at the very thought of her having a voice that he wouldn’t want to follow on stage. The last time he heard her she was thirteen years old, and her voice was positively angelic, but a lot could change.