Dance For The Devil

by S. Kodejs

  Then he saw it. A small sign, weather-beaten and dangling at an angle easy to miss:

  BLESSED BE

  BOOKS & ODDITIES

  A simple sign, certainly nothing special. But Jake found himself drawn to it, compelled to examine it further, and almost before he realized what he was doing, he opened the small door and followed the sign down a narrow stairway.

  It was surprisingly bright for an underground store. Small windows near the ceiling allowed for a smattering of natural lighting, and the rest was achieved through clever use of artificial means. The room mimicked a large den, with a bright Aubusson carpet and overstuffed tapestry sofas placed near a fireplace. Floor to ceiling shelving circumvented the room, covered with thousands-upon-thousands of books. Wooden tables filled every nook and cranny, each piled high with an assortment of items displayed with charming haphazardness. Old teddy bears wearing lacy gowns. Costume jewelry sparkling brightly from brass treasure chests. Trinkets mixed with dishware, silver frames and pottery and dried flowers spilling out of baskets, scenting the shop with a delicate herbal aroma.

  “May I help you, sir?” A woman asked, standing patiently at the cashier desk.

  “No,” Jake shook his head, about to exit as quickly as he came. “Thanks, but I’ll just –” But instead of saying ‘leave’ he found himself saying ‘browse’, and he headed to the back of the store, to the darker, hidden nooks that weren’t readily visible.

  Come on, Jake, you don’t have time for this. You should be going home and figuring out what to do about your traitorous boss instead of skimming through this funny little shop–

  And then he saw her. High up, on the ladder, her long, gauzy skirt swirling demurely around her ankles, straight blond hair hanging unbound to her waist, stretching her arms high in an attempt to squeeze in a few more volumes, her foot precarious on the antiquarian ladder.

  “Careful,” he said.

  She turned, then, almond-shaped eyes widening slightly as she saw him, her expression remaining neutral. “Don’t worry; I do this all the time.” Her voice was softly accented, lilting in the pleasant way of people born here.

  “You have the face of an angel.”

  She smiled slightly and Jake realized, to his utter horror, he’d spoken aloud. He mumbled something, turning to leave, when she spoke again.

  “You need my help.”

  It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. “No. Yes. I’m not sure. No, I mean, no, thank you, I don’t need your help. I’m just browsing. Sorry for disturbing you.”

  She shimmied down the ladder with stunning agility, standing to face him. She was tiny, Jake realized, no bigger than a pixie. That was what she looked like. A pixie. An imp. Cat-shaped green eyes, high cheekbones, a lush, generous mouth. No more than five-foot at the most. Almost girlish, until one took into account the slim figure, definitely womanish despite the loose sweater. Around her neck she wore a silver ankh, tethered with a velvet ribbon. Her face was devoid of makeup, and save for the ankh, she wore no other jewelry, not even earrings. She was, Jake realized, quite the loveliest woman he had ever seen.

  “Like what you see?” she asked, smiling.

  “Yes. No. I mean...” Oh God. He was doing it again. Stammering like a schoolboy. Jake cleared his throat. “Look, I’m going to leave before I make a bigger idiot of myself than I already have. If that’s even possible. Excuse me.”

  She laughed then, a sweet tinkling sound. “I don’t think so.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You’re not leaving. Not yet, anyway.”

  He smiled suddenly, catching onto her game. “I get it. I’m your prisoner until I buy a book or something. Okay, I’ll take this one. And this one, too. Just what I always wanted, a book about ancient Druids. Perfect, I’ll add it to my collection. Thank you very much.”

  She was still laughing as she took the books from his hands and replaced them on the shelf. “No, that’s not what I meant, and I hardly think you look the Druid type, although I’ll certainly sell them to you if you insist.”

  She cleared her throat and continued. “Forgive me for being blunt, but you do need my help. That’s apparent. So, what exactly is wrong? How can I be of service?”

  Jake blinked. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  She studied him for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose you do. Look, there’s a quiet little bistro around the corner. Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

  Jake hesitated. He shouldn’t. He’d dallied long enough, it was time to go home and do some serious thinking. As if reading his mind, she put her hand into his and shook it slightly. “My name is Cari Valentine and I own this place. I don’t wish to seem too mysterious but I’ve been waiting for you. Not you, exactly, but someone. I knew someone important would be coming to see me, and I knew this person would need my help. I think that person is you.”

  Jake smiled in spite of himself. “Oh? So you’re implying that I’m important?”

  She smiled sweetly. “That remains to be seen, but I’ve learned to trust my hunches. Now, if you’ll let go of my hand, I’ll grab my coat and we’ll be off. Oh, and don’t worry, I won’t keep you long. I know you’re in a hurry.”

  With that, she walked off, leaving a bemused Jake to follow.

  **

  It was a special meeting, during the day, and Amy was skipping school. Jason was reluctant to take her but she pestered him until he relented. After the last meeting she could think of little else.

  They were going solo, without Alex and Elise. Amy revelled in the luxury of being alone with Jason. He was so handsome, so cool. As if sensing her thoughts, he looked over at her and smiled. “Did you have any trouble getting out of your classes?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m only missing study period, then gym. I told Mr. Tait I wasn’t feeling well. Told him I was going home.”

  “He bought that? Man, he never lets me off that easy.”

  Amy chuckled. “I held my stomach and mumbled something about cramps, pretending to look uncomfortable. I think he was more embarrassed than me. Sometimes being female has its advantages.”

  Jason snickered. “Yeah, I can see how Old Man Tait would be mortified by that. Did you know he used to be a professional football player?”

  “No, I hadn’t heard that. He’s such an ox, built like a refrigerator.”

  “A refrigerator filled with beer. Man, what a gut. Scary.”

  Amy laughed harder. “What’s worse is that haircut of his. Didn’t anyone ever tell him that style went out a hundred years ago? What do you call it? A pompadour?”

  They both dissolved into fits of hysteria, and were still laughing, tears streaming down their faces when Jason pulled the car over a few minutes later. Amy wiped her eyes and looked around with interest. Several upscale automobiles lined the oak trimmed street, a variety of BMW’s, Range Rovers and Mercedes. The houses were equally impressive. Not houses, she corrected herself: mansions.

  Jason got out first, then opened her door. He was so nice, such a gentleman. He unlocked the truck and passed her a black cloak. “Wait until we get inside before you put this on. It would freak the neighbors to see a hoard of hooded people walking up the front lawn.”

  “Who lives here?”

  Jason put his fingers to his lips. “Remember the cardinal rule: anonymity. It protects us all. Don’t ask questions.”

  Amy bit her lip, duly admonished. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Who were all these people? What kind of jobs did they have? Why was this meeting being held during the day, at someone’s house?

  Another couple arrived behind them, older and well dressed. By unspoken agreement they didn’t acknowledge each other, even as they entered the foyer together. They slipped on their cloaks, in unison, and Jason arranged Amy’s hood so it obscured her face. He put his fingers to his lips, reminding her to be silent, then pulled up his own hood, so she could no longer see his features. By now some others had entered the foyer and they too
began to put on the ritual cloaks. Jason moved away and Amy followed him, through the hall and down a flight of stairs, to the basement.

  **

  By the time they were served – coffee for him and herbal tea for Cari – Jake regained some sense of control. “Okay, mystery woman, I’m ready. What are you going to do, tell me my fortune?”

  “Something like that,” Cari said, smiling softly. She reached for his hand and studied the lines. “This past year has been a difficult time for you.”

  Jake leaned back and smiled sardonically. “What are you, a gypsy?”

  “No,” she said sweetly. “I’m a witch.”

  He waited for the punch line but it never came. Finally, squirming a bit, he asked, “Pardon me?”

  “A witch. A neo-pagan witch. It’s my religion. Sometimes I sense things, like today, with you. I sensed you would be here, and here you are.”

  Jake pulled his hand back. A third of a million people in this city and he hooks up with a nutcase. That figures. Par for the course considering the way his life was going right now. Next interesting woman he met would probably be a serial killer.

  “Don’t be alarmed. It’s not what you think.”

  “How do you know what I think? Oh, God, don’t tell me you know what I’m thinking.”

  “Well, it’s fairly apparent, it’s written all over your face. You’re thinking I’m crazy and you’re wondering how to get out of here without causing a scene. How’s that for accuracy?”

  “Bang on.”

  She laughed lightly. “You’re also thinking that I don’t look like a witch.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I left my broom and cauldron at home.” A slight pause. “That’s a joke, you’re supposed to laugh.”

  “Ha ha.”

  She shifted in her seat. “I know you’re uncomfortable, and I wish I had time to set you at ease, but I need to tell you something important, and I need enough credibility so you’ll believe me.”

  “You think that telling me you’re a witch buys you credibility?” His tone was incredulous.

  She brushed a lock of hair from her eyes with impatience, and reached for his hand again, holding it firmly as he attempted to pull away.

  “You are in danger. No, not you, exactly, although that may come. No, someone very close to you... a child. Your child.”

  The hairs prickled on the back of his neck. “You expect me to believe you see that from looking at my hand?”

  “No. I dreamt it last night. I’m holding your hand so you’ll stay and listen.”

  He studied her for a moment. She was truly lovely, staring at him intently. Ethereal almost, with her fine, translucent skin and wide green eyes. Too bad she was loco. Nuts. Totally off her rocker. First woman he’d met that interested him slightly and she was off the deep end. First his ex-wife, and now this one. Was there a pattern developing here? Did he have a neon sign plastered to his forehead which screamed: Only the mentally unbalanced need apply? Jake turned away in disgust.

  “Please, listen to me, if only for a moment.” Cari squeezed tighter. “Remember, I didn’t seek you, you came to me.”

  “By accident.”

  “No, for a reason. Things happen by great design, you know. Not by coincidence.”

  “Look,” Jake said firmly, although not unkindly. “I’ve got to go. It’s been... interesting. Thanks for the coffee.”

  She let go of his hand. “Alright, but here’s my card. It lists my business number, my home number and my cell phone. You should be able to reach me anytime. Plus, I’m writing down my home address. Please don’t hesitate to call me anytime if you need me, even if it’s the middle of the night. Okay?”

  Jake hesitated before pocketing it, his glance flickering over the card. It looked normal enough. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

  “I hope not.” She stood up and dusted some imaginary specks from her long skirt. “Jake, your daughter... she is in serious trouble. Something happened today... I’m not sure what, but she missed school. Or rather, she is missing school, right now. I can see a lot of people, darkness... something dark and liquid.” She gasped suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “Blood. Not hers, though. Not yet, anyway.”

  Jake was unnerved. He felt like bolting. He had to get out of here, out of this coffee shop that seemed so quaint only minutes ago. He fumbled in his pocket for some loose change and tossed it on the table. The coins scattered like marbles, some of them rolling off and clanking onto the tiled floor. As he exited the door a gust of wind blew in, unseasonably chilly, and he almost missed hearing her final, soft words. Almost, but not quite.

  “Anytime, Jake. Phone me anytime, day or night. I’ll be waiting.”

  It wasn’t until he was several blocks away, turning her words over in his mind, dismissing them for the lunacy he knew they were, squirming uncomfortably as her prophecy played over and over, haunting his mind.

  How had she known he had a daughter?

  Lucky guess.

  Maybe.

  But how the hell had she known his name?

  He was certain he hadn’t told her, and he hadn’t taken out his wallet or anything else with his name on it. Nothing to even suggest his initials let alone his name. Jake pulled out her card and studied it again, slowing his pace slightly. As before, it looked normal. But what did he expect? Something that said, Cari Valentine, loony-tune witch? Psychic goddess with demonic warnings? Hardly. He tossed it in the gutter, as if eliminating the card would erase her words, and watched as the wind picked up, carrying it away, along with dozens of brown, dried up leaves.

  Good riddance. She was a nutcase. Had to be.

  But a tiny thought kept worming around the back of his brain, irritating him. What if she was right? What if Amy was in danger? He spotted a taxi and flagged it down.

  His earlier outrage that had dissolved into pseudo-jubilation changed once again, until his emotions were fraught with tension and twisted into a giant cauldron of jumbled feelings. At this point, he barely trusted himself to think beyond the one thing he knew for certain: he’d acquired a killer headache, and he longed for nothing more than to get home, pour a tall scotch and forget this day ever happened.

  **

  This meeting was different from the other. Amy noticed it immediately. There was tension, less of a party feeling and more of a ‘let’s get down to business’ sensation.

  The occupants in the subterranean room shifted expectantly. There were no windows, no lighting of any kind, save for a mass of black candles burning at the altar, the wicks flickering in a breeze caused by too many bodies in too little space. The wall immediately behind the altar held a cross, hanging upside down. Six rows of benches crisscrossed the room, each holding approximately ten people. Sixty people, Amy calculated, give or take a few. Sixty people all wearing robes like her own. Her heart pumped wildly.

  A call to order was made. A figure stood in front, his bare chest gleaming in the dim light. He wore pants and a mask, which Amy thought bore considerable resemblance to a goat. It seemed silly to see a grown man prancing around half-naked in a goat mask, and she had the urge to snicker until he turned around and looked directly at her. Jason squirmed and moved imperceptibly away from her.

  Goat-man began to chant. Rhythmic words which held no meaning, at least not to Amy. The congregation chanted back, at preordained intervals. Although she didn’t know the routine, she found herself chanting along, mimicking the sounds until they became second nature. This went on for an eternity, until her rear became numb from sitting on the hard wooden bench and her feet felt uncomfortably prickly. Amy started to squirm until Jason stilled her with a stern glance. At least she thought it was stern glance, she couldn’t see his features clearly from beneath his hood, but the message was clear.

  The chanting stopped abruptly as Goat-man began to preach, his voice loud and low. “We have a traitor among us!” An eerie hush fell over the room.

  “A traitor! Pretending to
belong! One who’s brought outsiders into our midst, watering our strength, weakening our souls. A traitor to Seth who endangers us all!”

  Several gasps erupted throughout the room.

  “This traitor must be disciplined.” Goat-man left the altar and began to walk between the benches, touching some members lightly on the head. “I can smell your treachery. It emanates from you like dung.” He walked past Amy and she stiffened involuntarily, causing him to pause. “It reeks!” he shouted. “Your deceit contaminates us and you must be punished.” He swung his arm around, pointer finger stretched like a claw and for one awful moment Amy thought it might settle on her.

  He chose a figure directly in front of her, pushing the hood down and grasping the unsuspecting man by the hair. “To your feet, Sinner!” The man started to protest, shaking his head wildly. “It’s a mistake,” he stammered. “You’ve made a mis–”

  “Silence!” Goat-man shrieked, clubbing the man on the head, a blow hard enough to send the man reeling. The man fell from his seat, knocking his forehead on the bench in front. Goat-man half-carried, half-dragged the semiconscious man to the altar and laid him out flat. The poor man was starting to stir, and Amy saw his eyes swing around, looking for help.

  No one moved.

  He doesn’t look like a traitor, she thought, staring at the man. He was middle-aged, balding slightly, and looked mild and soft. Nonthreatening. Not like Goat-man. No, this guy looked ordinary, like a dentist or something.

  Suddenly Goat-man reached behind the altar and grabbed what looked like a baseball bat, only it had spiky things on the end. Without warning he brought it down hard on the man’s head.

  She heard the crack, saw the skull split; saw the brain exposed like seeds falling from a pumpkin. Still, no one moved. The room was excruciatingly silent.

  Goat-man paused for a moment, looking like he might strike again, then – almost as an afterthought released the club. He motioned and four figures came forward and dragged the dead man away. At least Amy thought he was dead. He had to be dead. No one had their head split open like that and still managed to live. She hadn’t taken biology yet in school but any idiot could figure that out.