by Tim Marquitz
“They’ll probably suspect him anyway.”
“Sure, but suspect and know are very different.” The ghost licked its lips.
Do lips dry out when you’re a ghost, I mused. I decided to ask a different question. “What does that have to do with Alannah?”
“I’m getting to that mate. The Monk wasn’t the only one interested in the artifacts. There’s this Shadow-world demon named Vetis who was very keen on something the diggers discovered.”
“Oh fuck.”
“Yeah. I made a deal with Vetis. I needed some extra mojo for major spell-work to be able to grab the container. I shrunk it down and encased it in a crystal globe. Travel sized it, if you like.”
“You idiot.”
“Yeah, well it’s stuff you could’ve done easily. But I knew you wouldn’t help me.”
“Damn straight.”
“Well, I was supposed to hand over the goods to The Monk at the pub tonight. Vetis was gonna be there as well. Double the payment, see?”
I shook my head. The greedy bastard got in over his head. Deals with demons never went well. If the mob didn’t kill him, this Vetis—
“Wait,” I said. “What was the deal?”
Cillian hung his head and refused to meet my gaze.
“Your soul? Again? Your soul isn’t a gold watch you throw into some poker pot when you think you have a winning hand, ya gobshite!” I screamed at him.
“It’s worse tha’ you imagine, mate,” he responded quietly. “Alannah’s soul is in the balance too. See, family can sign fo’ one another. And if I’m not at the pub with the orb at midnight tonight, all will be lost.”
#
I found the crystal ball with the little shipping container embedded inside amongst Cillian’s things stacked on the night table next to his hospital bed. With a last glance at the shattered body of my friend and his brooding ghost, I left the hospital and headed straight to Alannah’s shared flat. I knew if I stayed any longer, anger at what Cillian had done would awaken my magic which would make things a hundred times worse. So I focused on Alannah and finding her. Even after the breakup and the situation being what it was, thoughts of her calmed me. No monster swirled beneath my skin, just worry about a former lover.
Alannah lived with her brother in a converted semi-di that now housed four apartments overlooking the sea in Sandymount. I grabbed the DART from town and got off five stops later.
The overcast autumn skies finally opened up and I pulled my collar up against the driving, chilly October rain that pelted me from nearly a horizontal angle.
The big house had been decorated for Halloween, and when I opened the gate from the street into the small garden, a sopping wet sheet with eyes cut into it lifted off the ground via a pulley system. A recorded voice called out, “Happy All Hallow’s Eve!” in a thick north side accent. One of Cillian’s flat mates was an engineer and apparently had too much time on his hands.
I reached the large front door, and hit the buzzer for Alannah and Cillian’s flat. There was no answer. I proceeded to ring all the other flats until I heard the telltale “click” of someone buzzing open the front door.
I entered the foyer and headed for the massive mahogany staircase. Theirs was the top most flat.
I took the steps two at a time, leaving puddles of water as I went and found the door to Alannah’s rooms slightly ajar.
I quietly eased the door open and poked my head inside. The sitting room was dark.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” I muttered.
I slowly entered the flat. That’s when I heard it, quiet sobbing coming from one of the bedrooms.
“Hello!” I called. “Alannah, love. Are you here?”
The sobbing continued.
I turned on the lights in the sitting room. Nothing seemed out of place from the last time I’d visited. I walked back to Alannah’s room, turning on lights as I went to tone down the creepy-factor.
I found Alannah in her room, kneeling by her bed quietly crying.
“Darling, what’s wrong?”
I moved into the room and put my hand on her shoulder, or at least I tried too.
My hand went right through her.
“Oh God damn it!” I fell back, literally landing on my bum. I stared in shock as the ghost of my girlfriend continued to cry, seemingly oblivious to the world around her.
#
“She can’t hear you mate.”
I was still recovering from shock when the specter of my friend appeared, crouching next to me on the carpet.
“What happened?”
“Heroin. I thought she’d turned a corner after she met you, Sy. I thought she kicked it. About a week ago, after that fight you two had, well, she disappeared.”
“I thought she just went to clear her head…you told me she just needed space!”
“Yeah, well, I was trying to fix it between you, wasn’t I? Do you think me saying ‘by the way, my sister who you’ve been shagging is a recovering smack whore’ would have helped you guys make up?”
Cillian stood and went over to his still sobbing sister. His hand didn’t pass through her when he stroked her hair. He stood like that, back to me for a minute, maybe two.
“I needed to do this job for The Monk. I could’ve paid for an expensive rehab in London. Maybe gotten her clean for good. Maybe even convinced you to get back with her.”
“When?”
“Last night, I think. I’ve been calling her for days, trying to find her. Some ‘friend’ of hers finally called back using her mobile about two this morning. Said she was in trouble. That’s why I grabbed you--to go get her. And then we got hit by that bloody lorry.”
“So she’s dead?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Might just be in a coma in some drug den.”
“So I need to go find her…her body,” I choked out.
“No, before you shot out of the hospital in a fit of self-righteous rage, I tried to tell you. That demon knew about Alannah, knew why I was working for the Monk. It told me he could make it easy for me and that he’d be able to help Alannah too--just needed to give him the container.” Cillian put his head in his hands.
“What happened?”
“For fuck’s sake, what do you think happened? I knew if I failed to get the Monk the container, I’d be dead. But I wanted the cash, and I needed power to do it. So I arranged for the Monk and Vetis to meet at the pub tonight. I figured the mob would try and take it, Vetis would kill ‘em, I get the cash, the demon gets his relics, and I could get on with my life. And fix Alannah’s.”
“So you put your soul—both your souls on the line.”
“Aye.”
I tried to grab Cillian by the throat. I wanted to throttle him. I stumbled right through his ghost—and let me tell you it was not the most pleasant experience. I felt like I’d gone swimming in the North Atlantic at Christmas time.
“Get a hold of yourself, mate. That’s why I need your help.”
“If it were just you, I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I looked over at the shadow still weeping. The last time I saw her—the flesh and blood her—we’d made love, then fought over “commitment” and my significant number of issues with that word and all it implied. My problem was that I loved Alannah, but wasn’t “in love” with her. There was only one woman who I’d felt like that for. But she was married now and a lifetime away.
“Okay. What do I need to do?” I sighed.
“You need to make the drop as planned tonight. Let Vetis sort out the Monk then give the demon the orb. Once that obligation is met, I’ll-- we’ll-- be free.”
“Sounds simple enough.”
“Oh, it’s not mate. They’re both expecting me. You’ll have to change their expectations.”
“So that means I have to contact a demon.”
“Yep. And something far worse. You’ll have to call Gerry.”
#
I left the spirits of Cillian
and Alannah in their flat and made my way back to the Goat’s Head where the deal would be going down tonight. Another trip on the DART brought me within a five minute walk in the driving rain back to the pub. As I made my way through the miserable weather, I tried to formulate a plan to save the souls of my friends. Sure, just handing over the globe with the Church artifacts in a miniature container sounded easy enough. And if that was all there was to it I’d just be done with the job at midnight.
But two things worried me. One, of course was Gerry Coogan. He’s a damn good bounty hunter who works not only in the mortal world for the Monk, but also in the world of magic. He hunts humans and creatures alike for profit. I’ve seen him take down demons. He is the Chuck Norris of the world I used to be a part of.
He also hates me with a passion.
Gerry and the Monk might decide that killing me was an awesome way to get the goods early. So I’d have to come up with a plan to put them off until the appointed hour.
The second thing that bothered me was this Vetis character. What was in the container that was so important to it? Whatever it was, it was probably a bad idea to let Vetis have the damn thing. Cillian saw only cash—cash he could’ve used to save Alannah. My heart lurched at the thought of her.
An idea of sorts formed in my head. A crazy idea.
But first, I had to make contact with both interested parties.
“’Ello Barb,” I called when I walked into the Goat’s Head.
“Where in bloody hell have you been?” came the cheery reply. Barb Walley is fifty-ish (never ask her about her age) and never married. She’s the chef at the pub. Barb also bartends, cleans up and does the books. Cillian was the owner and I was the pub manager. But in reality, the Goat’s Head ran because Barb was around.
I went behind the bar and grabbed Cillian’s little black book. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and asked her to make sure things ran smooth. “I’m helping Cillian out of a jam,” I said by way of explanation at her disapproving scowl.
“What’s he done now?”
“You know him,” I shrugged. “Just take care of the place while I sort it all out, okay?”
I went into the tiny back office, flipped through Cillian’s address book until I found the right number and picked up the phone.
After only a one ring, a voice on the other end said “Yeah?”
“Gerry, it’s Symon.”
“Wha’ the feck you want?”
“The deal the Monk has with Cillian.”
“Whatsit to ya?”
“Cillian won’t make the meet. He’s asked me to do it instead.”
“Chickened out did he? Never would have expected it from him. I assume the place and the time are the same?”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking furiously. Time for a little gambling. “There’s a complication, though.”
“There always is with you Bryson. What’s the problem?”
“There’s another interested party.”
“That’s gonna piss off the boss.”
“I know. Sorry. I’m just the messenger here. Merchandise will be delivered at midnight and then we’ll all bargain.”
“You don’t have it with ya?”
“Nope. Cillian won’t let it out of his sight. He’s having it dropped off.”
“Hmph. Cillian’s lettin’ ye take the fall. Clever. I’ll let the boss know and get back to ye.”
The line went dead.
I had no doubt that Gerry would get back to me, and I knew what the Monk’s reaction would be. I counted on it.
I checked my watch. It was a quarter to seven in the evening. Just over five hours left. I had one more call to make, and this connection would be an expensive one.
#
Chatting with a demon is not like phoning the front desk of Hell and being transferred to the “Office of Soul Collection and Eternal Damnation.” It takes a lot of preparation, cunning, and magic.
Magic is something I refused to use, which made the summoning that much harder, that much more dangerous as I wouldn’t be using a binding spell to keep the thing contained. The beast within me whispered tempting thoughts. I fought to keep my magic at bay.
I looked up Vetis and found out he was one of those creatures attracted by corruption of the spirit and holy artifacts of significant spiritual value. It’s amazing what you can find on the Internet if you know where to look.
I needed a blessed item—and not just something as simple as a glass of holy water or a copy of the Bible. It needed to be something good to get the creature’s attention. Cillian was a collector of sorts. His own practitioner abilities were weaker than mine had been, so he enhanced his skill by finding and hoarding magical talismans and trinkets.
In the storage cellar of the pub, behind where the kegs were stacked was a door that always remained locked. Only Cillian and I knew where the key was. And of course, more importantly, what the key was.
My friend had a habit of collecting coins imbued with various magical abilities depending on the country of origin and the denominations. He kept them in an old mechanical cash register in the corner of the basement.
I opened the register and looked for the coin I needed. It was a 1928 Irish schilling, a one-of-a-kind in Cillian’s collection. I picked up the silver colored coin with a picture of a bull and brought to the locked door. I placed it near the knob and heard a ‘click.’
The door, despite its worn look, opened soundlessly, as if on freshly greased hinges. With trepidation, I slowly made my way inside and flicked on the solitary bare bulb in the room.
That’s when my phone beeped, nearly inducing an involuntary and total bladder release. I looked at the screen. It was a text—three words from a blocked number:
Boss says fine.
That sorted one party. Now for the demon.
The twelve-foot square space was lined with storage shelves on three walls; each series of wooden shelving contained various sized Tupperware containers labeled with those old red with white raised lettered stickers. I needed something to tempt Vetis with and I was hoping to find just the ticket amongst Cillian’s things.
It took thirty minutes of rooting around and cursing, but I finally found something both holy and unique to get the demon’s attention. It was a small container, behind a much larger one labeled “Death pendant – DO NOT TOUCH WITH BARE SKIN”
The small box, the only thing I found inside a wooden vessel—wasn’t labeled as the other items in the collection were. There was just a crudely carved depiction of a cross on top.
I opened it and found an ancient iron nail caked with blood. I knew immediately what it was.
“You’re not really gonna give that beastie one of the original nails of the cross, are ya?” said a voice behind me.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” I said to Cillian’s shadow. “Yeah, I am. It’s the only way to get Vetis’ attention without conjuring it up using magic.” There was a churning desire in my belly. I ignored it.
“It’s a bad idea,” said Cillian. “It’s a powerful object.”
“Okay, then,” I snarled. “Let’s hear a better idea then.”
“Use your power.”
Yes screamed the beast within me.
“No,” I said. “If you’ve got nothing else in here I can use or another idea to chat with Vetis, then piss off. I have work to do.”
When I turned to leave, the storage container closed, Cillian’s ghost was gone.
#
I drew a pentagram on the floor of the basement, a copy of Vetis’ sigil (thank you www.thingsyoushouldntfuckwith.com), a small circle in which I placed the nail and a much larger circle which I hoped would hold the demon long enough for our conversation.
I lit five black candles, which I placed at each point of the pentagram, then stepped back, careful not to break the chalk circle.
I hope this works, I thought. Aloud, I said, “Vetis, corruptor of all that is holy, I have a gift for you. We need to talk.”
&n
bsp; For a minute or two, nothing happened.
The flames of the candles flared, blinding me, and the horrendous smell of old garbage and rotting meat filled the room. When the light of the candles receded to their normal levels, I saw the creature standing in the center of its symbol.
It was tall—about 6’ 9”—had short white hair and a face that reminded me of Boris Karloff in The Mummy. It was dressed in an old-fashioned three-piece suit and held a clipboard. It looked almost human.
“Symon Bryson,” it said in a bored voice. “I heard you’d sworn off magic and the Shadow-world. Why have you interrupted my work?”
“We have business to discuss, Vetis. I have a gift for you that I give willingly.”
Vetis looked at the nail of the cross and licked its dusty lips.
“A worthy gift. I will listen to what you have to say, former practitioner.”
“You have a deal with Cillian Flinter for the appropriation of some church artifacts.”
Vetis looked down to its clipboard and flipped a few pages. “Ah yes, one in particular. Why does this matter interest you?”
“Because I am now in possession of said artifact.”
The creature raised a mummified eyebrow. “Interesting,” it licked its lips again. “You have a bargain you wish to make?”
“No. The deal is the same. Delivery midnight tonight and you release the souls you have on contract.”
The creature’s mouth twitched. “No problem. Is that all? Such a marvelous gift to present to me just to confirm what I already have in writing. You wish nothing else? Riches? Women? Power?”
At the word “power,” I felt an uncomfortable lurch from my innards.
“No, however, in good faith I must inform you that there is another interested party.”
“You would risk the soul of your friends like this? I don’t believe you. What is it you really want?”
“The release of my friends from all contracts. Both with you and this other party.”
“If such another party exists, I cannot unbind them from another demon’s contract.”
“It’s a human.”
“Oh, that is another story altogether then. I will take care of these humans for you and honor my end of the deal. Do we have an accord?”