Tales of Magic and Misery: A Collection of Short Stories by Tim Marquitz

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Tales of Magic and Misery: A Collection of Short Stories by Tim Marquitz Page 31

by Tim Marquitz


  “Yeah. That’ll do. Take your holy piece of iron and get out of here.”

  “As you wish. I will return at five minutes to midnight this evening.”

  The creature and the nail of the cross vanished.

  #

  “There’s been a big arse BMW sitting outside the pub for the last hour, Symon. What are Cillian and you up to?” asked Barb crossly ten minutes before closing time.

  “Nothing to worry yourself about love,” I answered her in what I’d hoped was a jaunty tone. “However, we’ll have to close exactly at eleven tonight. And to make it up to you, I’ll clean up. You can knock off early if you want.”

  She snorted. “I’m not your ‘love.’ I’d break a skinny twig like you. But I’ll leave close out to you. I expect the pub to be spotless when I come in tomorrow.”

  “No problem.”

  “Spot. Less,” she enunciated each syllable.

  I waved my hand dismissively at her. Barb glowered at me, but grabbed her purse from behind the bar and set off into the night.

  Halloween was usually a busy time for the Goat’s Head. I don’t know if there was something in the air that the regulars had picked up on or if the foul weather had kept them away, but there were only two patrons left. Two old men I was genuinely fond of. I started to clean up the bar and began to put chairs up on the tables to signal closing time. Both men looked at me with horrified expressions.

  “Aww….give us one more f’ tha road, eh Symon? Be a good Yank.”

  I was pulled away from my more maudlin thoughts regarding what was ahead. There’d be no collateral damage tonight if I could help it. Besides, I liked these two old coots. They reminded me of Irish versions of Statler and Waldorf from the Muppets.

  “Nah Seamus,” I shook my head. “You’ve had enough already. You and Paddy go home to your wives.”

  “Why do ye think we spend all our time ‘ere?” slurred Paddy.

  “Shoo. Both of ya. It’s time--and you don’t want the Garda ta shut me down for staying open past eleven, do ya?” I said. “Where would you get your pints from then?”

  “Happy ‘Alloweeeeeeen!” they both shouted as I shoved them into raw fall night.

  I shut off the outside lights then locked the front door, sighing heavily.

  That’s when the phone rang.

  “Goat’s Head,” I answered.

  “Do you have it?” asked a voice on the other end.

  “What, no foreplay, Gerry?”

  “You have no idea what you’re fucking with, Bryson. Is it in the pub?”

  I looked at the crystal globe nestled between the expensive scotch bottles underneath the bar and said, “Not yet.”

  “Text me when it arrives.” Gerry hung up.

  Five past eleven. Fifty-five minutes until it all goes to hell, perhaps literally for Cillian and Alannah. I grabbed a napkin from the top of the bar to wipe the sweat from my brow.

  “Getting nervous?”

  Sitting on the corner stool, a pint already poured in front of him, was Cillian’s ghost. That, I had been expecting. What surprised me was that he wasn’t alone. Standing behind him was a red-headed woman smoking a cigarette. Strange that I could actually smell the burning tobacco. Alannah never went anywhere without her fags.

  “Alannah,” I whispered.

  “She still can’t hear you mate. Only the ghosts of practitioners can converse with the living. I, however, being all spookified myself can speak with her. I convinced her to walk with me so I can keep an eye on her.”

  “Yeah, because you’ve taken good care of her soul up until now,” I spat.

  Cillian looked pained. “I know I’ve fucked this all up Symon. I’m sorry mate. I really am. But it’ll be all put right tonight. Then we can move on.”

  “Well once I’ve fixed your mess, I need to find her body. As you said maybe…”

  “She’s lying in an abandoned warehouse in the northside. I’ll give you the address,” Cillian said quietly. “As soon as the deal is done tonight.”

  “You bastard!”

  The specter sipped his pint and said nothing more.

  #

  At five to midnight, the temperature in the pub dropped significantly. The stench of raw sewage filled my nostrils. Vetis had arrived.

  “It is almost time, Symon Bryson,”

  At the sound of his dusty voice, I turned to see Vetis, looking exactly as he had before, standing in the pub. It glanced at Cillian and Alannah.

  “I see you have also brought me the souls I am to collect this evening. How thoughtful.”

  I reached behind the bar and lifted up the crystal orb with the container inside for the demon to see. “It’s here. There will be no souls for you to collect this evening. You have one thing to take care of for me, then you get your prize and we’re all square.”

  “Indeed. Where are these humans?”

  “Should be along shortly.” I picked up my mobile, typed IT’S HERE and clicked on send.

  Ten seconds later, the front windows of the Goat’s Head exploded inward. Bullets from automatic weapons fire flew all around the pub, blasting bottles and furniture into tiny bits and I dove under the bar for cover.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the gunfire ceased. I counted to ten then slowly raised my head over the lip of the bar.

  Debris was everywhere and smoke and dust floated and swirled around the pub, blown around by the howling weather outside. What was left of the shattered door flew inward. Two men entered brandishing AK-47s, followed by a white-haired man dressed in expensive clothing chewing on a cigar.

  He casually looked right, then left. His gaze then fixated on the demon still standing where it had appeared, unfazed by the destruction caused by the gunfire.

  “You Vetis?” asked the Monk.

  “How dare you try and take what’s mine,” said the demon matter-of-factly. “Such human insolence cannot be tolerated.”

  Demons loved to hear the sound of their own voice.

  Vetis lifted up a hand and the two goons with the machine guns burst into flame. They screamed and fell to ash on either side of the mob boss, who neither flinched nor sought cover. That scared the ever-loving crap out of me.

  The biggest crime lord in Ireland…could use (or had access to)…magic.

  “Well,” said the Monk calmly, looking at the piles of ash. “That was helpful. I was gonna retire those boys anyway. Don’t need ‘em anymore, see?”

  Vetis looked…scared. There was no other way to describe it.

  “What form of mortal deception is this?” croaked out the demon.

  “The kind I need,” replied the gangster. “Gerry?”

  From behind the Monk, Gerry Coogan appeared, brandishing a sword. His favorite weapon to use when dealing with dark creatures from the Shadow-world.

  “Yes boss?”

  “Kill it.”

  “You got it.”

  Vetis raised its hand once again. But Gerry was faster. Way too fast for a normal mortal. One moment the demon’s hand was outstretched ready to blast Gerry into a million pieces, the next thing I knew it was lying on the floor, five fingers twitching spasmodically.

  Before the demon could cry out or make any other sort of sound, Gerry’s blade flashed again and Vetis’ head bounced off the floor. Body parts of the demon immediately turned to ash.

  “Now,” said the Monk turning to me. “I believe you have something of mine.”

  In the background, church chimes sounded. It was midnight, All Hallows Eve. The souls of my friend were free and both had, I noticed, suddenly disappeared. Mission accomplished, I hoped.

  Now I just needed to deal with a pissed off mob boss who apparently could use magic.

  #

  “Can I kill Bryson now?”

  “No, Gerry, I want to talk to the boy. But if he moves, feel free to remove his head.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  The Monk walked to the bar, wiped a bit of broken glass from one of the stools and sat do
wn.

  “You have any Laphroaig in this dump, son?”

  I looked over at Gerry and didn’t move. “Yes.”

  “Then pour me a double, slowly. Don’t worry. Gerry won’t kill you yet.”

  For an Irish mob boss, the Monk’s accent was distinctly English—Oxford-esque, even.

  I poured the man his drink. My hands only shook a little. I had no idea how I was going to survive the next few minutes.

  He took a small sip from his scotch. “That’s a fine batch, eighteen years, obviously. You know there are actually five regions scotch come from, don’t you?”

  “I…didn’t.”

  “Tsk. Five regions and five types of whiskey. I only drink single malt from the Islay region. Nothing else will do.” He took another sip.

  “So tell me why you’ve risked your life and my wrath this evening, Symon?”

  The whole timber of the conversation threw me. The Monk wasn’t what I expected. Fear worked almost as well as anger when it came to my magic. I wrestled to control my power while trying to think of a way out. I decided on something unconventional. I told him the truth.

  The story spilled from me. It took all of five minutes. The Monk listened while all the while sipping from his tumbler.

  “So let me get this straight. You risked your life to save the souls of an ex-girlfriend and the owner of this establishment who fucked you over. Is that correct?”

  “Mostly the ex-girlfriend, but yes.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  I couldn’t argue the point. But Cillian and Alannah were both free. Do the right thing, even if no one sees you do it, was something that was pounded into me from my earliest days back in Boston.

  “No one can sign over another’s soul, not even family. I’m new to this magic stuff and even I know that. You got played, kid.”

  Fuck. Fuckity-fuck-fuck. The Monk was right, of course. Cillian told me he’d signed over Alannah’s soul to Vetis as a part of his deal to gain enough power to steal the container. I’m so fucking stupid.

  “He lied to me.”

  “And you fell for it, because you wanted to be the ‘good guy’.”

  I looked over at Gerry, and wondered if the bounty hunter would let me borrow his sword for a bit of hari kari.

  “Look son. I’m gonna cut you a break tonight. Give me the container with the church artifacts, and I’ll let you live. In return, I’m going to occasionally ask you for a favor. Rumor has it that you’re pretty powerful with magic.”

  “I don’t do magic anymore,” I said before my brain could stop my mouth from moving.

  The Monk smiled. “Maybe that’s true. But I’ve been watching you. You want to do magic. I can read people. It’s one of the reasons I’m at the top of this game.”

  I shook my head and started to protest.

  “Don’t deny it. I’ve researched you, son. I know you better than you know yourself. Let’s just say, you can act as my advisor from time to time. It’s either that, or I let Gerry cut you into sausage.”

  I looked at the Monk, then at Gerry and back again. I had a chance to get out of this jam tonight. It’d give me time to think of a way out of the new trouble I found. I may be an idiot, but I’m not a complete moron.

  “Deal.”

  The Monk finished his scotch in one gulp than stood. “Good. Gerry, let’s get out of here. You can call the Garda now and tell them they can respond to all those calls about gunfire they received.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  As they walked out, the older gentleman turned to me and said “By the way, where’s my container?”

  “Cillian hid it,” I lied.

  He looked at me for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he nodded slowly. “Your first job is to get it for me. I’ll be back for it tomorrow. Noon.” As the Monk turned to go, he paused one last time. “Son,” he said, his back turned to me. “All these things—relics being sought after. Demons prowling the earth. Magic…they are all portents. There is a storm coming. I know you are trying to hide from it, but I also know you feel it too. You better get back in the game soon or when the shite hits the fan, you’ll be buried with the rest of humanity.”

  On that rather cheery note, the two men left the shattered remains of the pub. I’d made a deal with a different kind of demon, but I’d live to see another day. Which was good, because I had one last thing I needed to do.

  #

  I’d left the Goat’s Head right after the mob had and before the Gardai could arrive. Alannah had waited long enough and the cops would be there later. I looked down at the scrap of paper with an address written on it that had been left on the bar stool where Cillian had been sitting, confirming I was at the right place.

  I climbed the three steps to what was left of the front entrance. Before I entered, I felt, rather than saw the shade that had appeared behind me.

  “You fucked me over, Cillian.” I said.

  “Yeah, so I did mate. Didn’t think you’d help if it were just me in trouble, to be honest. But it all worked out.”

  “For you maybe. But not for Alannah. And certainly not for me.”

  “We can argue about this later, mate. She’s in there, but I don’t think you’ll be wanting to see her. Just call an ambulance and let them deal with it.”

  “Fuck you,” I said and went inside.

  It was the smell was that I noticed first. I knew that smell.

  I found her in an old back office, lying on a dirty mattress, flies everywhere. Alannah’s grey-green body was naked from the waist down. Her right arm had been tied off; a scattering of old, used needles lay on the stained mattress and the floor around her corpse.

  Her eyes were still open. Flies were everywhere.

  I looked back at Cillian’s ghost. Behind him, smoking away, was the spirit of Alannah. She looked toward her own body for a moment with a sad smile and both spirits faded from view.

  For the first time in a very long while, I cried.

  #

  I watched as the ambulance with Alannah’s corpse slowly pulled away from the curb. An ‘anonymous tip’ let them know where to find her, called in from a seedy Esso station three doors down. I would head to the hospital to identify her and deal with the Garda later.

  I took a cab back to the Goat’s Head, not really knowing where else to go. It was about four in the morning, but I arrived to find workmen already boarding up the windows. I can’t imagine anyone but the Monk who could have gotten workers out of bed to board up a bar in the wee hours of the morning. There were no Gardai in sight, but a furious-looking Barb was there, barking orders at the workers. I was seriously considering telling the cabbie to change direction and drop me off at my flat in town, but thought better of it. While I figured out what to do next, and about my meeting with the Monk at noon, I figured at the very least I should get out and help Barb.

  I braced myself for the wrath I was sure was coming, paid the driver and got out of the cab.

  “Symon!”

  I flinched. Barb crossed the street and threw me in a hug that may have cracked a few ribs.

  “Thank God you’re all right! What happened?”

  “Alannah is dead, Barb. Cillian’s in a coma down at the Rotunda. It’s a bloody mess.”

  There were no harsh words, nor dirty looks. She just held me for a minute or so.

  “Let’s get you out of this weather,” she said softly. “I’ll put a cuppa on and you can dry yourself off before you catch cold.”

  The hot tea felt good. I was never a tea drinker myself. Coffee is my chosen form of caffeine infusion, but the warm mug felt good in my hands. Comforting somehow.

  Barb had found some old clothes for me to wear and wrapped me in a blanket. The pub fireplace was lit and she’d cleared away debris from the booth nearest to the fire.

  “I’ll sort out those boys,” she said as the hammering outside stopped for about a millisecond. “No taking breaks on my watch!”

  I was thankful to be alone but it didn’
t last long.

  “Came to say goodbye, mate.”

  I gazed up at the ghost of Cillian and noticed he was by himself.

  “Where’s Alannah?” I asked.

  The phantom shrugged. “Gone, mate. Moved on. When we left the warehouse I realized she was no longer by my side. Guess all she needed was for someone to find her body.”

  “And you? Are you ‘moving on’ as well?”

  “My body is alive, granted it’s kept that way by bloody machines. So I’m stuck until those machines stop working.”

  “Want me to shut them down for ya?”

  Cillian tilted his head for a moment, considering, then shook his head. “Nah. I figured I might wander around peeking into all-girls school locker rooms for a while. See what other mischief I could get up to. But I’m leaving and wanted to say goodbye. And sorry.”

  I wanted to scream at him. But I was too tired. Even my power lay dormant, unusual to say the least.

  “You were a lot alike, my sister and ye,” said Cillian.

  “Maybe. I wish I’d known she was an addict. I could’ve helped her.”

  “Nice words mate, but it’s not true and you know it.”

  “Oh, why is that?”

  “Addicts can’t help each other.”

  “I don’t stick needles in my body.”

  “That’s true, mate. But you’ve been here for five years, and I’ve watched you struggle day in and day out with your own addiction.”

  “What, coffee?”

  “Magic, Sy. You fucked up across the pond really good. You came here to hide and to never use magic again. I’ve watched you fight it.”

  “It’s not a bloody addiction. It’s a fucking curse.”

  “Call it what you will. But you made a deal tonight to work magic with a powerful man. You jumped at the chance.”

  “You gave me no choice!”

  “You had plenty of choices. You picked one that might get you back into the game. Look at me, I’ve been using magic since I left St. Ignatius years ago to suit my own needs. So I’m not one to talk. But think of how you found Alannah tonight. Death from her own addiction. And be very careful what you do next.”

  “You came in to say goodbye,” I spat. “You’ve done that. So feel free to fuck off now.”

  “I’m going, mate. Remember what I said. Oh, and one more thing.”

 

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