“A little theological joke,” replied Sybil. “The gender of God depends upon your point of view. To Jews, Christians and Moslems God is male. To the people of Northern Europe two thousand years ago, God was often female. God is a spirit, or so said Jesus. The gender of God is irrelevant. But it makes for good theological debate.”
The tension in Ron’s soul vanished. He felt safe in his aunt’s presence. He almost felt that she could drive any drell that might come calling from their midst with a potion, a magic spell, or maybe just the wave of her hand. The three gathered over coffee around the kitchen table. Ron and Connie filled Sybil in on the terrors of the past day.
“I’m glad you’re here,” said Ron, putting his arm around his aunt.
Sybil flashed that slight but devious smile she had become so famous, or infamous for. “It sounds like you’ve been doing fine without me. Have you ever considered an exciting career as a sorcerer?”
“Sorcerer! No thanks, I’m not cut out for this kind of thing,” admitted Ron.
“Let’s have a look at this magical circle of yours,” said Sybil, placing her cup down and walking toward the bedroom. Here she carefully examined every detail of the inscription on the hardwood floor, walking around the bed slowly. “Not bad for your first circle. Good enough to keep out a drell. Why’d you make it so small?”
“I was in a bit of a hurry,” admitted Ron.
Sybil walked back toward the door and pulled a large piece of chalk from her purse. “Let’s move into a bigger place.” She scanned the room once more before dropping to her knees and drawing the beginnings of a new chalk circle that encompassed nearly the entire room. “The cabalistic symbols you inscribed probably weren’t needed. Still, better to be safe than sorry. I’m thinking that it is the chemical composition of the chalk that’s important. The same is probably true with that pentagram. An iridium osmium cross would work just as well.” She paused. “You know; I’d have thought that the iridium osmium bullet Dr. Wilson fired into that drell’s chest should have destroyed him. That is discouraging. At least it slowed him down.”
“So we can only repel them, not kill them,” deduced Ron. “That makes for one hell of an enemy.”
“They might be able to be killed,” replied Sybil, still working on the circle. “We’re not all that sure of our facts. This is an experiment of sorts. We are going to learn a great deal in the process of conducting it.”
“If we survive the experiment,” said Connie.
“Think positive,” said Sybil, not even looking up from her work.
“At least you’re here now,” said Ron.
Sybil nodded. “I warn you, I’m not a miracle worker, but if we keep our heads about us, and work together, we’ll survive this ordeal. Oh, I drew a circle for Dr. Wilson at the entrance to his office. He was talking about camping out there tonight. Not a bad idea. I also drew one around the bed of Debbie and Leslie at the clinic. I don’t want the drells so much as touching their earthly bodies.”
“I don’t like the idea of having to be constantly on the defense,” said Connie.
“This Abaddon character Wilson met seemed to think he could bring an end to them,” noted Ron. “At least that is what he claimed.”
“Yes,” confirmed Sybil, perhaps he could. I wish I knew more about him. I wish I could have met him. There is an Abaddon in the Bible, in Revelation to be specific, but I’m not at all certain that he is that Abaddon. And if he is, I’m not all that certain that we can trust him. He is called the Angel of the pit, the abyss. Some say he is the antichrist himself. He comes forth with a bunch of somethings, creatures that torment those foolish enough to take the beast’s mark but don’t kill them. It also says that he and these somethings do no damage to God’s children or to the Earth itself. Does this make him friend or foe? I really don’t know. I suspect that we will soon find out.”
“But he saved Dr. Wilson,” noted Ron.
“He did,” confirmed Sybil. “That at least is an encouraging sign.”
“Are we going to spend the rest of our lives hiding within magical circles every night from now on?” asked Connie. “To me that doesn’t sound like much of a life; a life spent in fear, waiting for that one mistake that kills us.”
Sybil hesitated. “Maybe not. Look, there might be another way. The drells depend on anonymity. The last thing they want is for their activities to be exposed for what they truly are. That more than anything else is why you and your team represent a threat to them. This Lex Ton lied to Dr. Wilson when he said that their main reason for wanting to eradicate you is because you tried to steal a soul from them. That’s why we need to plan our strategy carefully. Dr. Wilson is convinced that he could pull Debbie’s soul back to her earthly body and anchor it there using a combination of this FENS apparatus and some sort of chemotherapy drug. You need to make it work. We need to demonstrate to the drells that we can take souls from them at will, yet stay out of their reach. We need to become a royal pain in the derriere to them. Then we might place ourselves in a pretty good bargaining position. We are a real threat to them, maybe the first real threat they’ve ever faced. If we go public with this, expose them, their entire operation is in jeopardy. If we play our cards right, I think we can compel them to negotiate with us. We might, for example, agree not to use FENS to take slaves from them and keep it a secret from the human race if in turn they relinquished their claims to Debbie and Leslie, and abandon any mandate of vengeance against us. They leave us alone; we leave them alone.”
“Could they be trusted to uphold their end of the bargain?” asked Ron.
“I really don’t know,” admitted Sybil. “It would be in their best interest, because if we went public they would be in a world of hurt.”
“What about the other souls the drells have tortured and imprisoned,” objected Connie, moving to Sybil’s side as she continued the circle around the room. “We can’t just turn our backs on them.”
“You don’t seem to understand,” replied Sybil, connecting the ends of the magic circle. “The drells are incredibly powerful, possibly immortal. Time is on their side. They might be turned by the magical circle, but I’m not so sure we can destroy them.”
“Maybe we can,” suggested Connie.
Sybil’s eyes opened wide in surprise, “I’m listening.”
“I said I didn’t like being on the defensive, I think we need to take the offensive, and I think I know how,” proclaimed Connie, a glimmer in her eye.”
“I’m listening too,” replied Ron.
“After last night I know you’re convinced that the drells possess magical powers. I was too, for a while, but not anymore. I’ve been thinking about how someone, far ahead of us in their technology, could pull off all of the tricks we’ve seen. It’s not magic, but a bizarre form of technology without instrumentalities that we’re combating. Somehow the drells generate powerful magnetic fields, focusing them with their minds in much the same way as we focus them with FENS. I was wondering, could powerful and highly focused magnetic fields, directed into the brain, influence our thought patterns?”
“I’m not sure,” admitted Ron, “I’ve never heard of anything like it. Do you think that’s how the drells bend people to their will?”
“Yes I do,” said Connie. “It’s also how they created the illusions we saw last night. We used a powerful magnetic field to draw Debbie’s soul into our world, and the drells countered, pulled her back with an equally powerful field of opposite polarity. Suppose, just suppose, that the nervous system of the drells was one big superconductor. You saw what their cells looked like under the microscope, living crystals. It reminded me of a new concept in computer data storage that’s been making the rounds, better than floppy disks or hard drives. It involves crystals of a sort. Well, anyway, if we could lure a drell into the thick of the FENS magnetic field and then slam the polarity in reverse, we might turn their own nervous system, their own power against them. We could melt them down to, well, whatever a drell would melt down to.”
Connie’s tone spoke of her certainty, yet Ron had his doubts. Desperation was the author of dreams, dreams designed to give the illusion of hope. “A lot of ifs,” warned Ron.
“We’ll have to retrofit FENS with a pair of heavy relay switches, disable several safety protocols, and realign the field projectors to make it work,” continued Connie, hardly mindful of Ron’s doubts. “We could be ready in two days.”
“A lot can happen in two days,” Ron cautioned.
“I’ll not be rushing this job,” retorted Connie, “You’ve got to be mighty careful when you’re directing a few hundred thousand volts, maybe a million, into a super-cooled electromagnet. One mistake, and it’s a meltdown. We can’t negotiate with the drells and we can’t abandon all of those kids over there.”
“In the meantime, I think you’d best consider moving into my house,” suggested Ron. “We’re stronger together than we are separately. I think last night proved that.” He turned to his aunt. “Aunt Sybil, I’d sure appreciate it if you stayed here as well. I think tonight is likely to be a rough one.”
Sybil nodded. “I’ve got all of my stuff in the back seat of my car.”
“We’ll need to run by my house and get the schematics,” replied Connie, “I’ll need to look them over before I start working on FENS.”
Dr. Wilson scowled as the group gathered around the conference table at the Martin Neurological Institute. He’d listened with great concern as Ron and Connie spoke of their exploits of the previous night. But now Connie was talking about risky modifications of FENS, modifications that could potentially damage it. “That is a radical move. Remember, without FENS we have nothing, no hope of bringing those children home.”
“I can assure you that you will have the full financial support of Martin International,” said Sybil. “I am authorized to provide you with virtually anything you might need in your battle against the drells. We can even bring in additional experts in the field.”
“It would take weeks, maybe months to get them up to speed on FENS,” objected Wilson.
Very well,” said Sybil, “but I for one believe in Connie’s plan. Dr. Martin puts a lot of faith in my decisions. On behalf of Dr. Martin, I am prepared to recommend it. Still the final choice is yours.”
There was a long silence, then Wilson nodded. “Go ahead,” he lamented. “Just try not to put a scratch on her.”
“We won’t,” assured Connie.
And so the quest began. As Dr. Wilson continued his study of the drell blood, Connie and Ron began the modifications to FENS, even as Sybil looked on. Ron was somewhat familiar with the innards of this instrument, a full generation ahead of its time, but what Connie was attempting stretched his understanding to the limits.
Connie had her head inside the access panel of FENS for twenty minutes at a time, then she was gazing at the schematics before her for an equal period. She had her weapon, she was certain of it. Somehow she couldn’t help thinking of David and Goliath. “We have a lot to do, and the day is nearly over,” she said, wiping sweat from her brow. “This is turning into more of a task than I’d first imagined.”
“It’s past seven,” noted Sybil, placing her hand upon Connie’s shoulder, “you can resume your work tomorrow.”
“Now all we need to do is survive the night,” said Connie.
Chapter 12
Ron, Connie, and Sybil arrived at Ron’s front door mere minutes before sunset. With Ron’s help, Sybil and Connie hauled in their suitcases. In Sybil’s case it was four suitcases, two of them very heavy ones.
“You don’t believe in traveling light, do you Aunt Sybil?” asked Ron, setting down the last of the suitcases in the bedroom.
“Never,” confirmed Sybil. “I believe in being totally prepared when I engage in spiritual combat.”
“Spiritual combat,” repeated Connie. “How many times have you been involved in spiritual combat?”
Sybil smiled. “My dear, I’ve lost count. Many times.”
That comment caught Ron by surprise. “Really?”
Sybil nodded. Her expression was very serious. “Yes, dear, many times. Not with drells specifically, but with equally virulent spiritual forces.” She glanced over at the clock by the bed. “I must prepare. Would you show me to a room where I may prepare myself in private?”
“I have a large bathroom,” said Ron. “Would that do?”
“Nicely,” said Sybil, picking up two of the suitcases and following Ron to the master bathroom. She closed and locked the door.
Ron returned to the bedroom to find Connie waiting for him within the new and improved magical circle. She was at his desk, looking over one of her schematics with some sort of scientific instrument in her hand.
“Your aunt is amazing,” said Connie, looking up from the circuit diagram. “I can’t quite explain it but I feel safe around her.”
“She has that effect on people,” noted Ron, sitting on an easy chair he had moved in from the living room. “She always made me feel that way. She was my favorite aunt when I was growing up. Oh, and she loved to tell stories about the supernatural. She would keep me on the edge of my seat. My mother didn’t like her telling those kinds of stories to me. She said they’d give me nightmares, but they didn’t.”
“And she’s not a witch,” confirmed Connie.
“That’s what she claims,” said Ron. “She claims to be Pentecostal.”
“Oh,” said Connie. “She’s one of those speaking in tongues slain in the spirit sort of people.”
“I guess,” said Ron. “I’ve never seen her do anything like that.”
“I’m a Bible believing Christian,” said Connie. “I’m Baptist, but I’m not into any of that weird sort of stuff.”
“After what you saw last night do you still think it’s weird? I mean, it’s in the Bible, I checked.”
Connie just shrugged and returned to her schematics. Apparently she wasn’t in the mood to discuss this issue further.
It was the better part of half an hour before Sybil emerged from the bathroom and into the bedroom. When she did, Ron wasn’t quite prepared for what he saw. She was dressed in black from head to toe. Over her shoulders she wore a long velvet robe with numerous pockets, while over her head she wore a sort of hood. There was a silvery headband across her forehead and in her hand she held a long oaken scepter with a round white handle at the end. She was the very image of a witch.
“It is the very latest in psychic apparel,” announced Sybil. “It projects the image I wish to project during my first meeting with the drells. That is, of course, assuming they show up.”
Neither Ron nor Connie said a word. Ron only hoped that his aunt knew what she was doing.
Time passed slowly. They watched television for a time, though none were able to get much into the program.
It was just before midnight when Sybil looked over at the clock for about the tenth time. “I’m hungry. How about some good pasta? I brought some of my special homemade pasta with me. Nothing in the world like warmed up lasagna from the microwave.”
Ron immediately perked up. It had been years since he’d eaten any of his aunt’s lasagna.
“But it’s almost the witching hour,” objected Connie.
Sybil laughed out loud. “The witching hour? Midnight? Midnight is no different than any other time of the day, except it’s about the time
I usually get the munchies. That burger I scarfed down on our way here just didn’t stay with me. I need some real food. I brought some good Italian bread too. You do have an oven don’t you?”
“A really good one,” said Ron.
“Then it’s settled,” announced Sybil. “Let’s eat.”
“But that means we’ll need to go out into the kitchen,” objected Connie.
“That would probably be a good idea if I’m going to cook,” said Sybil.
“But shouldn’t we be inside our magic circle?”
“Leave those decisions to me, dear,” replied Sybil, taking Connie’
s hand in hers. “I have a great deal more experience in these matters than you. We’re safe for the moment, I’ll let you know when there’s danger, and what to do.”
It didn’t take Sybil long to get their midnight snack under way. Snack? It was a full blown meal. Twenty minutes later they had all gathered around the dining room table to dig in.
“I never deal with supernatural affairs on an empty stomach,” noted Sybil, grabbing up another slice of homemade lasagna. “I’m not going to give my adversary the advantage.”
“But suppose the drell comes in while we’re eating,” asked Connie, who still seemed very nervous.
“Well, I’m not going to make a place for him at the table, if that’s what you mean,” said Sybil. “I won’t be wasting my good lasagna on the likes of him.”
Connie looked at Sybil incredulously but said nothing.
Their bellies now full, the group retreated back to the bedroom. Connie and Ron sat on the love seat and waited, even as Sybil pulled out a good book. Connie still seemed agitated but it quickly passed.
It was nearly two in the morning when Sybil rose from the comfortable chair for a stretch. She turned toward Ron and Connie, who had fallen asleep on the loveseat, arm in arm. “Cute couple,” she murmured, pulling a blanket up around them. She sat down in a comfortable chair at the inner edge of the circle and returned to her book. She’d do her best to protect her nephew this night. No matter how difficult the task, she wouldn’t abandon these two to the drells.
It was past three in the morning when Sybil roused Ron. “Dear, it’s started, you’d best be on your guard.”
“What?” asked Ron, rubbing his eyes.
“Our adversary is coming. You’d better be ready.”
Connie’s resolve was faltering. Now, in the dark of night, she wasn’t so sure as to just how brave a warrior she really was. “Ron, I don’t think I’m up to this again.”
“Don’t be afraid, dear,” assured Sybil, looking deep into Connie’s eyes, “we’re safe.”
At the bedroom door, beyond the threshold of the protective sphere, the drell avenger materialized out of nothing. He surveyed the three humans within the circle.
The Realm of the Drells Page 17