House Infernal by Edward Lee

by Edward Lee

  "This," he said. He pulled out the last sheet from the Lubec file: the sketch.

  "Any of you got an idea what this might be?"

  "A design," Dan said, "that looks ... occult."

  "That's exactly what I thought, and everyone else who's seen it." Berns looked harder. "Freddie and Sue Maitland had the same diagram tattooed on their lower abdomens. Originally I thought it must be a logo for some heavy metal band."

  Driscoll ventured, "But it's probably the logo for Freddie's cult."

  Berns nodded. "I asked him what it was and he called it 'the Involution.' It's a geometric term-the spiral. I've never seen anything like it."

  Venetia was staring, her face going pale. "I have."

  Chapter Fifteen

  (I)

  "That's it?" Boniface was astonished. "It's so ... meager."

  Pasiphae-the raven black regent of the Labyrinthhad just led in the nine-foot Golem, whose moldering clay hand clasped the arcane device. The lifeless monster placed it on a gem-studded stand just before the Pith, where the six angels-pregnant and insane-squirmed in naked turmoil.

  Willirmoz' char-crisped face smiled within the hood. "Meager in only appearance, my repugnant lord. It's the only one of its kind, and it's a thousand times more accurate than even the latest-generation Occult Sensors. It's the ultimate safeguard for when the Involution is charged and the Pith is insolvent."

  "I see," Boniface uttered, but he really didn't. Best to leave these technical matters to the technicians.

  The device was called the Smoke-Light: a glass cylinder framed by iron. It looked like a lantern the size of a soup can-very small. Beneath the stand on which it sat was a candle made of infant fat.

  "The Smoke-Light's glass chamber holds the smoke from six burned Human hearts," Willirmoz explained, charred fingers interlaced. He lit the candle beneath. "Behold how it works, my diabolical prince."

  The Wizard stood back as the lantern's chamber began to glow. Boniface could see the strange smoke swirling within. Fascinating, he thought a moment later. The light that now poured off the object tinted the entire stonewalled room.

  The light was black.

  "It's beautiful," the Exalted Duke admitted, "but I still don't understand."

  Willirmoz stepped closer. "Were there an infiltrator here, his intentions would be betrayed by the obsidian light, my lord. The light would turn white around his aura. The device instantly detects any thought, notion, or motivation that is hostile to Lucifer. Charmed objects, too, and Power Totems would be similarly detected."

  Boniface's dry eyes scanned the populants of the Lower Chancel: Golems, Ushers, Conscripts, and the oil black Pasiphae. The light around them all was brilliantly black. "But everyone here is a servant of Lucifer," Boniface objected. "How do we really know it works?"

  Willirmoz' grin sharpened as he snapped charred fingers. Pasiphae stepped up, her bare breasts shining black as the light, and withdrew something from a small box.

  "Here is a detestable relic from a terrorist we caught sabotaging an Electrocity Station recently," the High Priest explained.

  When Boniface glimpsed the trinket that dangled from Pasiphae's sleek fingers, he winced as if bile had flooded his mouth.

  It was a crude tin crucifix, and during the instant it was revealed, the light around it glowed white.

  "Put it away," Boniface groaned. "It's making me sick."

  Willirmoz nodded and the obscene object was removed from view.

  "So you see, my hateful lord?"

  The Exalted Duke had to catch his breath, huffing through the salt-mask's mouth slit. "Indeed, Wizard. It's works perfectly." At once the decayed lump that was Boniface's heart beat with joy. With the Smoke-Light, no one who may be plotting against us can possibly taint our plans.

  "You've done well, Wizard, and you will be rewarded," the Duke promised.

  "But now, my lord," the Lithomancer spoke, "it's nearly time."

  Pasiphae led the priest and the Exalted Duke out of the chamber, the Smoke-Light's indescribable glow glittering behind them.

  Oh, so soon, Boniface thought.

  (II)

  "Yeah, Mom. You remember, the convenience store," Venetia was saying into her phone. She sat in the passenger seat of Captain Berns' unmarked police car.

  Venetia's mother sounded duped. "Convenience store, honey?"

  "Yeah. Not a 7-Eleven but something else."

  "Oh, yes." Maxine Barlow connected the dots. "Where you fainted."

  "Right. Could you ask Dad exactly where it was?"

  "Of course ..."

  "It'd really help if she knew what road," Berns said in the interim. "There're convenience stores everywhere. Super-7s, Qwik-Marts, 7-Elevens."

  "All I know is it was right off the highway from Concord," Venetia told him. "It was on our way to the prior house."

  "We'll find it," the captain said.

  Her mother came back on the line. "The Qwik-Mart on Brewer Road, he thinks."

  "Thanks, Mom," Venetia said and relayed the info to Berns.

  "But ... why do you want to go to a convenience store, dear?" her mother asked.

  "Oh, we're just driving around," she said and then was surprised by how easily she'd lied. I can't tell her I'm helping the police with the murder investigation.... "For sodas."

  "Oh, well ... are you feeling all right? Had any more spells?"

  "Just a little one, last night, but it's no big deal."

  Alarm tensed Maxine's voice. "You should've called me immediately! I don't like this. You're not sleeping well, you're having these spells, and now this awful murder business. I still am your mother, you know. I've a mind to come there right now and take you out, get you to a doctor for a checkup."

  Another can of worms. "Mom, please," Venetia groaned. "I'm all right. It's just the heat, plus I'm still burned out from finals. I'll be home soon anyway."

  "Well..." Her mother stewed. "I'm just worried."

  "Don't be. Everything's fine. But I have to go now. Tell Dad I said hi."

  "Of course, honey."

  "Love you, Mom-"

  "Call tomorrow!"

  "I will, I will." Eventually she managed to end the conversation. "Worried mother," she said to Berns.

  "Can't say I'd want my kid working in a place where there'd been murders, either," " Berns offered from behind the wheel.

  Venetia saw his point but she also felt that this new discovery was somehow exciting-that bizarre drawing of Freddie Johnson's, the spiral in the rectangle.

  She had immediately remembered seeing the same thing scrawled in the bathroom of the convenience store, just before she'd passed out that day.

  And now we're checking it out.

  She could see his gun butt in the shoulder holster as he turned onto a wooded road. This was a thrill, especially for a college student who'd been buried in libraries for two years.

  "What exactly do we do when we get there?"

  "First, see if the design is still there, then ask the em ployees if they have any idea who drew it. I've got pictures of Johnson and Maitland to show them. Any connection is something to go on." Suddenly the cop seemed fatigued. "The person who drew it might know the perpetrators or even be one."

  "And might live close by."

  "Right. It's all I've got right now. With Johnson and Maitland dead, we've got no direct information sources. Sometimes it's the little things that solve big crimes."

  "It could be someone who works there, too," Venetia said.

  "That would be even better, which is why I'll try to get a list of all the employees over the last year or so and run checks," Berns said, as he dragged his eyes off her legs.

  He's something.... She didn't feel at all threatened, though, or even offended. It makes me feel good, she admitted to herself, especially for a girl who's probably going to be celibate all her life. But the topic suddenly soured in her head. For whatever reason, the dream-snippet resurfaced, with the image-someone greedily performing oral sex on
her as she lay naked and unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.

  Ugh...

  "Here's the place." Berns' voice severed the awful recollection.

  QWIK-MART, the sign buzzed. Only a few cars sat in the lot.

  As Venetia followed Berns in, she asked, "At Father Driscoll's office, you said that Freddie had a name for the diagram-"

  "Right. He called it the 'Involution.' The spiral. It's a geometry term."

  Venetia felt hesitant. Will he think I'm stupid if I say this? She shrugged. "I'll tell you something nutty-I think I heard the same word in a dream."

  "Really?"

  "Last night."

  "And that's too much of a coincidence, right? You dream the word last night and then I walk in today and use the same word." He offered a lenient smile. "You must only think you heard the word before, like dEja vu and all that."

  "I hope," she muttered.

  The cool air inside sucked them in. Behind the counter stood a tall, muscular black man with a shaved head. He looked like a wrestler or one of those extreme fighters. "We're going to the bathroom," Berns bumbled, and flashed his badge. "Uh, police business."

  "In the bathroom?" the black man questioned.

  Venetia led the way. "There it is," she said. "I knew it wasn't my imagination." She pointed to the bathroom wall where the design had been penned.

  "The Involution," Berns whispered, squinting. He produced a small digital camera and took a few pictures.

  "What's going on in here?"

  They both turned to find the black man filling the doorway.

  "It's confidential pursuant to an ongoing homicide investigation," Berns said. "I'd appreciate your cooperation. Is the manager in?"

  "That's me," the guy said.

  "Any idea who drew that?" Berns pointed to the diagram.

  The manager peered at it. "No, in fact I never noticed it, but then I'm not at this store a lot. I'm the district manager. I check each store every day, very briefly."

  -As the two men talked, Venetia found herself staring at the Involution; after several moments, the spiral seemed to be moving, and the arrows pointing in from the three corners looked as though they were lengthening toward the center.

  Venetia blinked. I'm just tired, that's all.

  They all went back out to the register area. Berns asked, "Would it be all right if you showed me employee records over the last year?"

  The manager crossed massive arms. "I'd have to call the boss about that. Isn't that a Privacy Act thing?"

  "Only if you want it to be," Berns egged. "With or without a warrant, I'm going to have to question everybody anyway."

  The manager's voice was articulate and reserved, not the tough-guy rasp Venetia would've expected, given his size. "What do you want to question them about?"

  "Any nutball customers they might remember," Berns replied. "Weirdos, Satanic tattoos. Oh, and I'm particularly interested in someone named Dougie, or Douglas-"

  "bougie, you say?" the managed asked, lowering his voice. "You're not gonna believe this, but the guy working the next shift is named Dougie Jones, and he's in the office right now, clocking in."

  Before the manager's words sunk in, Venetia screamed as a hand grabbed her hair from behind and dragged her backward. A split second later, there was a knife at her throat and a tense forearm around her waist.

  "Don't be stupid, Dougie," Berns said. As fast as she'd been snagged, Berns had his pistol out, aimed right at the face behind Venetia's shoulder. "Drop the knife and let's talk."

  "Bullshit, man!" spat the hot voice next to her ear.

  Venetia's heart was thundering. In the front window's reflection, she could see herself wide-eyed and on tiptoes, and she could see the man behind her holding the knife.

  Lean, wiry, midtwenties, black mop haircut. That's the guy who was working the counter when I came in with Mom and Dad. He even wore the same black HIGHWAY To HELL T-shirt.

  The forearm around her waist tightened; she tensed up even more when the knife point tickled her throat.

  A stray prayer slipped through her mind: Please, God. Don't let me get killed today...

  "Your goose is cooked, Dougie," Berns said behind his gun. "You're done. Freddie and Sue shit all over youblamed you for everything."

  "You're full of shit, man!" came the jagged voice. Spittle from Dougie's lips fell onto Venetia bare throat. "I heard your whole conversation from the office!"

  "All right, fine." Berns' free hand opened outward. 'Just ... be cool. Let the girl go, and we'll talk this out."

  Dougie laughed. "Freddie always said, 'When the party's over, it's over.' But you know? I've still got a little more partying to do first."

  Every muscle in Venetia's body twisted when her captor's hand slid up and kneaded a breast.

  "Cut that shit out, Dougie," Berns warned.

  "Why? It's fun. Did the same thing to the nun, after we drained her blood."

  Don't faint, don't faint! Venetia told herself. A moment later, she was grinding her teeth when Dougie's free hand jacked up her skirt and pawed her crotch through her panties.

  "Don't be a scumbag, Dougie. And don't make me do something you'll regret a hell of a lot more than me."

  "The only thing you're gonna do is drop the gun and kick it over here, or else I'm gonna peel this bitch like a banana." Dougie paused, as if in consideration. "Or better yet, I'll cut her throat just like we did the nun and that skinny old bat." Then he positioned the knife so that its tip was pointing right into the side of Venetia's neck.

  Please, God, she prayed.

  Venetia's next scream resounded simultaneously with the ear-splitting bam! that cracked through the store. A muzzle flash blinded her as the bullet incredibly shot the knife out of Dougie's hand.

  Dougie flew backward, then-

  THWACK!

  The manager's croquet ball-sized fist smacked Dougie's temple. Dougie crumpled to the floor, out cold.

  Venetia nearly fainted when it was over. She braced her self against a stack of soda cases. Thanks, God, she thought. I owe you one.

  Berns waved gun smoke out of his face, then chuckled when he looked down at Dougie. "Looks like that asshole's party ended a little sooner than he planned."

  A dozen county cops responded within minutes. EMTs checked Dougie-aka Douglas B. Jones-and cleared him for transport. Berns' unlikely shot hadn't even nicked Dougie's hand; it had struck the knife and ricocheted. A miraculous shot, Venetia thought in the strange aftermath of radio squawk and blank-faced police.

  "Keep him in our holding cell for processing," Berns ordered his uniforms. "We're keeping this case-to hell with the state." Berns glanced at a dismal Dougie, who was handcuffed and propped up by two more police. "I want a cop watching him at all times. No bullshit. This guy's a potential suicide."

  The pair of officers exchanged odd glances.

  "Just do it," Berns emphasized.

  "Whatever you say, Captain," one of them replied.

  "And ... wait." Berns was suddenly animated in the post-shooting lull. "Hold him." He was reaching for Dougie's belt.

  "Fuckin' pervert," Dougie snapped as Berns' hands unbuckled his belt and undid his jeans. "This is harassment." The black-haired punk glared at one of the cops holding him. "This guy's molesting me, man!"

  "Just shut up, Dougie." Berns seemed uncomfortable but resolved just the same. "I gotta make sure."

  What's he doing? Venetia wondered.

  Berns lowered Dougie's jeans to just above the pubis. "There. I knew it."

  Venetia's eyes widened. At once, she recognized the creepy diagram tattooed on Dougie's lower abdomen.

  "The Involution, huh, Dougie?" Berns said, then rebuckled the prisoner's pants.

  Dougie grinned defiantly. "Don't know what you're talkin' about."

  "What is it? Exactly?"

  "Kiss my ass."

  "You're an ... Eosphorian, too, Dougie?"

  Dougie stalled, then blinked. "Fuck off."

  Berns n
odded. "Take him to the hospital for a full checkup, then lock his ass up in our holding cell."

  "Yes, sir," a cop said.

  Dougie was hauled outside to a patrol car.

  "Coffee and doughnuts on the house," the immense manager said. Venetia noticed her hand trembling when she took a cup.

  "Thanks for cleaning that guy's clock," Berns said.

  The manager laughed. "f always thought he was a weirdo but, you know, he never called in sick and was never late."

  Berns bit into a jelly-filled doughnut. "You can hire him back five hundred years from now when he gets out of prison."

  Venetia steadied herself in the aftershock. "It just occurred to me, Captain, but you saved my life."

  "Probably not," came Berns' modest reply. "A few more minutes and Dougie would've probably calmed down and given up."

  Probably, Venetia thought with a shudder. But God did answer my prayer ... "Thank you just the same. That was some shot, though."

  Berns chuckled. "I never would've taken it if I wasn't a hundred-percent sure. I got no wife, no kids, nothing else going on, so in my spare time I practice at the range. It's second nature."

  Venetia admired his confidence. But her heart was still beating weird after the adrenaline dump.

  "You look a little wobbly. I better get you back," he said.

  She didn't argue. They bid their farewell to the manager and then were back in Berns' unmarked.

  "What a difference a split second makes, huh?" Berns remarked from behind the wheel. "I'm the one who should be thanking you. If you hadn't remembered seeing the diagram on the wall, none of that would've happened and Dougie would still be at-large. A half hour ago I didn't have a case anymore 'cos my only two suspects were dead. Now, thanks to your memory, the case is solved."

  Venetia hadn't thought of it that way, but it did make her feel better. I almost peed myself but at least it was all for something beneficial. "So you feel the case is genuinely solved?"

  "Sure. There's no reason to think that there are any more accomplices to the March murders. Too much corroboration from Freddie and Maitland. But we'll grill Dougie big-time, too." Berns paused in reflection. "It doesn't really matter to the case but ... I'd really like to know what it was all about. The diagram, the Eosphorous stuff, those instructions in whatever language they were in.-Just-to know."