by J. R. Mabry
Babylon1961: Hey, it looks like you’re interested in witchcraft.
Her breath caught in her throat. She brought her hand to her chest and looked around to see if she was being watched. Her stuffed animals stared back placidly, but no one else seemed to be around. She took a deep breath and tried to will herself to be calm.
ConnieQT: Yes. I want to be a witch.
Babylon1961: Do you know why? It is not an easy path. It requires great commitment.
Consuela’s thoughts raced. I want to punish my father. I want to be as powerful as my Abuelita. That was all too personal. She didn’t know this person, after all. I want to be in control of my own life. “That’s it,” she said out loud.
ConnieQT: I want to be in control of my own life.
Babylon1961: There are many answers you could have given. But that is the right one. That is the secret password.
Consuela felt a rush of pride flow through her. She got the right answer! Maybe she could be good at this. Maybe she, too, could make her father afraid.
ConnieQT: I want to learn how to be a witch. I need a teacher. Do you know a good teacher?
Babylon1961: I know several. But I think that I might be a good fit for you. Why don’t we meet someplace for coffee? Someplace public, safe for both of us?
This person seemed to know how she thought and what she needed. She or he knew that she might feel unsafe meeting for the first time. A public place, for coffee? That seemed perfect. She began to feel that she could trust this person.
ConnieQT: That sounds good. Where shall we meet?
Babylon1961: There’s only one place where witches and other people in the occult community in San Francisco go. It’s called The Cloven Hoof.
Prelude 3
BERKELEY, PRESENT DAY
Terry glanced at his smartphone. The blinking car on the screen indicated that his Ryde driver would arrive in under a minute. He’d never used this app before, but the first all-gay taxi service application had been all the rage in the media in the last few days. Why not? he’d thought and downloaded it. After all, he needed to go a bit off the beaten track that day.
He reveled for a moment in the cool breeze, lifting the arms of his cassock to catch the wind. It felt good to just be. He and Brian had fought that morning and he’d had a shitty day after that. I’m still angry about it, he realized. Sex was the problem—and sex had never been a problem for them before. Brian seemed to need less of it, which just made Terry want it all the more. He was so horny he was afraid his erection could be seen through his cassock. Terry sighed.
When he opened his eyes, a dark maroon SUV pulled up just in front of him.
The passenger window lowered. “You Terry?” a voice called from inside.
“That’s me,” he said, snapping out of his reverie and pulling on the door handle. He swung into the passenger seat, turned to face his driver, and melted into his seat.
“Well, aren’t you a cutie?” the driver said, offering his hand. “I’m Ben. I’m here to give you a Ryde.”
“I…uh…I’m Terry,” Terry said, completely lost in the driver’s unruly shock of bright red hair, athletic build, and most disarmingly, the dimple square in the middle of his chin.
“I know that, silly,” he said. “It’s on the app. This your first time?”
“Uh…yeah.”
“I love virgins,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “What are you, some kind of priest?”
“Yes, I am,” Terry said as they sped away from the curb.
“So, there’s that whole pesky celibacy thing to deal with. How is that?” Ben asked.
“Uh…our Order isn’t celibate.”
“You don’t say?” Ben smiled. His dimple seemed to take up half of his face. “Are you—let me guess—Japanese?”
“Nice guess. Half Japanese. On my father’s side.”
“Oooh. So you know what that means, right?”
“Uh, no. What does that mean?” Terry asked, relaxing enough to flirt back a little.
“It means that you, Mr. Terry, are just my type.”
Prelude 4
OAKLAND, PRESENT DAY
With a crack of splintered wood, the front door smashed inward, leaving T-Ray and Darnell framed in the doorway, two black silhouettes against the orange curtain of urban twilight. T-Ray glanced behind them to see if anyone had witnessed their crime and saw only a bag lady minding her own business, shuffling away from them toward the 580 freeway overpass. T-Ray gestured for Darnell to enter quickly, and throwing a last glance over his shoulder, Darnell followed. Inside he blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
The foyer was really a hallway, with stairs to the left. T-Ray snapped open the bag he’d brought, and began to cast about for “stealables” as his cousin used to call them, but there was nothing in the hallway except a bunch of old pictures on the wall. T-Ray squinted at them. They were pictures of…nuns? He blinked in confusion, then turned to watch Darnell turn the corner and freeze.
“What?” he whispered. Darnell didn’t answer. The hallway doglegged to the left, and T-Ray poked his head around the corner and froze himself. He was looking at a dining room, that was clear. Stretched nearly the length of the room was a dining table, each place set with care. About a dozen old women sat stock still in front of their empty plates.
“There you are!” a cheerful voice called out.
T-Ray and Darnell both jumped.
An old woman spun through the butler door, a large steaming bowl between two potholders in her hands. Her wrinkled face broke into a broad, warm smile at the sight of them. “You, my dears, are just in time for dinner.”
Every instinct in T-Ray’s body told him to abandon the caper and sprint, but he seemed strangely rooted in place. He licked his lips and nearly vibrated in place from nerves.
“Did you—” the old woman started, ducking past them and peering around the corner at the front door. “Oh, sugar! You didn’t have to break the door down, sillies. It was open! Tsk…” She waved away her objection. “It’s never locked, not here.” Walking back toward the dining room, she shooed them inward.
Darnell looked over his shoulder directly into T-Ray’s eyes. He’d never seen his homey this scared. Not even when they were being shot at. Then he realized why. None of the old ladies seated around the table were moving, or perhaps could move. Then one of them succumbed to gravity and her head pitched face forward into her plate.
Their host tsk-tsked again, and pulled the woman upright again. “Please, have a seat,” she said. “We always have a couple of extra seats.” T-Ray and Darnell stood as still as the ladies around the table. “Sit!” the old woman commanded. Glancing at one another, they obeyed, each taking a seat between two of the frozen women.
“Everything is hot, so dig in. There’s roast beef—it’s leftover from last night, but that’s when it’s best, I think. Mashed potatoes are here,” she said, pointing to a covered bowl. T-Ray could see the steam rising off of it. “And carrots, steamed with rosemary, here.” She smiled at them with a look of satisfaction. “Please, help yourselves.” She grabbed the potatoes and began to serve herself. “So, please tell me your names, young men.”
T-Ray blinked and looked at Darnell. He wanted to think of an alias, but he couldn’t. Before he could answer, though, the old woman continued. “I’m fascinated with the life of crime. You probably wouldn’t guess this about me, but I’m a member of the Ellery Queen fan club!”
“Who?” asked Darnell.
“Shut up, fool!” T-Ray whispered.
“Are you gentlemen in the habit of stealing from nuns, then?”
T-Ray looked at the old women. It was only then that they noticed that each of them seemed…well, a little butch. They also had crosses dangling from chains around their necks and were staring, sightless and unblinking, at the feast before them.
“Ya’ll are nuns?” T-Ray asked.
“Yes, what did you think? We run the Oakland Food Pantry down the street. Perhaps you kno
w about it? Anyone can get food there, no matter who they are or what time of day it is. Or night.” She smiled warmly. “So tell me about yourselves—are your parents living? Do you have siblings? Oh, you haven’t touched the roast beef yet! What’s wrong with you?”
Darnell reached hesitantly for the platter of meat and looked up into T-Ray’s eyes briefly. His hands were shaking as he lifted a slice of roast to his plate.
“You are not going to find much of interest in this house, I can tell you that. We might have some old silver, but we don’t wear jewelry. We have a television, but it’s the same one we’ve had for fifteen years—it’s not one of those fancy flat screens. How do those work, anyway?” She shook her head and nibbled at a forkful of mashed potatoes. “In any case, you are welcome to anything you find here. And take your time! I won’t be calling the police—not that they’d come anyway. This is Oakland, after all! I only have one request, and I ask you to take this very seriously. Please take only what you truly need. And next time, my dears,” she flashed them a conspiratorial smile, “just knock.”
T-Ray nodded, but his eyes widened as he watched the old lady’s head roll back on her neck. Her jaw opened, then opened wider, as if her jawbone had moved out of joint to allow her mouth to stretch and widen unnaturally. Her tongue darted toward the ceiling, then withdrew. A moment later, a thousand ravens erupted out of the old woman’s throat and spilled into the air, filling the room with pounding wings, oily feathers, and the hungry screams of scavenger birds.
Keep reading! Buy The Glory today!
http://apocryphilepress.com/book/glory/