Erica squared her shoulders and tried to remember where the catch for the door was hidden. Then she reached into the recess next to the door and opened it. The mechanism still worked flawlessly after all these years. Without stopping to marvel at that minor miracle, she slipped inside and let it click shut behind her.
She had expected to walk into Stygian gloom but to her surprise, the interior was lit with a pale golden glow. It was bright enough to illuminate the names on the memorials, including those of Rashida’s parents. Erica wondered who, if anyone, was buried in her mother’s tomb before she turned away, shivering a bit.
In the middle of the floor, one of the great marble slabs was pulled aside and a flight of steps led downward. From below, she thought she could hear the sound of muted chanting, and it sent chills up her already frozen spine. She considered demanding that Rashida stop all this nonsense and come upstairs to talk to her, but the words would not cross her immobile lips.
Instead, Erica closed her eyes and remembered Rashida as she had been, back when they were first together at Foggy Harbor State, before that first fateful Egyptology class. She caressed the memory of Rashida’s golden eyes in the sunset and the way she felt when—she made herself stop and shuffle toward the steps. There would be time for trips down Memory Lane later, once all this was over. Alex and his thugs could only be minutes behind her.
Even so she crept down the stairs at a snail’s pace. The sight that met her eyes when she reached the bottom was not one that even her books could have prepared her for. Rashida stood before an altar presided over by the cat statue. The air was thick with incense and the smoke of many candles. Her former lover was naked to the waist, though she still wore her gray wool pants. Above those, she was clad only in massive gold jewelry: a collar, several arm rings, huge earrings. She raised a blood-covered knife as she chanted. Erica could see shallow gashes in her arms, and the sight made her shudder all over.
Rashida was completely unaware of her, her golden eyes rimmed with kohl and focused on another world. Erica shrank back for a moment, too terrified to approach her friend. She could see that there was a dish of blood in front of the statue and for a ghastly moment, she feared that her friend had come to sacrifice herself to the mysterious statue. That thought was enough to break through her fears. “No!” she cried, her voice cutting through the smoke and the chanting like a blade.
Rashida faltered, and Erica could feel the air of the chamber tense and coil, becoming suddenly dangerous to the point of madness. Something unfathomably evil lurked there, somehow, just outside the realm of human senses. Using all of her strength, Erica leaped forward and pulled Rashida to the floor, knocking the knife from her hands and covering her with her trembling body in a vain effort to protect her.
It was at that moment Alex and his minions burst into the tomb. They thundered downstairs just as Erica thought the air itself was about to strike them all down. Alex laughed, a cold mirthless sound in the murk of the chamber. “It seems you received a package intended for me, Guardian.” He stepped forward, towering over them, his eyes cold and clearer than Erica had ever seen them.
Well, she thought, somewhat hysterically, if it’s just a post office mix-up, we can all go home. No harm done. Her glance fell on one of the men with Alex and she was quiet. Harm would be done tonight and it was only a matter of time before it was clear who would be the recipient of it.
Rashida stirred from underneath her, easing Erica off to one side. “It is not for you, oh Servant of Set! It is my sacred mission to guard it and guard it I shall,” Rashida’s lips were set, a deep fury burning in her eyes. She had not yet looked at Erica, but the latter was not looking forward to the moment when her attention shifted.
She had to cut the tension somehow. “Really, Alex, if I’d known you had such an interest in antiquities, I’d have gone to the museum with you when you asked. Perhaps we can continue this discussion over dinner?” Erica asked hopefully.
“Let her go, she knows nothing about this.” Rashida’s eyes never left Alex’s.
“On the contrary, she has some suspicions about me. And she is curious enough that it is only a matter of time before she wants to know more. Isn’t that right, my dear?” Alex gave Erica a mock flirtatious leer that made her grimace in disgust.
Alex McGillicuddy is a minion of Set? It wasn’t all that hard to believe, really, what with all the annoying attentions he’d been paying to her. Clearly she was better off staying single, not that that appeared to be her biggest concern at the moment.
But whoever or whatever he was, Alex was annoying her more than usual. She said the most outrageous thing she could think of. “That’s it. The wedding’s off.” She glared at Alex and scrambled to her feet as Rashida did the same. The air around them seemed to have thinned a bit, as if the chanting had stopped calling whatever it was bringing into this world from one beyond.
Alex looked baffled. “The wedd—oh, never mind.” His gaze fell on the statue and his eyes brightened with dark emotions. “Take the cat, boys, and we’ll just seal up our little friends in their tomb. I’m sure they can comfort each other for a while, at least until the air runs out.”
“Wait,” Rashida held up her hand. “This is not your Lord’s. Its powers will not obey you.” Erica could feel a force coiling around them again, could feel something coming to a summons she could not hear. She reached into her handbag and found the packets of salt. As slowly and carefully as she could, she pulled them out. She glanced sidelong at Rashida and noticed that the latter seemed to be preparing to attack Alex.
The cat glowed even brighter as one of the thugs approached it. Alex hadn’t answered Rashida’s challenge, which was not surprising, since his attention seemed wholly fixed on the statue. But he had a gun out now and was pointing it at them.
Erica reached into her bag with excruciating slowness and pulled out the knife. She handed it to Rashida who gave her a bemused but still angry glance. “Athame,” Erica muttered as softly as she could, using the only word she could remember from Kitties in the Witch House, her very nearly best-selling anthology.
Rashida smiled and it was an expression that made her face beautiful and terrible all at once. Following the strange instinct that had driven her since she left the house, Erica tore open the packets of salt and threw their contents out around them in a rough circle. “Hold it!” Alex barked at them just as his minion touched the cat.
The air above the altar grew dark as Rashida began to chant again. It swirled around the man, something glowing in its depths that Erica could not bear to look at. She closed her eyes and ducked as a bullet from Alex’s gun whizzed past. The words flowing from Rashida’s lips were like the ones she’d been chanting when Erica first entered, but they were different in timbre somehow. She was still terrified but she felt protected, as if whatever powers Rashida was calling were no longer harmful. At least to them.
A high-pitched, piercing cry of utter pain and terror filled the room. Erica covered her ears and flinched away and even Rashida stumbled in her chant. The air thickened and tightened above the altar, reminding Erica of nothing so much as a giant serpent. Or a very sinuous cat. Alex’s henchman waved his arms and flailed as if trying to fend off some invisible foe. Then with a scream horrific in its finality, he fell to the floor, motionless.
Alex trained his gun on Rashida. “Call it off, witch. Your creature can’t kill me before I fire this again.” His eyes were icy in the murk of the chamber, even though his remaining thug shook with fear at his side.
Erica gave Rashida a panicked look. She couldn’t lose her now, not like this. Rashida laughed, the rich mellow sound filling the chamber around them. The thing above the altar hovered, its face taking shape and growing pointed ears. The face hovered above the bowl of Rashida’s blood, a ghastly phantom tongue lapping at its contents. Rashida glanced at it before meeting Alex’s eyes. “Bets?” she inquired in a somewhat bored voice.
Erica’s eyes widened in horror as she saw Ale
x’s finger tighten on the trigger, then change his mind and point the gun at her. Rashida whispered something that might have been a prayer or a curse. She brought the kitchen knife down in a slashing moment as Alex pulled the trigger. A white cloud rose from the circle of salt around them and Erica watched as the bullet slowed to a crawl, stopping inches from her shoulder. Rashida reached out and flicked it with her finger, sending it to roll on the floor.
Alex’s eyes narrowed and his thin lips parted in a chant of his own. Rashida gestured, and the cloud edged closer to his remaining minion. The man stood his ground a moment, then glanced at his fallen comrade, and fled up the stairs. The cloud appeared to have grown paws now, and it circled Alex, a glow that might have been eyes fixed on his upraised hands.
The sounds that fell from Alex’s lips were cold and cruel, an ancient evil walking among them. Erica nearly covered her eyes before deciding that she couldn’t bear not to watch. A second shadow arose from the cat statue, this one clearly a serpent with a fiery eyes. The cat shadow turned toward it, its spectral mouth opened in a silent hiss.
Then the two were joined in battle as their acolytes chanted at each other across the tomb. Erica glanced from one to the other, wondering what, if anything, she should do. The circle of salt still glowed faintly around them, which was reassuring. She watched the shadows battle for a moment and considered whether or not to simply sit down and wait it out. But that seemed cowardly somehow.
Rashida’s face looked strained when she glanced back, and a new sense of urgency filled Erica at the sight. She wondered if she could learn an ancient chant in the next minute or two and help that way, but languages had never been her forte. Next she speculated that there might be something she could do to help the shadow kitty win its battle, but that too seemed unlikely.
Then she looked up at Alex. He seemed stronger, his face twisted in an expression of pure evil. He was also closer than she’d realized, only a few feet away from the edge of their protective circle. There wasn’t much time and a deus ex machina did not seem forthcoming.
It was then that Erica had an idea. It was a weird sort of idea, but she thought it just might work. She reached into her purse and took out her book of matches. Then she took off her sweater and wrapped it around her fake leather purse. She lit several matches and with only the slightest of qualms, she held the sputtering flame to her favorite sweater. As the wool caught on fire, she studied the distance between them and Alex with narrowed eyes.
When at last she made her throw, she threw it underhand, just “like a girl” as Rashida would have said in disgust back when they played college softball. She lobbed it with care and skill, though, and no one could argue with the results. The ball of flaming wool and plastic landed at Alex’s feet, sparks catching on his pants. He hesitated, his chant faltering for a breath, then two, as he stamped and shook his foot to put out the flames which engulfed his cuffs.
With a hiss that knocked Erica to her knees, the cat shadow found some hidden source of strength. When she looked up, she could see the serpent dangling from its spectral kitty jaws. She looked at Rashida, hoping to see that her friend had found the same strength. But to her horror, Rashida seemed nearly spent.
A loud noise distracted her, and she looked at Alex in time to see him drop his gun. She gathered herself and hopped out of the salt circle. Immediately, mighty forces assailed her and she walked forward as if in a gale. But walk forward she did until she was able to reach the gun. She managed to pick it up and hold it out in front of her with hands that shook convulsively. “All right,” she said in a voice that shook nearly as badly. “Enough of this nonsense.”
She pointed the gun in Alex’s general direction and pulled the trigger, the recoil knocking her to the floor. Her shot missed, but it was enough to make him flinch. Rashida’s words fell like hail, faster and more powerful, than before and Alex dropped to his knees, hands pressed over his ears, silent at last. A great rushing sound tore through the chamber and both cat and serpent vanished. The glow of the hieroglyphs faded until only the candles and the fiery sweater still provided light.
Rashida stepped forward and raised the kitchen knife above Alex, her face transformed into the countenance of a goddess of death. “No!” Erica shouted.
Her friend seemed to shift, as if another person was working their way to the surface. “I know you were engaged to him and all, but really Erica, I’m sure you can see he’s not the greatest catch.”
Erica’s jaw dropped open. “I was never engaged to him! I just said that because I was angry with you. That’s no reason to kill him.” She staggered to her feet. “You won’t call on powerful dark forces from beyond this world again, will you, Mr. McGillicuddy?”
Alex hissed something that might have been agreement. His eyes were dead now, as if the spirit which drove him was gone. Looking into them, Erica had another idea. “Besides, maybe he knows what happened to your mother.”
Rashida’s face shifted, becoming more Rashida again. “Do you, Set-spawn? Do you know something?” She waved the knife threateningly in front of his dazed looking face.
It seemed to be enough to bring him back to life, and his lips twisted in a snarl. “My Lord consumed her, body and spirit, just as he will consume you!” Then he twisted around and kicked out with desperate strength. Rashida jumped back as he pulled himself to his feet. Then he charged forward, straight at the cat on the altar. Rashida lunged after him, but not quickly enough, as he darted past her and placed his hands on the statue.
For a moment, nothing happened. His face twisted and it seemed to Erica as if he was drawing on some unseen source of power. The statue began to glow a little, then a bit more. A tendril of shadow reached out from it and wrapped itself around his body in a hideously companionable fashion. He threw back his head and laughed, and the shadow slipped into his mouth. His laughter changed to a choking cough and he fell to the floor, his body convulsing, until just as suddenly, he was still.
The statue fell with him, meeting the stone floor with a crash. The head broke loose and shadows poured out. They surged out in a mighty gray wave, then just as quickly dissipated. In their wake, they left two corpses and two exhausted women. “Well, looks like that might be it for your task,” Erica said in awed but relieved tones.
Rashida stared at her in disbelief, then picked her way across the floor to the statue. She picked up the head and held it as if seeking answers to questions only she could hear. The green eyes twinkled in the cat’s face but volunteered nothing. A single tear worked its way down Rashida’s cheek.
Erica ran over to comfort her. She wrapped her arms around her friend and held her tightly, and in that brief instant, both of them touched the cat. The statue quivered and shook, light pouring from it instead of shadows this time. It engulfed them, then swept through the chamber and up the stairs into the mausoleum. Then it too vanished as the shadows had done.
“We’ve released all that it held,” Rashida whispered. “There is nothing more to guard.”
Erica kissed her bare shoulder and turned her around so she could kiss the tears from her cheeks. “Where are the rest of your clothes, by the way?”
Rashida pointed up wordlessly. Erica took the pieces of the statue and tucked them into her capacious pockets. Then she took Rashida’s hand in hers and towed her along as she walked over to pick her house keys out of the smoldering wreckage of her purse. “Let’s go home for dinner.” She smiled reassuringly at Rashida, but the latter seemed lost in her thoughts.
Erica pulled her up the stairs behind her. There was a faint knocking coming from Keira Simmons’ tomb. They looked at each other, and Erica shrugged and nodded, the experiences of the evening having completely exhausted her capacity for terror. Rashida pulled on her shirt and jacket before they approached the tomb. They looked deep into each other’s eyes for a long moment, then they pushed the lid away. Keira Simmons sat up, clearly alive, her face that of someone waking from a long sleep.
“Hello, Mothe
r,” Rashida choked out at last. “I asked Bastet to help me find you, and she has.” Rashida burst into tears.
Erica nodded politely to Mrs. Simmons as she and her daughter tearfully embraced. She gave Rashida a wan smile before turning and walking out of the tomb. She had no place in this part of Rashida’s story. Still, she ached at the thought that she might never see Rashida again. In an acute state of emotional turmoil, she retrieved her bike, and went home, where she tumbled into bed and slept for many hours.
She was sitting at her kitchen table the next morning reading stories with titles like “Kittens in the Walls” when the doorbell rang. She shuffled slowly down the hall and flung the door open without bothering to check to see who it was.
Rashida looked back at her, golden eyes calm and peaceful. “I was thinking,” she said without preamble, “that I missed you.” Then she stepped up and took the astonished Erica in her arms for a long kiss. And Erica kissed her back, right there on the doorstep in front of all of Foggy Harbor. Then she took Rashida’s hand and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her.
•
World War III Doesn’t Last Long
Nora Olsen
(for Eamon Hart 1977-2009)
“Felicia darlink, it’s me. Open up!”
No one called her Felicia except her neighbors, who read the name off her mailbox. “Just a second,” Fell said. She flipped the lock and opened the door. Mrs. Sziemencewicz was waiting in the hallway. Mrs. Abreu from 3L stood beside her. The two women had become awfully chummy since the disaster started. Fell couldn’t remember them ever talking before. It seemed that catastrophe really did bring people together in mutual aid.
Heiresses of Russ 2011 Page 23