“Them punks who come down and try to take my Maggie.”
Maggie was his dog, another stray he’d taken in to keep him company. Most of the meager change he managed to coax out of strangers he spent on food for her.
“Wh-what do they want to do with them?” I murmured.
I had moved beyond the fence and was now much closer to Jerry.
“They is in some kind of cult. They, they-”
His voice trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish. My heart dropped into my stomach, and my skin began to prickle. I had a pretty good idea what kind of cult he was talking about.
“Jerry, stay up here, I’m going to go check it out.”
He shook his head vigorously, so I pulled out my cell phone. “I’m just going to look. Maybe it isn’t what you think. And here’s my phone. If it looks dangerous, I’ll come back up here and call the police.”
Jerry pulled the two kittens back in close and shuffled off to the side of the road. Taking that as a sign to proceed, I headed toward the end of the street. Yes, it was unwise of me to approach a gang of sadists who were probably getting their kicks by torturing a cat and her kittens, but the raw anger that boiled up in me refused to let it go. I doubted a petite girl of five-foot-three could intimidate them into finding a less cruel hobby, but I had to try. I had my waspish personality to arm myself with, after all.
When I reached the end of the street, I could just pick out the low voices of a few people muttering. No, not muttering, chanting. That was odd. Most bored teenagers who took up animal cruelty in groups thought their actions were so hilarious. I expected obnoxious laughter, not soft chanting. Feeling a little bolder, I squeezed my way past branches and leaves and had to brace myself a few times as the narrow dirt trail shifted downward. A minute or so later I spotted the site where many of the homeless camped, a cleared-out patch of land tucked beneath the street bridge and above the shallow creek. What I saw next made me draw in a sharp breath. Five figures, all dressed in black hooded sweatshirts with the hoods up and cinched tight around their faces, stood in a circle. In the middle of the circle stood what appeared to be a small fire pit constructed of stone. Instead of flames dancing inside the stone circle, I saw something else crawling around in there: kittens. A harsh yowl from the bushes told me where the mother was. My heart clenched, and I gritted my teeth. Poor things.
The chanting stopped, and my eyes returned to those surrounding the fire pit. The lighting down here wasn’t that great but there was enough streaming down from the road bridge above for me to make out a few details. Their sweatshirts were all the same, black with a large, silver inverted pentagram emblazoned on the front. Someone pulled out a cigarette lighter and a clump of something that looked like dried sage. And that’s when I figured out what I was dealing with. Wonderful. A group of neo-pagans who would rather destroy the gifts of nature than rejoice in them. I was ninety-nine percent certain that these lunatics weren’t really pagan at all. They just used paganism as a cover for their carnage while making the rest of us look bad.
Silver flashed and I realized that one of them had a knife. Okay, things were getting pretty serious really fast. Time to climb back up to the street and call the cops. I didn’t want these sick bastards seeing me. I shifted my feet so I could turn around and head back up the trail. Unfortunately, my movement caused a large rock to come loose from its resting place and slide down the hill.
The five dark figures forgot about the squirming kittens and turned to stare directly at me. Well, at least I thought they were staring at me. Hard to tell with those dark hoods pulled up over their heads. Abandoning stealth, I bolted forward, digging my feet into the loose sand of the steep trail and using the roots and branches on either side to pull myself upward. The loud crackle of breaking foliage behind me announced their pursuit and my heart kicked up its pace. Would these people be bold enough to murder me? Did they want to risk being caught by the police? Did they care?
Panting, I pushed myself harder. Almost to the top of the trail, almost. A hand grabbed my shoulder and I caught a quick glimpse of a tattoo between the thumb and index finger. A skull with goat horns and sharp, elongated canine teeth. The symbol was familiar, but before I was able to recall anything else about it, the fingers tightened, digging into my skin, and I felt myself being yanked backward. I couldn’t freeze. If I froze, then these people would have me and goodness knows what they’d do to me. I couldn’t suppress the small cry that escaped my throat, but in the end I think it helped me. My attacker’s hold relaxed a tiny bit, and I took advantage of the moment by lifting my leg and kicking back as hard as I could. My foot made contact with something soft, the person’s stomach or groin. I was hoping for the latter. Either way, his hand released my shoulder, and I could hear him falling back and crashing into his friends.
I dug the toes of my shoes like a mountain goat into the steep trail and pushed with all my strength. By the time I stumbled out of the brush and onto the street, I was shaking and nearly stumbled over my own feet.
Jerry came shuffling over, still holding the kittens. “You okay?”
I gasped and continued to head farther away from the end of the road. Nodding, I breathed, “I think so. I’m going to call the police, though. Not sure if the kittens got away. Hopefully I distracted them long enough.”
Jerry looked nervous and I couldn't blame him. The police officers might force him out of the place he called home. I really didn’t want to go through the hassle of filing a report, but maybe it wouldn’t come to that. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number. When I got someone on the line, I reported that I’d seen a group of people going down into the homeless camp near my house and that I thought I saw them carrying knives. Not the complete truth, but it might encourage the cops to look into it. Hopefully, that would scare the bastards away and I wouldn’t have to get any more involved than I already was.
I hung up and moved closer to my basement apartment. If those idiots wanted to come after me, they’d have a hard time doing anything with the party raging in the house.
Five minutes later, a police car pulled around the corner, and my roommates’ guests scattered like cockroaches. The car came to a stop beside the curb, and I stepped out of my basement room. Jerry had long since disappeared, and I’d decided to play it safe by locking my doors. I had spent the time it took the cops to get here thinking about that tattoo. Back when I was still regularly attending outings with my Wiccan friends they had warned me about a small gang around town who liked to dabble in black magic. They called themselves the Noctyrnum and frequently practiced animal sacrifice. It was people like them that made ultra-religious people like my foster parents equate “pagan” with “devil worshipper”. And that tattoo on my attacker’s hand was the spitting image of the small, black symbols I’d seen painted in random places throughout San Luis.
“Noctyrnum,” Claire, the founding member of our group, had said with a grim expression. “Do not mess with these guys. They make the wannabe vampire crowd look like little girls having a tea party.”
That had been over a year ago, right after I’d moved up here and enrolled at Cuesta. At first I had been a regular member of Claire’s pagan group, Earth Bound, but eventually school and my job got in the way. Gradually, my attendance tapered off until I stopped going altogether. It had been three months since I’d last made it to a meeting, and as I thought about that tattoo and what I’d say to the police, I realized just how much I'd missed going. Maybe it was time to get back in touch.
Sighing, I walked down the narrow strip of concrete that stretched from my door to the sidewalk, my senses on high alert for any sounds coming from the bushes at the end of the street. The window of the police car rolled down as I approached.
“Were you the one who called about gang activity in this area?” the officer asked.
I nodded. “At the end of the street.” I pointed to where the asphalt came to an end some fifty yards away. “A group of young adults dressed in black and wearing hoods
went down that way. I thought I saw one or two of them with a knife, and I know that some homeless people sleep down there sometimes. I was afraid they were planning on hurting some of them.”
The officer turned his head and said something to his partner, then looked back at me.
“We’ll check it out. You can go back inside now.”
“Thank you,” I said as they turned off their car and started to clamber out.
Once back in the relative safety of my apartment, I put a kettle of water on the stove and prepared a pot of tea. While I waited for the water to boil I pulled my curtains to the side and watched as the officers’ flashlight beams disappeared down the trail. Good. That should scare them off, at least for tonight. If I was lucky, that would be the last I’d ever see or hear of them in this area.
-Two-
Admirer
Jonathon gave me a curious look as I came tumbling into the Green Tea Leaf the following morning. I was half an hour late, even with the land speed records I had shattered pedaling my bike through the morning traffic to get there. Tardiness was a habit I had been trying to break since high school, and although I was prone to being five or even ten minutes late, half an hour was pushing it even for me. Fortunately, I still had a few minutes to gather myself before the cafe actually opened.
“You okay?” he asked as he handed me my apron.
I snatched it out of his hand, then immediately regretted it. It wasn’t Jonathon’s fault that I’d been chased by devil-worshippers in the wee hours of the night, only to spend the rest of it tossing and turning because my dreams had been haunted by the images of goat-horned vampires coming for my blood.
“Sorry,” I grumbled, pressing a hand to my aching head. “Rough night.”
“I’ll say,” Jonathon muttered.
Although Jonathon wasn’t a close friend, he was what I’d call a reliable one. His mother had been born and raised in Africa, and Jon and his family traveled there at least once a year, so the two of us always had something interesting to talk about. His stories about his father were his favorites to tell.
“Dad’s paler than death, so he stands out like a sore thumb, especially when he tries to wear the tribal garb. Doesn’t really work for his skin tone.”
He showed me a picture once of his dad in a long tunic of royal purple trimmed with scarlet and gold. Snickering, I found myself agreeing with Jonathon, though I had to give his dad credit for trying.
The sound of the door swinging open snapped me back to attention. Our first customer of the day. Time to get focused.
I spent the first part of the morning in a sleep-deprived haze. My shift only lasted two hours, but it felt like ten. By the time I was hanging up my apron and heading out the door, I was somewhat awake - which was good because I needed my wits about me if I was to survive four hours of classes.
Later, on my way to the bus stop, I tripped on a patch of uneven concrete. Okay, Robyn, snap out of it. You’ve pulled late hours before trying to finish a book or a research paper and weren’t nearly this disoriented. But it wasn’t the lack of sleep that was affecting me. It was the memory of those dreams. Never before had I had such realistic and terrifying nightmares. The visions had taken me back to the steep trail, but instead of pulling away from the hand that grabbed my shoulder, I’d fallen back into the throng of people. Rough hands tugged my hair and grabbed me in places that made my mouth go dry even now. As my attackers dragged me back down to the creek, groping me and tightening their grip, their human flesh peeled away and they became creatures like the one in that tattoo. They shoved me down, and as four of them pinned my arms and legs to the ground, the one who took on the role of their leader began chanting, that same chant they’d used with the kittens. My heart was beating nearly out of my chest and I struggled, though I didn't stand a chance against them. They were all so strong and tall, and all I could do was whimper and continue to thrash.
Then something really weird happened. My fingers and toes began to prickle, and when I looked down, I noticed a current of pale violet strings moving over the surface of my skin. No, not strings. I couldn't say what it was, but it reminded me of something. During the nightmare I had been at a loss to know what, but now that I had time to contemplate it, I realized it had looked like electricity. That was it. Like one of those plasma globes I’d once seen at a science fair; however, instead of being inside a glass ball, the tendrils of light were crawling over my skin. I shivered, recalling the strange sensation, like my arm coming back to life after I’d slept on it all night. That’s probably what really happened and somehow it had worked its way into my dream.
I glanced up from my daydream and noticed no one was sitting on the bench at the bus stop. Thank the gods! I almost ran the last few feet and plopped down onto the rough wood, not caring if the splinters jabbed me through my leggings. A few minutes later, my bus pulled up, the brakes hissing as they brushed aside a pile of dead leaves. Heaving my bag onto my shoulder, I stepped up, flashed the driver my pass, and took note of my fellow travelers. An elderly lady near the front who looked one grocery tote short of bag lady status, five guys whose glasses and polo shirts suggested they worked in the computer department out at Cuesta, one middle-aged man who may or may not have just escaped from the local correctional facility, a girl my age dressed in workout clothes, and-
A wave of slight annoyance rolled through my stomach. Standing in the back of the bus and clutching onto one of the hand holds for dear life was Evan Miller. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have sworn the guy was stalking me. I’d met him in my very first class at Cuesta last year. We had both been freshmen, new and inexperienced in the realm of college life, and Evan had mentioned he was into the Goth scene, so I’d told him about Claire’s pagan group. Ever since then, he’d followed me around like a puppy. To be completely honest, he was one of the reasons I wasn’t making more of an effort to return to Earth Bound.
Cursing myself for not thinking to put in my earphones the second I sat on the bench, I gave Evan a forced smile and headed in his direction. Sure, the guy was on the odd end of the spectrum but I wasn’t going to be rude to him.
“Hey Robyn! Haven’t seen you in any of the Earth Bound meetings lately.”
Now that was the understatement of the year.
I shrugged. “Been busy with work and getting back into school mode.”
“Oh yeah, I get it. No worries.”
He straightened up to a gangly five-foot-ten or so and flipped back his jet black hair, cut at an angle across his face. In my mind, he resembled some scrawny teen who had just been turned into a vampire. The notion of vampires made me shiver as the images from my dream resurfaced for a split second. Okay, no more thoughts in that direction, thank you very much.
“So, what’ve you been up to lately?” he asked. “How was your summer?”
“Busy.” Keeping my answers short would eventually get him to stop talking.
“Oh. I stuck around here. It’s a long trip to Ohio, you know. Besides, I took some summer classes and got a part-time job at the used record store . . .”
Evan gabbed on and I just gritted my teeth. Okay, so perhaps my theory had been wrong. Maybe the next chance I got I should at least try to take part in the conversation. Only problem was, I couldn’t think of a thing to say. By the time the bus pulled up in front of the Cuesta campus, I’d learned that Evan’s parents were getting a divorce, his little sister had gotten into a fight at his old high school, and his position at the record store meant he could get me some good deals on used CD’s. Ugh. I was trying really hard to be nice to this guy, but it was tough.
“So, where’s your first class?”
I glanced down at my binder and checked my schedule. “I have a Business Law class on the west side of campus.”
Still unsure of what I wanted to do with my life, I figured taking a few business courses and getting my general education classes out of the way wouldn’t hurt. Hey, I might end up running the Green Tea Leaf when Margie
retired. I wouldn’t mind doing that.
“Room 4104?”
Once again I consulted my schedule, already suspecting the answer.
“Yes.”
“Ha! What a coincidence! That’s the same class I’m in. Cool!”
Not cool. Now I was convinced Evan was stalking me. Plastering on another fake smile, I stepped forward, my new shadow trailing after me and chattering away as we walked. Eventually we found the building, just in time for class.
The lecture dragged on forever. It wasn’t the most exciting subject in the world, and after Evan’s third attempt at making some lame joke about the professor’s hair, I finally gave him my death stare. No one could survive my death stare. Evan slammed his mouth shut with a snap, and from that point on the atmosphere improved.
“Will you be making it to the next Earth Bound meeting?” he asked as we filed out of the building with the other students.
Not if you’re going. I shrugged. “Maybe, but I doubt it.”
Evan misread my nonchalance.
“Yeah, I'm kind of over that group too.”
Evan bent down and leaned in closer. Oh, if you even try to kiss me Goth boy I’ll give you a black eye to match that mascara you’re wearing . . .
“I’ve actually joined another group, a better group. More my style. I mean, at least that’s the style I’m going for.”
I crinkled my eyebrows at him and took a small step back. Personal space, dude.
“It’s that group Claire warned us about, you know? The Noctyrnum. Look,” he let out a goofy laugh as if he had just been admitted into the cool kids club, “I even got their tattoo!”
Pulling back the black sleeve of his hoodie, he presented his hand. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead and the blood drained from my face. Staring back at me was the same symbol I had seen on the guy who’d attacked me the night before. Instantly, the images from my nightmare came swooping back in on me. I could feel their hands on me and a putrid smell invaded my nose. No. It wasn’t real . . . couldn’t be real . . . My friend Meghan suddenly came to mind. She had seen things and heard things like this but she had an excuse; she was Faelorehn. She was from the Otherworld. I wasn’t.
Lorehnin: A Novel of the Otherworld Page 2