Coven

by David Barnett

  She’d passed the exhibits many times, never taking any notice. Colonial relics weren’t exactly a turn on for her. But it was a large, impressive display, she saw now. She remembered glancing at it yesterday. Now she roved the glass cases. Of course, she hardly expected to find a hewer’s display space vacant. No one was that lucky. Musket barrels, bent bayonets, and squashed powder horns—here they all were, as Fredrick had promised. Tools and edged weapons occupied the latter cases. Lots of trade axes, froes, and scythes. There were bog scoops from Massachusetts Bay and glass pincers from Williamsburg. Big deal, Lydia thought. Lots of swords too, and an entire case of Conoy arrowheads and tomahawks. The last cast displayed some hewers, but none looked as large as the kind she sought.

  One label read: “Hand hewer, Roanoke Island, circa 1587.” But it was puny, like a Cub Scout hatchet.

  Next: “Pole hewer, Jamestown, circa 1610.” Much bigger, but the plane of the blade was concaved, not straight.

  Here it is, she thought. “Beam hewer, St. Clement’s Island, circa 1635.” But the hewer’s display space was… vacant.

  Lydia’s expression drooped. No one was this lucky?

  In seconds, she was in White’s office, dialing the phone. Her excitement rushed her words. “Professor Fredrick, this is Lydia Prentiss again. Who has access to the archaeology exhibits?”

  “What?” Fredrick asked. “Access? You mean keys?”

  “Yes, sir, I mean keys. Who has the keys?”

  “Well, I do, of course. It’s my department.”

  “Who else has keys to the display cases? Janitors? Security?”

  “No,” Fredrick said. “I’m afraid the only other person on campus with keys is the college public relations executive.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Winnifred Saltenstall.”

  Lydia gripped the phone so hard her knuckles whitened. “What legitimate reason would she have for taking an artifact?”

  “Well, I don’t know. If she’d donated it to a museum, she certainly would’ve notified me first. She may have loaned it to a historical society, or perhaps to an archaeology journal. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  Good idea. “Thank you, Professor.”

  Lydia hurried out to the cruiser. She blew down Campus Drive and screeched around the Circle. Besser’s Cadillac De Ville was parked in the lot at the sciences center, and so was Winnie’s Maserati 425. Lydia took the staircase up, thinking, She’s probably not here, but when she knocked, a voice invited her in.

  Mrs. Saltenstall sat behind an expensive but jumbled desk, a double window at her back. No one else was with her. One hand came from her lap to the blotter, sporting a black ring, like onyx, while an unbecoming black amulet hung about her neck. The amulet reminded Lydia of an inverted crucifix.

  “Pardon the interruption, ma’am. I’d like to ask you…”

  Was the woman stoned? Her eyes looked funny. The ringed hand remained on the blotter, while the other she kept below the desk. “Oh,” Winnie said in a sleepy drone. Was she hiding her right hand deliberately? “You must be the new police officer.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Lydia Prentiss.”

  She smiled blearily. “How can I help you, Lydia Prentiss?”

  See what twenty years of pot smoking will do to you? Lydia thought. Adult retardation. “I have evidence that a serious crime was committed with an implement on display in the college archaeology exhibit.”

  “Implement?”

  “Yes, a colonial tool called a beam hewer.”

  “Beam hewer?”

  “One appears to be missing from the exhibit. It’s clear that the hewer was removed by someone with a key.”

  “Key?”

  What is this? Fucking Benny Hill? “Professor Fredrick directed me to you. Other than him, you’re the only person on campus with a key.”

  Winnifred weirdly touched her amulet. “Oh, a key to the exhibit?”

  No, asshole, a key to the city. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Lydia did, hard pressed not to frown.

  “You’re a very attractive woman,” Winnifred said inexplicably. She leaned back, parting her feet. “Are you married?”

  “No. But back to the exhibit keys—”

  “Are you bi? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Did she just say what I think she said? Lydia reflected. The arm of the woman’s hidden hand seemed to be moving lightly.

  “Please don’t be offended, but I find you very desirable. It’s not healthy to suppress our natural urges. If you’re into it—”

  This is too much! I came in here asking about a fucking beam hewer, and she wants to make out with me. “I’m not into it,” Lydia said. “I only want to know who took the—” But then she saw something under the desk: a pair of frilled panties.

  It was now obvious what Winnifred was doing with her hidden hand. Lydia got up to leave, incredulous.

  “Don’t go yet,” Winnie moaned. “I’ll tell you in a minute…”

  She placed her feet on the desk edge and brought the ringed hand to her breast. The other hand remained buried beneath her dress.

  Agape now, Lydia could only stand and stare.

  “I’m coming now,” Winnifred breathed. Her body tensed in the big chair, and she released a long, whining moan, flush-faced.

  I have seen everything now, Lydia concluded.

  Winnifred’s body went lax. She smiled lazily and put her feet back down. “That was nice,” she said.

  “I’m sure it was.”

  “You want to know about the hewer.”

  “Lady, after what I just saw, I don’t give a flying fuck about the hewer. You ought to see a psychiatrist.”

  Winnifred licked her fingers. “I took the hewer,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You’re very efficient. Who would think something that old could be traced? How did you do it?”

  Lydia stalled. “Are you about to confess to murder?”

  “Oh, no. But I did take the hewer.”

  “Winnie, you idiot!” a man’s voice interrupted. “Can’t you ever control yourself? The Supremate will be furious!”

  Professor Dudley Besser was standing at the far wall. But how could he have entered without Lydia seeing? It was impossible.

  “Look at the trouble you’ve caused,” he went on.

  “She knew about the hewer, Dudley. She traced it to me.”

  Besser turned to Lydia directly. “You’ve made quite a problem for yourself, I’m afraid. Why couldn’t you leave us alone?”

  Lydia decided it was time to yell. “You’re both out of your minds! What are you talking about? This is crazy!”

  “I can see how it would seem so,” Besser said. “It’s too complex for you to understand… Yes, Winnifred took the hewer, but she wasn’t the one who killed Mr. Sladder.”

  Lydia’s eyes widened.

  “It was me,” Besser said.

  Winnifred smiled. Lydia blinked. Suddenly Besser had somehow produced the very weapon Lydia sought.

  “The beam hewer,” she whispered.

  He held it shoulder to hip. It was huge, a five foot plus handle, and a weirdly shaped blade. The straight twelve inch cutting edge gleamed like a sliver of sun.

  Lydia had no time to draw her gun. Besser heaved forward—

  She jerked and fell. The descending hewer demolished the chair. Lydia half crawled, half jumped into the hall.

  “Great going, you fat ass!” Winnie’s voice complained.

  “Everybody calls me fat! I’m not fat!”

  “You’re a blimp, Dudley. A fat, cumbersome blimp!”

  Now Lydia was ready. Down on one knee, she aimed her revolver at the open door. She breathed thinly, waiting for Besser to emerge with the hewer.

  Come on, you fat bastard. Come to Lydia.

  She waited like that for quite some time.

  Only silence now from the office. Did they plan to wait in
there forever? If they would not come to her, Lydia would go to them.

  She three pointed through the doorway, gun in lead. Besser and Winnifred Saltenstall were gone. So was the hewer.

  Impossible.

  Where could they have gone? There was no exit.

  Window, she thought. They took the ledge to the next office.

  She approached the window but soon lowered her gun with a slow curse on her lips. The window was secured by brass latches: locked from the inside.

  ««—»»

  Wade drove the Vette zombie eyed to the dorm, after walking all the way back to the sciences center. If he reported the wreck to White, what would he say? Tom’s head got cut off, and his body got out of the car? That probably wouldn’t wash. White would have him committed. And calling Dad would be worse.

  But he had to tell someone.

  He ran down the hall to his room. He would call Lydia, tell her everything. If he couldn’t tell her, who could he tell? But when he bulled into the room, Lydia jumped up. “Where have you been, goddamn it? You weren’t at work! I’ve been waiting hours!”

  “I’ve had a bad day,” he said.

  “You’ve had a bad day! Shit!” An ashtray clogged with butts sat on the bed, next to three pistols and a box of bullets.

  Next, inexplicably, she was hugging him as tightly as she could. “Oh, Wade, something crazy happened to me today!”

  He sat her down on the bed, got himself an Adams, and said, “You tell your crazy story first. Then I’ll tell mine.”

  ««—»»

  Wade didn’t know what to make of her frantic recital. It was crazy, but he believed her. As for his own crazy story, the only thing he could do was show her. This time he drove around the bends more carefully, on the advice of a dead friend. Lydia’s lap was full of guns. “And I can’t tell White,” she was saying. “He’d never believe two high faculty members tried to kill me with a beam hewer. He’d have me committed.”

  “I came to similar conclusions,” Wade said. “But tell me more about what Besser and Winnie said.”

  Lydia lit another cigarette. “Weird stuff, crazy. He used some funky word—supremate, I think.”

  Wade’s innards twitched. “Tom used the same word. Supremate. It’s someone he works for, and he said Besser and Winnie work for him too, along with sisters. He said one of these sisters ate Dave Willet. Same as what Jervis said. A woman in black.”

  The bend was coming up. Wade slowed through the turn. There’s the tree. He stopped on the shoulder. “This is it,” he said.

  Lydia scanned the bend. “I don’t see any wrecked Camaro.”

  Wade jumped out and ran up and down the road. Lydia got out more slowly, watching his antics.

  “The car’s gone!” he yelled. He jabbed his finger at the tree. “It was here, I swear! Right fucking here!”

  “Well, it’s not right fucking here now.”

  “Somebody cleaned it up,” he declared. “Somebody came out here, cleaned up the glass, and towed the car.”

  Lydia’s mouth twisted into a smile.

  “Thanks a lot, baby!” he shouted., “I believed your crazy ridiculous story! The least you could do is believe mine!”

  “Here’s what must’ve happened, Wade. You drove the car into the tree. Tom got knocked out, but you thought he was dead. You left, he woke up, and he drove the car away.”

  “What, Tom’s head drove the car away? His body got run down by a fucking semi rig! And the car was totaled!”

  “Calm down. There’s a logical explanation.”

  “No, there’s not!” Wade screamed. “Tom’s head got cut off, and his body got out of the car and walked around!”

  But—wait a minute, he thought. The—

  He dashed into the woods. “It’s got to be here somewhere!”

  “What?” Lydia said.

  “The head! I kicked it in the woods after it started talking!”

  Lydia began to laugh slightly.

  It figured. Women only stood behind their men when it suited them. He’d show her, by God. He’d hold Tom’s head right up to her face and shake it at her…

  He crawled through brambles for fifteen minutes. No head.

  Lydia was back in the Vette, smoking. When Wade got in, she asked, “Did you find the head?”

  “Does it look like I found the fucking head?” he smirked.

  “Forget the head, Wade. You said Tom held a gun on you?”

  “Yeah. I suppose you don’t believe that either.”

  Lydia held up a small .25 automatic.

  “That’s it!” Wade exclaimed. “That’s the gun he had!”

  “I found it on the shoulder. And look what else I found.” She raised a necklace with a black amulet on it.

  “Tom was wearing that thing around his neck,” Wade said. “I asked him what it was but he wouldn’t say.”

  Lydia looked at it. “Yeah? Well, Besser and Winnifred were wearing these things too.”

  ««—»»

  —SOON WE WILL BE ON OUR WAY TO GLORY ETERNAL. TOGETHER, AS ONE. BUT MY BIDDINGS MUST NOT FAIL. I HAVE NEVER FAILED.

  “I know, my lord.”

  —MY POWERS ARE YOURS. DO WHAT YOU MUST AND SPARE NOTHING.

  “It will be done, my lord. We have authorities here who are contrary to us. But through your grace we can avoid them.”

  —OUR TIME PERIOD IS VITAL. IT MUST NOT BE VIOLATED.

  “I swear on my life.”

  —DO NOT COME BACK TO ME UNTIL YOU HAVE SUCCEEDED.

  The Supremate’s face blended away. Besser and Winnifred retreated from the shrine and extromitted to the servicepass.

  “He’s pissed,” Winnie said.

  “Thanks to you, yes,” Besser acknowledged. “I can’t believe you masturbated in front of a police officer.”

  “I couldn’t help it! You know what the psilight does to me. Anyway, I told you she was onto us. I was trying to distract her.”

  You called me fat, was all Besser could think. “Don’t worry, White won’t believe her, and even if he does, the sisters can repulse any amount of adversity.”

  “I hope you’re right, Dudley. I want to be a god too.”

  Don’t count on it, Besser thought. There was only room for one god between them. He’d already discussed the matter with the Supremate, and it was settled. But not yet, he thought.

  The gorgeous image of murdering her hardened his penis at once. Nevertheless, he lied: “We will be gods, my love. In some bright and future eon, we will rule this world together.”

  Winnifred kissed his fat face, extruded her plump breasts from her dress, and rubbed them against his mammoth chest. “Oh, Dudley, I love you! I can’t wait to be a god!” Several sisters watched and giggled. “Not here, darling,” he whispered, though he was truly tempted in the furious psilight. It would be sweet, wouldn’t it, to just drag that dress off her skinny body and fuck her to death right there on the floorwall? So he was fat, was he? He would smother her with his fat. He would plug his cock into every orifice, and perhaps form some of his own. Yes, he would fuck her to death and crush every bone in her skinny body as he came. The sisters would love it.

  “Not now,” he repeated in a whispered pant. “We need a new productionvassal, and we better get that tow truck back to the garage.”

  —

  CHAPTER 22

  “I love you,” Wilhelm said. “Mein Liebchen.”

  “Oh, Willy!” Sarah squealed. “I love you too! Forever!”

  In the telescope’s eye, they embraced and kissed.

  Jervis watched it all—again. He watched them do everything, like last time, right there on the couch. Their passion glowed in their eyes, on their skin, shimmered through every gesture in radiant waves.

  Jervis could’ve puked.

  He pushed away the telescope, dropped Czanek’s bug receiver. In the middle of the day, even. They must do it round the clock. He finished another Kirin, smoked more cigarettes, and stared at the wall.

  J
ervis cried in silence for a long time.

  The rap on the door sounded like a dream. Lost now, and insane, he answered it. Professor Besser and Winnifred Saltenstall faced him in the doorway, smiling as brightly as messiahs.

  “Jervis,” Besser’s dark voice fluttered.

  “Jervis!” Winnifred greeted.

  “We’ve come for you,” Besser whispered.

  Jervis faltered back as they entered. “What do you want?”

  Besser: “We want you, Jervis.”

  Winnie: “We love you, Jervis!”

  “Nobody loves me,” Jervis replied, thinking of Sarah.

  “That’s not true,” Besser assured him. “There’s so much love waiting for you. But to have it, you must accept our gift.”

  “What gift?”

  Besser’s bulbous smile deepened. “Destiny,” he answered.

  Jervis stepped back. Winnifred kissed him, licked the tears off his cheeks. “Trust us!” she whispered. “Come with us!”

  “I want to be free!” Jervis cried.

  “Then bow your head,” Besser said.

  Jervis bowed his head.

  Winnifred positioned the transceptionrod.

  Besser raised the hammer.

  ««—»»

  Nightfall.

  “Tom said Besser wanted me for something,” Wade told her. They’d been driving for hours, off town through twisting backwoods roads. “He said something about bringing me in.”

  “The agro site, you mean,” Lydia said.

  “I guess so. Whatever’s going on, it seems to point there. Actually he said behind the agro site. In the woods.”

  “The smart thing to do, then, is check it out.”

  Wade nearly coughed up his Coke. “No, Lydia, that’s the dumb thing to do. The smart thing to do is tell the state cops.”

  Lydia frowned. “You do the driving, Wade. I’ll do the thinking.”

  “Fine. You want to get us both killed—fine.”

  Lydia held up her polished Colt Trooper Mark III. “We won’t get killed as long as my good friend Colonel Colt is with us. He specializes in ass kicking.”