Wicked Folk

by Jamie McFarlane

  WICKED FOLK

  JAMIE McFARLANE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Cover Artwork: Silviya Yordanova

  Copyright © 2016 Jamie McFarlane

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1-943792-12-7

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943792-12-2

  CONTENTS

  WICKED FOLK

  CONTENTS

  SUMMONED

  BLESSING

  NAKED TRUTH

  ROAD TRIP

  NIGHTSHADE AND OLD LACE

  BAD INFLUENCE

  EVIL IS AS EVIL DOES

  PLEA

  EPPY FAIRE

  DAMASCUS

  I’LL HUFF AND I’LL PUFF

  BEFORE THE STORM

  A LIGHT IN THE DARK

  DARKNESS EXPOSED

  PROMISE IS A PROMISE

  800-ASS CLOWN

  BIG TOP

  GREAT ESCAPE

  KITCHEN WITCH

  PINCH OF SALT

  A DARK PLACE

  LEOTOWN

  GONE TO GROUND

  FINALE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CONTACT JAMIE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Summoned

  Faa Farmstead, just outside Eppy Faire, five years ago

  Lace Faa stared out at the waning crescent moon through the wavy glass of the old farmhouse window, wishing for even the slightest breeze. The day's heat refused to dissipate from the humid, summer air which clung to her as she tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep. As if on command, a slight puff of wind rustled the sheer curtains of her second floor window, carrying with it the faint sound of chanting. She strained her ears, curiosity piqued, wondering who might be working her family's hidden craft so late at night. Her gaze shifted to the barn across the gravel driveway. A flickering glow between weathered siding exposed the presence of lit candles and a ritual in progress.

  She dropped her legs over the side of the bed and placed her feet in just the right spot to keep the weathered floor from creaking. At the age of sixteen, Lace wasn't fully initiated in the subtle magics of her kin, but moving silently had been drilled into her from an early age. She walked carefully, rolling from heel to toe along the unseen joists that supported the floor, avoiding loose boards as she slipped from bedroom to hallway. The hem of her white cotton nightgown thumped quietly, caressing the wooden stair treads as she descended to the kitchen.

  For a moment, she paused at the screen door and considered its habit of screeching when opened. Wetting forefinger and thumb in her mouth, she rubbed them on the old, rusted top hinge. Tall and slender, Lace slipped through the door, opening it only a crack. Relief from the heat held in the old house was welcome as she picked her way gingerly across the gravel. Her eyes focused on the flickering light leaking from the ancient barn.

  Lace negotiated the piles of junk that had found their final resting place next to the building and carefully placed both hands on the rough siding, leaning forward to look through one of the many cracks in its façade. Her eye came to rest on the edge of a white circle, drawn on the dirt floor only feet from her position. With her limited view, she glimpsed two black candles burning brightly at the tips of what she suspected was a pentagram, although without full view of the circle, she couldn't know for certain.

  "Phezore Gesteriph Feoro, I summon you." The bold voice, her uncle Willum Gordon's, resumed chanting in the ancient language Lace believed was only known by her extended family. Her heart thudded in her chest, recognizing the simple ritual - if only from her reading.

  "Oh, Willum," she whispered involuntarily before bringing her hand to her mouth.

  "Who's there?" Willum asked loudly from within the barn.

  Lace stepped back, startled, catching her heel on a piece of long forgotten machinery. She spun, trying to save herself, but in the poor light, her knee came in contact with a stack of precariously balanced wooden crates. She lunged, diving away from the collapsing junk, all pretense of stealth abandoned. The tall door of the barn slid open as she twisted, trying to free her legs.

  "Madge?" Willum asked, the low angle of wavering candles eerily illuminating him from behind.

  Lace hastily scrawled a rune in the air with her finger, turning away from Willum's position so he wouldn't see the faint sparkling trail as she did. As an initiate of her clan's magic, she'd mastered the one spell that had come easily to her – shadow walk.

  Willum stepped from the barn, closing the door behind him. Lace used the noise to her advantage and gained her feet, moving slowly from her original position. Willum turned and stared directly at her, standing stock still – a hunter trying to locate its quarry. Lace froze. She knew him to be cruel when cornered and he would not take kindly to her spying on his ritual. A weak practitioner by family standards, he'd often taken out his frustrations on her. With the provocation of an interrupted ritual, Lace well understood the danger she'd placed herself in.

  Willum took a few steps forward, cutting the distance between them in half. Lace breathed slowly, trying to calm her heart, the lack of oxygen demanding deeper breaths. Swiping the air between them, Willum moved toward her. Slowly, she stepped aside, anticipating his movements. Sweat beaded on her forehead as his fingers came within inches of her face.

  "That better not be you, Lace," Willum growled and turned back toward the barn.

  Lace watched as he turned and disappeared, closing the door behind him. For several minutes, she refused to move and only did so when her uncle’s chanting resumed. Even with the danger of Willum's anger, Lace's curiosity drove her to creep around the side of the barn, losing her shadow step as she exited the small radius the spell allowed.

  A snort from the first stall greeted her as she approached the proud, aging Belgium draft horse, Lester; his head bobbing up and down in greeting. She quickly moved between the bars of the tubular steel fence and melted into the beast's neck, wrapping an arm across its massive chest. She projected calm to her lifelong friend and he happily accepted, brushing the underside of his head against her back. After a few moments of greeting, Lace freed herself and picked her way through the stall to the inside of the barn, not completely avoiding Lester’s mess.

  Her hand searched for and found a makeshift ladder of two-by-fours strapped across interior studs. She climbed into the hayloft and crawled forward over the warm, spring hay bales she'd helped put up only a few weeks before. Shrouded in darkness, Lace peered down at the scene below.

  Willum sat hunched on his knees, arms open in supplication to the pentagram-etched circle. The flames of the black candles lifted higher and higher as his voice rose, the name Phezore Gesteriph Feoro etching itself into Lace's mind as he continued. She had no reference for the named being, but she also knew that there were only a few types of beings that could be summoned - all of them demonic. The very knowledge of its name, a danger to her.

  Without warning, a flash of light burst through the barn and the candles extinguished. Darkness filled the room and the horses whinnied in their stalls as a fell wind rushed from the ritual circle. A shimmer caught Lace's eye. The pentagram-inscribed circle glowed, faintly at first, b
ut grew in intensity. She found she couldn't tear her eyes from the circle as a thick green claw erupted from the dirt floor. The claw was followed by a muscular arm and then another, both frantically scratching and pawing the earth. With a puff of acrid smoke, a grotesque, man-shaped demon pulled itself from the ground and stood on the dirt floor within the circle.

  The demon slowly turned, taking in the barn and appeared to ignore her uncle Willum's supplicated form. Subtly at first, its visage shifted to that of a human. The short knobby horns along the center of its cranium and running down its back changed to hair. Pallid green skin shifted to a dark olive.

  "Who are you and why have you summoned me, foolish human?" it finally asked, its voice a velvety, deep baritone.

  "Lord Iurabon. It is I, Willum of Eppy, who seeks your counsel," Willum replied, not daring to look up from his kneeling position on the floor.

  "And you, Faa whelp? Why does an Eppy princess hide in the shadows?" A voice whispered in Lace's ear. "Release me from this circle and I will train you to rule this world at my side."

  "What makes you think I would help a sniveling, pathetic grub such as yourself?" the demon asked in full voice, having made a complete transformation to human. Shirtless and gleaming in the light of the spell circle, a more beautiful man Lace had never seen.

  "Lord Iurabon, it is true, I am unworthy," Willum replied, still looking at the floor.

  "Come down here and tip but one candle over," the demon whispered to Lace. "I will reward you beyond your greatest dreams."

  "Stop using my name, you idiot!" the demon spat. "If you must address me you may call me Lord Gester. Now tell me what you wish from me or send me back from whence I came."

  "Lord Gester, my apologies," Willum replied. "I desire to learn the arts of necromancy."

  "You're losing your opportunity. You should move quickly," Gester whispered in Lace's ear.

  "I must admit, you humans never cease to surprise me," Gester replied aloud. "Did you lose your first love to the grave? Don't answer that, I care not. What is that it you have to offer? "

  "A Faa princess of Clan Eppy," Willum replied. "Young and tender."

  "Willum, no," Lace said, horrified, forgetting she lay hidden. She'd always considered it a joke that she was the last in a line of gypsy queens, but there had always been those who took the matter seriously.

  Willum straightened and stared up to the loft. In his confusion, Willum's knee dragged across the spell circle's fragile line. While the summoned could not affect the circle no matter what it tried, the summoner could.

  "What are you … "

  "Willum, the circle," Lace pointed.

  Willum froze, regaining his senses at the last moment. He looked down at the circle. His knee had obscured all but the final eighth of an inch. The demon laid his head back and cackled maniacally.

  "Pathetic!" Gester roared. "Somehow you discover my name, yet on your first summoning, you release me. You are weaker than I could have imagined. I will so enjoy devouring you."

  "But … it's still intact," Willum whined, looking up at the demon.

  Lace bolted from her position, her eyes having caught what Willum had not - the fact that his right hand had also brushed through the chalk as he'd pushed himself around to find her. She lost no time descending the two-by-four ladder next to Lester's stall. The massive draft-horse pranced wildly, kicking at the interior wooden walls. Without the threat of the demon, Lace would never have considered entering such a small space with the terrified two-thousand-pound animal. She also knew the beast was not to be calmed, so she waited until he turned. Moving quickly, Lace dropped the stall chain and raced down the forty-foot run-out that led to a larger turnout area for the horses.

  "I'll be coming for you," the demon's voice whispered in her ear.

  A scream from the front of the barn echoed back through the aisles of the stalls. It was a scream of agony and regret and lasted longer than she imagined someone might have breath for. The sound was too much for Lester, who shot into the run-out and thundered toward Lace, Willum's scream having removed any question as to which direction was the safest.

  As Lester careened toward her, Lace sprang onto the mid bar of the tubular steel fence. The horse reared and spun back toward the barn, bumping the fence and nearly pinning Lace's legs. At the last moment she flung herself onto its back, a crazed move, borne out of necessity. Frantically, she grabbed at his thick mane for purchase.

  A fresh scream cut through night, causing Lester to spin again as he reached the stall. Lace scrabbled forward, pulling on his thick mane and bringing her face up next to his ear. She spurred him onward, urging him with her feet as well as her voice. The giant animal had no chance of clearing the five-foot tall fence but Lace knew no fence could physically restrain him.

  A loud popping sound was all she heard as Lester's broad chest struck the gate, flinging it to the side. Freed from the confines of the run-out, Lester charged down the hill as Lace clung to his back. A fell wind blew at her back and she dared a glance, but saw nothing, instead feeling the evil presence closing on them. If it was to be a race, she'd chosen poorly. A draft horse's speed was only sixty percent of a light horse's, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Accepting her fate, she laid her head down and caressed the beast as it jumped the small stream and thundered up the other side of the hill and along a familiar path.

  Twenty minutes later, Lace finally gained enough control to slow her friend. No longer sensing the demon's pursuit and with concern for Lester's well-being, she brought him to a walk. A bond of sweat had joined the two together. She continued to cool him down for several minutes, not allowing him to fully stop.

  She looked longingly down the trail behind them as she turned Lester around and slid from his back. Her once clean white night gown was covered in grime and sweat. She slapped the animal's thick hind quarters and sent him back along the trail. He would find his way home, but she knew she could never return. It was a decision that had been a long time coming. There was nothing for her on the Faa Farmstead. Her mother, the so-called Queen of the Gypsies, was a pathetic drunk, having done nothing but squander the small fortune passed down by Lace's grandmother.

  Lace was only a few miles from Bakersville, where her friend Billie lived. Together, they'd dreamed of running away to a big city like Charlotte. While it was only a pipe dream for Billie, Lace knew she could count on her friend to help and remain quiet about her plans.

  Lace arrived at the trailer park before dawn where Billie and her younger brother, Jack, lived with their mother.

  "Billie, wake up," Lace whispered near the narrow louvered glass panels open on the side of the trailer. "Billie!"

  It took a few tries, but finally Billie replied.

  "Lace? What's going on? Is it time for school?" her friend asked groggily.

  "No. I'm in trouble. I need help. Is your mom home?"

  "What time is it?"

  "I don't know. Look at your clock," Lace whispered back.

  "Shit, Lace. It's five-fifteen in the morning! Mom's still at work," Billie replied. "Come around front. I'll let you in."

  Lace crept around to the stoop of the wide trailer, unhappy to be forced into the bright pool of light beneath the mercury vapor lamp.

  "What the hell, Lace?" Billie asked, looking at Lace's dirty nightgown and bleeding feet. She pulled Lace in and hugged her.

  "It's bad, Billie," Lace said. "I have to leave."

  "In your nightgown?"

  "I need clothes," she said.

  "You need a shower."

  "I don't have time. They'll be coming for me."

  "Who? Your mom? Like she'll be awake before noon." Billie scoffed. "If you don't want to be noticed, you'll clean up."

  "A quick shower," Lace agreed, getting a whiff of something bad.

  Billie pushed her toward the bathroom. "I'll get you some clothes and we can talk about it."

  Fifteen minutes later, Lace exited, dressed in the loose black dress Bi
llie set out for her.

  "Sorry I didn't have any underwear your size. Besides, that's icky," Billie explained as Lace brushed out her long, black hair.

  Lace smiled. She would miss her best friend. "I'm going to catch the six-thirty to Charlotte," Lace explained.

  "You're really going?" Billie asked.

  "Something bad happened," Lace said. "If anyone comes looking for me, you have to say you never saw me. Don’t believe 'em if they say I did it."

  "You're scaring me, Lace, and you can't take that train. We've never actually tried to make the jump," Billie said.

  "I'm not expecting you to come with me," Lace said. "Your mom needs you, but I have to go."

  "Here." Billie held out her hand with a small wad of cash. "It's all I have; I wish it was more."

  Lace accepted the money and hugged her friend goodbye. "I'll look for you someday, Billie."

  "I'm sure I'll still be here. I love you, Lace …"

  Lace brushed tears from her eyes as she walked down the gravel street of Bakersville toward the train tracks. Billie had graciously given up her black combat boots. They were too big, but much more comfortable than walking in bare feet. The freight train passed through every morning at six-thirty, but didn't actually stop. Bakersville sat at the base of granite bluffs by Cane Creek. A huge bend in the line brought the tracks alongside the bluffs and over to the bridge, slowing all trains to nearly walking speed.

  It turned out that jumping onto a moving freight car was easier than she'd expected. Lace simply ran along-side until she matched its pace, then grabbed a hand rail and swung her body onto the narrow ladder attached to the car. The unlocked door was heavy and hard to open, but relented so she could slip inside. Perched atop a large carton, she lay back and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  The sound of rain pinging on the metal roof woke Lace. Sliding open the freight car's door, she caught her first sight of the bright lights of Charlotte as rain splashed in her face.