Sons of Dust

by P. Dalton Updyke

“So what if he was? What if he was just a man then? An evil man, sure, but human? How did they tap into his power or magic and use it to hold him?”

  “What makes you think they tapped into his power?” Gina asked. “Why would they even want to?”

  “The power they used didn’t come from Lucien,’ Kate said. “It came from God.”

  Vinny rubbed a hand over his mouth. “You know how crazy this shit sounds?”

  “Of course it sounds crazy! It is crazy!” Marcus said. “But if we’re sitting here talking about Lucien being a demon, why can’t we talk about God giving power to those trying to stop him?”

  “Power belongeth unto God,” Gina quoted softly. She looked up swiftly. “The chain!”

  “What, Gina?”

  “The chain they made had the power to keep Lucien prisoner! That’s why he wanted us to break it!”

  No one spoke for a moment, and then Marcus said, “Maybe that’s why he insisted Kate bring Bo—she’s a descendent of Yvanna. Maybe he needed her to break the chain. But then why did he need the rest of us?”

  “Six,” Kate answered. “Six is the devil’s number. There were six children there when he was chained; he needed six to let him go.”

  The storm was raging outside now, the sound of wind and rain a shriek of noise.

  “Now you’re saying you believe in reincarnation?” Vinny asked. “You think we’re those six kids, come back again?”

  Kate shook her head. “No, it’s simpler than that. Maybe Lucien was able to contact us twenty five years ago because we were children, willing to believe we could contact the dead.”

  “We’re not the same six children,’ Gina said with certainty. “I think we’d have some…sense of that, don’t you? This is all new to us. No déjà vu. It’s like Kate said: we were in the right place, at the right time, and the right number. We allowed Lucien to come.”

  “Just like those kids three hundred years ago,” Vinny mumbled. “So, this little girl, Yvanna, writes the stories she and her friends told were horseshit, then she hangs herself in a barn that stood smack in the middle of the Forest Field. Her buddies find her, the barn lights on fire and they all die. The good folks find Yvanna’s Book of Lies and they chain Lucien up and brick him in a wall. Fast forward a few hundred years and bang, there’s a descendent of Yvanna playing with a Ouija board with five of her friends right on the very ground where they all died.” He paused. “That sound about right?”

  “Sums it up,” Marcus said dryly.

  “We know what we have to do now,” Gina said. “This started because we used the Ouija Board. That’s the way it has to end.”

  Kate left the room and when she returned a few moments later, the Ouija box was in her hands. “It was still under the bed,” she said faintly. “I thought I threw it away. I remember throwing it away, but it was under the bed, just like before.”

  Vinny exhaled. “I don’t want to this,’ he muttered, “Not at all.”

  “It’s the only way,” Gina said. “We have to do it again.”

  “Why?” Vinny lifted his head, his hair hanging in his eyes. “Who says we have to try to contact that son of a bitch?”

  “Not Lucien,” Kate said quickly. “We can try to connect with Sister Patrice.”

  Vinny’s eyes cleared, his expression softened. “Sister Patrice. Yeah. Okay.”

  The board had cracked down the middle. When Kate lifted it from its box, it came out in two pieces. Marcus cleared off the coffee table and Kate put the board down. No one touched it. The pain was nearing the red zone. Gina swallowed and tried not to think about her foot. A doctor, the practical nurse voice said inside her, you have to get to a hospital, Gina Marie, or that foot may never be right again. You need surgery, probably several pins to put it back together and the longer you wait the worse it’s going to be. Recovery could take months—

  Recovery. If we don’t get out of this, I won’t have to worry about recovery.

  As Kate lifted the planchette from the cardboard box, Gina reached for Vinny’s hand. She saw the surprise in his face. “We should all hold hands,” she said softly. “I feel like I should be touching you all.”

  Marcus took her other hand, squeezed it. “Let’s start,” he said. “The sooner we start, the better.”

  Kate put one hand on the planchette and held Marcus’s with the other. One by one, they put the fingertips of their free hand on the plastic piece.

  C’mon, Geenie, her father whispered to her, no sense wasting time. Buck up now and do it. As soon as Gina put her fingers on the piece, the lights went out and the room was blanketed in velvet darkness. A hand jerked under hers and Vinny hissed, “What the fuck?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Marcus said sharply. “We don’t need light to use this thing. Come on. Concentrate.”

  The wind howled outside. Rain hit the windows with such force the glass shook. As the silence stretched out, Gina became aware of other sounds; the sirens at St. Stand’s, a car’s engine sputtering in the street, the whoosh of tires through puddles.

  Concentrate, Gina. Concentrate on Katie, on contacting Sister Patrice. Think hard, Gina. Think HARD. It seemed like the plastic piece was getting warmer, a second later, she realized it wasn’t imagination. The piece was warmer.

  “Hot,” Vinny muttered.

  It was trembling now, shaking under their fingers. Wind screamed outside, howled, and the piece shook, rocking so hard Gina could barely keep her fingers on it.

  Sister Patrice, Gina thought, Please, Sister Patrice…

  And then in the dark Gina saw a flash of white light, glittering in the inky blackness. The glittering object swayed and as Gina’s eyes adjusted to the light, she saw the old nun. The nun’s habit was a different shade of black than the darkness of the room, yet she still looked like a figure cut from shadow. Gina couldn’t see the nun’s face; it was hidden in the folds of the wimple she wore, her features indistinct. Rosary beads dangled from her belt and it was the beads that were glittering, the beads that were swaying as the nun’s image flickered.

  “You must finish,” Sister Patrice said. “You must finish what has begun.”

  “We don’t know how,” Kate said.

  “Yes, Katrenjia, you do,” the nun’s voice floated out of the darkness. “You’ve seen it once. Remember it. Katrenjia. Use the power you have. Finish it.”

  “But you have to tell us how.”

  “It’s not me you need. You have the power, you have the knowledge. He must be stopped again.”

  Lightning flashed and then something rubbed against Gina’s leg. Something large and fat…she uttered a scream. Her fingers jerked off the game piece and when she looked up, the nun was gone. The others were moving; someone got up and shuffle-walked to the mantle. There was a flare as a match was lit and then a portion of the room was illuminated by candlelight. It was Marcus, a candlestick in his hand. Vinny was on the other side of the room, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a lighter, a second candle offered a little more light. Gina looked down at the floor and uttered another small shriek.

  “Rat,” she said.

  Vinny crossed the room in three strides, grabbing the fireplace poker on his way. He lifted the poker high above his head and the rat watched his arm move, its whiskers twitching. Just as Vinny was bringing the metal poker down, the rat darted to the right and disappeared into the darkness. The poker thudded against the floor and Vinny uttered an oath. “Wonder how many more are in here.”

  “Don’t think about it,” Marcus answered. “It’ll just make you crazy if you do.”

  “I hate those fucking things.”

  Katie’s eyes were closed, her hands, palms up, in her lap. She was breathing deeply, evenly, and Gina thought, she’s doing it. She’s going back now. Dear God, she’s going back…

  There was a tremendous clap of thunder outside. The storm was getting worse.

  **

  Kate

  Kate pictured the square, the stone buildings, the white hou
se. She pictured the wooden stage and the chairs lined up in the center. She pictured the heavy gray clouds, the birds circling over head and she thought, Now.

  The power inside her rose up, up and out. There was an instant feeling of lightness, of traveling across indescribable space and when she opened her eyes again, she was there.

  The square was deserted and Kate understood somehow that what was to happen hadn’t occurred yet. The sun was just beginning to rise, lighting the stone courtyard with stripes of gray. The brick buildings were dark. White caps broke the surface of the black ocean with streaks of milky foam.

  It was cold. Raw and damp. Kate shivered, pulling her coat around her tighter and she realized it wasn’t a coat at all – it was a woolen cloak. She touched her hair; a bonnet covered it. A light flickered in a white building across the square. Kate crossed the courtyard, her boots tapping against the rough stone. The light flickered again; candle light. She stopped outside the house, wondering if she should go in or peek through a window. The door opened and a young girl stepped out. The child was dressed in a long dress, her hair covered by a bonnet much like the one Kate felt on her own head. The little girl glanced around nervously, and Kate stepped back into the shadows.

  The child ran down an alleyway to a barn behind the house. The doors creaked as she pulled them open. Kate could glimpse a group of children standing just inside the barn doors, their faces white and strained in the candlelight. The girl slipped into the barn and shut the door behind her.

  Kate moved slowly through the dark, her heart thudding against her ribs. She reached the barn and hesitated again, then moved to the side where there was a window. She peered in, the children were standing together in a rough circle. Three boys and three girls. They were holding hands. Two of the children were crying.

  Kate closed her eyes and breathed deeply, and when she opened her eyes again, the square was gone. She was in a house, standing in a doorway, looking into a parlor. There was something familiar about the arched doorway. She reached out a hand to touch the wood frame, but her fingers closed on nothing and she realized that all of it was an illusion. Panic flooded her. Am I an illusion, too? Can anyone see me?

  As if to answer her question, a little girl walked into the room from another door. The child was wearing a long, brown dress. A white cap covered her hair. She was carrying a heavy book and Kate wasn’t surprised to see that it was the Book of Lies.

  There was a window behind the child. Kate saw a woman walking down a pathway toward the house. She was dressed in black and carried a basket over one arm. Even through the murky glass, Kate could see the woman’s face. It was familiar in an odd way – there was something about her eyes – the child went to a desk, took a quill out of the ink well and began to write. The scratching of ink against parchment was loud in this quiet. Kate blinked and the room and the child were gone.

  She was in the square again. Hundreds of people stood in the cold, stamping their feet as they waited. I know this, Kate thought, I don’t want to see it now. That feeling of movement carried through her again and when she opened her eyes, she was in what looked like a blacksmith shop. Tools hung from the wooden walls; a fire burned in the hearth. An old man with wisps of white hair and a barrel belly was sawing something. His arms, heavily veined and covered with ropy muscles, were moving rhythmically as he worked at his table. A door opened, another man entered. An old man with long, white hair, a black coat that reached past his knees.

  “Almost finished?” the man asked. The blacksmith nodded. “By morning, then?”

  The old man nodded again. He put his saw down, wiped his hands on a towel, picked up the thing he’d been sawing.

  It was a bone.

  A circle of bone, hollowed out, the insides sanded smooth. As she watched, the old man took a hot poker out the fire and placed it on the bone. Using another tool to hold the bone steady, the old man applied heat, twisting the bones with a practiced hand. He pulled and twisted and a piece of the bone gave away.

  She was right.

  The people had used the children’s bones to forge Lucien’s chains.

  A pile of bones, bleached gray, were on the work table. The piece of chain already forged stretched across the rough wooden floor.

  “The Justice is waiting,” the man said as he opened the door and stepped back into the night.

  The Justice is waiting.

  Back in the square again, birds crying as they circled. People stamped their feet, blew on their hands, and then there was a ripple of excitement through the crowd.

  The procession was coming. Six men in purple carried the flags with gold crosses. Behind them came the seventh, the Justice, dressed in heavy black. He lifted his robe to climb the stairs, and stood in the middle of the scaffold, the wind buffeting the robes around him, reminding Kate suddenly of the angel that stood sentry outside St. Stand’s. The angel holding the sea shell of Holy Water, her robes—

  Her robes.

  Kate saw then, really saw.

  The Justice wasn’t a man.

  The seventh lifted the Bible high in the air for all to see as her eyes scanned the crowd. Kate felt those eyes, cold and blue and serene, on her face.

  The pieces clicked into place.

  Chapter 41

  Vinny

  “I know.”

  Kate’s voice startled Vinny and he looked at her swiftly. Her eyes were open now – she was back from wherever she’d gone and that was a relief. It was creepy when she disappeared like that. Fucking weird. One second she was there, talking, the next she was…empty. That was the only word Vinny could think of to describe it. Her body was there, but it was just an empty shell.

  Gina looked rough. Sweat beaded on her forehead. When she turned her face, Vinny saw sweat in the creases of her neck. She was trembling. Infection, Vinny thought, she probably already has an infection. That ankle—blood was seeping through the bandages. Her toes were swollen now, too. Purple and black.

  “I understand what the nun’s role is,” Kate said. “Sister Patrice represents the seventh – the judge.”

  “The seventh,” Gina murmured. “Of course there was a seventh. God’s number.”

  Vinny hadn’t heard that phrase in twenty years, but he knew it well enough, remembered sitting at a desk in a classroom that smelled of chalk dust. “Seven is the Lord’s number,” the nun said, but Vinny, sitting in front of the window, barely listened. The sun streaking through the glass made him warm, drowsy; her voice was just background noise. “There are seven churches of Rome. Seven days of creation. Seven deadly sins: pride, covetousness, lust, anger, envy, gluttony and sloth. Seven gifts: wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety and fear of the Lord. Seven sacraments: baptism, communion, penance, confirmation, holy orders, matrimony and anointing of the sick.”

  Okay, okay, Vinny thought now, I can buy that. The devil’s number is six, and God works in sevens.

  “I think…” Kate hesitated, seemed to gather an internal strength and said, “She may have been Yvanna’s mother.”

  Vinny didn’t know what she was talking about, but Marcus was nodding.

  “I know what we have to do,” Kate said, and now everyone was looking at her, waiting. “The chains used to keep Lucien prisoner the first time were made by a blacksmith in the town. The judge ordered the chain be made out of the children’s bones.”

  Bile rose in Vinny’s throat. He remembered seeing the chain wrapped around Lucien’s wrist and waist, remembered thinking that the chain wasn’t right. The links were different sizes, white and small…he swallowed.

  “When we were kids, what we did somehow weakened the bonds used to hold Lucien. We didn’t break them, but we loosened them. Over time, Lucien has gotten stronger; he managed to break the bonds himself. We have to chain him again.”

  “Chain him? But how?” Gina asked. “With what?”

  “Bones,” Vinny heard himself say. “We have to find the old bones.”

  “Yes,” Kate s
aid, “And then we have to make the chain stronger by adding new links.”

  “How are we going to that?” Marcus ran a hand through his hair. “We can’t make a chain out of bone! It’s absurd!”

  “We may not need bones,” Kate said. She looked directly at Marcus and Vinny was struck by how strong she looked. How composed. “But we do have to strengthen the chain. And we know what to use.”

  Marcus covered his face with his hands; they were shaking. “I can’t. I can’t do it, Katie.”

  “You have to,” Kate said calmly, “or it’ll never be finished.”

  “Where are we going to find the old bones?” Gina asked. “It’s impossible!”

  “No, it isn’t.” Kate smiled, a slow smile that tugged at Vinny’s heart. “In fact, that’s apt to be the easiest part. The bones are here.”

  “Here?” Gina repeated.

  Kate nodded. “This is the house, Gina. They weren’t walled in Lucien’s home. They were walled in the Justice’s. She ordered evil walled where good had flourished, she wanted his wickedness under her watch. That’s how we could find the Book of Lies. How we could connect with Lucien.” Vinny wondered why they hadn’t seen it before. “He’s here, somewhere. The bones are here, somewhere. We just have to find them.”

  “And then?”

  “We’ll add the new links and he’ll be captive again.”

  Vinny snorted. “Right. This is going to be easy . When we get his chains, we’ll hold them out and ask nicely, ‘Lucien, would you please give us your wrists?’ C’mon Katie! Even if we did find the chains and manage to make new ones, we won’t be able to get close enough to him to chain him up!”

  “We’ll take care of that when the time comes,” Kate replied. “For now, all we have to do is find the chain. That’s what Bo was doing.”

  “What?” Marcus asked.

  “Why else would Bo spend time here? Why did she have the power turned back on? Bo knew what had to be done. She figured it out long before we did.”

  “But how?”

  “I don’t have any proof, Marcus, but even without evidence, I know. Bo went to Sister Patrice. Sister’s strength was always her faith. She believed in heaven – and in hell. She believed what Bo told her and tried to help. That woman knew the Bible better than any person I’ve ever met. She always said power came from God, and that was what Bo needed. Power of faith, power of belief.” Kate paused. “That’s what Sister Patrice gave each of us.”