by Dana Donovan
“Uh, except for men,” Ursula joked.
To which Lilith returned, “No, we even have a good substitute for that. It starts with something called batteries. Let me tell you about it. First you….”
Ursula Bishop:
Strange things of many have I seen with my own eyes, yet for this new world did I imagined but not. Even the Grimoire doth pale by comparison to such ways of modern offerings. Lilith, my dear sister of the coven, how came she to return my bones to flesh I must wonder. She hath dressed me strangely, doused my hunger with exotic foods she calls burgers and fries and quenched my thirst with a bubbling elixir known to the merchant as cola. Should I live another ten lifetimes I shall see not the changes in it as I have in living ten hours in this. Remarkable mysteries and magic of grand scale confront me in manners not dreamed of by man or beast. Carriages propelled by invisible horses glide at speeds of which the hawk would envy. Voices in Lilith’s carriage sing out from a box with music she commands with a simple twist of a black button. Surely her witchcraft is powerful and she most conversant with all matters inclusive. I believe I shall learn much in her providence. `Twas in her carriage that I inquired as to the nature of our journey.
“To Salem,” she answered presently.
“Aye, for you hath said as much already, but you saith not why.”
She returned to me a serpent’s grin, to which I delighted. “Ursula, would you like to get back at the people who have persecuted our kind for hundreds of years?”
“Our sisters of the coven?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Oh, how thee know it? Their blood doth cry for vengeance. We are but deaf should we not heed their pleas?”
“Exactly. So then, that’s where we’re going: to see the magistrate and to meet the congregation that sat in condemnation of our souls.”
“The magistrate? He is at Prayer?”
“I’m guessing, seeing I killed his pastor.”
“Oh, but he is not of human blood, I fear.”
“He is of ancient blood, but human enough to spill. Can you tell me his weakness?”
To this I shook my head. “His weakness? What do I know? You tell me more than I am aware. In my day, the magistrate held only that power which the people bestowed upon him. But for a miss-beholding word taken to heart he might succumb to a blight of confidence, one that could spread like a plague and befall him.”
“A miss-beholding word, eh?”
“Aye, where power rests on fears of the people, so doth weakness.”
“Hysteria.” Lilith’s serpent-grin returned slowly. “Yes, the accused turning the tables on the accusers. I like that.” She made motion to the back of the carriage upon its seat. “In the box you will find a couple of old-fashioned looking dresses…well, maybe not so old-fashioned to you, but get them out and tell me what you think. Will they let us blend in with the congregation?”
I did as Lilith asked, questioning not her intentions, for I believed I knew well her plans. The dresses as I found were most beautiful, and so I told her. “How came they from so far to you?”
She looked at me queerly. “How came they?”
“From so far,” I said, pointing at the collar. “And with such exquisite stitching.”
She leaned in to read the merchant’s mark. “It says made in China.”
“Indeed. Thy witchcraft must be powerful.”
Strange thought I how funny she found that. I sat hushed in humility for the journey’s reach, which brought us presently to a village called Salem, but in ways known not to my recollect. This village was great and large, perhaps the size of London Town as I think. Where no cobblestones lined the streets, there lay a single smooth stretch of earth. Blacktop, Lilith named it, yet it ebbed and tided like cooled lava, graceful as the landscape itself. The buildings too were of ole, yet I knew them not. Glass panes once stingy upon a facade now stood proud in their employ.
Perhaps most queer if I must say are the signs abound upon each turn. They speak of witches in a merry sense. Come ye to the Witch Museum, one shingle offers; Eat Witch Flavored Ice Cream another waves. And did we not pass The Sand Witch Shoppe, The Witch’s Well and The Witch Bitch Bar? We did most certain, but pray tell what that is?
Then Lilith revealed unto me the meaning of this hypocrisy. My beloved village hath gained in profits from the travesties befallen my kindred souls. I ask them, hath thou not taken enough in innocence that thee should spare not endless torment of the restless? What sin hath we to atone beyond a single lifetime? Be it life itself? I fear indeed, for ought I know my penance is forever served.
Carlos Rodriquez:
I was sitting at my desk when Dominic called, his voice in a huff, out of breath for some trot he had taken through a grassy field somewhere. “Whoa!” I told him. “Slow down, Dom. Tell me again where you are.”
“I’m driving now. I’m on the road to Salem.”
“You’re what? Why the hell are you going back to Salem? I thought you went to pick up Tony.”
“I did, but listen. You’re never gonna believe this. When I got to Tony’s I spotted Lilith and she…. No, forget it. We haven’t time for all that now. You’ve got to go and get Tony and come out here as quickly as possible. Lilith is up to something big.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m leaving now, but don’t hang up. I need you to tell me everything, or Tony will go berserk.”
“All right, but I don’t know where to start.”
“How `bout at the beginning?”
“The beginning, okay, good. See, I went to go pick up Tony and when I got there….”
What Dominic told me next seemed like a wacky dream, especially the part about the naked woman who looked just like Lilith. I considered maybe it was all just in his dreams, seeing how we had rushed in on Lilith back in the church the night before and found her…out of her fur, so to speak. But Dominic has a level head on his shoulders, and I’ve been around Lilith enough to know that with her, nearly anything is possible. I’ve also been around Tony enough to know that he wasn’t going to like what I had to tell him. For that reason, I filled him in as much as I could over the phone before I got to his house. All things considered, I think he took it well.
“She did WHAT?” Okay, maybe he didn’t take it so well.
“She brought Ursula back.”
“Back? You mean like she conjured up a good likeness of her in some smoky, phantom-ish apparition?”
“No, I mean like a real flesh-n-blood person.”
“Impossible.”
“Tony, you say impossible, but you know with Lilith anything is possible. So don’t shoot the messenger. I’m simply telling you that’s what Dominic said and it’s all I know. Ursula is back and he’s following them to Salem.”
“Why are they going to Salem?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say, but I’m coming to get you. Are you ready?”
Tony was barely in the car when he started in on the inquisition again. To shut him up, I pulled out my cell phone and pushed send on speed dial before handing it to him.
“What’s this?” he said.
“It’s ringing. Say hello.”
He put the phone to his ear, and his end of the conversation went something like: “You’re damn right I am. What the hell’s going on Spinelli?”
I could hear Dominic’s voice in a stutter, but could not make out his exact words. I suppose it would have been better had I warned him before putting Tony on, but what the hell; where’s the fun in that?
“No, Spinelli, forget it,” said Tony, making a slashing motion with his hand to terminate Dominic’s ramblings. “Listen, where are you now? You still have them in sight? Uh-oh, what do you mean, uh-oh? Dominic, tell me what’s going on. What? Oh, great. Forget it. Stay there. We’ll get you.”
He handed the phone back to me and shook his head. “The little fucker ran out of gas. He’s stuck on the side of the road outside Salem.”
“What about Lilith?”
&n
bsp; “She’s gone,” he said, which was all I could say for Tony’s patience, as well.
We caught up with Dominic about fifteen minutes later. He had pulled over on the side of the road and was sitting on the hood of the car with his feet up on the bumper and his head on his knees. Tony wouldn’t even look at him. I gave a toot on the horn to get his attention. He hopped down in a sulk and climbed into the back seat. I’ve got to say, sometimes Tony can bottle up his emotions, but he can’t hide the fact when he’s pissed. This time was no different. The tension between him and Dominic was as tight as ever I had seen it; worse even than when Dominic screwed up at the train station by not radioing the northbound train to stop while Lilith was still on it. Listening to Tony, you’d have thought Dominic wasn’t even in the car.
“So, how far ahead of us is she?” Tony asked. I heard Dom clear his throat to answer, but got cut off when Tony added, “Carlos?”
I looked at him puzzled. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Dom—”
“I said how far?”
I glanced into the mirror at Dominic and saw him flash ten fingers twice. “Twenty minutes,” I said.
“Does she have a phone?”
Dominic shook his head.
“No. We retrieved it at the train station. It’s broken. Unless she has yours then—”
“No, she doesn’t. You say she’s with Ursula?”
This time he nodded.
“Yes.”
“You sure it’s not just some other woman she met up with?”
Another nod.
“Yes.”
“Has she got a weapon?”
A shrug.
“I don’t know. Is witchcraft a weapon?”
Tony took a deep breath and let it out with an audible sigh. “Did she mention where in Salem she might be going?” I looked into the mirror, but Dominic remained natural. Tony came back louder. “Did she mention where she—”
“Fuck you!” This from Dominic, words I had never heard him utter before in my life. I looked up into the mirror. He was looking at Tony. “That’s right, Detective Marcella. If you have something to ask me then you just ask me. I’m not some fuck’n` shadow back here. I mean, look, I know I fucked up back at the train station. But that’s done. It worked out and you had Lilith back home. But running out of gas today was not a screw-up. I hadn’t planned on following anyone to Salem this morning. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t even know what Lilith was up to at this moment. At least now you have a clue, so back the fuck off. I’m a good cop, but I’m human. I have feelings you know, and I demand you treat me with some respect, Goddamit!”
At that point I had already slowed the car down to just above walking speed. I figured if anyone were to get thrown out (Dominic) then at least he’d have a decent chance of doing a successful pitch and roll, and maybe not get hurt too badly. But Tony didn’t react like I thought he might; no small wonder I suppose. His return to prime had renewed the passion and excitability of his youth, but it did not void the maturity of his years. I suppose that can be a difficult combination to deal with, especially with a hellcat like Lilith thrown into the mix. When it became obvious that Tony had no more to say about that, I picked up the pace again and merged back into traffic. A few minutes later Tony said, “Head for Our Lady of Grace Church.”
I nodded, and I think I said okay, but after that, I said nothing more, and between us not another word was spoken for the entire ride.
Lilith Adams:
Ursula and I arrived at Our Lady of Grace Church just as the last of the congregation was filing in. We parked the car around the side in a dirt lot and got out without anyone really noticing us. There, behind a dumpster, we slipped our gown-length Sunday dresses on over our tops and jeans. Then we tied our hair up into buns and capped them off in traditional cross-cloth headwear. I thought we came across a bit cheeky, but Ursula assured me we looked most Puritan, so long as we addressed one final detail.
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“Our boots,” she said. “We must take them off.”
“Why? What’s wrong with them?”
She hiked her hem up and frowned upon them as though they were made of shit. “They are not at all lady-like.”
“The hell they aren’t,” I scoffed. “They’re six-hundred dollar Pradas. I’m not taking them off for anyone.”
“Six hundred dollars?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What? You don’t understand dollars?”
“No. Is that a lot?”
“Yes, it’s like, I don’t know, three-hundred-sixty British pounds sterling?”
She yanked her hemline back up, only this time extending her foot with toes tipped forward. “The devil you say. Prada? Why did you not say so? Let us continue. We have prayer to attend.”
Okay, I know she didn’t know what Prada was, but I have to hand it to the girl; she does learn quickly. We pulled our cross-cloth caps down low on our foreheads, closed up the v-line on our cleavage and with bowed heads and steepled hands, filed into church.
We took seats at opposite ends of the second to last pew, she on the far left, me on the right. The service had already gotten under way, and as I expected, the old magistrate was delivering the sermon. He stood behind the pulpit like an old gargoyle, his nostrils flaring with every mention of the words fire and brimstone, which incidentally, he mentioned often. But the congregation ate it up, gasping and sighing in all the right places; especially when he got to the part about demons, specters and witches infiltrating their everyday lives. I particularly liked the parts that rhymed.
“Yea, wickedness doth tempt us,” he began, “when lax our guard doth falls. The demon strikes unmercifully from within familiar walls. Whose specter borne of mortal bone shall fool the timid beast, he strikes most quick in light of day when thou expects it least.”
I know, what a riot. Before long his audience had worked themselves into a nervous twitter, with a Halleluiah here and a righteous Amen there. I almost hated to break up the party, but we were there to finish a job. I glanced over at Ursula and gave her a wink, letting her know it was show time. Then I stood up, pointing an accusing finger at the magistrate and shouted, “Hark, for the devil hath struck thee with serpent’s tongue. Listen what lies he doth speak.”
“`Tis true,” Ursula shouted, taking to her feet and pointing from the other end of the pew. “For I saw with my own eyes the raven what suckles His Magistrate’s right hand.”
“Doth suckle where?” the man immediately in front of Ursula asked.
“`Tween his large finger and fore, I am certain. Tis the same raven what came to me today this morn`.”
“How came this raven to you?”
“He came by way of the mist.”
“Silence!” ordered the magistrate. “Silence this woman!”
The man returned to Ursula. “From what mist, say you young lady.” Now the entire congregation was looking back at her.
“From the meadow, for ought I know,” she replied, her demeanor sweet and honest in tone. “I heard the voice of Satan and the raven did appear. I opened my window and he spoke unto me then.”
“Of what did he speak? Tell us as you think.”
“If I must tell I will, but I fear his wrath.”
“No. Fear not. You are among friends.”
“Yes,” said another heavy-set gentleman standing beside her. “You have not to fear but to speak the truth.”
The magistrate’s fist came down hard of the pulpit. “Enough,” he cawed. “Enough I say. Remove this woman now.”
“Look,” I said, pointing after casting a spell that summonsed a raven into the church where it landed on the pulpit deck in front of the magistrate, its long wedge-shaped tail fully fanned. “`Tis a sign. `Tis the raven what smites bucolic fools in pallid dens.”
“It is he!” cried Ursula, “The raven of the mist.”
“What does it mean?” an old woman in the front pew cri
ed. “Tell us Miss, for only you know.”
“Aye, he beacons the wretched with hollow promises of fortune and vice. Ignore him as you would the serpent and the wolf.”
“Lies!” spat the magistrate, and when he leveled a crooked finger at the congregation the raven flew upon it. “Lies, for I know the demon doth wallow in the wicked of women as art thou.”
“See here,” I said, “what beast the magistrate befriends, and know what perch the raven doth mantle? He will have you all sign the devil’s book.”
“I will not sign it,” the old woman declared.
“Nor I, but die first I shall.” the fat man urged.
All eyes fell upon the magistrate then. Ursula spun her index finger in circles above her head, whipping up a pale white mist that swirled in lazy loops before following her finger’s point to the pulpit. There it hovered briefly in witness of a hundred pairs of eyes and settled heavy over the magistrate and the Raven like a slurry fog. Cries of indignation rumbled from the pews. The magistrate’s jaw dropped in frozen gasp, and with a dipteran spell I filled it with flies, which spewed from his parted lips in a black swarm.
“`Tis the devil in reckon,” I declared. “The magistrate doth have his presence. We must vanquish this unholy disorder for it is thy curse.”
“`Tis thy curse,” the man in front of Ursula repeated.
“Thy curse!” the old woman up front howled.
A spontaneous roundabout chorus of similar cries swept through the congregation like wildfire. The magistrate shook the raven from his finger and started the rostrum in haste. But the crowd, smelling fear in his retreat, moved in on him in a swell of brute and might. The younger men reached him first, cutting off his escape as the larger men took him down. The mist that had settled over the pulpit now swirled in a rush of agitated air like a meandering ghost threading tempers and paranoia. In the knotted huddle I heard shrieks of pain amid snapping bones. Men were kicking; women were stomping and children in the fringes cried. High among the rafters the raven circled ominously. But then, as quickly as it all began, the entire congregation broke up and scattered, stampeding out of the church like cockroaches from a bright light. I waited for the last of the vigilantes to hightail out before motioning Ursula to the door. There we stood, watching a traffic jam of vehicles jockeying through clouds of dust to keep from being the last to leave. As soon as it felt safe, we hurried out and around to the side of the building where we peeled our silly hats and dresses off and stuffed them into the dumpster. But just as we were just about to get into the car, I heard a voice call to us.