“It isn’t a problem, Nancy. They owe me favors.”
“Mother!”
“Okay! All right. We do this your way. I’m going to go talk to your grandmother. After I figure out how to restrain her. She’s where you get your temper from.”
“And she always insisted I got it from you.”
Mother looks up at the ceiling and scowls. “Sahmain can’t come fast enough.” She vanishes off to go find Nanna.
I go into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. I hear Houston coming down the stairs and set up a cup for him. I can feel Vivika’s presence lingering across the Veil. She’s attempting to ward herself, and if I was not already so on edge I might not have realized she was still listening. “How is you mother holding up?” I ask as he comes into the kitchen.
“As good as can be expected.”
I hand him the cup. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ll be glad when this is over.”
“So what did you two talk about?”
“Mom wanted to know how things are going with me and Risha. She said she wants to meet her when this is all done. What psion wouldn’t want to meet the Grand Madame Vivika, right?” Houston sits down at the table and rubs his face. “It was so weird. Having a…normal?...conversation with her. All of those years she was never around to talk to. All those times when I needed her, and she wasn’t there. Now I’m talking about my girlfriend with my dead mother and she has this expectation that she has the right to be involved in these things.”
I squint at him. I’m not sure if he realizes she is still listening. Then he sets his jaw and glowers. He knows. He wants her to hear.
“She talks about how she’s always been there for me, but floating around watching isn’t the same as being there. Where was she when April died? Where was she then when I really needed her? Where was she when Aunt Ruth was blaming me for April being sick? Where was she when I was crying myself to sleep as a kid because I thought nobody wanted me around? Just watching.” And then to drive the dagger in a little deeper, he adds, “I wish she was more like your mom.”
Houston’s hair moves as if a hand brushed his head. He twitches from Vivika’s touch. Her disembodied voice vocalizes, “I’m sorry” before she finally leaves us alone.
In a Bind
October 10th,
The first time I saw the young woman drop one of the books in her arms, I had Eric give her a hand basket to carry them in. The second time she dropped something, I had Houston find her an actual cart. The third time, I noticed she was shaking.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“What? No…I mean, I’m fine.” She’s pale from lack of sleep and she takes several quick breathes to try to gain some semblance of composure. I glance at the books and items in her cart. She has three books on ghosts, two books on poltergeists, a book on wraiths, a how-to guide on house cleansings (along with the associated house cleansing materials), and the latest edition of Jack Darren’s Living with the Dead, a popular series about people who willing live in haunted houses. All of it is really watered-down for mundane consumption and usually only bought for the entertainment value. But when someone buys them all at once…
“When did you buy the house?” I ask.
“What? I didn’t buy a house.” She looks at the cart and flushes red from embarrassment. “I need to sell a house. And…I don’t think I can sell it as it is.”
“You boys got the registers?” I ask. Houston waves an affirmation. “Why don’t you come into my office.”
“Oh, no. I’m…I’m just browsing.”
“I’m a professional. And talking is free.” I put my hand on her cart and gently coax her over to the office. She sits down on the sofa against the wall instead of the chair in front of my desk. I close the door and offer her something to drink.
“I’m not crazy,” she says in that voice people use when they are trying to convince themselves more than you. “I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”
“I operate a new age shop. It is highly unlikely there is anything you can say that would make me think you were crazy.” I pour her a glass of water and hand it to her. “My name is Nancy.”
“Amber. Amber Courtland. I inherited my grandmother’s house. She died last month.”
“My condolences. Do you think your grandmother is still in the house?”
“No, they buried her. Oh, you mean…ghost. No, I don’t think it is her. I think it is something she left behind. Does…does that make sense?”
“Yes. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened.”
“Really? I mean, I suppose that should make me feel better. But…I don’t know what is happening.”
I sit down at my desk and log in to WitchNet and perform a search for Courtlands. “Why don’t you just start at the beginning? What was your grandmother’s name?”
“Candice. Candice Courtland.”
“Paternal grandparent then?”
“Yeah, is that important?”
I add Candice to the search parameters. “It could be. I just want to make sure I get all the information so I can help you prove you aren’t crazy.”
Amber giggles. “You must get a lot of people come in here claiming they live in haunted houses and stuff, huh?”
I get at least two a week. Some are like Amber and will buy up a bunch of books on the topic and try to self-diagnose. Others will just ask me or one of my team point blank questions about how to deal with ghosts. Houston and Eric are really good about directing those customers to me so that I can see if there is a real issue or simply an imaginary one.
With imaginary hauntings, I’ll usually send Houston to go to the house and perform a “cleansing” to put the person’s mind at ease. The thing is, when a person thinks that their house is haunted, the last thing they want to hear is that it isn’t. That may sound strange. But when people are confronted with the unknown they don’t want to be left thinking it was all in their heads (even if it was). They want closure. So Houston goes over, pretends to exorcise a spirit, and collects $50.
The only time things get a bit problematic is when they talk to Anastasia first. Then she tends to exasperate the issue because she’s read almost every book we have in the shop and somehow her brain always remembers a scary scenario that matches what the customer is telling her.
“It comes with the territory. If it puts your mind at ease, in most of these cases there is a simple, non-creepy explanation. Do you live in the area?”
“I live in Barrington. The house is in Vineland. My grandparents lived there for fifty years.”
I get a search result for a Barton Courtland, a Rank Four demonologist who died fifteen years ago. Left a widow named Candice. No history of hereditary magic. No registration for his two sons, Nathan and William. One male grandson, Jack, age fifteen. No registration for him, either. “Did you grow up in the area?”
“Yeah, parents still live in Berlin.”
I cross reference my search results. That would make her William’s daughter and Jack’s cousin. “Did you ever spend time at your grandparents’ home as a kid?”
“Oh, yeah. They used to babysit me on weekends.”
“Did you ever experience anything unusual in the house as a child?”
“No, not that I remember.”
“Were there parts of the house you weren’t allowed in? Basement? Attic?”
“Um, the attic was my room when I visited. It was furnished. The basement was always locked because that was where grandpa kept all the power tools and stuff. But I’ve been in the basement recently. There was a weird rotten eggs smell coming from it and I was worried there was a gas leak. But the gas company came out and they didn’t find any leaks. Still stinks down there, though.”
“Is it a finished basement?”
“Partial. Like I said, it was grandpa’s workshop. “
“What has been happening that leads you to believe there was something left behind? Things moving? Cold spots in the ho
use? Windows opening or closing?”
“No. None of that. It…well…I keep hearing voices.”
“What do the voices say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ah, too soft to make out?”
“No, it is very…loud. Here, I recorded some of it on my phone.” She pulls out her phone and plays back the recording. I hear a very distinct, angry disembodied voice screaming in infernal, “Set me free, you stupid brat!” followed by some rather disturbing expletives and threats.
“Yeah, we can come out…now. Let me grab my coat.”
“Wait…what?” she asks as she follows me out of the office. “How much do these sort of things cost?”
“We’ll settle with the estate.” I say. I put the Closed sign on the door and wait for Houston and Eric to ring up the remaining customers inside. I call Anastasia and tell her she doesn’t have to come in until 6 o’clock because a water pipe backed up and we’ve closed the shop until it is repaired.
“All hands on deck, boys. Eric, would you call Ms. Tenenbaum and Mr. Royale and let them know I need to reschedule their consultations? Houston, get my kit.”
“That kit?”
“Yep.”
“Nice!”
“Hold on!” says Amber. “What are you all going to do?”
“We’re going to perform an exorcism so you can sell that house.”
“But…you aren’t priests?”
“We’re better than priests. I told you. I'm a professional.”
* * *
The house is a beautifully maintained Victorian with a wraparound porch and a wrought-iron lattice archway leading up to the steps. A wrought-iron fence surrounds the property. A quick check of the ironwork reveals that it is tempered with magical energies to prevent rusting and maintain its usefulness as a ward against otherworldly creatures. I make a note to look up the manufacturer. I should really get a fence like this for home.
I ask Amber to stay outside. She’s reluctant at first, but Houston uses his charm to convince her to stay outside. It is one thing to tell a mundane you are going to perform an exorcism. It is quite another to let them see you do it. You can pretty much tell a mundane anything and still preserve the Veil. There are so many fake mediums and pseudo-occultists running around that telling a mundane they have a demon mean nothing. So long as they don’t witness anything, and you don’t leave any physical evidence behind, things are fine.
As soon as we enter the house, we hear a disembodied voice shout out an expletive in Infernal.
“Bloody Hell!” says Eric. “Was that a real demon?”
“What is this, amateur hour, Warlock?” says the demon in Infernal. “Bringing children before me?”
“Someone sounds bitter,” says Houston.
“Shut up, boy. I was addressing your better.”
“Did he just tell me to shut up?”
“I guess your Infernal is coming along well.”
“Yeah, those audio books you got me have been great.”
“Get me out of here, Warlock! I shall grant you a boon.”
“Getting you out of here is the plan, Cranky.” We move through the house toward the basement.
“You would be wise to watch your tongue with me.”
“Really, I should be afraid of a demon that got bound by a Rank Four? You should be watching your tongue with me Mr. Sunshine.”
The house noticeably shakes. “I am Amy! The Flame of Knowledge of All Things! He who knows the paths of the stars and the hearts of those that rule! He who reveals hidden lore and hidden treasures! Know my name and tremble!”
Houston starts laughing. “Wait, his name is…Amy?”
“Looks like Courtland used the Lesser Key of Solomon. Idiot.”
“But the demon’s name is Amy?”
“In this incarnation, it seems.”
Many demons possess an ability called personamorphication, the ability to take over a persona and make it real. If the summoner believes the demon is the entity he thinks he is calling, and the demon agrees to act as the entity in question, the demon can use the identity to bargain with the summoner. This particular demon appears to have adopted the name of one of the demons referenced in the Lesser Key of Solomon.
“You know, you should both be taking notes. This is actually a pretty big deal. There haven’t been any demons summoned under that grimoire for decades. At least, none that have been documented.”
“He has a girl’s name,” says Houston as he continues laughing.
“Come on, Mate. Maybe the bloke is transgender. Don't judge,” says Eric. Eric is being serious. Houston laughs harder.
“Shut them up, Warlock!” shouts Amy.
“Houston, seriously?” I say.
“I can't help it!”
“It’s not funny, mate. I have a cousin changed her name from Vincent to Veronica. My uncle kicked her out of the house.”
“Sorry.” He fights back his laughter. “Sorry…Amy.”
We walk down the basement steps and the smell of sulfur hits us. We look around the basement and find no evidence of demonic activity, nor do we find any ritual trappings.
“Where are you, Amy? I can’t get you out of here if I can’t find you?”
“How should I know! I can’t see anything!”
“Nancy, this wall doesn’t belong here,” says Eric. He’s standing in front of a cinder-block wall. “Unless they made the basement narrower than the house.”
“Houston, go ask Amber if it is all right for us to knock down this wall.”
“On it.”
I study the wall with Eric. Upon careful examination, I can make out faint glyphs etched in the stone. “Looks like what we are looking for is on the other side of this wall. Courtland must have sealed this up at some point before he died.”
“Seems a loud bloke,” says Eric. “You’d think Amber’s Nan would have heard him carrying on.”
“Courtland must have had some sort of wards in place to keep Amy quiet.” I look around and notice a metal cabinet against another wall. There are scratch marks on the floor where the cabinet had been moved. Eric and I move the cabinet. The back of the cabinet is a sheet of wrought iron with a seal etched on it. The seal is only visible with Third Eye active. Mundanes would not have seen it.
“Moving the cabinet broke the ward.”
“Family cleaning out the basement must have moved it,” says Eric. “Usually you find old photos or embarrassing diaries. Not misplaced demons.”
“Free me, Warlock. And I will share with you the location of great treasure.”
“Please tell me the treasure is at the back of a dragon lair,” says Houston as he comes back down the steps. “And we need a hobbit to get to it.”
“Shut him up, Warlock!”
“Amy, you’d do well to watch your tone with my apprentice,” I say. “Even if he is annoying.”
“Identify yourself, Warlock. That I might know to whom I owe this boon.”
“I don’t want any boon from you. And my name is Nancy. Nancy Werlock.”
The basement grows eerily silent for a moment. “Werlock?” asks Amy in a more subdued tone. “I don’t suppose you are related to Morrigan Werlock?”
“My grandmother.”
“Ah, well. How very…pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Werlock. I appreciate your assistance in this rather embarrassing matter.”
“His tone changed fast,” says Houston. “And Amber is fine with taking down the wall so long as it doesn’t do any structural damage.”
“Should I be worried that the mere mention of your nan’s name terrifies demons?” asks Eric.
“Of course not. You aren’t a demon.”
Houston locates a sledgehammer and begins hammering at the wall. After several strikes, it begins to crumble. We clear an opening and use a flashlight to look into the chamber.
“Yeah, we need to get all of this out of here,” I say as we shed light on Courtland’s ritual room. Houston and Eric clear away enou
gh of the rubble that we can enter the area. Houston pulls out his phone and takes some pictures.
“Don’t post those,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Because you can sell those. Like I said, there hasn’t been a documented case of a demon from the Lesser Key for a long time. Demonology Today might pay you for those.”
“Sweet!”
“I would be pleased to cooperate with any research your apprentice wishes to publish, Lady Werlock.”
“How thoughtful of you, Amy.”
“I don’t see a summoning circle,” says Houston.
“I didn’t expect to. Remember, summoning circles are temporary bindings. The demon would have died if it had been trapped in the circle for too long. Amy must have been bound to an item.”
“Why would someone bind a demon to an item?” asks Eric.
“Trying to create a fetish is the most common reason. I suspect Courtland was tampering with rituals above his ability and could never control Amy. So he just locked him away.”
“The warlock that summoned me was far below your capabilities, Lady Werlock. I answered the summons hoping to weave it to my own benefit. But he was as timid as he was weak, and refused my offers out of fear.”
“There.” I point to a lead box. I open the box to find the gold pocket watch Amy was bound to.
“Ah, there you are. You are certainly as lovely as you are talented,” says Amy.
“Wow, he is kissing your ass,” says Houston.
“Be nice.”
“This is bloody ace,” says Eric.
“So, what is the plan here, boss?”
“Amy, I can’t just free you. I’m sorry. The Veil is far too thin right now and there is way too much metaphysical drama going on right now to let you lose.”
“You can benefit from my knowledge, Lady Werlock. Now that I am unshackled by the lead box, I can feel many things moving through the Void. You…have an enemy. I can help you with it.”
“How does he know about—” says Eric.
“He’s fishing,” I say. “As a warlock, it is safe to assume I always have an enemy of sorts.”
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