The Hag

by Erik Henry Vick

  The deeper he sank, the blacker the water became, and the blacker the water became, the colder it got. His lungs felt as if they would burst at any moment, and the tiny, weak body that trapped him struggled to stay alive.

  The flesh of this world is stupid, LaBouche thought, not for the first time.

  From beneath him came a raw, pain-filled shriek that seemed to boil the water around him and sent him tumbling with the force of the screech. She was down there and had sensed him.

  At last.

  She ascended from the depths like a torpedo launched from a submarine. A column of bubbles exploded in her wake and as the shriek grew louder and louder, the surrounding water heated up.

  He wasn’t able to make out any words in the garbled nonsense she was flinging into the water, but he could sense the emotion: burning hatred, the pain of a raw wound, frustration, and hidden beneath it all, fear.

  You’re right to fear me, he thought at the torpedo-like shape streaking through the water at him. You should fear all of us now. But I am not your enemy, Brigitta. I bring you news.

  News? Her mental voice was abrasive, painful to receive.

  Indeed. You need friends, now, Brigitta. The others will watch you, assessing you, probing for weakness. You can’t afford to hide out here in the mud and detritus of the lake. You can’t afford this moment of self-indulgent grief.

  HE WAS MY FATHER!

  Yes, as he always said. He said the same about your sisters, however, and one of the others may find it easier to manipulate one of them than serve under you. I’ll repeat it: you can’t afford this self-indulgent grief.

  She shrieked in the water, and he felt small membranes inside his skull rupture with the force of her agony. Suspended in the dark water, LaBouche rolled his eyes.

  Beyond all that, beyond the others and their petty manipulations, their petty desires for the throne, there are things you need to know. Things that threaten all of us.

  Her rate of ascent halved and halved again. Brigitta’s grief quieted, and she flopped on her side, lying in the water as if on a mattress. Her eyes were closed, but LaBouche had the distinct sense she was watching him closely.

  Your father’s murderers—they are making plans, taking steps, making preparations. We are not free of them. Worse, they’ve learned things…

  Brigitta sat up and opened her eyes. They were as black as the depths of the lake below her. Tell me, she thought at him.

  He told her what he knew.

  They will risk a direct confrontation with so many of us? Hard to believe, Brigitta mused. She drifted closer to him.

  What choice do they have, Your Highness?

  But there are only five humans, and they are so, so easy to manipulate.

  LaBouche squeezed his tiny eyes shut. The humans had a saying: “the eyes are the windows of the soul,” and though most of them didn’t understand it, it was true. He didn’t want Brigitta peering into his mind, looking past what he wanted her to see, glimpsing his true motives and beliefs. Excellency, they are new to their powers. And yet they fooled us, beat us at our own game. Even with their poor understanding of what they can do, they killed Herlequin.

  She came toward him swiftly until he floated in the water inches from her nose. Her black eyes twirled with intense emotion, bored into him as if she could dissect him with her eyes alone.

  Your Majesty, we’ve had our differences. But none of those differences were serious for my part. Petty, yes. Disrespectful, perhaps. But—

  Perhaps? Perhaps? Her mental voice sliced through him with the ease a sharp knife would have, a burning agony in its wake.

  I’ve never been good with limits, Brigitta. With controlling my sense of humor. You know this of me, is it not true?

  That seemed to mollify her, and she floated away, turning her back. What do you suggest?

  We should kill them. The humans and any of the others who don’t bend the knee. Let the deaths be swift, merciless. Let the others quake with fear, but we won’t tip our hand to the humans. We will get them all at once, and we will feed. We will feast on their every thought, their every fear, every pain they may suffer.

  Brigitta examined him, one eyebrow arched, her eyes again the color of spring. I knew you were vicious, LaBouche, but I didn’t think you were this…determinedly vicious.

  There is much I have kept hidden, Your Excellency. I did not want the others to discover my nature lest they use it against me somehow. Your father knew, however. I hid nothing from Herlequin.

  She treated him to a half-lidded stare, but he sensed no malice in it, merely an assessing intelligence. Perhaps LaBouche, you may be of service to me.

  If I had my own form, I would bow to you. He held his breath, not daring to hope.

  Even underwater, her laughter tinkled like the sound of glass bells. She tilted her head to the side and nodded.

  4

  Chaz left the Oneka Falls Town Hall feeling somewhat better. Rage still burned in his heart, anger at LaBouche. He needed what the others needed: discipline, and someone to rule with a firm hand. Otherwise, everything would fall to chaos.

  Brigitta is the heir apparent…but does that mean anything when the heir apparent isn’t apparent?

  He shook his head and slid behind the wheel of his Monaco Blue BMW 750. Where is she? Has she abandoned us? He threw the car in reverse and backed out of his parking space. If he were honest, he’d have to admit he believed she would have come for him already.

  He shrugged and turned left on Main Street, intending to have an early morning drive through the country. He wanted to open up the 750’s engine, to hear it roar, to bask in the magnificent V8’s metallic symphony. As he drove, he let his gaze wander back and forth across the road.

  If she doesn’t want the responsibilities of leadership…

  In a way, it was unbelievable what they’d been able to do with the town. The latest headcount showed that they outnumbered the humans living in the town by almost three to one. That would make keeping control over the place more manageable, but what he couldn’t figure out, was how no one else noticed. Nobody from the county government, no one from county law enforcement, and no one from the state government or law enforcement agencies… It was almost as if everyone outside of the town were a willing participant in the ruse.

  He crossed out of the city limits at one hundred and eight miles an hour. Other drivers saw him coming and got out of his way.

  As they should.

  As the scenery changed from that of the town to the surrounding countryside, Chaz rolled down the windows. “Fuck you, LaBouche!” he screamed. He screamed the words, again and again, shouting as loud as he could. It was a trick he’d learned to handle the stress of dealing with humans without killing them, and it seemed it worked on the burden of dealing with other demons when he couldn’t kill them out of hand. The car was hurtling along at a gnat’s tooth past one hundred and sixty miles an hour, the wind roared through the cabin of the vehicle, and Chaz’s voice competed with it as he bellowed his mantra.

  He almost lost control of the vehicle when a delicate hand reached from the backseat to tap him on the shoulder. The car slewed, first to the left and then to the right, Chaz’s monstrous hands dancing on the steering wheel as he fought for control. The sound of shrieking tires filled the cabin. “Fuck!” he cried as the car slid to a halt with its right front tire on the edge of the ditch.

  A bell-like laugh came from the backseat. “I don’t think so,” said Brigitta. “I’m in mourning.”

  Chaz sat still, hands on the steering wheel, his arms still braced for impact. The only part of him that moved was his eyes—they went to the side mirror, and next to the rearview mirror. Breath rushed in and out, making a chuffing noise akin to that of a slowly accelerating steam engine.

  “No greeting? No weak explanation of why you usurped my throne?”

  Chaz shook himself like a dog expelling water from its coat. “Sorry, Your Highness. My brain is still functioning in a state of m
ild panic.”

  “Be glad I didn’t bring LaBouche with me.”

  Chaz couldn’t stop the sneer from distending his features.

  “Tell me this, Chaz: will you two alphas be able to put aside your petty competitions and serve me in all things?” She leaned forward, her eyelids narrowing, her gaze boring into his in the rearview mirror. “If I can only have one of you in my service, my choice will disappoint you.”

  “Yes, Excellency. There’s room for both of us.” It was possible LaBouche had already been in contact with her…what did that mean she knew? His mind raced, posing one question, then the next, and another and another after that. He had no answers, though. Not to any of them.

  She leaned back into the luxurious backseat. “Good,” she purred. “You will maintain things in Oneka Falls. No, scratch that, you will secure things here. Without your lackadaisical mismanagement of things, my father would still be alive.” Her voice had risen in both pitch and volume until it distorted her words.

  “Yes, Highness. What shall I do?”

  “Secure our holdings,” she hissed.

  “I can do that.”

  “You’d better.”

  Before Chaz could reply, she disappeared with a popping noise. He shook his head and allowed the shakes to come. He had no doubt Brigitta could make good on her veiled threat to send him back. He had no doubt she would if he allowed it to come to that.

  She hadn’t mentioned it more than the once, but Chaz knew Brigitta—when it suited her, she’d punish him for what he’d done. For what LaBouche tricked me into doing! I have to tell her about his complicity! He shook his head. That was a stupid thought. At best, Brigitta wouldn’t care, and at worst, she would praise LaBouche for his manipulation and damn Chaz for his weakness. It would serve me better to do everything that she asks of me, to make myself indispensable to her rule.

  But how do I secure a town such as Oneka Falls? With slow deliberation, Chaz put the car in drive and turned around. Whatever I’m going to do, I’d better get to it. He shook his head, remembering Red Bortha. Who can I recruit to fill that old bastard’s shoes?

  It was a problem. Few demons in the population of Oneka Falls were old. Fewer still had any real power. The urge to compete with others was too strong. Powerful demons stayed far away from one another, meeting only infrequently, and only when necessary. Chaz and Red had gotten around all that, somehow. Their time spent in Oneka Falls had allowed them to become friends of a sort.

  Who can I trust? Who is left to trust?

  book two:

  black swan

  Chapter 1

  1986

  1

  “Greg!” yelled Joe at his grandson’s retreating back. The boy was crying—sobbing—but Greg only shook his head at his grandfather’s entreaties and kept running. He didn’t even look back.

  A strange mist settled above Joe’s head, almost hiding the branches of the trees. It diffused the moonlight, making the surrounding area seem darker, almost malevolent, while adding a layer of brightness above.

  Greg’s head pivoted back and forth as if he were looking for something—or maybe someone. Joe didn’t follow his gaze. He kept his eyes focused on Greg’s back, but he didn’t yell for the boy to stop any longer. He couldn’t fix whatever drove his grandson to run from him that way.

  Plus, his wind had gotten sparse.

  They ran on and on, moving deeper and deeper into the woods that surrounded Lake Genosgwa. Joe’s booted feet thudded on the soil, and his arms ached with the weight of the M1. Despite his growing fatigue, he pushed himself on—faster and faster.

  Something flickered at the edges of Joe’s sight. Something black, but a darker black than the gloom that surrounded them. He ripped his gaze away from his grandson’s retreating form without breaking stride, but what he saw…the thing running parallel to his course made him stumble and almost fall.

  It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before—a shadowy humanoid form, swathed in darkness, with hints of human features, but at the same time, the thing seemed…inhuman. It floated an inch above the ground, disappearing and reappearing with recurring pops. Its feet never impacted the forest loam, despite its moving legs.

  So that’s why there were no footprints! Joe thought. He stopped running, planted his feet, and raised the M1 carbine to his shoulder in one fluid movement. “Greg! Get down!” He aimed at the black thing but checked his fire. He darted a glance at Greg, who was still running despite his shouts. “Dammit!” Joe muttered.

  He needed to be sure no stray rounds hit his grandson, but the need to shoot at the thing chasing Greg mounted until drawing breath grew difficult. Joe doubled his speed, running flat out through the woods, not seeing the blurred detritus of the forest in his path. He leaped over fallen branches, slid through piles of rotting vegetation, and skipped past gnarled roots—all on automatic.

  When the urge to do something grew too strong, Joe slammed to a stop, raised the M1 and shouted, “Greg! Get down now!” Without waiting to see if his grandson complied, Joe sighted on the black thing in the forest and fired three shots in rapid succession. The rifle’s reports filled the woods, and all three rounds slammed into the thing chasing Greg. Splatters of something thick and black flew to the ground surrounding the creature. It shrieked in the high pitch of a woman but sounded more angry than hurt. Greg darted a glance over his shoulder and slowed to a stop.

  “Greg, no!” Joe yelled, waving at Greg to continue running, to get away.

  The black thing snapped its head to face Joe and glared at him.

  Is that… That’s a woman! What’s she covered in, mud? What’s she supposed to be? The creature from the Black Lagoon? Her eyes were as green as the meadow in springtime, but as he watched, they dimmed and grew dark, menacing. She screamed at him, and the sound was unlike anything Joe had ever heard, eliciting a running shudder up and down his spine.

  Whatever she pretended to be, she was after Greg, and that, Joe wouldn’t abide. He fired again and again as he tracked the running woman with the barrel of his rifle. Each shot flew true, and each shot sent what looked like black mud splattering to the ground and brush surrounding her, but she didn’t hesitate, didn’t slow.

  “Greg! Greg!” Joe shouted. Hits to the body aren’t cutting it, Marine! He drew a bead on the woman’s head, leading her about a foot, and he took a deep breath and exhaled it all but didn’t draw more. He tried to calm himself, to still his racing heartbeat, and he tried to stand loose, relaxed, remembering his marksmanship training. Joe timed his shot for a narrow instant between beats of his heart and pulled the trigger. Time turned sluggish, and Joe imagined he could almost see the bullet inching through the space separating him from his grandson’s tormentor.

  Her head snapped to the side, and finally, she stumbled.

  “Stung you there, you bitch!” shouted Joe. Why hasn’t she fallen? I must’ve winged her. He fired again, still aiming at the woman’s head, and that round rocked her head to the side for the second time. She whirled to face him, and Joe could distinguish her features at last. Despite the mud or whatever covered her, she had a beautiful face—almost elfin features in perfect proportions.

  She opened her mouth and screamed, her eyes boring into Joe’s.

  A cold, analytical part of his mind had kept track—only three rounds remained in the magazine. He couldn’t remember whether he’d picked up a spare magazine and shoved it into his back pocket as he’d always done when he rehearsed retrieving the weapon. His memory of the events leading up to the chase through the woods had hazed, had misted over as surely as the early morning sky above his head.

  The woman froze, glowering at Joe. Her head hunched forward, and her arms hung straight at her sides, ending in fists. Fists with long, age-yellowed, broken and cracked fingernails. In the woods surrounding them, something popped like corn in a popper.

  Joe still held the M1 to his shoulder, his finger still on its trigger. He began to take up the trigger’s slack when somet
hing slammed into him from the darkness at his back. The M1 fired wild, sending a bullet racing off through the trees. Joe stumbled forward, fighting to remain on his feet, his left arm flailing for balance.

  Something else hit him from the side, and he got a vague impression of black fur and flashing fangs. Dogs? The third weight slammed into him, and he fell, losing the rifle in the confusion. He landed amidst the knobby roots of a tree, and his breath whooshed out of him all at once. He flipped to his back, drawing his knees up to protect his groin and belly, ready to fend off the dogs that had knocked him to the ground.

  There was nothing there.

  Joe rolled to his knees, his head rotating back and forth, scouring the woods for any sign of his four-legged attackers. He darted a glance toward where the woman had last stood, but she too had disappeared into thin air. Greg had put quite a distance between them and ran still.

  Sweeping up the M1, Joe resumed his chase, but this time he kept his eyes moving and his head on a swivel. He searched every shadow, every dark tree trunk, but it was as if the woman covered in black had disappeared.

  2

  By the time the ambulance arrived, Tom Walton had gathered his wits, due to the ministrations of Alison Seeger. He was out of the car, leaning against the quarter panel and sipping a cup of Alison’s coffee.

  “I still don’t understand how your car ended up down here, Chief,” said Alison. “Listening to heavy metal on patrol again?”

  “Don’t pester the man, Alison,” said Will.

  Will’s son-in-law—Tom couldn’t remember his name, despite having met him twice—grunted and smirked in the background. Tom didn’t much cotton to the man, and he thought he’d caught Will shooting a dirty look at the man, so it seemed unanimous. “No, no. It’s all right, Will,” said Tom. “I don’t much understand how I got down here either.” The last thing in the world Tom would admit to was being pushed over the edge of the ridge by a pack of eyeless dogs.

  If that’s even what happened… He’d hit his head as the car slid down the steep incline, and he’d spent significant energy trying to convince himself that had caused his strange memories.