The Darkest Gateway

by Jeri Westerson

I stomped into the woods but then realized that all this noise-making wasn’t the way to do it. I slowed and walked carefully until the utterly silent Erasmus lightly touched my sleeve.

  “Kylie,” he said. I don’t know what it was, but I always got a little shiver when he used my name. “You are attuned to the book as no other Chosen Host has ever been. You must listen to it now. It can help you find the creature. Stop and listen.”

  Okay. Made sense, if anything did. I stood in the dappled forest, surrounded by trees that shed their leaves like a fluttering waterfall of gold coins. But the forest was also a dense maze of tangled shadows and twigs and foliage. I couldn’t even see or hear the road anymore. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and reached out to the Booke. I pictured the magical tendrils that tied me to it, and then I felt it like a soft caress, reminding me that it was there, waiting. It seemed to stretch toward the edges of the forest. My senses tingled with the sudden bombardment of awareness. All at once, I could tell exactly where a cricket was on a shiny leaf…or a bird clutching a high branch…or a salamander slipping into a damp bog. I couldn’t believe how alive the forest was, and then Erasmus whispered in my ear.

  “You feel it now, don’t you? You see the forest as I see it.”

  I nodded slowly. I didn’t want to open my eyes and have the sensations pass. Keeping my eyes closed brought everything into sharp focus as if I could “see” the whole thing spread out before me.

  “Wendigo,” I whispered, searching for it in the map in my mind. All of a sudden, I was rushing forward, past cattails and reeds, over squelching bogs and grassy rises, and then deep into the darkest hollows of the woods.

  And there, standing in a glade, I saw it.

  My eyes snapped open. I began running.

  I just went with it. I didn’t know how I knew. I didn’t stop to be amazed by it. I just went with gut instinct, running through bracken and fern, casting aside tangling bushes, leaping over fallen logs. And Erasmus was right beside me, a bright glow of pride in his eyes when he looked toward me.

  There was the bog with the cattails and farther on, the shadowed hollows. The trees parted and I was at the edge of the glade. The wendigo was there. Its waves of pain and sorrow reached me, swept over me, but it did not affect me as it had done before. Doc’s spell held as I watched it pick its way over the grasses and ironweed in long, graceful strides, oblivious to me.

  I drew the crossbow to my shoulder. It had already armed itself. Could it be this easy? I took careful aim and fired.

  The bolt spiraled forward with a hissing sound and struck true. The wendigo reared up. I lowered the crossbow and saw the bolt stuck right in its chest, and that bright light began shooting through it.

  The Booke arrived but instead of writing in it immediately, I watched the creature writhe and cry out. It looked at me with those saddened eyes even as light beams tore at its face. I wanted to see it die. I wanted it to go away. I snatched the quill from the air, jabbed at my other hand that was never going to heal, and began writing. Die, you miserable cannibal! I wrote. Go back to where you came from with your misery and shame and take your insatiable hunger with you…

  I wrote in some other details, thinking that maybe a diatribe wouldn’t be adequate, and soon enough it began to burn away like a filmstrip catching on fire. And when I dotted the last “i,” it exploded in a shower of sparks and was no more.

  I slammed the quill in the Booke, heaved it to the forest floor, and glared at it. I don’t know why I was so suddenly angry. Maybe it was the cannibalism that it had foisted on me and the innocent couple Ed had told me about. Maybe it was because now my coven was wasting their time spraying that anti-cannibal charm everywhere. Or maybe it was because I was damned tired of cleaning up what the Ancient Ones thought was a great joke: inventing the damned Booke to begin with.

  I got my breathing under control and glanced at Erasmus. He had an orgasmic look to his face. I guessed a Chosen Host in charge fired his engines. Lovely.

  “Come on,” I told him, holding the crossbow down at my thigh and marching back through the woods.

  A weird screaming sound off in the distance sent a chill snaking down my spine.

  “Already?” I whined.

  “Yes. Something else from the book.”

  “This is turning out to be very crappy week.”

  He sniffed the air and turned in the direction of the eerie sound. “What is the expression? I think you said a mouthful.”

  Chapter Seven

  There was no point in not hunting it. Besides, I was running on adrenalin. Who knew how long that would last? So I followed it, letting the Booke guide me, keeping my eyes half-lidded and feeling its magic lead. Miraculously, I didn’t trip, even only half-aware of everything around me.

  We heard the shriek again.

  I stopped and glanced at Erasmus. “What do you suppose that is?”

  “I think…I think…”

  A burst of leaves and twigs, and the thing flew at me. All I saw before I went down was a pale figure with red glowing eyes and rags fluttering off of it, making that horrible sound.

  I flipped over on the ground to my stomach, my crossbow out before me, armed.

  The creature disappeared into the shadows. I was up and running, dead leaves flying off of me.

  “It’s a banshee,” said Erasmus, running beside me.

  “And what does a banshee do besides scream?”

  “That’s mostly what it does. Its scream heralds the death of someone.”

  “Heralds or causes it?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps a little of both.”

  We continued running. Must have been my Chosen Host skills because I wasn’t tiring like I used to. When we came around a bend, we saw it perched high on a rock.

  It looked like some crazy old woman with white hair blowing in all directions. Her ragged dress hung on her like a mummy’s bandages. She was wailing with her head thrown back—a truly horrible sound that jarred me right to my bones.

  I raised the crossbow to my shoulder, wondering if I could get her from here when she turned and looked right at me. It didn’t stop me from pulling the trigger.

  The bolt flew and stuck her in the neck. She fell off the rock, or tried to, but the fiery death that the Booke meted out caught her in mid-air, and the holes burned through her. Jeez, she wailed so loudly they probably heard her in the next county. Her cries echoed off all the rock outcroppings.

  The Booke showed up, quill at the ready. I noticed I was leaving a smear of blood on the crossbow—which it probably enjoyed, knowing these Netherworld things—so there was still blood in my palm to write out what little I could describe about her in the Booke.

  She burned up soon enough and the wailing became just a memory as all fell silent again.

  I looked at Erasmus as I lowered the crossbow. “Why is this so easy all of a sudden?”

  His eyes tracked all around us. “I don’t know.”

  Another scream behind me made me whip around. This was getting ridiculous. I exchanged a glance with Erasmus and plunged down the side of the hill into the forest again.

  * * *

  I must have dispatched three more beasties before I called it quits and headed for home. I was hungry, and not in a cannibal way this time. It was after two in the afternoon, after all.

  The Wiccans had gathered at my shop. I dropped into a chair, laying the bloodied crossbow across my lap.

  “How did it go?” asked Nick, bringing me a beer.

  I took a long drink from the bottle before balancing it on my thigh. “How many was that, Erasmus?”

  “Five,” he said proudly.

  “Kylie!” said Doc coming to sit on the ottoman in front of me. “You dispatched five creatures?”

  “Six. Accidentally got a squirrel. I didn’t mean to.”

  Nick sat on the floor next to Doc. “Whoa. Isn’t that, you know, a lot?”

  “Yes. It is.” I took another swig of beer. “A lot to show up and a lot for
me to just take down like I’m at a shooting gallery. I don’t get it.”

  “So wait,” said Jolene, putting down her skull Hello Kitty backpack. “You just—bang, bang, bang—” She mimed shooting an invisible crossbow. “Like, all at once? That’s more than has ever showed up before.”

  “Yup.” Another swig of beer.

  “You’re being pretty matter-of-fact,” said Jeff, leaning on the top of my wing chair.

  “I don’t know how else to take it. So all that spraying you guys did… The wendigo had been gone since daybreak.”

  “What?” Seraphina, usually the calmest of us all had a furious look on her face. “And you didn’t call us? We went all over Hades to spray every inch of this village and then some.”

  I lowered the empty bottle to my thigh. “I-I’m sorry, guys. I was just suddenly really up to here with creatures.”

  “Well,” she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I guess I can’t blame you.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I said again. I looked at Jolene and then my eyes swept over the clock. “Hey, what are you doing here so early?”

  “Oh, I just skipped school today.”

  “Jolene!”

  “It was far more important that my friends didn’t eat each other. And don’t sweat it. I’m like six months ahead on homework.”

  “Don’t let your parents get wind of it or they won’t let you come here anymore.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  She had a handle on it. It probably involved hacking into the school computer, but it wasn’t for me to say anything. This was more serious than running a shop or going to school.

  The bell above the door jangled as Ed stomped through followed by Deputy George. “Well, we’ve got trouble.”

  “What now?” I threw my head back against the chair.

  He was brandishing a flyer of some kind. “Says here a town meeting’s been called to address all the mysterious deaths and happenings in town.”

  Nick rose to read it over Ed’s shoulder. “Uh-oh. In every movie I’ve ever seen, that’s when the villagers start getting their torches and pitchforks.”

  “No one’s going to do that,” I said. But then I saw Ed’s worried face. “Are they?”

  “I will not let these villagers attack you,” said Erasmus, shoulders billowing puffs of smoke.

  “Wait, wait!” I said, rising. “Erasmus…” I gestured to his smoky jacket and he turned off the fire. “No one knows what’s going on. It’s all just speculation. No matter what some people might have seen, no one’s going to believe them, right?”

  No one said anything. Erasmus looked the most skeptical. I suppose he’d seen his fair share of mobs turning ugly.

  “Um…so Ed, when is this town meeting?”

  “Tonight. This really ticks me off. Because I think you know who is behind it.” He didn’t even have to say it.

  Good old Ruth Russell.

  Doc gently took the paper from Ed and looked it over. “I think it’s in our best interests to show up to this. All of us, if we can.”

  “Some of those protection spells you’ve been talking about wouldn’t go amiss,” I said.

  He smiled congenially. “Those are for Satan. But for this, I suppose a few charm pouches might be a good idea.”

  “Speaking of Satan,” said Jolene eagerly. She grabbed her tablet and did some swiping. “Remember a while ago when we worried about Mr. Dark, uh, eating your soul?”

  Who didn’t remember that? Erasmus raised his nose at Jolene. “You might remember I vowed not to do so.”

  “Well,” she went on, ignoring him, “Mr. Dark said he wouldn’t agree to get a tattoo that would prevent him from eating souls.”

  “Certainly not,” he said indignantly.

  “But that doesn’t mean that Kylie can’t have one that keeps soul-eating away. It blocks the ability of a demon to suck out her soul. Look here.” She turned the tablet around and showed a little design that looked like some curly-cues with dots. “If we make the ink with some strong incantations, I think this will do the trick, you know, against Satan?”

  Seraphina studied the tablet’s image. “How do we get a tattoo artist to use our ink?”

  “If we can’t, then we do the work ourselves.”

  “Whoa. Hold on,” I said. “Like some prison tats? Uh-uh.”

  “It’s a simple design,” said Doc. “Yes, we can do it, if necessary.”

  I shook my head vigorously. “Like I said…”

  Erasmus looked it over skeptically. “Satan is no ordinary demon. But it might work.”

  “Am I supposed to get this tattooed on my chest like Erasmus?”

  “No, silly,” said Jolene. “On the inside of your wrist. At the pulse point. We can do the spell on the ink today. We have the ingredients to do it right now. Maybe even get the tattoo today.”

  I gnawed on my thumbnail. I wasn’t into tattoos myself. Nothing against it. Well, maybe the needles. I grabbed Erasmus’ arm and dragged him away from the others. They were watching me as I turned my back to them, talking quietly to the demon.

  “If I get this tattoo, then what about you and me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will you still be able to…you know.”

  “What? I won’t be able to consume your soul…even though I already made a solemn vow not to.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Will we still be able to…make love?”

  The tense crease across his forehead relaxed and his eyes softened. “Never fear. I will still be able to touch you…as intimately as you desire.”

  God, he could read the phone book and it would still come out sexy, let alone those words. Despite my worries, I was feeling a little warm.

  “Okay, then. I just wanted to make sure.”

  He chuckled deep in his chest. “Who’s a naughty mortal now?”

  He made me smile, which was better than being afraid. I turned back to my coven. “Okay. Let’s start with the ink-making.”

  “And I’ll call the tattoo guy,” said Nick. “I think he’ll do it. He’s okay.”

  I started to wonder if Nick was sporting his own tattoos. I glanced toward Deputy George. He seemed to know what I was thinking and blushed before turning his head away.

  * * *

  Jolene was excited to help make the ink. They’d be using carbonized ashes from burned wood, along with vodka.

  “Why vodka?” I asked, watching the wood burn in the fireplace.

  She pushed her clear-framed glasses up her nose. “Because it’s antiseptic and has no color. Since it’s going into your skin, it’s better than just using water. It’s an ancient recipe for tattooing, really. Some used berries, but the kind of berries we would need are dormant now. This is the next best thing. How clean is your blender? Never mind. I’ll throw some alcohol in it first.”

  “Okay,” said Nick, clicking off his phone. “Wendell, the tattoo artist at Moody Bog Tattoos, said he’d be okay with it, as long as the ink is fresh. I told him it was as fresh as can be. He can squeeze you in at four o’clock.”

  Everything was rushing at me kind of quick. I glanced toward Erasmus for reassurance. He gave me a small nod, which was enough.

  Nick and Jolene huddled together by the fire, holding the tablet in front of them. Doc and Seraphina took their places behind them. And then they all began to chant.

  I caught some foreign words and some English phrases about protection and keeping the gates of my soul closed. Seraphina tossed in some herbs over the fire, which sparked in colors of green, then blue, then a deep purple as the chant continued.

  They looked very much like a coven of witches with their black silhouettes bent over the jumping flames. All the while I rubbed at my wrist unconsciously.

  After the fire died down and the wood wasn’t red glowing coals anymore, Jolene and Nick took the burnt pieces to the kitchen. We all followed them there as they carefully scraped off the carbon onto a clean piece of linen with a silver knife. Nick
sluiced my blender with alcohol several times and dumped it in the sink, and then Jolene measured in a couple of tablespoons of ash and added a little vodka. She replaced the lid and turned on the blender. The whirring mixture looked a lot like ink to me. She finessed it with a little more ash, a drop more of vodka, and voila! Soul-eater deterrent.

  “There’s one more blessing,” said Jolene.

  The coven chanted together:

  “O ash of burning wood,

  where once you were Tree,

  in whose bark keeps safe all secrets,

  dance like the dust in the wind

  and keep thy strange mysteries.

  Deliver the one who bears your mark.

  Keep closed the sacred gates.

  No creature shall take thine soul as long as this mark touches thee.”

  There was the slightest puff of wind and I could have sworn the ink in the blender sparkled just a little. They all stood back, satisfied.

  “That’s it?” I said, breaking the sudden silence.

  “Yup,” said Nick, carefully removing the blender jar from the base. “And it’s about time we get over to the tattoo parlor.”

  We all headed for the door when I stopped. “How many are going?”

  Doc chuckled. “Oh, well. I suppose we don’t all need to go. Nick knows Wendell, so naturally he’ll go, and Jolene found the sigil, so she’ll go. You, Kylie, of course. And Mr. Dark I imagine will like to oversee the proceedings.”

  “Mr. Dark would,” said Erasmus coldly.

  We all piled in my Jeep where I followed Nick’s directions to the little shack of a tattoo parlor at the other end of town. I was nervous. I’d never had a tattoo before and I didn’t relish it now, but I was beginning to feel a little better about my Netherworld journey. Erasmus seemed to go along with it anyway.

  We parked out front. The lot was mostly empty, just a motorcycle and another car parked next to us. Inside the tiny shop, the walls were covered in tattoo flash, samples of the different designs the artist could do. There was a wide variety from simple hearts and four-leaf clovers, to more elaborate 3D stuff.

  Wendell was a very tattooed individual with silver earrings going up the shell of his ear and spiked leather cuffs on his wrist. He was bent over a chair, where a woman with quite a collection of her own tats and piercings sat, getting something inked on her knee.