Night Moves

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Shit,” I muttered, not having thought about burning the net up with the snake monster. Too late now. I lit and hurled one improvised bomb after another, thanking all those years of playing softball for good aim.

  Between the Padre and me, we kept up a non-stop barrage. Wave after wave of flames bathed the lamia, and the air took on the smell of roasted meat and rosemary. I knew right then I’d never be able to use that seasoning again on anything I ate.

  We chucked three dozen bottle bombs at the lamia, and by the time we ran out of ammo, the lamia was fried to a crackly crunch. I wondered if its master would try to yank it out of there once the burning started, but they either didn’t realize what was going on until too late or thought better of pulling a fricasseed cryptid out of thin air.

  “Cover me,” I said to Father Leo. He reached for the grenade launcher. Its shell held a mix of holy water, iron filings, and salt, with some colloidal silver for good measure. I grabbed the harpoon gun out of the back and edged closer to the blast zone.

  The disco ball cast a moving shimmer of reflected light over the parking lot as smoke rose from the charred body inside a blackened circle where the fire had been hottest. Parts of the lamia had turned to ash, while in other places the snakeskin burst like a sausage casing and peeled back, revealing bone.

  I poked at the carcass, fearful it might regenerate, but the creature did not move. Then a glint of something caught my eye, and I fished a medallion on a chain out of the cinders. It was scarred by the fire, but not completely ruined. I looped its chain around my harpoon and carried it back to where Father Leo waited.

  “Whatcha got?” he asked, peering at my prize. The spinning disco light was making me a little crazy, so I nodded for him to unfasten the fishing pole that held it, and he stashed the pole and ball in the back of the truck.

  By the headlight’s glare, I could get a better look at the trinket. “Could the puppet master be using this to control and transport the lamia?” Although the amulet was soot-streaked and one corner had melted in the heat, enough remained to make out occult symbols, and a few other runes I didn’t recognize.

  “Possibly,” Father Leo replied, bending closer to inspect the piece without touching it. “It looks old but not ancient. And a few of those marks look familiar, but I can’t place them.”

  “How about I put this in my safe box until we go back to your place, and we get this mess cleaned up? Then I can get a picture of the inscription and see what Chiara and Simon make of it.”

  I stashed the amulet and grabbed the shovels I always keep in the bed of the truck for situations just like this. We doused what remained of the lamia with more gas and let it burn to ashes, then mixed those with salt, sprinkled holy water, and scattered the cinders. Only then did I hear the distant wail of sirens.

  “Better haul ass,” I said as we both sprinted for the truck. We had barely gotten back on Livermore Road before two fire engines and several police cars screamed past us, going the opposite direction.

  “What do you think they’ll make of it?” Father Leo asked. It was a good thing the cops didn’t stop us—we both stank of smoke and cooked snake.

  “Unauthorized barbecue? Damned if I know.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as I thought. “Did you pick up on anything?”

  He stared out the windshield in silence for a moment. “The creature was more beast-like than I expected. The way lamias are talked about in the old accounts, I expected it to have more humanity to it. But it never tried to communicate, and it didn’t even put up much of a defense.”

  “The lamia and the sheepsquatch were just used by whoever’s calling the shots. And we still don’t know who that is.”

  “We’ll examine the amulet. Maybe we’ll find something. I’m just wondering when the person behind this will strike again. They’ve got to know the second creature is out of commission.”

  “Guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I said. “Hey, you mind if I make a stop on the way back to the church?”

  “Drive-through?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. I promised Rick at the Conneaut Lake Volunteer Fire Department that I’d get the disco ball back to him. They’ve got a dance tomorrow night.”

  6

  My ringing phone woke me, jerking me from uneasy sleep. Despite a shower after I got home with the strongest-smelling soap I owned, I couldn’t get the stink of broiled lamia out of my mouth and nose. Nightmares came at me fast and hard. My hindbrain showed me the highlight reel from my worst hunts, ending, as usual, with the one that started it all, the wendigo that turned a deer hunting getaway into a slaughter.

  I blinked, trying to clear away the horror, but the memories only ever retreated, they never went away. I doubted they ever would. I got through life like some of my friends got through sobriety—minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. That was the best I had to offer, and more often than not, it took all I had.

  My hand felt around for the ringing cell phone and nearly knocked everything from the nightstand before I finally grabbed it. I didn’t recognize the number.

  “Mark Wojcik?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “Yeah. This isn’t the shop—”

  “This is Linda Horton. From the coven. There’s been an incident. I need your help.”

  Lord fuck a duck. I ran a hand over my eyes and counted to ten. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I know I wasn’t very friendly the last time we talked. I’m sorry. We’ve learned the hard way to be cautious. But I have information for you. And the situation isn’t something we can handle.”

  I remembered how aloof Linda had been at the restaurant. Now, she sounded apologetic, even scared. I knew I couldn’t turn her down.

  “All right,” I said, my voice gravelly from sleep and smoke. “Give me an hour to get cleaned up and make sure someone’s covering my appointments at the garage. Where do you want to meet?”

  Somehow, it didn’t surprise me at all when she gave me an address near Tamarack Lake in Meadville.

  After I hung up with Linda, I groaned, scratched myself, and tried to blink the sand out of my eyes and the grit out of my throat. The burning lamia brought back images of the wendigo after I lit it up with a flare gun, saving myself but not managing to do diddlysquat for my father, brother, uncle, and cousin. I knew last night that it would take a couple of shots of Jack or Jim to get me to sleep.

  I hit Pete’s number on speed dial. “Hey, how are we covered for this morning? Something’s come up,” I growled.

  Pete chuckled. “Your other job’s keeping you busy. Dave and I will be okay this morning, and if you’re running late, just let me know. Kevin said he’d be happy to pick up any extra hours we can give him.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I was lucky to have such a good shop manager, and I made sure Pete’s paycheck let him know how grateful I was for his help in supporting both my businesses.

  Demon had heard me and roused from his warm nest at the foot of my bed to come lay his head on my lap and look at me with needy, soulful eyes. If I ate in the truck, I had enough time to shower and take Demon for a quick run before I needed to head for Meadville.

  “All right,” I told Demon, scratching him behind the ears. “Give me ten minutes, and I’m all yours.”

  I hauled my sorry ass to the shower and ran the water as hot as I could stand it. Even Irish Spring couldn’t kill the smoke smell. When I toweled off, I thought about dousing myself in Old Spice, but then I remembered Linda. If I needed to track something, the last thing I wanted was for it to smell me coming.

  I brewed a pot of coffee and grabbed Demon’s leash. My cabin is out in the country, and I often let him run when we go out, but I didn’t want him taking off after a squirrel when I needed to meet the witch. He didn’t care as long as we went out, and he practically vibrated with excitement, tongue lolling, as I snapped on the leash.

  “Come on, goofball,” I said, rustling his ears again. Outside, we took off at a jog for the trail around a sm
all pond. It would stretch Demon’s legs and maybe clear my head. Sometimes Donny, the guard-wolf from the hardware store and Crystal Dreams, would come and join us. He and Demon got along so well it was scary. Of course, that’s Donny’s problem—he’s too wolfie for the people and too people-y for the wolves. Although he seemed to be doing better lately, thanks to a new shifter girlfriend.

  Which made me think about Sara. We’d been seeing each other for nearly a year, and so far, she hadn’t ditched me. I liked her a lot, and when we were together, everything just felt comfortable. It was my turn to make the trek up to Kane to visit, since she’d come here the last time. I promised myself I’d text her later and pick a date.

  Demon and I were both distracted this morning, him by squirrels and birds, and me with bits and pieces about the monster attacks and the coven bouncing through my mind. I felt like there was something drifting just out of reach, a connection I should have made, but damned if I could figure it out. Something I’d seen or heard mattered more than I’d thought at the time, but no matter how hard I tried, the thought slipped away from me.

  “Not planning on being late tonight, if I can help it,” I told Demon as I filled his bowl with kibble and freshened his water. Then I poured coffee into my travel mug and nabbed a muffin from a container on the counter. I checked the locks and wardings, then gave Demon another ear scratch before I headed out to my truck.

  Elvira, my Silverado, roared to life with the turn of my key, and music blasted from the radio. I took it as a good sign that the song was one of my favorites. I gnawed on my muffin and sipped my coffee, singing along with the radio to keep my mind off the incidents just a few minutes longer. After the nightmares, I felt like I’d worked the graveyard shift.

  I made one detour on the way, stopping at Hamilton Hardware to borrow Donny, who was still in wolf-dog form since he hadn’t needed to go in to his other job at the slaughterhouse today. Jesus, he torpedoed every stereotype of the big, scary werewolf, between wagging his butt so hard his whole body swayed back and forth to running in circles because he was so excited to ride in the truck.

  I brought Donny instead of Demon because Demon is not a tracking dog. Donny might be a so-so werewolf, but he’s got all the heightened senses, and even a dorky shifter is stronger than a human if it came down to a fight.

  “Don’t you dare get carsick,” I warned him, rolling down the window so he could loll his head out and feel the breeze through his fur. In response, he howled, but he looked so damn happy I couldn’t really object. Donny didn’t even grumble when I pulled out the leash and collar. If there was tracking to do, I’d let him roam.

  “Do a good job, and there’s a Happy Meal for you,” I promised. “Maybe even an ice cream cone.” That earned another howl.

  Linda’s directions led me to a relatively new neighborhood on the east side of Tamarack Lake. A strip of forest separated the back of the development from the lake itself, which was close enough to be a selling point, but not actually in view. I pulled into the driveway of a neat, two-story house that didn’t look at all like it belonged to a witch. There were plenty of creepy old Victorian houses in this area to choose from if Linda had wanted to go full Munster. Then again, hiding in plain sight probably worked better.

  She must have been trying to get on my good side because I smelled fresh coffee when Linda met me at the door. “Mark. Please, come in. Thank you for coming.” She paused as she glanced at Donny, who was on his very best doggy behavior, sitting beside me. “Um, you can bring him in, too.”

  I studied Linda as she led me to the kitchen, which looked out onto the forest, a pretty view. But Linda shied away from the window, and when she did glance that direction, I saw fear and suspicion in her expression.

  “What happened?” I asked as she handed me a cup of coffee and the fixings to finish it however I wanted. I stuck with black and sugar. Donny stretched out at my feet under the table.

  “First off, I’m sorry for the way I acted at the restaurant,” Linda said, giving a nervous pat to her hair. “The things that have happened lately have me jittery. Frankly, I’m scared. I believed magic would always protect us, but now—”

  “Magic is like any other weapon,” I replied. “Whether it’s good or bad depends on the person using it.”

  “That’s just it. I’ve talked with all of the coven members. They were all willing to submit to a truth spell. None of them had anything to do with that creature that was terrorizing the neighborhood.”

  “Your coven meets at the shop in Conneaut Lake. How many of your members live in this neighborhood? That’s a bit of a haul just to play bunko.” Of course, bunko was the cover, but Linda managed a wan smile at the mention.

  “We have members all over the area, but six of us live near the lake here. Part of it came from being friends, and part because we felt safer with a group.”

  “Do the neighbors know?” I took a sip of the coffee and figured she bought a more expensive roast than my store-brand beans. Under the table, Donny started to snore.

  “Of course not. This is suburbia. The neighbors barely know each other’s names. Very ‘don’t ask, don’t tell.’”

  “Was there a pattern to the sheepsquatch attacks?”

  Linda paused to drink some of her own coffee—cream, no sugar—before answering. “The creature only damaged the yards of the coven members. And I think it’s significant that our high priestess’s last name is ‘Shepherd.’”

  A sheepsquatch for a shepherd. Someone had a dark sense of humor. “Do you think it was a warning?”

  Linda shook her head. “No. I think someone wanted to sow discord among our group, maybe have us looking over our shoulder, afraid of the nearby covens.” She frowned and studied her coffee before going on. “If Chiara hadn’t suggested I talk to you, I don’t know that it would have occurred to me to look for answers beyond witchcraft. We get a little focused on our own little world, I’m afraid.”

  “And now?”

  Linda’s gaze held steel. “I’m very protective of my sisters and brothers in the craft. I want to stop the attacks.”

  “Attacks?” I asked, straightening in my seat. “Someone’s been hurt?” I immediately thought of the lamia.

  “Last night. Beverly Johnson’s in the hospital in Intensive Care. She was stabbed—by a doll.”

  I didn’t see that coming. “Wait. Back up. Have any of your members seen a woman in white or a big snake monster?” Linda looked at me like she thought I might be pulling her leg. “I’m serious. There have been other incidents involving people with some magical ability.”

  Under the table, Donny was either dreaming of squirrels or hot lady wolves. His paws were twitching, and he made soft little yipping noises.

  Linda knew better than to ask me for details about who else with magic might have been targeted. Practitioners understood the need for secrecy. “No,” Linda replied. “I’m sure I would have heard.”

  I nodded. “Good. It’s handled. I just wanted to see if your group had been threatened, too.”

  “We’re definitely being threatened,” Linda said, holding her mug in both hands. “But why two groups would be presented with two different attacks, I can’t guess.”

  I leaned back in my chair. Donny suddenly let out a wolfie howl and startled himself awake, shaking the table and almost making Linda drop her coffee.

  “I couldn’t help noticing that your dog is…intact,” Linda pointed out. “You know that getting them neutered really cuts down on bad behavior.”

  Donny gave an alarmed yelp and sat up so fast his head hit the underside of the table.

  “If it bothers you that he would look…different, you can have implants done,” Linda went on. “My neighbor did that with his Weimaraner, and they looked totally natural.”

  Donny wrapped his front paws around my leg and hung on for dear life.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ll think about it. But…getting back to business. Can you tell me about the most recent attack? I
thought you said someone was stabbed by a doll.”

  Linda took a deep breath to steady herself and set her coffee down. “I did. Maybe this is going to sound strange to someone like you, but there’s a malicious doll stalking our coven.”

  “I’m confused. You’re witches. Can’t you just zap it or un-mojo it with your magic?”

  Linda shook her head. “Not all occult power is ‘magic.’ Or, at least, not witchcraft-style magic. If I had to guess, I’d say this falls more under demonic energy.”

  Lovely. “So how did a demonic doll get close enough to nearly kill a witch?”

  Linda stood and went to get the coffee carafe, refilling both of our cups. Maybe she wanted some caffeinated reinforcement, or just needed to move. “Beverly collects dolls. It has nothing to do with the Craft. Just a hobby, and one she’s relatively famous for, in certain circles. Then yesterday, an old-fashioned celluloid doll—a big one, about the size of a small child—showed up in her yard.”

  She picked up her cup but didn’t drink, and I guessed Linda was gathering her thoughts. “Beverly’s usually very cautious. But the doll was unusual. Old and rare. German, I think she said. She immediately recognized that it was valuable, and she couldn’t imagine why anyone would leave something like that outside.”

  “So it attacked her when she went to get it?”

  Linda shook her head. “No. Beverly didn’t sense anything wrong with the doll and brought it inside. If it had just been magicked, she would have sensed it. She put the doll in her office and went to make dinner. When she came back later, the doll was missing.”

  “Did someone move it?”

  “No. Beverly lives alone. That’s when she knew something was wrong, but by then, the doll had ‘woken up.’ They started playing cat-and-mouse. Beverly said she tried to use magic to stop it, but that didn’t work. It ambushed her, nearly killed her, and ran off.”

  “So she woke up enough to tell you her story?”