“We have to assume it does,” Shadowheart said.
Above their heads the foliage rippled and moved. There was no wind.
*****
They retreated to Samantha’s colonial revival home on the edge of town. The grounds were partly overgrown and wooded but it was obvious the home was undergoing a loving restoration. A scaffold occupied the front porch. Two dogs greeted them noisily. A beagle introduced as O. Henry and a Corgi called Duke, who was wary of Jeremy.
“Sorry,” Samantha said. “He’s not too fond of men. I think he was abused before I had him.”
“I sense you aren’t that fond of men yourself,” Jeremy said.
“Not awfully,” Samantha admitted. “That give your Christian theology a problem?”
Jeremy laughed, but could not keep bitterness from it. He reached under his coat and pulled out his Templar sword. Duke growled but Jeremy sat on the arm of an overstuffed chair.
“I’m not a Christian,” he said. “I suppose if I am anything I’m a Taoist. I was born in Normandy into an old Scottish Catholic family.”
“I wondered about your accent,” Samantha said, “kind of hard to place.”
“My father brought me into the Order as a child. I was a good little Catholic boy till my early teens and his death. Then came the questions, but never the answers.”
“So,” he said, “I bear a magical sword. They tell me that the ruby in its hilt is red because Joseph of Arimathea dipped it in the blood of Christ. I was teamed with what they tell me is a guardian angel. I know both are supernatural and both are real. But I don’t know that I’m any closer to the answers I’ve always wanted.”
Shadowheart appeared, seated on the couch opposite him. Both dogs gave little yips of welcome and scampered over to sit at her feet.
“They see you?” Samantha asked.
“Animals see angels and demons,” she looked at Jeremy. “Doubts only plague humans.”
“Where you been?” Jeremy asked.
“Off this plane of existence trying to find out about our enemy. I learned only a little, but it’s not good. Ever hear of a green man?” Shadowheart said.
“Yeah,” Samantha responded. “I have one on a pot in my garden, kind of a druid sort of thing. It’s a man, made of leaves, brings good luck.”
“Everything has its equal and opposite,” Shadowheart stood, pacing. “This is like a green spirit gone evil. This one seems to have gathered the poisonous plant life of this world and imbued it with additional power. So it’s not just a poison ivy but vastly more deadly. Cut it and the uroshiolor, the fluid it uses for blood and digestion, will poison you. Burn it and it might poison the whole town.”
“How do we fight it?” Jeremy demanded.
Shadowheart shrugged.
“Wait,” Samantha said. She dove at a cabinet near the TV. Opening both doors, she began flinging DVDs about, tunneling into the cabinet like a gopher digging a burrow. Jeremy watched in bemusement as she muttered, cursed and tunneled.
“Aha,” she said, jumping out and up and tossing a DVD at him.
He looked down at an old black and white SF movie called the “The Thing.”
“And?” Jeremy asked.
“One of my writing buddies loves it and loaned it to me. Scientists attacked in the arctic by a monster carrot or something like that. They killed it with an arc of electricity.” She grabbed it out of his hand and started the TV. A quick scan brought them to the stalwart heroes rigging up an electrical booby trap and zapping a balding spaceman who did not look very carrot like.
“I have a generator,” Samantha said, “for when the power goes out in storms. Dad taught me how to do wiring. We block the windows and doors and leave one way in. The beast comes in and zap.”
Jeremy looked out the window at the setting sun. “Let’s do it.”
A two-hour race with the fading light followed. Jeremy wrestled the generator into the house as Samantha wired and hammered, setting the trap. She hung leads from the metal painting scaffold. They covered the windows with the old house’s green wooden shutters. Furniture and more boards secured all doors but the front. Duke and O. Henry were locked in her bedroom out of harm’s way.
The sun disappeared as Samantha finished hooking up the generator. Jeremy placed some old, rubber, stall mats, he’d found in the disused barn on the ground to protect them. Samantha stared out beyond the leads and cables of the boobytrap. Then she looked at Shadowheart. “You’re sure it’s out there hunting for me?”
Shadowheart nodded. “I sense the presence of evil.”
Samantha opened the door and strode out onto the porch facing the open expanse of lawn. “Eeeaaaat meeeeeeee,” she yelled. She walked in and grinned at Jeremy. “Always wanted to do that.”
Jeremy frowned. “Wonderful.”
Samantha, now cheerful and confident, got them both a beer, pausing for a second to look at Shadowheart, who just rolled her eyes. Jeremy gratefully accepted the beer as Samantha sat on the rocker inside the doorway in plain view. From somewhere she’d produced a revolver that lay in her lap like a cannon. “Daddy’s old .357,” she said, noting his gaze.
“I’m bait for the beast,” she added, sipping her beer. “Hope it doesn’t prefer virgins.”
Jeremy kept circling, checking the windows. He’d left the lights on, but the old house was lousy with blind spots.
“Come on Jeremy, stick close,” Samantha called. “It will be showtime soon.”
Jeremy sat near Samantha, sword resting across his knees.
“Don’t believe I thanked you for sticking by me during all this. Friends mean a lot to me,” she said. “Won’t forget it.”
“Can always use more friends,” he said.
She smiled. “Sorry that I’m not up for giving the hero the traditional rewards.”
“You’re forgiven,” he said grandly.
“Oh please,” Shadowheart grimaced.
Samantha grinned and punched his arm.
A slamming sound came from beneath him. They leapt to their feet. More noise came from below them.
Shadowheart turned to Samantha. “Does this house have a basement?”
“Yeah. But it’s cement.”
“Any of it natural dirt?”
“Only by the trapdoor.”
Shadowheart shut her eyes as if in pain. “A green man might well tunnel through dirt like you swim. This thing might do the same.”
The thumping came louder. Something was coming up the inside stairs.
“It’s inside!” Samantha yelled.
The door from the basement bulged.
“Run,” Jeremy shouted, shoving her out the front door. Shadowheart blinked out of existence.
“I can’t trigger the generator from out here,” she protested.
“We’ll die in there,” he snapped.
The door cracked as they fled into the night. Jeremy had a second to see a mass of rustling green.
They raced out to the yard, then circled, heading for the cars, but the creature followed them out and was too close to rush past. Jeremy fled the pricking of its poison on his skin. An overpowering smell of wet earth and decaying leaves bit at his nose.
Bang, sounded in his ears. Samantha’s .357 cracked again, kicking wildly in her hands. “Get off my land,” she shouted.
The bullets tore foliage but the thing came on untroubled. The prickling on his skin grew worse; all Samantha had done was fill the air with poison.
“Back up,” he said. He hefted the sword but knew cutting would only do more harm to them. Only one chance. “Get your car,” he shouted as they backed toward the barn and shed where they had parked. He reversed his sword, holding the gem at the level of his eyes and concentrated. Latin poured off his tongue. The gem began to pulse with a blood red light.
The green man stopped its rush at the edge of the light. It looked like a giant starfish but the top arm was shorter and held a horrible caricature of a face, with holes for eyes and a maw of twigs and leav
es. Two thick ropy tendrils waved from its shoulders. It tried to sidle to one side or the other as Jeremy kept up his chant, feeling his strength drain bit by bit into the stone.
“Jeremy,” he heard Samantha call. “It’s done something to the tires. They’re all flat.”
“Run, Samantha,” Jeremy cried, despair striking him. “I’ll buy you time.” He advanced toward the green man, which gave ground, shaking as if in agitation or pain. If he could trap it against the house maybe he could destroy it. He ran forward, concentrating on the gem…and tripped on a tree root hidden in a harsh shadow thrown by the porch light. He caught himself as the gem winked out and the green man rustled forward, almost upon him.
Suddenly Samantha leapt in, spraying something from a can in each hand. “Eat Roundup, fucker.”
The green man convulsed in evident pain. But the chemicals wouldn’t kill even ordinary poison ivy quickly. Tendrils struck out. One knocked the can from her right hand, the other stuck her down like a whip. Samantha screamed and lost the other can.
But Jeremy gained his feet and raised the gem hilt. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” he shouted, pouring out strength recklessly. The gem flamed and the green man retreated holding up two of its appendages like arms to protect its horrid face.
Samantha scrambled up. They turned and fled down the path. A stiff wind rustled the grass and brush around them.
“Where to?” Samantha called.
“We’ve got to get out of all this vegetation. It can come at us from any direction.”
“There’s a fish camp down the road,” she said. “Nice big tarmac parking lot.”
They jogged on. Jeremy kept the sword ready but he could not see the beast. Probably it was pacing them in the forest to their right. They had to keep ahead of it.
Samantha and Jeremy slowed. He trained at running, but the encumbrance of sword scabbard and weapons slowed him. Samantha was nursing a knee. “Surgery last year,” she grimaced.
“Shadowheart,” he called.
“With you,” her voice sounded in their minds.
“Where is it?”
“Near, following in the woods. Run faster.”
They jogged down the empty country road hoping to see a car. Not, he thought, that anyone is likely to stop for a young man with a sword.
A sign ahead said, ‘South Fork Fish Camp.’ They ran into the parking lot.
“Duck,” Samantha yelled.
Jeremy hit a shoulder roll as a boulder sailed through the space he’d just occupied.
They reached the door. “It’s locked,” Samantha yelled. Then she pointed, her face frozen in terror. The green man was coming from the tree line, moving as fast as a man.
Jeremy pulled his Walther and shot the lock. They ran in.
“Brace the door,” Samantha shouted.
He shook his head. “Too many windows. The kitchen, quick.”
The entrance behind them slammed open as they raced into kitchen.
“Jeremy, I can’t run much longer,” Samantha said, grabbing her knee.
He looked about desperately. They stood next to the meat locker. Its refrigerator unit hummed and he could see three big tanks of refrigerant next to it.
The double doors of the kitchen opened and the green man stood there, as if savoring their helplessness.
Inspiration struck Jeremy. He reversed the sword and concentrated on the gem, producing a wan version of the glow he had invoked before. The creature rustled as if stung but pressed forward, encouraged by the weakness of the glow.
Shadowheart, he sent mentally, I don’t dare speak aloud. Tell Samantha to get the fire ax on the wall and knock over the liquid nitrogen tank.
He heard the sound of the tank falling.
Suddenly Jeremy raced forward and to the left, circling the creature, the sword's gem brightened and the monster stumbled back. “Now, Samantha!”
Samantha slammed the fire ax down on the top of the tank in several desperate strikes. Freezing liquid nitrogen burst forth. A high keening sound came from the creature as it was forced away from the sacred sword into the cloud of vapor. Jeremy poured his full force into the sword’s gem to hold the monster in place. Cracking sounds filled the air.
Samantha wrestled the other tank around. Pointing at the green man, she braced it on a chair and opened the valve, blasting the green man at point blank range.
Jeremy grabbed Samantha and pulled her past the creature. They retreated from the cloud of icy gas, eyebrows and hair already stiff. In a minute the tank emptied and the room was freezing. In the middle of it, like a horrible ice statue, stood the green man.
Shadowheart appeared. “It’s not over. Jeremy, strike now.”
Jeremy leapt forward and brought the heavy Templar sword down in a two-handed blow. The green man shattered into a pile of frozen vegetation.
A sound made Jeremy look down and leap backward with a wild yell.
Something rose from the floor.
“A mandrake demon,” Shadowheart snapped.
A two-foot tall creature that seemed made of roots stood up and hissed at Jeremy. It looked like a gingerbread man gone bad, very, very bad.
The mandrake jumped forward and Jeremy leapt over it, swiping down with the bloodsword and missing.
“Don’t let it get out to open ground,” Shadowheart shouted. “It will bury itself and regenerate.”
Samantha leapt forward with a wild cry and swing of the ax that would have made any Viking proud. The mandrake rolled under her and grabbed her leg. She shook it loose with a howl. It leapt onto a table, heading for a window. Jeremy lunged forward and slammed the point of the sword into the mandrake, pinning it to the wooden window sash. It screeched and twisted, almost freeing itself.
Samantha’s ax thudded into the mandrake, neatly separating its head. The root dropped to the floor, curling and starting to smoke.
Jeremy looked at Samantha and smiled. “Nice work, Viking Princess.”
She smiled back at him then staggered over to a chair and collapsed into it, arms wrapped about her. Jeremy’s hand shook as he sheathed the bloodsword.
“Well done,” Shadowheart said. “You have banished the evil.”
“We’d better get out here before the cops arrive,” Jeremy said. He looked at his hands. They were swelling and itched. “Please tell me you have calamine lotion and Benadryl at your house?”
Samantha looked up. “I’m a country girl. Calamine lotion and Benadryl are condiments out here.” She stood shakily and looked at Shadowheart. “One question. One straight answer.”
Shadowheart smiled. “Ask.”
“Does God really love me?”
“Hell yes,” Shadowheart said and vanished.
The End
The Devil and the Details
Jeremy walked up the stairs to the Pewter Rose, one of Charlotte’s, high-end restaurants in the trendy South End. A girl in a crisp white shirt and black pants smiled at him.
“I’m here to meet a Robert Diablesse,” he said.
“Ah, you must be Mr. Leclerc.”
Jeremy smiled. At twenty-two he didn’t usually rate a ‘mister’ from people, but he didn’t dine at the Pewter often either. He followed past the white linen tables to an alcove in the back.
A dark-haired man of about thirty sat there. Behind him, like a bodyguard, stood a tall, redheaded woman with a markedly feline countenance. On the table rested a bottle of Dom Perignon and two champagne flutes.
Jeremy considered the woman. Beautiful in an offbeat fashion, he thought. I wonder why she’s standing?
“Mr. Diablesse, your party is here,” the hostess said.
The man who rose to greet him was handsome, athletic, wearing a superbly cut dark-blue suit and slightly taller than Jeremy’s six-feet. He smiled at Jeremy and gave him a brisk handshake. “Mr. Leclerc, a pleasure to meet you. May I call you Jeremy?”
“Of course,” Jeremy said.
“Please, call me Bob.” He gestured toward
a seat.
“Diana,” Diablesse said to the server, “please bring us another bottle of Dom. It’s a special occasion.”
“Yes, sir.”
He smiled broadly. “I keep telling you to call me Bob.”
The girl giggled. “You’re a devil, Mr. Diablesse.”
Jeremy gave a curious look at the standing woman. She regarded him with unwinking green eyes, as if he was a dish of Purina.
Bob made an idle gesture. “My associate, Prosperine.”
Somehow Jeremy knew not to rise and offer his hand. He settled for a pleasant nod.
“A toast,” Bob said, pouring the Dom. “To a new business venture.”
They both enjoyed the rare, refined taste of the Perignon.
Bob sighed with pleasure after a deep draught. “You seem rather young for your reputation, Jeremy.”
“Well, I started in graphic design when I was twelve-”
“Oh I didn’t mean in the arts,” Bob said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m referring to your career as a Knight Templar. You see, Diana is right, I really am a devil.”
Jeremy slowly replaced the flute on the table and gathered his feet under him.
Bob waved a placating hand. “Relax, this is a friendly discussion between pros. I just wanted to meet you. You’ve cut quite a swath through evil in this town for the last year.”
Jeremy studied the being opposite him. It looked human, but as he concentrated, Jeremy could tell there was an unusual aura about Diablesse. The image shimmered and for a second he could see a horned and tailed silhouette.
“Yep, if evil was a stock it would be up to its ass in bears- just like Goldilocks.” Bob continued. “Please, enjoy the champagne.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Jeremy nodded and reached for his glass. “You wanted to meet me, Demon. Why?”
Jeremy’s tone seemed to anger Prosperine. She stalked forward, to be stilled by a gesture from Bob
“Down, Prosperine,” Bob said. “She’s a bit touchy; the mandrake demon you killed last year was an old friend of hers.”
The growl that came from Prosperine could not have begun in a human throat.
Knight in Charlotte Page 4