Dark Arts (16 page)

He pushed gravel atop the hole until it was
flat. “I seal thee under the crossing of roads, to be gone within
one generation, hidden beneath a symbol of goodness until your
power is gone.”

He turned towards his motorcycle and felt
something rough and thick against his neck, the fibers scratching
at his skin. He reached up to fight the noose under his chin as it
tightened, and he was pulled slowly upwards. Before his hand could
get under the rough rope, he was on his toes, struggling to
breathe.

Panic seized him as his feet left the ground
and he began to gently swing and turn until he could see the
twisted face of the pastor. “You won’t reveal me,” he rasped.

“Why is he getting rid of it there?” Miranda
asked. “That’s worse, isn’t it?”

“It’s where his father would put it,” Allen
said as he drove his pickup truck down the dirt road. Miranda sat
between Bernie and his father. “The graveyard has been a cursed
place since my grandfather was your age. There’s no consecrating it
again, not without accounting for everything that’s there, so the
Circle uses it as a place to trap things that we want to limit in
the ground. It works, but there are so many things there now, it’s
become dangerous. Charles used it, but he was the last. We keep it
up so the uninitiated don’t suspect it’s true nature, and so we
have a place to put our public headstones up.”

“It’s like a toxic dump,” Miranda said. She
looked over her shoulder to make sure her aunts were still
following. “Max was never told because he wasn’t initiated?”

“That’s right. When he’s initiated we’re
going to be sharing a lot of things with him, things that will
explain a lot about his life, about his father too.” Rock n’ Roll
band came on the radio, and his father turned it down, he was more
of an Elvis man. “That’s about right,” he said. “I never liked the
graveyard, to be honest, glad no one I knew is buried there.”

“No one has honestly been buried there for
over a century,” Allen said. “We use the same five graves over and
over again whenever an initiated dies to fake burials, so we can
perform our ritual somewhere else. Keep our graves from being
desecrated.”

“Is that what happened at this graveyard?”
Miranda asked.

“Nevil Sands used it to gather power in the
early eighteen hundreds,” Bernie said. “He turned it into a spirit
trap, and started getting rich. I never found out what happened
after that.”

“His family is still running on that money,”
Allen said. “Ask April, she’s related. I was surprised to see her
at the gathering.”

The sting of Scott getting on with April,
the curvy blonde who they barely knew from high school, instead of
him at the beach was eased. “I had no idea,” he replied.

“I had a dream where you two were seriously
involved,” Miranda said. “I mean, seriously, highway to marriage
and kids. That’s why I had you promise you wouldn’t forget all
about me.”

“You’re going to have to warn Scott
instead,” Bernie said. “He intercepted.”

“Thank the ancestors,” Allen sighed. “A Webb
and a Sands, that’s not going to wash with my brother.”

“What do you think Uncle Desmond will do?”
Bernie asked.

“Have a heart attack, maybe nothing though.
April’s the bright spot in that family, I think.”

Miranda looked to Bernie, an eyebrow raised.
“Are the Sands still a problem? I know my aunt Gladys looks like
she’s about to spit every time they come up, but she won’t talk
about why.”

“Dad?” Bernie asked.

“Long story,” Allen said. “That’s his bike,
I think.”

“Samuel was right,” Bernie managed to say
before Maxwell was caught in the headlights, struggling in mid air,
hanging by a black noose tied somewhere in the blackness above.

“Hang on,” Allen said, pressing the
accelerator to the floor, then slowing down at the last moment so
Maxwell could get his legs up on the hood. They piled out of the
truck in a rush, Bernie was half on the hood, trying to get a grip
on Maxwell’s legs to push him up. “Cut the rope!” he shouted.

“It’s not a normal rope,” Allen said.

Bernie felt hands gripping his pant legs,
pulling him away from the truck with firm, forceful tugs.
“Something’s trying to get me,” he said as he looked over his
shoulder and saw nothing. He pulled himself all the way up onto the
hood, shaking the unseen hands off, and stood with Maxwell’s legs
in his arms.

Maxwell gasped his relief, then rasped; “My
boot knife!”

“I am the purifying fire,” Allen started to
declare into the night, standing in front of the hood of the truck.
“Guardian against that which shrinks from light. I call on all the
Guardians that have come before-“ he was interrupted as an unseen
force pulled him away from the truck then out of the headlight’s
beams.

“Allen!” Miranda shouted, running after him.
“Get Max, I’ll get your dad!”

Bernie found the long bladed, horn handled
knife strapped to Maxwell’s calf and began pulling at the leather
strap that tied it there. “I’ll have it in a sec, you
breathing?”

“Yeah, rope’s tightening again,” Maxwell
said as he struggled to expand the noose, trying to push his
fingers between it and the rope.

He felt cold fingers trying to interrupt his
work, they were cold, small, children’s digits. Bernie pulled a
small vial of holy oil from his pocket and pulled the cork off with
his teeth. “I reclaim this space for the living, for the light and
command all souls with ill-intent to depart!” he shouted, splashing
his hands with it, standing up, then rubbing the oil on Maxwell’s
neck. The pressure on his neck was gone, and the black noose let
go. Maxwell fell onto the hood of the truck, dragging Bernie with
him, and they rolled off into the gravel road.

Susanne’s voice cut through the night as she
approached, her arms wide. “I am the Seer of Atrani, I call my
Goddess through the door, Luna grant me the cleansing light.”

Bernie looked up in time to see a broad
shaft of moonlight illuminate the road. Gladys ran to his father,
who was still half in shadow on the roadside. Miranda fought to
pull him all the way into the light. The sounds of cloth tearing
and his father’s muffled voice prompted him to run to him as
well.

“Proserpine, I call on your life-giving
nature to press these dead things away,” Susanne continued.

Bernie got to the road side, where the light
met the darkness as though he were looking from one world into
another, and locked gazes with dim grey eyed man who led his
congregation in pulling at his father’s arms, the shades of
children pressed their small hands into Allen’s mouth, pried at his
eyes and pulled on his hair. Miranda was barely holding on.

With a flick of his wrist, and all the
conviction he had, Bernie sent the last drops of his holy oil at
them. He grabbed his father’s belt and hauled back with all his
strength, with all his weight. The shadows retreated, and his
father was brought into the silver moonlight. “Are you all right,
Dad?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Leaving the bike
here,” he stood shakily and walked to the truck.

“I pray thee watch over us during our
retreat,” Susanne said. “And thank you for coming to our aid.”
Gladys joined her, retreating as she made signs of protection
towards the crossroads.

Miranda was at Maxwell’s side before Bernie
could get there. “Is he all right?”

“Breathing, he hit his head, but it doesn’t
look bad.”

“Bloody hell,” Maxwell groaned as he
struggled to his feet holding his head. He looked around and
nodded. “Past time to clear out.” He started for his motorcycle and
Bernie got in his way.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “You pick that thing up
tomorrow, it’s off to the side, it’ll be fine.”

“Not a bad idea,” Maxwell said.

“Max will ride with Allen and Bernie,
Miranda with us,” Gladys said. “Come!”

Miranda gave Maxwell a brief kiss and ran
back to their car.

They were on their way back to the farm in a
hurry, Maxwell sitting between Bernie and Allen. He wanted to get a
good look at his father, but couldn’t in the dim cab light. He
could tell there was something wrong, his father was being too
quiet, and driving too quickly.

Maxwell knew there was something seriously
wrong when Allen drove his pickup truck up the lawn of the main
house, almost to the front door. “Dad?” Bernie asked as his father
opened the driver side door and slid out this side, staggering to
his knees.

Maxwell and Bernie were out and at his side
in a rush. He was still awake, and groaned when Max and Bernie got
under his arms and dragged him up to the porch and into the house.
“First floor bedroom,” Maxwell said to Bernie, who looked too
stunned to think.

In the clear light of the kitchen everyone
could see his torn, blood soaked shirt. There were scratches on
Allen’s neck, face, and the tear in his bottom lip. The darkness
hid most of the bleeding while they were driving back, but some of
Allen’s wounds, not nearly all, still seeped red. The fight with
the Pastor’s spiritual congregation had taken a greater toll than
Allen let anyone see until he couldn’t stay upright anymore.

They passed through the adjacent kitchen,
busy with night owls still up playing cards, talking and drinking.
“Oh my God!” or “What happened?” were the general cries of surprise
as they moved him through. Maxwell couldn’t help but bitterly note
at how completely unhelpful most of them were. Only two people
seemed to know what to do as they passed.

They put him down on the double bed and were
immediately pushed aside by one of the card players. “I’m a nurse,”
said the tall, middle-aged woman. “What happened?”

“Animal attack,” Bernie said as though by
reflex. “He found a raccoon den.”

She turned around, regarding Bernie and Max.
“No, what really happened? There are scratches in your father’s
mouth and throat, like someone tried to pull him inside out.” She
looked to a younger woman beside her. “Go get my medical bag,
Tammy, and the extra kit in the trunk.” She handed her a set of
keys and the younger woman with a perm that matched the nurse’s and
she ran from the room.

Maxwell stepped in close enough so he could
quietly tell her and not share with the rest of the first floor
dwellers. “A shadow haunt got him, we got him away as quick as we
could.”

“Good,” she returned her full attention to
Allen. “Can you hear me, Allen?”

He nodded, his eyes focusing on her, half
open. “Glad you could make it, Dianna,” he said.

“I bet you are,” she said with mild
amusement, but her serious manner returned quickly. “Try not to
talk, we’re going to take care of you. Do you feel any pressure on
your chest? Squeeze my hand twice for no, once for yes.” She waited
a moment then nodded. “Good, are you having any difficulty
breathing?” Maxwell could see the two squeezes of Allen’s hand.
“Okay, any trouble seeing?” Two squeezes again. “Any ringing in
your ears, or difficulty hearing?” Two more squeezes. “All right,
you’re clear for possession and a whole bunch of terrible injuries
you don’t want, probably thanks to these brands on your chest. That
had to hurt. I’m going to check you over. I’m going to have to cut
your shirt and pants off. Don’t worry about helping me, I’ve done
this more times than I can count. Sonny, you stay,” she said,
looking at Bernie. Tammy arrived with a large red and brown tackle
box and a large shoulder bag. “You go let Jerry check you out then
send him in. Everyone else, out.”

Maxwell took one more look at the scene.
Most of the bleeding was stopped, from what he could see, the rest
looked slow, and Allen didn’t look like he was in any danger. He
opened his scratched eyelids a little and nodded at Maxwell, so he
left. He was met at the door by a powerful looking, tall man with
an easy smile. “Max, I’m Jerry, have a seat.”

Maxwell was shown to a chair at the kitchen
table where Jerry began prodding his neck. “I’ll have some of that,
if you don’t mind,” Maxwell said, pointing at a bottle of Wild
Turkey bourbon.

“Pot would be better,” Jerry said, feeling
his way down Maxwell’s sore neck. “Go ahead though, if that’s your
poison.”

Miranda came in, her aunts heading directly
for the bedroom where Allen was being taken care of. “What are you
lookie-loo’s doing?” Gladys said to the dozen people hanging about
in the kitchen and the hall. “It’s almost midnight, the kitchen’s
closed. Shoo!”

Miranda poured Maxwell a glass of Wild
Turkey and handed it to him, taking a seat behind Jerry. “How is
he?” she asked, flashing a smile at Max.

“I don’t think the rope burns are bad enough
to leave any scarring, bruising on the neck is going to be annoying
for a week, maybe a little longer. You were really hung up, but the
discs are all right. You’ve got a good goose egg on your forehead
here, but if you’re going to hit your head, that’s where you want
to do it. A nice thick part of the skull.” He touched the bump, and
Maxwell flashed him a dangerous glance. It was throbbing hard
already.

Maxwell took a belt of the amber drink in
his hand and winced. “God, that’s awful stuff,” he muttered.

“Here,” Jerry said, putting a joint in
Maxwell’s hand. “I grew it myself.” Maxwell finished the glass of
bourbon and put it back on the table.

Miranda stole the neatly rolled pot joint
from him. “I’ll light this for you,” she said.

“Sure,” Maxwell smirked. Jerry finished
checking Maxwell and sighed. “Any other injuries?”

“I’m a little sore on the left, think I hit
the truck there somehow,” Maxwell said.

“Shirt off,” Jerry told him.

He pressed on Maxwell’s ribs, causing a
little wincing when he got under his left arm. “You’re going be all
right, but don’t be surprised if your shoulders and back are sore.
I recommend you finish this,” he said, extending his hand out to
Miranda, who took a drag from the joint and passed it to him. It
was rolled using three or four papers, slightly large compared to
what Maxwell typically smoked with the band when weed was around.
“Share it with this one, because it’s always better with two,” Jeff
said as he handed the smoldering joint to Maxwell. “Then right to
bed, no sugar tonight though, got it?” he said, looking to
Miranda.