The Summoning (11 page)

The Rag Man walked to the very edge of the hill and sat down. Richard sat down next to him. The cards said my fate was bound up with that of the city, and Richard’s was bound to me, so I followed them and sat down on the Rag Man’s other side, to learn what the Rag Man would discover.

A little ways down the hill, the green, watered, manicured grass of the RV park gave way to the brown of the California hillside, shaved down already for the fire season. The Rag Man sat with one knee up, plucked the seed heads of some dead grass blades, and gathered them in his hand. Richard and I watched as he reached into his pocket and added a pinch of the little paper squares from his lunch. He didn’t seem to be doing a working. He wasn’t raising any energy. I looked over at Richard, and he met my look briefly, meaning for me to be patient, wait, watch. Well. That’s one thing my kind can do, no problem.

The Rag Man felt in his various pockets and added another pinch of something small and green. Rosemary leaves, I knew at once from the smell. The Rag Man reached out to Richard with a smiling query, and Richard bent his head for the Rag Man to pluck a single short yellow hair. He turned the little concoction over and over in his hands, stirred it with his fingers, shook it in both hands, and then opened them.

The wind picked up a few of the papers and blew them away. Some of the rosemary dropped between his fingers. It took me a moment to realize the Rag Man had stiffened, and sat glassy eyed, staring into his hands.

“Oh,” he said, “oh oh oh shit, oh shit oh shit,” and his handful of telltales burst into flames between his palms. I leaped back and started to change, to land on four feet, but stopped myself. The burst of flame was gone. The Rag Man was yelling, “Ow ow ow,” and patting the rags that covered his hands, which stank of new ooze and new charred flesh and cloth. He unwrapped the ragged bandages.

I landed on two feet and one hand, the other one held out as though to ward something off. I said, “What the fuck was that?”

“You tell me!” the Rag Man wailed. “You tell me! It happens all the time. Sometimes I wake up and it’s happened. Sometimes I’m not even looking.” He peeled off the inner layer of bandages, wincing as he revealed fresh pink oozing burns on the palms of his hands. “Ow!” he said, with emphasis. He looked at Richard accusingly as he pulled a couple new fairly clean cloths from various pockets, and began to wrap his hands up again.

Richard picked up the discarded cloths, unperturbed. “What did you see? The Eater of Souls, is he coming?”

“Don’t go looking,” the Rag Man said. “It’s here.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

S
ome of the Holy Workers stopped us on our way out and asked the Rag Man to stay with them that night. We left him popping a tall beer and choosing between barbecues, and drove on back down the hill. We were looking for the church with the tower that sat at the center of these wards.

I drove back the way we had come until we crossed that ward again, which made Richard sit up. I turned right at the next major intersection, intending to hone in on the source of the wards.

“I’ve heard of this parish,” Richard said, bracing himself against the seat.

“Oh, yeah?”

“There’s a story. A priest from this parish, a long time ago, made a pact with one of my kind, thinking to use the power to do good. They found him out, and he was sent away.”

“The demon?”

“No, the priest.”

“You think it’s true?”

Richard shrugged. “Someone has set—” He tensed as we passed over another one. I made another turn. “Someone knows enough to set very powerful wards. It may be the priest, or it may be someone else who has studied the disciplines.”

“So we should ask him how you can get yourself free.” I felt his surge of hope. I wondered why the fear was rising in him as well.

I pulled into the parking lot of St. Joseph’s Church. It wasn’t hard to spot. The tiered white bell tower stood three stories high. The church was held up by big square pillars on either side, with a high round window at the top.

I parked the car and turned to Richard. “What’s wrong?”

“He may be a very powerful magician.”

“Isn’t that the point? To find out what they know?” He said nothing, but he didn’t look happy. “You think he’s going to hurt me?” I meant it as a joke.

“He could, if he’s that strong.”

“Oh, yeah?” Then I figured it out. “You think he could get a hold on you?”

Richard said lightly, “It is possible he may know more of me than I know of myself. It’s how I came to grief the last time, seeking help from a magician. I was caught in one of his demon traps.”

“I thought what we were looking for is people who can tell us more about you. Isn’t that why you wanted to speak to Madam Tamara?”

He shook his head. “Madam Tamara is well-known as a woman who is wise and good. This ward-maker could be anyone of power, but without wisdom or virtue.”

“That’s possible.”

“Don’t let them take me from you.”

Ah, I thought. There it is. I smiled at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” We got out, and he followed me across the grass to where the steps led up to the big church doors. I didn’t think for a second that I was the one who might be in any danger. They say you learn something new every day. If you live.

“So you think this old priest is the one doing the wards?” I asked.

“If he was able to deal with a demon, he must be a powerful magician.”

“Has anyone asked him how to deal with the—” I shot a glance at Richard, and refrained from saying the names. “The problems that we’re looking at?”

Richard shrugged. “I don’t know. But if the Eater of Souls is here, any powerful magician must know of it. He may know how to fight it, and how to turn the World Snake.” He met my glare. “This is holy ground. Evil is already being turned aside. The names may be named here.”

I did not bite him. But I gave him a look so he knew I’d thought about it. He dropped his eyes.

There were three sets of huge arched double doors into the church. I pushed open the first one we came to and stepped in to a big stone-paved lobby. Richard reached for the bowl of holy water and crossed himself, as a cheerful voice called to us from one of the inner doorways.

“Hi! Can I help you?” A girl with long black hair fastened back with a couple of barrettes, wearing jeans and a little white shirt, was staring at Richard. She had a bucket and a rag, and had been wiping down the glass windows in the doors between the lobby and the nave.

I watched Richard switch on the charm as he walked up to her, smiling a delicious smile. “We’re looking for Father Joseph. Can you tell us where we can find him?”

“Father Joseph?” Her smile switched off like a light, and she looked around, as though seeking back-up. “Uh… I’m not sure…”

“Perhaps,” Richard suggested gently, “there is someone who can tell us where Father Joseph may be found?”

“Can I help you?” The girl turned with relief as another woman came into the lobby through the door the girl had been polishing.

“Oh, Sister Catherine, please. These people are asking after Father Joseph.”

“Father Joseph?” Sister Catherine turned bright eyes and a beatific smile on the both of us. She had short fair hair and wore a high-necked sweater and a gray pleated skirt. “Why do you want to see Father Joseph? He’s retired, you know.” Her manner was gentle and welcoming, but there was a watchful core of steel in her. She wore a filigreed silver crucifix around her neck.

Richard opened his mouth, probably to lie, I thought, so I stepped in. It’s much better to go on the offensive.

“He’s not allowed visitors?” I suggested.

“Well, of course…” Sister Catherine glanced at her little helper, who caught the hint and went back to wiping the glass.

“Do you think he wouldn’t want to see us?” I pressed.

Sister Catherine’s smile reasserted itself. “Of course he’ll be happy to see you.” She looked over at the girl now industriously wiping away at the glass window, and decided to be cooperative. “Come with me. I’ll show you where he is.”

She took us back outside and around the side of the church, walking with small steps in her sensible shoes. There was a guy clipping the grass around a statue of the Virgin Mary, where offerings and flowers had been piling up for weeks, it seemed. She greeted him graciously but without pausing.

Behind the church was a heavy rectangular building, with curtains in the second story windows. A locked gate led into a short, dark passageway hung with shovels and brooms and other gardening paraphernalia. She took us through into a walled garden that hugged the side and back of the residence. Ancient rose beds were pruned to the quick all along the walls. In the middle of the garden, framed by a square of lawn, an old man dozed in a big straw chair on a sunlit patio. Beside him was a table holding a teapot, and some plates. He’s been eating scones. With butter. Sister Catherine signed us to wait, walked quietly up to him, and bent to speak in his ear.

He started awake, and turned to look at us. He was dressed in traditional black robes, and a wide-rimmed black hat shaded his face. His eyes widened when he saw us, and he rose hastily from his chair, grasping the back for support, seeming to grow as he stood up. He reached out with one hand, groping for his stick with the other, and started toward us.

“Boy!” he said. “You, boy! Come here!”

Richard glanced at me, and then walked over to the priest, who grabbed him by the shoulder and thrust him behind him, and pointed his stick at me. “Avaunt ye! Thing of evil! Hence from this holy place!” His voice was growing stronger as he gathered his power.

“Father Joseph? Father Joseph!” Sister Catherine admonished him ineffectually.

The priest brandished his staff, standing between Richard and me. “Thou monster of darkness! I say ye depart, or I will call down upon you such forces—”

Sister Catherine hurried back to me apologetically. “I’m so sorry, I don’t think this is a good time—”

“Sister, step away! Creature of darkness! Be gone!” He pushed Richard back again as he made to come forward, and pointed his staff at me again. He was raising a lot of power. This church had stood for a long time, and the daily rituals, woven into the very air day after day for what felt like a hundred years, was a well that he was drawing on to increase his power. The hair on the back of my neck rose as he began slowly to walk toward me.

That’s when I realized that the wards we had crossed were raised against me. Well, not exactly against me, but that I was included in the things he’d raised the wards against. The rage rose in me. What an idiot! What was it he was seeing when he looked at me that made him think I was one of the bad guys? I’d put on a clean shirt, after all. I’d combed my hair. I felt myself grow larger and I advanced to straighten him out about a thing or two concerning me, and evil, and which was which, and that’s when Sister Catherine whacked me from behind with a shovel.

All right, I hadn’t seen it coming. And I’d let her get behind me. But I felt the wind of it as it came and leaped forward as it struck. I landed and turned and leaped on her, grabbed the shovel and bore her back until she ran into the wall, and if she saw me change from the time I turned to the time I grabbed the shovel, well, it was her job to rationalize it. I didn’t have to explain anything.

“What the fuck?” I exclaimed, in righteous anger. “What the fuck was that?”

Sister Catherine’s mouth was opening and closing, “I….”

I smiled at her. It was not one of my nice smiles. It was, in fact, one with teeth in it. There are times when I look like I have a lot more teeth than I ought to. This was one of those times.

Sister Catherine had been praying and moldering over evil probably for her entire life. Well, if I was what she thought evil was, then she was going to get a bellyful. Her eyes grew very wide, staring in to mine, and then she dragged them away and shrieked, “Father!”

“Let her go!” The priest roared, advancing, his staff raised against me, shaping the power he held to pinion me. I was shaping to change, twist out of it, and bite his leg. Maybe his thigh. Hell, maybe his groin. Then Richard was between us.

“Father Joseph, please. She’s with me, it’s all right. She’s with me.”

“Then make her get back! Make her let the Sister go!”

I turned yellow eyes on the priest. Richard was holding the father’s shoulder, keeping him away from me. The priest probably thought Richard was protecting me from his righteous wrath, or his staff, or his magic, or all three, but I knew Richard was holding the priest back so that his blood would not be spraying the floor in another moment. Richard moved to block my gaze and meet it with his own.

“Lady,” he said, “Amber, please.”

I became aware that Sister Catherine was mewling beside me. I lowered the shovel, whose blade I happened to have pointing at her throat.

“Father Joseph,” Richard said earnestly, and I was aware at once that he was going to lie his head off. “We have come to consult you regarding the mysteries that we have heard you are wise in. This is Amber, and we have—private, personal matters to discuss with you. She’s not dangerous—”

Hah!

“She came here with me, and I promise you, we aren’t going to do any harm.”

I noted with interest that he hadn’t said I was promising anybody anything.

The priest’s power was leaking away. He faltered, and Richard held him steady. He looked Richard in the face. “My son?”

Richard looked up at him, beautiful as an angel. “Father, please help us. We need your counsel.”

“I haven’t done anything,” I put in judiciously. I made sure my voice was a little outraged, which wasn’t hard. “She hit me with a shovel!” And, out of the eye line of the priest, I smiled at Sister Catherine really hard, because, you know, I could.

The priest turned back to me. I saw his certainty falter. He grasped his staff convulsively, and then it was only a cane to help an old man to walk without stumbling.

“We just want to talk,” Richard continued, using his voice to weave a kind of spell of his own. “We heard that you might be able to help us.”

“Father Joseph—” Sister Catherine began.