Wolfsbane (18 page)

The night wind picked up, sighing through the granite and marble of the graveyard, producing a song not unlike a softly sung dirge.

“You tell me this, Strange: what is to prevent my delaying my revenge? Waiting you out; wearing you down? Chipping away at you?”

“The obvious answer would be your health—in your. . . ah . . . human form. But I think there is more to it than that. I think you have to finish this . . . mission of yours before—or probably on—the night your husband was killed.”

“I was right,” her voice drifted disembodied to him. “You are an intelligent man. I can see why you were chosen. Are you a religious man. Strange?”

Funny, Pat thought, she knows everything else about me—why would she not know that? “No,” he said. “I haven't been to church in years.”

“That's not what I asked, Strange. I asked if you were a religious man?”

“I believe in God Almighty—a Supreme Being, yes, of course. One only has to look about him to see that all this was not created by accident; some form of intellect was behind it all.”

Lightning licked across the sky. Something close to fear touched Pat. He could have sworn he heard a deep voice saying, “Bah! He is no more intelligent than I.”

“What the hell was that?” Pat asked.

“You got part of it right, Strange,” Victoria laughed. “Yes, so you do experience fear. Very good, Strange. You will, I assure you, experience much more.”

“The devil?” Pat asked in a whisper. “Is that why you asked if I was a religious man?”

The wind sighing moodily through the graveyard was his only reply.

“Answer mel” Pat's voice was hard, his fingers aching from his tight hold on the riot gun.

“We'll talk later, Strange. Your friends are fast approaching.”

A surge of wind, a foul odor, and the night was once more his. He stood alone in the cemetery.

“Wait a minute!” Pat yelled. “Come back here—you whore of the devil!”

“How dare you?” her voice lashed at him, fouling the night with a stinking fan of air.

“If you're so damned tough, lady; if you can do so much—why don't you kill me? Obviously, I stand in your way. What's the matter, are you afraid of me? A mortal? No. There has to be more to it than that. Come on, level with me.”

The wind became a whistling, invisible shroud, howling through the cemetery, picking up small twigs and dirt, hurling them at Pat, stinging his exposed flesh.

Victoria laughed at him. “I could kill you before the muscle in your chest pumped another drop of blood. Don't ever doubt that, Strange.”

“No,” Pat said quietly. “I don't think so. I don't think you can. There's something funny about all this; I don't even know whether it's really happening. But let's assume it is real for the moment.”

“Damn you, Strange!” she squalled.

Pat smiled. But his smile was shaky. “So I've got to be having some outside help, right?”

Her only reply was an ugly hissing, her breath, the winds, hot and stinking.

“What happens if your mission is not completed by the night of your husband's death?” Pat changed the subject, for he felt the mere idea of God helping him was too absurd to even consider.

No reply. Only the sighing of the wind.

“Your granddaughter told me I couldn't kill those things with lead,” he pointed to the dead beast. “But obviously, I did. So are you losing your strength?”

A tombstone was suddenly ripped from the ground and hurled at him. Pat threw himself on the ground, the heavy stone missing him by only inches.

“Guess not,” he muttered. “So much for my accuracy with snap deductions. All right, lady, tell me this: these creatures, all right, werewolves, if you will—and you, too, are you spawns of the devil?”

No reply.

Pat brushed the dirt from his trousers. “Come on, lady!” he needled her. “Stop all this fucking around and answer my questions.”

“I'll break you,” she hissed at him, her voice strong through the sudden howling of winds. “And I'll have you, Strange.
As mine!
To do with as
I
please. For as long as I choose—centuries.”

Pat watched as Sheriff Vallot's prowl car pulled into the drive, its lights isolating him in the wind's fury.

“Merciful God!” Doctor Lormand said, his eyes fixed on the wind-swept figure of the man. “What's happening to him?”

“I'm not sure I want to know,” Edan replied.

“How you gonna have me, lady?” Pat laughed at the echoing voice in the night. “Poison my food?”

“I'll have your mind, Strange,” she hissed. “And I'll have your soul. But . . . I . . . will . . . have . . . you!”

She left him in a wave of wild laughter that Pat knew he alone was able to hear. Then the wind ceased its howling as if controlled by a switch. The graveyard was suddenly silent.

Edan drove up to Pat, leaving the engine running, the lights on bright.

“What was happening here?” Doctor Lormand asked.

“I was speaking with Madame Bauterre,” Pat replied calmly. “She was telling me what she was going to do with me.” He turned to where the creature had fallen, pointing it out with the beam of his flashlight.

“Damn!” Pat yelled.

The hairy beast was gone. A bloodied, middle-aged man lay in its place.

“I know damn well you killed a loup-garou!” Edan said. “I saw it.”

“I don't know about that,” Pat said. He played the beam of his light on the man. “But I damn sure killed a hairy beast, not that man.”

“Then death regressed it,” Don told them. “Brought it back to its original form.” He walked to the dead man, the others close behind him. “But who is he?”

“I never saw him before,” Sheriff Vallot said. He looked around him. “I don't understand any of this. All the yelling Phillip was doing; all the shooting Pat did; all the flashing lights, squalling tires . . . and not one person has come out to investigate.”

“No one saw it, and no one heard it,” Pat said. “And I'll bet you all you can expect more of this to happen in the town.”

“What do you mean?” Edan asked.

“You just wait. I don't understand all that's happened since Janette hired me to come here, but I got a funny feeling it's gonna be the biggest thing I've ever taken part in. And I don't know whether I'm gonna win or lose.”

“You didn't answer my question,” Edan complained.

“I can't say any more about it just now.”

“Why?”

Pat shook his head. “Don't ask me why, I don't know. I just can't.”

“Then tell me this: how was Madame Bauterre talking to you? The little dog?”

“No. I don't know how. Black magic. Supernatural. The devil.” He blurted the last. “She said as much,” he managed to say. Pat looked uneasy for a moment, then said, “How is your friend, the drunk?”

“In shock,” Doctor Lormand replied. “And for the first time I can remember, totally sober. The devil, Pat?”

“Yeah. I don't know why . . . but for some reason, she can't, or won't, kill me. She did ask if I was a religious man. Never thought of myself as being one.”

Edan forced a smile. “For a man who didn't believe in the supernatural—or said he didn't—you sure have come a long way in only a short time.”

But Pat would only shrug. Why me? he silently questioned. If what I believe is true—why me? Why pick me, of all people? Your choice sucks . . . Sir.

He did not expect any reply, and he was not disappointed.

Pat stood silent for a moment, reflective. “I'm no student of the Bible or of literature, but if what I did tonight is real—and I guess it is—I can't believe that those . . . beasts were put here on the earth by the same God we worship.”

“I agree,” Doctor Lormand said. “But I don't understand what you're driving at.”

Pat smiled in the night, his teeth flashing against his tanned face. “I'm getting there in my mind. But, man, my conclusion is wild!”

“And that is . . .?” Edan asked.

But Pat would only shake his head. “Not yet. I got to think this through. Somebody has just dumped a very heavy trip on me, and I'm not sure I want to go along for the ride.”

“Pat! You're not making any sense,” Don protested.

“Maybe not to you.” He shrugged. “Maybe not to me, either. Where are you going to keep the body of that . . . thing over there?”

“In Blanchet's cooler. Why?”

“Because I want Janette to see it.”

“Again, why?”

“Because I think it's a relative of hers.”

“Good God!” Edan blurted. “Who?”

“Uncle, maybe. I don't think it's her father. I think he was weak and Victoria disposed of him.”

“Pat?” Doctor Lormand said patiently. “Are you sure you feel all right? Man, you're not making any sense.”

“I'm okay. Take me back to Amour House.”

“Back there?” Edan said, his words horror-filled. “Man, why?”

“I'm tired. I want to go to bed.”

“You're nutsl” Doctor Lormand informed him, rather bluntly and most unprofessionally.

“No,” Pat replied slowly. “I think for the first time in my life, or at least in a long, long time, I'm going to do something worthwhile.”

As Pat was walking up to the house, he heard a faint rustling by the side of the house. Spinning, he ran to the dark side of the home in time to see a figure racing toward the bayou. Pat flipped on Sheriff Vallot's flashlight and caught the figure just as it turned around. The face was caught in the beam for only a second, but that was enough. Pat clicked off the flashlight, smiling as he did so. Things are getting curiouser and curiouser, he thought. But definitely moving toward the truth.

He walked up to the door of the huge old mansion. Only one light was burning in the entire house, and that was in Janette's quarters. Pat pushed open the door and stepped into the dark foyer.

A scream ripped the darkness as something foul and evil hurled itself at him in a shapeless, stinking form. Pat did not flinch, but he sensed all that was evil seeking entrance into his mind, his soul. The shapeless, misty substance moved around him like the tentacles of a Medusa. He suppressed a large, imaginary yawn.

“If this is what you do for an encore, Madame Bauterre, it sucks!”

The form vanished.

The lights popped on.

Victoria Bauterre stood before him, close enough to touch. Her dark eyes were coals, burning with a red perversity, the evil directed at him. “So glad to see you, Mr Strange. I was wondering if you had lost your courage and run away.”

Pat laughed at her, watching the hate flare in her eyes. “The house is quiet, Madame. Where are the servants?”

“Waiting, as they have for years. As always, though, Sylvia is near to see to my needs.”

“Sylvia, huh? I figured she was part of this little game. Phoebe?”

“She put the salt cross in front of your door and tried to call down the Dark One to destroy you. She does not know you are . . .” She suddenly stopped, as if her voice were controlled by a master switch.

“. . . Protected?” Pat asked, finishing her sentence.

Victoria said nothing.

“I guessed as much, lady. But I sure don't know why He picked me.”

Pat walked past her, into the dining room. The shattered chandelier lay where it had fallen, bits of glass reflected the ruin, casting shadows of light against the wall and on the polished floor.

“Looks like shit in here, Victoria. Where are we gonna eat from now on?”

“I don't care for your crudeness, Strange. Watch your vulgar tongue in my presence.”

Pat laughed at her. “You, talking to me about vulgarity? That's funny, lady. Your soul belongs to the devils so fuck you!”

Her face paled; her hands turned into talons. Then, as she realized what he was doing, she relaxed and smiled. “Good, Strange—very good. I don't know how many points you're making with that kind of language, but it does show you have imagination in dealing with me. That's good. We have a few more days before I have to move. Ample time in which to play our games.”

“I'll make a deal with you, lady.”

She shook her head. “You for the lives of the rabble in this miserable village? No! No deals, Strange.”

“Wrong,” Pat said.

“Oh? I'm not wrong often, Strange.”

“Me for Janette. If I agree to play the game—and I have not fully made up my mind about that. You beat me, you got me. But she goes free.”

She laughed and denied his request. “No. For you see, I have plans for the two of you.”

“I can just imagine, lady. Children by us, with your mark on them.” He held the riot gun loosely in his right hand.

“You are a constant source of surprise to me, Strange. You look like a Louisiana redneck, but your mind is surprisingly sharp. Yes, that is correct. Now, Strange, I'll offer you a bargain.”

“Roll the dice, lady.”

“The people who killed my husband, or their offspring, will die, Strange. Believe that if you believe nothing else. There is nothing you can do to prevent that from occurring.”

Pat stood quietly, saying nothing.

“You and Janette give me a child. Boy or girl, it makes no difference—although I could control the gender. I will know the instant she conceives. The child is mine. You both have disappointed me the past few days.”

“You get your kicks as a voyeur?”

She laughed at him. “Your technique could stand some improvement, Strange. But we'll have centuries to work on that, I assure you.”

Pat chose not to follow that line of conversation. “But in a few days, you'll be dead. Probably by my hand.”

“I doubt that, Strange. In a few days
my present
form will be dead. But I—we—will live on. The child will be mine—ours, if you persist in fighting me. Janette can leave in safety.”

“What does Janette say about this . . . bargain?”

“She spat at me.”

Pat spat on the floor.

“Pity, although I guessed that would be your reply. Look at your boots, Strange.”

Pat glanced down at the floor, He was encircled by snakes. The reptiles, every poisonous snake he had ever encountered in his years of globe-trotting, lay coiled and hissing at his feet, waiting to strike should he move.

“Now what is your reply, Strange?” Victoria asked.

Steeling himself, Pat stepped over the snakes. The vipers vanished.

“You are either the bravest man I have ever seen, or the most blatantly stupid,” Madame Bauterre said.

“I've heard that before,” Pat replied. “One question?”

“Ask.”

“The . . . creatures—are they possessed by the devil, as you, or are they merely pawns in this game?”

“I am not possessed by the devil, Strange.” Victoria's smile was evil and knowing. “I accepted him eagerly, centuries ago. As for the others: that is something you will have to decide.”

“What else could they be but possessed?”

She spread her hands. “Decisions, decisions, Strange.”

Then she was gone.

Pat climbed the stairs to Janette's bedroom. She was sitting by the window, staring out at the darkness. When she turned her face to him, he could see that she was been weeping.

“My own grandmother,” she said. “Do you know what she proposed?”

“Yes. I gave her the same reply.”

“I want to leave this state, Pat. Right now. I'm packed, ready to go.”

“I don't think she'll let us leave, babe. I'm not sure I want to leave.”

She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “Pat, the woman is a monster!”

“More than you know, Janette. But,” he shrugged, “she was sent here to do a job. I can appreciate that.”

“Pat, she worships the devil. She has to be a part of his church!”

“Yes, I know that. If I'd used my head, I could have known that from the beginning—and why I came here. But our leaving would accomplish nothing.”

“It would save our lives, our souls.”

He shook his head. “No, I don't think so. But even if it did, it would not spare our conscience.”

“I've got two children I have to think about.”

“She can't touch them—for some reason.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Have they ever been in this house? Your kids, I mean. Your husband?”

“No, none of them. Neither had I until a few months ago.”

“Then that has something to do with it.” He looked at her. “I think I killed a relative of yours tonight.”

She nodded. “I know.
Grand'mère
told me. It was my uncle. ”

“The one we chased all over Georgia looking for?”

“Yes.”

“I was afraid it might have been your father.”

“She told me about him, too. In great detail. Really, more than I wanted to hear.” She looked up at him. “That dream I had the other night?” He nodded. “It was true.” Tears rolled down her face. “He . . . resisted them all. My mother killed him.”

“Your grandfather?”

“He never wanted any part of the curse. He's really dead. She told me that just moments ago.”

“Make me a child I can call my own!”
the voice screamed at them.

Janette cringed, closing her eyes.

“No deal,” Pat said.

“Leave us alone!” Janette screamed at the voice.

“Hysterics will gain you nothing except a sore throat!”
the voice cautioned.
“Look out the window. ”

Janette looked out onto the dark grounds. The darkness seemed to vanish. In its place, the grounds around Amour House were bathed in an eerie greenish light.

Pat watched her face fill with horror as the yard became alive with grotesque monsters, figures out of a child's mind. “They are not real,” he said softly. “Keep that in mind. The night is still there, only we can see the light and the monsters. They are from your imagination, Janette. That's all. Push them away.”

“I . . . can't.”

“Do it!” he ordered harshly.

Sweat beaded her forehead as she concentrated. The light began to fade, the monsters blurring. The night returned, the creatures vanished.

“Strange, you will pay for that!”
the voice hissed.

“Sticks and stones,” Pat muttered.

A large limb came crashing through the window just down from where Janette was seated. It was followed by a large stone. The intrusion showered them with glass; the stone smashed into a mirror across the room.

“I wish you would go away.”

The voice did not reply.

“All right, then answer this: how can you prevent us from leaving? What can you do to stop us, short of killing your granddaughter. I know now you can't kill me. Yet,” he added.

“I see,” Pat murmured. “All or nothing, eh?”

“Precisely.
” The voice faded. The room was silent.

“She has to be present, in some form, when the man and woman make love,” Pat mused aloud. “That's how she marks the seed. Now I know what she meant when she said we had disappointed her so far.”

“She's been watching us?” Janette said. “That's disgusting!”

“Janette? When you were telling me about those journals, didn't you say something about a devil's curse?”

“Yes. That's what they had written.”

“All right,” Pat said. He paced the floor, kicking aside broken glass and bits of bark from the limb. “That makes part of the job easier.”

“What do you mean?”

“I won't be killing some poor bastard who is only mentally ill and nothing more. Get your things together, we're getting out of here.”

“You are going nowhere!”
the disembodied voice shouted, its echo ringing in the room.

“You don't have anything to say about it,” Pat said, checking the loads in his riot gun. “You can't prevent us from leaving.”

“Bullshit! You might be able to harm Janette, but you can't touch me—not yet. Think about it. You harm her, and I'll go to Annie Metrejean. She'll get her daughter and granddaughter together and start all their powers working against you. I don't think you want—not yet. Now, open that damn door.”

After a few seconds, the door to the bedroom swung slowly open. The hall was dark.

“No!”
the voice screamed. “
I
'
ve changed my mind. You must stay.
”

Pat ignored the screaming. “I'll get my gear, be back in a minute.”

Pat packed a few things, grabbed up the bag, and walked back into Janette's room. “Let's go.”

But the door suddenly slammed shut, the lock snapping.

Pat dropped his suitcase to the floor and pulled his .41 mag. He shot twice at the doorknob. Every second round was Teflon-coat. The doorknob blew out of the door and flew across the hall, denting the paneling. He lifted the pistol and shot the hinges off the jamb. The room filled with the enormous explosions and gunsmoke. The door sagged, then fell into the hall.

Victoria's voice rang with fury.
“You'll stay in the parish?”

“Maybe,” Pat said, pulling Janette along. They were in the hall.

He led Janette quickly down the hall and onto the great curving steps.

“Promise me!”
she screamed.

“I don't make pacts with a devil's whore,” Pat shouted.

On the ground level, Sylvia suddenly appeared before them, but this was not the Sylvia as before. Janette screamed in fright at the sight of her. Sylvia's hair was disheveled, her face bloodless, her lips slick with drool, her teeth fanged. She snarled at them.

Pat fought back revulsion. “You really ought to see a dentist, baby.” He forced the joke past his lips. “You ain't never gonna catch a man lookin' like that.”

She howled at them, her breath putrefying the air.

Pat pumped a round into the shotgun. “Get her out of the way!” he shouted. “Or I'll blow her apart.”

A cold, hard wind blew through the house, overturning vases, tilting portraits. Sylvia backed away, off to one side, her lips still in a snarl.

“Keep going, ugly,” Pat said. “Back over there against the wall. And close your mouth. Maybe I'll get lucky and you'll bite yourself.”