Books by Randolph Lalonde

Fate Cycle Dead of Winter

Fate Cycle Sins of the Past

First Light Chronicles Freeground

First Light Chronicles Limbo

First Light Chronicles Starfree Port

First Light Omnibus (Collected Edition of the First Light Novellas)

Spinward Fringe Resurrection

Spinward Fringe Awakening

Spinward Fringe Triton

Spinward Fringe Frontline

Spinward Fringe Fracture

And Other Books In The Spinward Fringe Series

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2009 by Randolph Lalonde

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Thank you for purchasing this eBook. The continuation of this story is wholly dependent on the support of the readers. Enjoy the experience and share your opinion where you purchased this in the reviews section.

If you would like to read more of this series or contact the author please visit www.randolphlalonde.net

Dedication:

To my flat mate and friend of many years. Maxwell wouldn’t exist without you.

Foreword

This short novella was written to be serialized under the name L.S. Randolph, a pen name adopted for publishing in the horror genre. It was released for free on the L.S. Randolph blog (http://lsrandolph.blogspot.com/) over a period of seven weeks. It was great fun even though very few people visited that dark corner of the web during the time of its release, and I’m happy to present this short in eBook form now.

The premise behind this offering is to offer it for free or for a very small cover price and continue the story if enough readers show support through small donations. If you enjoy the story and can’t afford to donate, a short review where you found this story is a good alternative.

My flat mate, who happens to wear a rain proofed brown duster, isn’t a fan of science fiction novels, so I thought I’d try my hand at horror for the first time in years. After hammering out a few outlines for completely different story lines, I chose this one because it was the most promising where serialization was concerned. That’s not to say that this short doesn’t include an entire story, it does. Dark Arts Rising isn’t about screaming “Fire!” in a theater and being the first one out the door, so to speak. There isn’t a cliff hanger at the end, though there are openings for the story to continue.

In any event, I’m happy I’ve penned this short novella. I think I’ve conjured up some seriously interesting visions for everyone to darken their dreams with and hope that you all enjoy my little trip through the dark.

Randolph Lalonde

a.k.a.

L.S. Randolph

Dark Arts

RISING

Copyright 2009 by Randolph Lalonde

Part I: Zachary Ellison Reborn

“Evisceration!” Cried the stout, grizzled middle aged man in celebration. “That’s a word you don’t hear enough these days!” His shirt tails hung out from under his blue wool sweater. The sensible brown loafers and the hems of his cheap trousers were mud encrusted.

The manequins played mute witness to the scene unfolding in the back corner of the darkened warehouse. The wind whistled in through a high broken window, causing the loose tarpaulins clothing the few generic plastic forms to ripple and billow. The white, beige and multicolored display drones were arranged in a circle around the scene.

Partially assembled clothing racks were piled in a circle like a barrier, their silver surfaces partially spray painted black and red. The pockmarked concrete floor surrounding the old shop tables in the center was covered with symbols from dozens of languages.

The disheveled man leaned on the chipboard shop tables in the center, chuckling at the long dried corpse laid out in front of him. It was nude, all signs of identity had been removed by decades of decay. Between its ankles was a bag with a new suit, shoes, wallet, and a fine black hat. The sounds of rain striking the steel roof echoed throughout the massive high space.

“Please, let me go,” begged the young man hanging above the corpse from a roughly welded frame. The thick chains bearing it ground against the pulleys as he swung slightly. His wrists, shoulders, legs, ankles and arms were duct taped firmly to the former clothing rack. He had been stripped to his kiss print boxers, the cool air from the oncoming storm gave him goosebumps. Football practice seemed like ancient history even though he’d walked off the field only hours before. The disheveled middle aged man had stepped out of an alleyway right in front of him. He’d tried to sidestep the fellow and felt a pinch in his side as they collided. The next thing he knew he was on the ground. When he woke up the first thing he saw was the corpse.

Those dry, ruined, empty eye sockets stared up at him hollowly as the man who’d captured him sliced his upper thighs, his chest, his arms. He’d tried every form of begging. Offered money, favors he hoped no one overheard, tried to bargain, and finally he wept. Telling the man his name was Carl and he had a younger sister, loving parents, didn’t seem to make any difference whatsoever. The middle aged man was too busy with incantations, inscriptions and torture. He felt light headed and dizzy before long. The corpse began to look thicker, more robust he remembered thinking right before he vomited in a sudden gush. It came as a surprise, and he couldn’t seem to stop the room from spinning as the disheveled man kept poking at his wounds, coaxing the blood to drip, drip, drip onto the splayed, gray corpse below where the crimson droplets faded and disappeared one by one.

“You know, I’ve seen one of your schools from the inside. Imagine my surprise when I walked in and didn’t see a single person. I even asked after the librarian and found that the teachers took turns taking care of the place part time! Knowledge is power, it’s true, and I couldn’t have chosen a better time to come back. In this age of ignorance I’ll be like a God! I mean, look around you boy! Look at the floor and all it’s beautiful, useful inscriptions! All those symbols, all those languages, some of them thought dead for centuries. You realize how many people I had to possess to learn them all? Imagine the priest dodging, watching for natural sensitives who could get just a whiff of me and realize; ‘oi! There’s somethin’ off about this one ‘ere! Looks like he’s been possessed!’ Thanks to all this book learnin’ it’ll all come to an end. You’ll be the very last young man I have to use up. Your blood sacrifice will restore my body, that dry corpse there, and when I slit the throat of this fat businessman I’m using as a flesh suit I’ll finally be resurrected, back in my own skin, in defiance of death himself. Bloody ponce has gotten a little over confident if you ask me, it’s about time someone found a way around the rules.”

“You can’t. That’s not real,” he blubbered. He felt heavy, drowsy. His lips felt like mush as he spoke.

“That’s not real,” the middle aged man mocked. He picked up a long, razor sharp kitchen knife and brandished it with a smile. “In a few seconds I’ll spill what’s left of you all over my corpse and there you’ll go, straight up or straight down. Someone as young as you won’t be headed to purgatory for long, probably won’t get lost on your way to God either. While you’re realizing how sweet and innocent you really were, how little your Nike or Polo brand clothing mattered, I’ll be laying the foundations of a kingdom unlike anything the world has seen in three millennia. I’ll remember to have your name scrawled in the margin of some history book.”

Carl struggled vainly, forcing the frame to wobble slightly. “You’re crazy!”

Lightening struck nearby. The thunder shook the remaining windows in their rotting frames. “Oh, seems someone up there’s taking me very seriously,” the middle aged fellow laughed, removing his glasses and tossing them across the room. In one sweeping motion he sliced the young man from sternum to the top of his boxers. The cut was deep and bled freely to the beat of his heart.

Carl screamed mindlessly, filling the warehouse with inhuman wails.

“Didn’t get all the way through that stomach muscle! Here we go again!” shouted the middle aged man over the din as he sawed through the thick tissue. Entrails showered the corpse in a grisly downfall as the unwilling sacrifice twitched, howled and screamed. As the final cut was made Carl fell silent.

Without pause the disheveled man knelt beside the table and drew the knife across his own throat, leaning over the gore covered corpse to add his own blood to the pooling mess.

The pain was gone. Carl was looking down on himself, feeling distant, detached. He didn’t want to watch as his body twitched involuntarily, rattling the chains, swinging to and fro lightly, but he couldn’t look away. The old corpse laying on the table thickened and twitched as white bone, pulsing organs and crimson flesh clothed it from within.

The scene seemed to fade in clarity and importance. A sweet peace washed over him. Carl knew where he was going he wouldn’t need anything he’d treasured in life. Where he was going he wouldn’t have to deal with school, or graduation or his brat sister. Where he was going he wouldn’t have to worry about how the world was about to change because of the corpse standing up from the table.

The chill rain came down in heavy drops, washing the street and Max in wind driven sheets. He adjusted his stetson and closed his dark brown duster as he watched a discarded snack bag turn into a little boat running down the gutter. “Bit like old London, this,” he muttered to himself as he trudged on down the sidewalk. A buzzing on his hip told him he had a message. He stepped under the overhang of a cigar pub to check it. He looked around as he fought with the device’s belt clip.

The rain slicked street was quiet. Most of the street side shops closed at five o’clock. There were still a few people about, most of them trying to rush to their parked cars or to the nearest door as the sudden downpour soaked through their clothing. The frantic clicking of high heels sounded the approach of one of the water dodgers and he stepped to the side.

She stopped under his shelter, noticing him only at the last minute. Her flashed smile was motivated by Canadian politeness. “Oh, sorry,” she uttered.

He smiled back; “Not to worry lass, glad for the company.”

“Oh, you’re from England?”

“Bit of everywhere. Just stepped in to check my office,” he produced his beaten pager, a little black box with a gray display strip.

“Do you mind if I just wait out the worst of it here?”

She was dyed blond, wore high heels to make up for her height, a little over five feet, and wore a matching dark blue skirt and jacket with a cotton blouse underneath. All purchased at a department store, he guessed. She was just above the rank of shop girl, and there was nothing wrong with a shop girl. “Room for two in this door. No worries Miss…”

“Darcy, Elizabeth Darcy.” She offered her slender hand and he shook it.

“Just a minute then.” He turned and looked at his message. His mood darkened immediately upon seeing it. “Bloody hell,” he cursed quietly.

“Bad news?” She asked, genuine sympathy in her voice. “I could buy you a drink to soften the blow.”

Without a word he opened the door, sounding a bell hanging over the jamb. His boot heels were as loud as cannons as they clomped across the polished floor. Without looking around the empty common room Maxwell walked straight to the bar. “Double scotch neat and a bag of those bush rolled cigarillos,” he ordered as he sat down on a stool.

The tall, thin faced, dark haired bartender presented his order along with an ashtray and a pack of matches imprinted with the establishment’s name; The Tobacco Mill. Max put his pager and a twenty dollar bill down and hastily opened the package of rough rolled, sweet flavored cigarillos. From a small pocket inside his sleeve he produced a silver lighter and flicked it on.

“Miss a meeting?” the bartender asked as he took the twenty.

Max turned his pager back so the message; TOO LATE faced him and puffed the sweet tasting, black cigarillo. “If it were your business you’d already know. Go on, ye git. I’ll tell you if I need another.”

Part II: Marion Ellison

It was just one of those afternoons to stay in, slip a tape into the VCR and enjoy an idle day off. Pulp Fiction, with it’s flashy, retro packaging and Uma Thurman staring back at her was irresistible. Her young friends at work wouldn’t stop talking about it, and when it first hit the shelves at the rental place down the street their seemingly endless supply kept running out. Months later Marion had finally gotten her hands on a copy, the pimpled attendant gave her a quizzical look when she approached as if to say; ‘but you’re so old, are you sure this is the right movie?’ She simply smiled at him and withheld her customary fifty cent tip.

She’d just barely avoided the rain coming back from the Bronco Video, rushing through the apartment building doors as the first wave of the downpour washed over the street. Instead of turning the lights on she lit candles, the more prudent choice considering the weight of the downpour and the frequency of lightning. She hoped against it but knew a power outage was likely.

Looking was forward to the loud, young spirited film but heated some soup and watched the news at noon instead. Marion watched the rain as the newscaster, a graying gentleman with a square jaw, droned on about events a world away . The top story was a bombing in Atlanta. Two people were killed and one hundred eleven were injured when a bomb went off in Centennial Olympic Park. Marion shook her head as footage of the aftermath played on the television. The images were taken from a distance and only lasted a few seconds, more than enough for her taste. Stopping between spoon fulls of warm chicken noodle soup she mentally wished everyone involved in the terrible incident the best.

The second story was about the rain and she couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. “Only in Northern Ontario would the weather make a headline. I’d understand if it were raining puppies and kittens, but you’d think they could find something we’re not all seeing right out our window,” she uttered.

She finished her soup just as the obnoxious, over spoken sports caster came on and turned the television off. The sounds of the rain pelting against the windows and rolling thunder were pleasant company as she put the kettle on and did the few dishes in the sink.

Marion couldn’t help but think of Tracy, her best friend at work. Thirty years younger than her, she was still actively dating and was meeting a gentleman from the data center for coffee. It was dangerous dating someone from work, she’d done it once and regretted it, especially after the fellow she’d spent over a year with, Orson, was promoted and ended their relationship in the same week. She hoped Tracy’s luck was better. There were married couples who had met at work but they always seemed somehow engaged in the gossip of the place and Marion couldn’t imagine being married in that environment. Everyone she knew was at work, however, so she could understand how her coworkers kept getting drawn into the same dating pool.

Shutting the thoughts out of her head, she put the last dish on the drying rack beside the sink and walked into the living room. Her hand was well practiced at popping the hard plastic tape case open after spending many a night in the company of a comforter, tea and a video. The VCR lit up as she pressed the tape into the front, making mysterious clicking and whirring sounds as it considered playing the tape for her. The screen changed from the regular cable programming to blue then to black and as she sat down the FBI warning filled the screen.

A flash of lightening lit the world outside. In that same instant the VCR, TV and lights shining dimly yellow in the building across the street died. Marion sighed and shook her head. “Well, I just hope the kettle finished,” she picked up a candle and headed for the kitchen where her electric kettle steamed.

Shadows played against the plain white cupboards as she set the candle down and reached for a cup. A knock at the door sounded, firm and to the tempo of the first half of the old ‘shave and a haircut’ ditty. It reminded her of her brother, Zachary and for a moment she almost expected him to come walking in. It was amazing how it was impossible to forget some people, even nearly thirty years after they’d passed.

“One minute!” she called out as she put down her mug, picked up her candle and went to the door as quickly as the flickering little flame would allow.

The door swung open lazily at her approach and in the dim yellow light she could make out the shape of a man in a crisp, black suit. He removed his hat. Lightening flashed, illuminating the hallway with white light. Marion gasped. “Zachary?”

Two long steps took him to her and he let the light of the guttering candle reveal his youthful face. “It’s me Marion.”

Tears filled her eyes and at first she was too astonished to speak. He was exactly as she remembered him before he died twenty eight years before.

He took her hand and brought it to his face. It was softer than he recalled, she had aged but her shoulder length blond hair was the same. “It’s been too long, dear sister.”

“How? You should be sixty, older.”

“I am, it’s a long story. Can we sit?”

She wordlessly led him to the living room where there were half a dozen candles already lit in proper holders. Marion turned and watched him casually sit down, smiling up at her. It was so eerie, that smile brought back a rush of memories. It was a vision, a dream, a phantasm but she’d touched his face. He was there, right in front of her. The older brother she’d lost to a heart attack when he was only thirty one.

“You should sit,” he laughed quietly.

She sat down mechanically on the sofa, candle still in hand, staring in disbelief, her gaze frozen to his face. The guttering flame went out, Marion didn’t notice.

“I found my way back. It’s complicated, but through determination I’m here, stronger than ever, ready to live the bright life.”

“It’s really you,” she whispered, watching his larger than life mannerisms. The rain didn’t seem to have gotten to him somehow, but he still brushed the finish of his black hat as he rested it on the arm of the chair. He crossed his legs and charmed with a grin like some movie star from the black and white era. The tears fell, her sobs were unstoppable.

“Oh, no. You mustn’t,” he crossed the room and took her into his arms as he sat down beside her.

Marion dropped the candle and gripped his lapel with one hand as her other arm went around him. “I missed you,” she sobbed against his shoulder. “It was so sudden, no one could believe.”

“It’s all right, your big brother’s back. It’s time to look ahead,” he Marion as sobs quaked and rattled her.

They subsided after several moments and she released his lapel to give him a great big hug.

“That’s more like it.”

“I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Ha! I have trouble believing myself sometimes!” He laughed.

She looked over his shoulder into a mirror that ran across one wall above her armchair. It was real, he wasn’t some kind of mythical vampire that couldn’t be seen in reflections. Her eye caught the quick movement of a shadow between the wall and the armchair. She knew nothing else in the room was moving, it had to be a trick of the candle light.

Zachary kissed her forehead and held her out at arm’s length. “Oop, seems we’ve made a mess,” he laughed. “You should go freshen up.”

She fixed him with a quizzical expression. “Okay,” she replied hesitantly. “Not planning on running while I’m out of sight?”

“I’ll be right here when you get back,” he grinned.

Her eyes searched his face and looked him over one more time before standing and carefully picking up her fallen candle. She reignited it from another. “There’s hot water in the kitchen if you’d like to make us some tea.”

Zachary stood, his attention drawn to a scarf that had fallen from the arm of the sofa. “Where do you keep these?”

“Oh, just leave that out. It’s Tracy’s, a friend from work.”

He folded it carefully and put it in the center of the coffee table.

Marion felt like she was drifting, half numb as she made her way to the bathroom and stepped inside. She left the door a crack open and set the candle down on the back of the toilet. Something in the mirror moved suddenly, she caught sight of it just in the corner of her eye. Her heart leapt up into her throat and she whirled to look directly at it. The person looking back at her was unknown. A young, sallow girl with a grin that filled half her face and manic, piercing light gray eyes. She was clad in a long white silk gown, the shape of her was nothing short of wasted, anorexic. Her hips and ribs showed through the dress that hung loosely from her bony shoulders. She was half hidden between the toilet and the wall. It wasn’t possible, there was less than an inch between the toilet tank and the drywall, but then, there she was.

Marion opened her mouth to scream but it wouldn’t come.

The face in the mirror twitched, leered, and jerked as though the figure was afflicted by some terrible involuntary tick. “Look at meeeee,” it whispered musically, drawing out the sound of the words until a violent twitch interrupted her. Her voice sounded like a sharpening stone and steel scraping, echoing through a long chamber.

“This is my little sister, a worthy sacrifice?” her brother said in Marion’s ear. She hadn’t seen him come in. His hands settled on her hips.

“She is innocent if old. You loooove her,” crooned the face twisted painfully in an over expression of glee.

“Yes. This is the highest offering I can make.”

“Then it will be done. You will have three of us.”

“Three? How is that even near what I’m offering.”

Marion tried to shake her gaze away from the gaunt visage before her, to turn and run, to question Zachary but she couldn’t move her mouth, her feet, or turn her head. A tear rolled down her cheek, her lips quivered.

“Oh, you’re going to a far better place, Marion. You’ll be able to watch me build a kingdom beyond your wildest dreams from paradise.”

“He liiieees,” sung the impossible being in the mirror. “You will be one of us, a shaaadow siiiren.”

“Spoiler, nasty of you to poke holes in my shallow comforts,” Zachary scolded the mirror bound image. “You’ll give me three now and when I find more hosts you’ll serve me in your full number. I want legions,” Zachary demanded firmly.

“Niiiiine huuuundred niiiiinety niiiiine.”

“Done.”

The eyes in the mirror lit up and it smiled open mouthed so gleefully it looked as though the thing’s jaw was about to become unhinged. The shadow siren’s gaze burned into Marion.

A pressure started to build in her head, her heart hammered at her ribcage. She could feel herself breathing faster, faster, until she was panting desperately. Her efforts to break free of her involuntary fixation, to blink, to scream as the pressure in her mind built doubled and redoubled. Urine ran down her thighs as she managed a whimper.

“It’ll all be over momentarily,” whispered Zachary in her ear, kissing her tear streaked cheek.

The gleeful spirit’s hands reached out, its long, bony fingers gripped the sides of her face. That grin, those eyes loomed closer, closer. Marion wished she could die, that she could somehow deny the creature.

The pressure in her mind, the feeling of her desperately pulsating heart and frantic breathing all disappeared. It took a moment before Marion realized she was staring out of the mirror, looking to where the spirit who had taken her body used it like a living suit.

“Guide me to another,” she watched her own face grin. The blood and flesh she’d been born into wasn’t her own, where she was and what it meant was a sudden and terrifying mystery, yet she couldn’t look away from Zachary and her possessed body.

Zachary held up Tracy’s scarf and handed it to her hijacked form. “Send a sister to this one.”

Marion tried to scream, to shatter the barrier between her and the bathroom but she was ignored. A feeling of being drawn away, as though by an unseen current overwhelmed her. There was a presence, a devouring thing that challenged her will to remain near her bathroom mirror. At first her efforts to strain against the presence, against the draw of whatever had taken hold of her were enough. Suddenly, as though caught by a great wave the force of the dark grip on her overcame her and the living world disappeared from sight. There was no sound to her scream as she fell into utter darkness.

Part III: Cinnamon Girl

Art was happening in the middle of the mall coffee shop. Angela poked small holes in an overturned Styrofoam cup with a half straightened paper clip. At first it was the Leaning Tower of Pizza, but half way through it became the lower three quarters of the Eiffel Tower.

She blew a curl of brown hair out of her face as she worked out a crossbeam. She’d never seen the landmark, but somehow she’d managed to get the arch right.

“Can I take anything for you?” Asked Scott, the tall shop owner as he regarded the three empty cups, used teabag and stir sticks on her table.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Just about to leave, I’ll clean up when I go,” she replied, knowing that he was doing his regular rounds to ensure all the patrons had something warm at their table. It was a mantra at the Cuppa coffee shop; buy or fly. She presented him with her finely perforated cup. “For you.”

“I always feel bad about tossing these. Eiffel tower this time, nice,” He smiled at her artful garbage, genuinely amused. “Too bad you drink tea, otherwise you might have had room for the top.”

“I’m glad you recognize it.” A sound like thousands of pebbles striking the skylight over the main concourse just outside the threshold that divided the coffee shop from the mall proper interrupted them. It had been raining hard, but the rush of hail was new.

“I knew I’d get soaked through on my way to the car tonight, but I didn’t expect to get knocked out,” Scott muttered as he looked to the darkening sky and hard rain. Tiny specs of white were mixed in with the fat drops. “I could get you some hot water you know, extend the life of your teabag so you can wait it out for another twenty minutes. It’s dead in here anyway.”

“That’s okay, I was supposed to meet Christie. She’s late again.” A shiver prompted her to pull a shawl from her bag and wrap it around her shoulders. “I’ll give her a few more minutes before checking for her at Books and Blessings.”

“No problem, she probably lost track of time making scented candles. I’m surprised she does anything else in that store. Just don’t tell anyone else you dodged the dreaded drink every twenty minute law,” Scott winked as he efficiently piled the cups and stir sticks onto his tray and wiped her table with a rag. He left her used teabag on a cup lid..

She watched him move off. It took a lot to frustrate him, but she’d seen him get flustered when crowds of junior high schoolers took up space without buying anything. A smile came to her lips at the memory of overhearing him complain behind the counter, calling them seagulls, threatening to throw a hand full of fries from the food court at them just to see if they’d pinwheel and devour the fried tubers.

Hunger Strike, her favorite Temple of the Dog tune came on over the sound system. Scott had it installed so their patrons wouldn’t be dulled to death by the mall musack, something anyone who spent enough time there was thankful for. Angela crossed her arms on the table and laid her head down on her cotton sleeves. Scott was right, the place was dead.

The yellow-brown tiles on the floor showed the passage of dozens of business people and students alike. But they were long gone. His customers ran him ragged during the day and their absence made the evenings long. She lived downtown, it was her regular hangout outside of the Blessings and Books shop where her best friend worked.

They’d both be graduating in two weeks and had planned to take a year off before college to make some extra money. Her idea, and her father didn’t argue. He wouldn’t be able to afford anything other than tuition and a couple of books anyway, she’d have to take out loans. Christie’s parents were less enthusiastic about her spending a year outside of school but they eventually relented.

There were a pair of business people gossiping, someone had photocopied something they shouldn’t have and faxed it off to head office anonymously. A man in a woman’s pantsuit fussed with his long blond hair. At least she was pretty sure it was a man, best not to stare long enough to be certain.

Angela caught her reflection in a mirrored pillar and looked into her own bored brown eyes. She wasn’t slender, or particularly tall, but she still drew some attention because of the way she dressed. It was a cross between medieval fair and late 60’s hippie, with a long loose gypsy skirt and peasant blouse. Her sixteen hole Doc Martin’s were a constant source of frustration to her aunt, who was adamant on the point of wearing the right shoes with the right dress. She’d bought her a pair of zip up, four inch heel boots that crushed her toes. They were a monstrosity and spent all their time right where monsters should – in the back of the closet. Her eyelids drooped for a moment. With a sharp inhale she refused to fall asleep in the middle of the Cuppa. She swore something moved in the mirror as she opened her eyes. It was just over her shoulder, but when she turned to look behind there was nothing to see but an empty table and matching chairs.

With a sigh she faced forward and shook her head. Angela’s gaze moved on across the identical brown and green tables. A woman was applying lipstick while looking into her compact. She was in her late twenties, dressed for a casual evening in a pair of blue jeans and a long sleeved shirt. She didn’t merit much attention. Angela closed the top of her backpack and was about to stand when she had the urge to look back at the woman. She hadn’t moved.

Her gaze was locked on her own reflection, the tube of lipstick frozen mid sweep on her upper lip. Angela couldn’t resist but lean a little so she could see into the mirror. A face looked at her, grinning, black toothed and wild eyed. Even in the small oval Angela could see it plainly, it was a female face, but half rotten. It looked back to the still woman and thrashed wildly against the mirror as though it were a glass barrier.

Angela watched mutely, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide. In her mind’s eye the mirror broke, even though she knew that the surface was still intact. In the gaunt, gray face burst forth in a flash of light and took up residence in the still woman’s body. The only signs that anything unusual had occurred were the dropping of the tube of lipstick and a great gasp.

Angela slung the worn canvas backpack over her shoulder and stood to leave but was stuck to the spot as the casually dressed woman smiled painfully wide. Her head turned mechanically to look at her, blue eyes too gleeful to be natural.

Scott noticed something strange was going on and turned around from where he was cleaning a table. “Everything okay?” he asked politely.

The woman’s attention focused on him in a flash, her head whipping around. In a smooth, swift series of movements she stood, took up her chair in one hand and threw it at him. His tray went flying, he lost his balance and slipped, crashing hip first to the floor and shattering the mirrored pole behind him.

Angela saw an aura like black and white steam rise from the attacking woman as she rushed to the shards of glass and picked a particularly pointed, jagged one up. Scott’s hands went up to fend her off. The business men were on their feet, running for their lives. The pantsuit wearing man did the same after gawking for a moment.

The crazed woman slashed at Scott, cutting his hands deeply. Blood ran down his arms. He tried to kick her off. One of his feet caught her ankle, sending her leg out from under her.

She came down on top of him, burying the mirror shard in his chest. The frenzied woman picked up another and slashed at his face, his throat.

Angela willed herself to run, guilt nagging at leaving Scott behind, fear driving her away. “Help! Someone’s killing him!” Her voice echoed down the empty halls, half the store spaces were empty and most shops closed at five so there were few people walking around. Her only hope was to find a security guard or Bernie at Books and Blessings.

She rounded a corner and faced a mirrored wall. In the reflection of the darkened shop windows behind were watching faces in shade as though they’d been trapped in the empty business space. Their eager eyes were fixed on her, watching her every motion. Some of the gaunt, gray images screamed mutely while others leered in eager fascination. Dark, pale and piercing eyes all beckoned her, chilled her and she began to hear their frantic, desperate screams and maniacal laughter.

With an effort that left her sweating, gasping for air she tore her eyes away from the sight and she ran, looking for somewhere without mirrors. Angela didn’t know why, but she turned down the narrower hallway that led to the public bathrooms and came to a sliding stop at the ladies room door. As soon as she was through Angela saw the error of her ways. She was faced with a broad bank of mirrors. Like a fearful child she squealed, averted her eyes and ducked into a stall, winded, gasping for air.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm down. There was a solid steel stall door between her and the mirrors, there was no way she would become another victim. With a quick sweep of the back of her hand she freed her eyes of tears and tried to center herself, deepening her breathing. “Gaea guard my sight and guide my heart.” she breathed to herself. It was a prayer she’d spoken before exams, when Derek had broken up with her the summer before but she’d never said it with such desperation. “Huntsman show me through the great wilderness and protect those I love.”

“Angela,” called a gentle voice from outside the stall. “Come, it’s safe,” the woman’s voice reassured.

The bathroom door hadn’t opened, she was certain. It couldn’t have been the madwoman who slashed at Scott.

Angela steeled herself and opened the stall door. The only thing in the mirror was her own reflection. It wasn’t coming out of the stall as she was. It stood there as though she were facing away from the sinks in front of her.

Looking away, Angela said; “The only power you have over me is what I give you through fear and self doubt.” It was meant to be a warding, a warning but it sounded thin, tense.

“Impressive! You’re a good little book witch, aren’t you? I’m sure I’d find a whole collection of volumes from Gardner, Starhawk, Conway, maybe even something a little riskier tucked into the corner, an out of print spell book? Never thought you’d get to see through the veil so explicitly, did you?”

Angela couldn’t help but look at the independent image of herself. It was smiling. Not eager, rotten or over zealous like the others but knowingly. It was her, but the eyes were different, the bearing was wrong, too self assured. “This is wrong,” it was half question, half statement.

“Yes. The rules have changed, mankind has taken one more staggering step away from the garden and the faithless pay the price tonight. We’ll get to the priests and the rest of you tentative believers later.”

“What do you want?”

“Oh no little girl, you don’t get that kind of information without paying for it. I’m only here to see the one who we can’t take. There’s something special about you and it makes you the perfect messenger.”

Angela turned away from the mirror and started for the door. There was something intrusive, imposing about the being in the mirror. In five strides she managed to make it to the door.

“Look at me!” thundered the image, shaking a fluorescent bulb loose and speaking with a thousand voices.

The door slammed shut and she was pressed against the wall by an unseen force. Angela squeezed her eyes shut only to find them pried open by rough invisible fingers.

Her false reflection was cast in shadow, severe and cross in its disposition. There were countless shadows behind her, so many that the bathroom’s reflection was entirely gone. “There’s only one safe haven in this building, you know where it is. I’ll make sure you make it there and in return you tell them that the covenant of death has been broken. The right people will understand. Now go, and make sure to pass these words on before you die. You don’t have long.”

Part IV: Books and Blessings

“I don’t know! it just says; ‘to ward off the evil eye,’” replied a dark haired, dog collared teen. He stood in front of a long bank of shelves laden with dozens of jars. Within the thick one liter jars were dried herbs, sands, wood fragments, and other reagents. The scrawled note in the youth’s hand looked like it had spent at least a day crammed in the pocket of his too tight jeans.

“Okay, so what’s the evil eye?” asked his counterpart. Clad in a long Misfits T-shirt and sporting a short Mohawk he looked like he had just come from a metal concert.

“I think it has to do with witches or something.”

A young man wearing a long black trench coat and glasses with a dog eared notebook under his arm stepped up behind them. “Oh,” was all he said after glancing at the note the collared youth was holding.

“What?” he turned on him irritably.

The black clad intruder hesitated a moment, looking to both of the younger high schoolers. “Is that supposed to be a love charm?”

“Mind your own fuckin’ business,” the collared one muttered, flushing with embarrassment.

The trench coated fellow tapped his glasses up with his finger and shrugged as he pulled two jars from the shelf and brought them to the sorting table. That end of the store was tidy, with hundreds of jars and a wet counter with essential oils and other, more expensive ingredients under lock and key. The sorting table in the middle was stainless steel, adorned with boxes of bags, twist ties and a scale.

The Mohawk followed quietly and tapped him on the arm. “Sorry man, this isn’t really our thing. I’m Jeremy.”

“Michael,” replied the trench coat clad youth, offering his hand.

“How did you know what we were looking for?”

“I saw the ingredients. You’re trying to get things together for a spell. You’re making it too complicated.”

“Yeah, my friend’s cousin set him up to help him with his bad luck.”

“With girls,” Michael said quietly as he scooped out a healthy amount of dehydrated green leaves from one jar and half filled a medium bag. The stuff smelled light and minty.

“Are you big into this stuff?”

“If he wants to make a good charm he should buy one tonka bean, a yarrow blossom and one of the small black charm bags at the front. When he’s putting it all together he should concentrate really hard on what he wants, make sure it’s only one thing. Then wear it under his shirt. If he gets a rash he should toss the whole thing.”

“Why? Because he didn’t do it right or there’s some kind of bad mojo or something?”

“No, because it means he’s allergic to the tonka bean.”

Jeremy chuckled and nodded. “Makes sense.” He looked at the herbs Michael was pouring into a smaller bag, dried white flowers. “What are you making?”

“A tea to help me sleep,” Michael answered flatly.

“Oh.” He stood there a moment, watching him seal the second bag, looking at the silver pentacle ring on his right hand. There was a silver ram’s head on a ring on the opposite. “Thanks, I’ll pass that on,” he said as he rejoined his friend.

Michael was just making sure the dried herb jars were sealed when a voice startled him from behind. “Good advice, that. Old school charm. The store’ll make a pretty on the charm bag too.”

He turned to look at the speaker who was just shaking water off his stetson hat and pulling his long, bushy black Fu Manchu straight. “Thanks. It’s nothing special. Smells good and he might have a self fulfilling prophecy if he tricks himself into thinking it’s working.”

“Not a believer?” asked the newcomer with a raised eyebrow. His thick British accent wasn’t that of a scholar or family of high station.

Michael shrugged, picked up both jars and walked back to the shelves. “I believe in a lot of things.” He made sure the jars were placed properly on the shelf with the labels facing outward and turned to leave the herbal section of the store.

“Well, I’ve business with the shop keep, good making your acquaintance,” said the rain soaked stranger as he nodded and walked on.

“Good meeting you too,” Michael muttered as he collected his bags from the sorting table. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen him before as he walked towards the center of the store. The main store consisted of two rows of glass cases in the center with prisms, crystals, jewelry, bones, daggers, a few swords and many other objects locked inside.

Every wall was covered in bookshelves, their many colored, myriad style spines competed for attention but received none form Michael. His main interest lay in the second level of the shop, where stairs took only frequent, known buyers up to the rarer books and less flashy objects. The staircase followed the rear wall. A wrought iron railing lined the edge of the second floor overlooking the main octagonally shaped section of the store. The rear entrance was right under the railing, causing a moisture problem on rainy days that irritated anyone who enjoyed the books in the upper stacks.

Michael stopped half way up the stairs and watched the stranger approach Bernie, the store owner. Bernie’s white, ten inch goatee added to the novelty when an average layperson wandered inside from the mall entrance. He couldn’t help noticing the stranger was about the same age, and momentarily wished he could listen in on their conversation. Michael was polite by nature, however, and decided he’d rather go about his business.

“Maxwell! Got caught in the rain I see,” Bernie greeted enthusiastically.

“Glad to see you’re still here, old goat,” the other reciprocated as he stopped in front of the counter. He dropped his weather worn stetson atop the glass. “Got my message?”

“Yup, couldn’t believe it when I heard. I’m surprised you didn’t just send me a map to Megiddo.” Bernie put the book he was reading down, making sure the tassel book mark was in place. He kept whatever he was reading covered with an old leather cozy, mostly because he enjoyed cowboy and romance novels, not exactly perfect for the public image of an Occult shop owner.

“No need to stand at the edge of Armageddon just yet.” Max said as he pulled his leather gloves off.

“How was the trip?”

“Had to take coach. Made me wish everyone still traveled by boat. There was a lot more space back then.”

Bernie produced a bottle of whiskey, two glasses and an ashtray from behind the counter. “And you wonder why I never visited you in Liverpool.”

“With a nice shop like this I’d think you could afford better than coach.” He watched Bernie half fill his glass and motioned for more. “C’mon, don’t be a stinge,” he urged.

He filled the glass near to brimming. “I see you’ve met our Michael.”

“Seems a lot like me when I was about thirty. He can’t be more than twenty one,” Max nodded.

“Kids grow up faster these days.”

“Bloody shame. I had other things on my mind at his age, tearing it up and trying to be a punker. Took me a few years but I finally realized I couldn’t sing and I had no right torturing people with my guitar. You couldn’t imagine my disappointment when I went to the crossroads to peddle my soul for a life in Rock n’ Roll only to have the devil not show.”

“Heart breaker. Michael’s in a band, plays bass from what I hear.”

“He should get out before he meets his Yoko. I’m guessing you’re pointing him out for a reason.”

“Do I have to say it?”

Max half turned and looked up to the railed second story shelves where the young man was leafing through a black bound book he’d written; Change and The Ways. “Can’t say I approve of his tastes in reading. When someone hands me a copy of that damn thing I’m half between burning it and signing it. Spit into the middle of one once. Daft cow nearly passed out she was so happy. Thought it was leagues better than a signature.”

“Don’t put yourself down, it’s a good book. There’s good advice on the whole user beware concept we all live with. Maybe you could sign or spit in a few copies here, I could charge a little more.”

“It soft peddles. I should have simply said; ‘all ye who consort with spirits and seek to improve their lot with magic will find damnation;’ like the old puritan pamphlets.” The serpent tattoo around his neck was clearly visible as he remained turned in his seat, looking Michael over. There was something beyond the physical he couldn’t see clearly. It bothered him. Aside from that there was something very solid about the young man. He was taller, dressed from head to toe in black, and had a steadiness in his bearing. Max turned away and picked up his drink as Michael became aware of eyes on him. “Cheers.” He held up his glass and waited for Bernie to clink it before gulping the four ounces of whiskey.

Bernie sipped his. “So? What do you think Max?”

Max poured himself another glass, nodding as he watched the amber liquid flow. “I’d have never thought you’d find anyone like him in this town. Fewer than two hundred thousand people in this overgrown crater and you manage to find someone so grounded I want to check his pockets for anvils. He’s been marked by a few dark things, probably thanks to things he conjured up himself.” He finished pouring, put down the bottle and started fishing inside his long brown coat. “Anyone else?”

“Two others. They all know each other.”

“That’s lucky,” Max said in mild surprise as he produced a silver ring and dropped it onto the counter.

“Seal of Solomon, how old?” asked Bernie as he picked it up for a closer look.

“About seventy years. Blessed twice, from the Order’s last priest, it should do the trick.”

“I’ll say.” Bernie carefully put it down on the counter and stared at it. It was such a simple piece of jewelry, a silver replication of a medieval version. In itself it was just another piece of jewelry, worn for protection like a cross for some, and to control luck or even demonic forces for other, deeper believers. He’d never seen a demon, in fact he’d never met anyone who had. “So this is really happening, Zachary is actually here.”

“I missed him in Brighton, killed one of his hosts in Athabasca but the bugger managed to jump to another body before I could cast him down. Nathan says I’m too late. It’s really happening.”

“There’s got to be something we can do,” Bernie whispered. He took a larger drink from his glass.

“All we can do is wait for signs. I’m here because it’s as safe as a church. You’ve got more consecration under one roof than most of them.”

“That’s because I’ve managed to keep this place clean. It hasn’t been easy. For every worshiper of the light or open minded Catholic who come to me for candles there’s some devil raiser or Allister Crowley wannabe.”

Max looked around, taking in the whole of the counter and the closed cases behind it at a glance. Most of the case was steel banded cedar, rustic looking but more importantly difficult to break through. “Who cares about the dark dwellers, this is a proper sanctuary in disguise you’ve made here.. I wish the old crowd were here to see it. Gabby especially would be well chuffed. She’d have a cot in the back for sure.”

“Miss her some days. I’m glad she’s not here to see this. What kind of proof do you have that Zachary has gotten back into his own skin?”

Max pulled his pager out of his pocket and dropped it onto the counter. It buzzed, vibrating and jostling itself atop the glass surface.

Bernie picked it up and checked the message. BEST OF LUCK OLD MATE. It said. He smiled mildly and put it down gently, noticing as if for the first time how old his hands looked. He couln’t help but chuckle. “A pager this time, pretty smart.”

“Beats me looking at a pocket calculator every couple of hours, and certainly beats a ouija board or crystal ball,” Max thumbed towards the mall entrance, where a display table was heavily laden with crystal balls of all sizes.

“Noticed them, huh? Can’t sell one to save my life. Ever see one work?”

“Not like they did in the old movies. Anyway, this makes three of us together. You, me and Nathan. Bloody reunion,” Max raised his glass briefly before downing the contents and sliding it onto the glass counter.

“What kind of signs do you think-” the sounds of glass shattering and an inhuman, high screech sounded in the mall concourse, drifting into the tranquility of the store.

“Looks like we’re about to find out.” Max stood and crossed to the the mall entrance.

Bernie was a step behind and together they drew the steel curtain across the walkway and locked it. “I never wanted to see this you know.”

“I didn’t want to chase Zachary across the globe as he shat on people’s lives and stole into temples, churches, graves and museums either. He did what a possessing soul was never able to do before, never figured out how. Thought I caught him at least seven times now. Wish he was the only trouble I was chasing. Would have made things easier. Even ran into one of old Nacht’s messes a few years back.” They walked side by side to the back of the store.

“That must have been something.” When they arrived they locked the double deadbolts on the thick steel door. “I mean Galt Nacht, one of the last real conjurers and the leader of three societies at one point in time. Iconic way before we came on the scene.”

“Big mess. Three spirits trapped in a consecrated circle for over fifty years put there by one of the nastiest buggers in Germany. Those souls weren’t good folk in the first place and rather pissed at that.”

“I would be too,” said a cheery voice from the back room. A diminutive figure with a shock of blond and purple hair opened the door and sized Maxwell up. “Wow,” was her only comment.

Max caught sight of the pentacle dangling over her turtleneck, the collection of Egyptian and Greek style rings and the silver studded belt holding up her black jeans and immediately liked her. She was short, barely came up to his shoulder and Max himself wasn’t a tall man. The energy spinning around the bright eyed young woman was infectious. It was as if she were about to start doing cartwheels, backflips or break into song any minute and barely contained the spunk that made her who she was. “I’m called Maxwell, mostly go by Max though. Pleasure to meet you.” He smiled, taking her slim hand and kissing the back briefly.

She blushed at the tease and over dramatized the whole scene to the astonishment of the collared and Mohawked customers waiting to speak to anyone in charge. “Be still my little heart,” she said in a feigned sigh as she pressed the back of her free hand to her forehead.

“Where do I pay for this?” asked the collared customer to no one in particular, holding up a charm bag, a tonka bean and a small package of dried yellow yarrow buds.

Bernie unlocked the back door and waved them through. “Pay for it next time, closing for a private party.”

The pair hesitated a moment, looking confused.

“Go on.” Bernie encouraged.

“Bernie, I’m going to go see if Angie is still at the Cuppa. I was supposed to meet her an hour ago.” The young woman said as she picked up her backpack. It was decorated with sew on patches from several different countries mixed in with a couple of peace signs and a Pinch me if you’re a passionate Pagan! patch in the center.

“She’s probably on her way here. Knowing Scott he’ll close up early. The mall’s dead,” Bernie said.

“Hi Christie,” said a voice from the library section above only loudly enough for them to hear.

Christie looked up and squealed with delight. “Michael!” she squeaked as she ran across the store and up the stairs. She leapt into his arms and squeezed him.

Michael seemed to take it in stride, smiling mildly and laughing. “Glad to see you too.”

“Ever worry she’ll wreck the place?” Max asked in a whisper.

Bernie smiled and shook his head, closing the work room door. The smells of vanilla, sandalwood, patchouli and beeswax wafted through the stirred air. “Nope. She’s a careful one, believe it or not.”

“Story between those two?”

“I think she fancies him, he fancies her best friend Angela and if I’m not mistaken Angela likes girls. Classic High Schooler story with a twist. All good mates, core of a larger group.”

“Reminds me of Dundas street. Good days.”

“Long time ago.” The pair started walking back to the counter closest to the mall entrance.

“Michael has a few things following him.”

“That obvious, is it?” Bernie whispered, nodding. “He still can’t sleep. Doesn’t say anything about it but makes some pretty heavy remedies for it from what I’ve seen him buy.”

“Think he’s done with toying with the dark?”

Bernie produced a stool from behind the counter for himself and Max before sitting down at the cash register. “He came into a lot of money a few months back, didn’t spend much though, I just heard about him winning on a few long shot tickets.”

“We’re talking lottery?”

“Yup. Medium sized prizes as much as I can figure.”

“Did he get the knowledge here?”

“Some. I don’t make it easy to put all the pieces together though. He’s smart, uses the Internet too. Heard the girls talking about it when they were making candles in the back, that’s what Christie does for me most of the time.”

“Pretty heavy magic. Figures though, the Internet is changing everything.”

“I still can’t believe he managed to pull it off,” Bernie whispered in disbelief.

Max’s pager buzzed, nearly vibrating its way off the edge of the counter. Bernie caught it and jumped as someone crashed into the interlocking metal barrier blocking the mall entrance.

“Let me in!” Angela cried, panicked, frantically shaking the gate.

Part V: The Truth

Bernie was on his feet and half way to the security gate with key in hand before Max had a chance to step around the end of the counter. The shopkeeper opened the gate and Angela ran inside, tripping on her own skirt or her own feet, no one could tell, and skidding to a stop on her knees.

The gate was closed an instant later and Max carefully helped her up, looking her over. “I’m Maxwell, old friend of Bernie’s,” he soothed.

She was shaken, frightened, but already recovering.

Max could see she needed to tell someone about something, and being a stranger, it wouldn’t be him. Bernie directed her to a table beside the stairs and was about to sit her down when Christie intercepted her, colliding in as big a hug as she could manage.”Are you okay?”

“Thank God you’re still here,” Angela whispered. “It’s like a horror movie out there. I watched someone get possessed. The mirrors have…” she couldn’t find the words and just shook her head and let the tears start falling. Relief brought realization, and as though she was just then feeling the trauma of her ordeal she started shaking.

“They’re doorways for everything that’s managed to stay close enough to the living to see through,” Maxwell explained.

“The sign you were waiting for?” Bernie asked as he sat down at the table.

Michael was slowly descending the stairs, watching everyone, taking it all in.

Maxwell nodded. “That would be it.” He turned his attention to Michael. ”You know about mirrors?”

Michael nodded slowly. “How did you know?” he glanced at Bernie.

“It marked you. Whatever you consorted with left its mark. I’m not judging, I’ve been marked a few times myself. May as well have a seat.” Max took a seat at the table and cracked his knuckles. A tattoo of a flame behind a medieval cross was on one hand while fine vines splayed across the other. The sound of his cracking digits made Christie shudder. “Now tell me what you saw Vera.” He was startled at his slip, ashamed at the specter he’d raised.

Angela looked at him, confused. She wiped her tears away, calm settling over her. “That was my mother’s name.”

“If ever there were a time, this isn’t it,” Max muttered to himself. “I knew her before she met your father. She was a good woman even then, smarter than me by far. I was sorry to hear of her passing.” He didn’t want to go on, he wanted to just leave it at that, but it had to be mentioned. “If you see her in a mirror, don’t trust it. Chances are it’s not her.” The hurt that caused was immediately evident.

Angela tried to hide the downturn in her spirits. He had quashed the hope to see her mother who had died of cancer two years before. Afraid that she’d burst into tears if she tried to speak she simply nodded.

“Why would you say something like that?” Christine asked accusingly.

Maxwell stood and walked to the counter, picking up his vibrating pager. “Because her mum’s moved on to a place far from here. Whether you call it Elysian, paradise or heaven, I’d bet my coat she’s there. You won’t be seeing her in a mirror, at least not today.”

“Was it just one mirror or?” Michael asked Angela quietly as he sat down across from her.

“All of them had extra faces. It’s like they were watching, looking for something or trying to get at me. I saw one possess a woman at Cuppa. She killed Scott before I could do anything.”

“How did you get away?” Maxwell asked as he dug inside the pockets of his jacket for something.

“I ran before she could turn on me and hid in a bathroom stall. My reflection spoke to me after I’d calmed down a bit. It was so powerful. I couldn’t move, it was like she was holding me. She wanted me to pass on a message; ‘the covenant of death is broken.’”

Bernie sighed and put his head in his hand.

“What? What does that mean?” Asked Christie.

Maxwell put his pager down on the table along with a small velvet bag. The display scrolled; WAIT THERE – LOOKING FOR HIM. “Seems like I have some time. I’ll tell you, but first, I have to give Bernie here some credit. He’s kept this place as blessed and pure as a church. You’re all safe here.”

“These three know something about that, they’ve all helped me with some kind of cleansing at one point or another,” Bernie acknowledged.

“Good, then you’ll know what to do when I’m gone. A place like this also picks up energy from the people who pass through, you should cleanse it once I’m through the door.”

“Why don’t we get started now? We can do it while you explain things.” Christie started to get up.

“Wait ‘till I’ve gone,” Max repeated quietly but insistently.

Bernie reinforced the suggestion with a nod.

“Now back to business, I don’t think I have much time. The covenant of death is just one important part of how spirituality works. It’s like a bargain that was struck between man, the divine, and what dwells in the darkness between. There are ways to commune with things that shouldn’t exist in our world, but there’s a good reason why it’s not easy. Possessions and conjurings have all been dismiss able, cleanse able by mankind. It’s easier for us to get rid of them than it is for most influences to stay with us. Are you with me so far?”

Angela nodded and Christie leaned forward, very interested in what Maxwell was saying. “So we have the upper hand when spirits and energy tries to act in the material world, right?”

“Exactly. Normally, there are exceptions. Not many exceptions, but none of that matters now. The bargain is almost always balanced by our inability to cheat death. We’re bound by the laws of science and medicine. Healing by sheer force of will or with the help of the divine takes a lot of effort and it’s rare,” Maxwell stood and began to pace. “But mankind, not bloody bright enough to leave well enough alone, is constantly pressing the barriers, trying to find a way around the covenant to find short cuts to wealth, love, health, revenge, whatever you like and without saying a ‘by your leave’ to the divine light above us. I can’t say I’m innocent of that. The more we rely on the shortcuts for whatever we desire, the better it works because whatever’s cooperating on the other gains power over us, power we give them. So, it falls to someone very special to restore the covenant before it’s completely broken. The last person to do it died on a cross almost two thousand years ago. What the good book says is true: he died for our sins, all our sins. Not just greed, lust, murder, and the rest of the top ten, but all the spiritual ones as well. Just to show everyone that he was divine and man at once and to inspire lasting faith he resurrected himself and ascended willingly. Now I’m not going to try to get any of you kids to church, or force you into some born again parish but it’s important to look at what it took last time doors started to open. One man better than any of us died in the worst way, came back and right in front of all his loved ones he left this world again, knowing that he wouldn’t see any of them until they joined him in paradise. Bloody shook the heavens and everything beneath, he did. Shut all the doors that should have never been pried open in the first place.”

“So Christ was real?” Christie asked in disbelief.

“As real as the nose on your face, luv. A lot of things are real, more than you’d imagine. Except for big foot, he’s just an outrageously tall woodcutter who plodded around the woods with a fur coat and bare feet for a few days. Good joke, that.”

“But the covenant is broken.” Michael said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

“It is. For twenty eight years I’ve been chasing a man named Zachary Ellison. He’s crossed the world a dozen times or more, unearthing the secrets to resurrection and finding ways to finish the sacrament on his own. Along the way he’s been causing trouble and leaving me to clean up his mess. At first there were a whole bunch of us. Your mother was one of the first on this shore, looking for the dark, finding the practitioners and ways to get them locked up or binding their power. Then she met your father and saw you in her future. A few others left the fold like that, they were the lucky ones. Old Zachary killed half, possessed a few who let their guards down and well, now it’s just me and a couple others who were left scattered, trying to deal with a few other problems. From thirty five there are three of us left,” he walked over to the table and dumped the contents of the velvet bag. There were two more silver rings with the seal of Solomon painstakingly crafted within a circle. “These will protect you from possession if you’re forced to leave. They come with the blessings of the last Priest of my order and the High Wiccan Priestess of Germany.”

Michael picked one up and examined it. “It looks like a late medieval version ”

“The second founding of the order had to create their own protection signet with the help of several spiritual leaders, I’m dodgy on the history behind it, haven’t had much time to do recreational study over the last few decades. Wear ‘em. At least tonight,” he handed the one he had shown Bernie earlier to Angela. “This’ll fit you proper.”

Christie put hers on her left thumb and looked at it. “Perfect fit. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, miss. This mirror business is a symptom of the covenant Zachary has broken tonight. He’s been possessing one person after another for decades and before I could find him he finished the rite of resurrection. Now he’s up and walking around in his own skin again. Should have never happened, turns all those little cracks in the divide between man and everything else into great big holes.”

“Why would he bother? If he can possess people-” Michael started.

“What is it you’ve been teaching these kids?” Max asked Bernie, exasperated.

“I don’t offer, I just point them in the right direction when they ask for advice and try to make sure they don’t get into anything they can’t handle. Except for Christie of course.”

“I never leave him alone, always chasing him around with questions,” she grinned. Her spirits were already rising despite the dire news.

“Bloody hell, since I don’t have time to lecture I’ll give you the quick of it,” Max sighed. “When a spirit takes hold of someone they can’t go walking into places watched by the divine. Consecrated ground like grave yards and tombs are fine if not exactly where they’d like to be because those are really nothing more than places to plant your dead. The Divine is more concerned with the living and that makes places of worship or sanctuary off limits to most. That, and when you possess someone you’re constantly fighting for control, the skin your in is never your own. When you’re brought back in your own factory original corpse and get the old heart pumpin’ you can go wandering about in churches and temples again.”

“And they don’t need to fight anything for control,” Angela added, putting the ring on. It felt right somehow. “There’s one of these in my mother’s things. Do you have a guide like she did?”

Maxwell stopped and looked at her, astonished. His pager buzzed against the table so hard it nearly flipped over. “Bloody thing,” he said as he snatched it up and read it. “I’ll bloody tell her whatever I like and you’re in no position to argue.” he spat at it, clipping it to his hip. “That would be him. Nathan, the one who passed on as I took my place in the order. He’s looking for Zachary right now. I have to kill him, the dark ones that have risen with him should be drawn back. Can’t repair the damage completely though, no telling what will happen in the long term. It’s not like we’ve got a Messiah hotline, can’t just force another miracle to repair all the damage.”

The pager buzzed on his belt again. Maxwell checked it without unclipping it and nodded to himself. “Nathan says Zack’s got my scent. He’s coming and I can’t fight him here. Best of luck, I’m off. Stay here until it’s over.” He retrieved his hat from the counter beside the cash register and strode for the rear door without a backwards glance.

All four of them watched as the weathered Brit opened the steel door and continued on into the rain. They watched until the security door slammed behind him on its own.

“Wasn’t that locked?” Christie asked quietly.

“Locks have never been a problem for old Max,” Bernie muttered.

“Why is Zachary after him?” Michael asked. He was examining the ring he’d been given, looking at the additions to the simple double triangle symbol. A sword, heart, sun and two joined hands had been etched at the four corners around the central star.

Bernie didn’t answer at first. He stood and went to the main counter where he put away the glasses and screwed the top onto the whiskey bottle. Everyone was looking at him by the time he offered an explanation. “Maxwell killed him the first time around.”

Part VI: Bitter Reunion

“Zachary!” Shouted Maxwell over the spatter of heavy rain and rolling thunder. The thick drops rolled off his stetson and down the back of his duster jacket. The long, dark alleyway amplified the hiss of the rain hitting the slick concrete between the pair.

“Murderer,” Zachary replied slowly from the pit of his stomach, relishing the feel of the word’s every syllable.

“You’ve turned this city on its ear and I won’t let it spread.”

“Oh come on! If it’s good enough for the almighty it’s good enough for us!” he exclaimed, raising his hands in mock praise. “It’s like he’ll eat at the same table with us but when it’s time for the evening brandy we get shuffled off to the kiddie corner! Wouldn’t you leap at the chance to bring Vera back? Perhaps even Nathan. You could get the old gang together instead of taking messages from your old mate from that pager you carry around.”

“At what cost? Open the door to demonic congress? Create a new social imbalance? Adepts would become more powerful than anyone’s seen since the Pharaohs.”

Zachary stalked towards Maxwell, closing to within a few meters, he was furious. “Can’t have that, now can we? You worked all your life for the power you’ve accumulated, searched as far and wide as I have while you tried to exorcise me to God knows where! Now I’m back in the flesh and-”

Maxwell tore his shirt open and spread his arms wide. The tattoo of a white winged angel was artfully rendered across his stomach.

Zachary had no time to respond, covering his head with his forearms instead.

The alleyway in front of Maxwell was flooded with pure white light as he strained to channel flames unlike any mortal had seen for millennium.

When he opened his eyes Zachary was still standing in the middle of the darkened alley, grinning brightly. “Can’t smite someone whose resurrected. Your good Lord forgot to remind you humans are never pure evil. Too bad too, looks like that tattoo took a while.”

“God has better things to do than to whisper instructions on how to end a waster like you,” Maxwell growled as he drew two long bowie knives from his coat and closed the distance between them. The blades were perfectly poised for Zachary’s throat and passed straight through. Maxwell didn’t have time to stop himself and followed through Zachary’s image, running headlong into a dumpster.

A peal of belly laughter erupted from Zachary’s image. “Did you really think I’d let Nathan track me down so you could kill me again? I knew you’d have some kind of ridiculously heavy handed solution all ready. Why would I slip up now that I’m in my own skin again?”

Maxwell spun on his feet and raised a hand. “Let the truth of this be made plain.” A tattoo of a still flame on the back of his hand came to life then, lighting the alley momentarily.

“No need to exhaust yourself with more spells and incantations. I’ll tell you where I am. Right now I’m introducing myself to your little girl, I bet she looks just like her mother.”

“He’s coming,” sang the woman from the Cuppa coffee shop. She was standing, grinning, staring through the metal security gate.

Christie jumped and stared at her. Her blouse, neck, chin and mouth were stained in blood, her blond hair was a tangle. Christie slipped off the chair and slowly moved out of sight around the corner.

“Little one should guard her looks. Those stares’ll land you in trouble.”

“Don’t worry, she can’t get in,” Bernie reassured. “Even if she could break the gate the blessings on this space will keep anything possessed out just fine.”

“Who’s coming?” Asked Michael firmly, getting to his feet slowly.

“The one who opened the gates. Freedom follows him, our liberator, our savior.”

“Who are you?”

“The first of many, little boy. Come closer, I have a secret for you,” she smirked, cocking her head.

Her eyes were an unearthly blue, such an ocean deep shade. He could feel them on him, piercing him from out of her comely, white and pink face. The tear streaked eye liner only emphasized the blond above and the gore below, leading to her ruby red lips. They were juicy, surrounding a grin that grew wider, wider, framing pearly white teeth.

“Michael!” shouted Bernie, grabbing the collar of his long coat, roughly hauling him back from the gate.

He had come within a foot of the barrier, the woman screeched as he took hurried steps back. “Young flesh! Bring it back! It’s been so long since I’ve tasted hot meat!”

Michael joined Angela and Christie, who embraced him enthusiastically. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“I don’t know what happened, one minute I was just looking at her and then the next Bernie was dragging me away and I was right in front of her.”

“Well at least we know your type now; tall, blond, crazy and cannibalistic,” Angela muttered.

“Not funny,” Christie scolded.

“That’s no normal possession. Whoever took that poor woman can hypnotize and influence people through protective barriers, don’t look at her,” Bernie advised quietly.

“Shaaaaadow siiiiiren. Zachary’s Kingdom comes. We’ll be free. Free to eat, free to play, free to take whoever looks for their reflection and finds us. Stare into a siren and slip your skin.”

Part VII: Debt

Everyone inside Books and Blessings jumped at the sound of something impacting the rear metal door. Bernie had his overladen key chain out and in the lock of the central glass case in a heartbeat. Without a moment’s hesitation he picked up a sharp gladius. Michael was right behind him about to reach into the case when Bernie pushed his hand away. “Have any training with a sword?”

“No, how hard can it be?”

“These are battle ready sharpened blades, you’re as like to hurt yourself or someone else if you don’t know what you’re doing,” he pulled a long, decorative knife from the case instead and sheathed it before handing it over. “Here, only take it out when you’re about to use it and remember- pointy end first.”

“Nice, right.”

“Well, I could take it back,” Bernie said with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean, thank you,” Michael corrected, affixing the scabbard to his belt.

Bernie handed another dagger to Angela and offered the last to Christie, who shook her head. “I’m not so good with pointy things. Show me a spirit allergic to foul language and I’ll beat the hell out of him though.”

Bernie chuckled and walked towards the back door, sword at the ready. The store was quiet except for the sounds of the blonde woman at the gate, chuckling softly. He listened for something other than the rain.

“He’s coming and blades won’t help you,” sang the blood encrusted woman at the mall gate.

“Would you shut up already?” Christie burst.

“It’s okay, she can’t come in,” Angela reassured. “Just ignore her.”

The sounds of metal against metal sounded through the door and Bernie stepped back. “Chains. They’re going to pull the door off with chains.” He heard an engine rev and the door was torn free of its hinges.

“Bernie!” greeted Zachary through the sounds of the pouring rain and the door being dragged off by the chain tied to the back of a pickup truck. “It’s been what, twenty eight years?”

Michael ran to the staircase, staying out of sight. Angela remained at the far end of the store with Christie, and Bernie held the sword with both hands. “Move on, you’re not welcome here.”

“But the world is abuzz with word of your good hospitality. Why, Maxwell was just saying how good you were to him today.”

“There’s no crossing this threshold for your kind, you may as well move along.”

“Really, there’s no need for hostility.” Zachary raised his hand. Bernie’s sword spun across the room, clattering against a book case before falling to the floor. With a dark, glad expression Zachary stepped over the threshold. “No one’s seen a lasting resurrection since Cheops. Did you really think you could stop me old man?”

Bernie stepped into a charging stance and crossed half the distance between him and the door when a flick of Zachary’s wrist sent him hurtling across the store into the mall gate.

“He’s all yours, my darling,” the dark figure invited as he forced the lock on the gate open.

Bernie turned just in time to fend off the crazed woman and step back behind the protective barrier. She waited in the half open gate, salivating and glaring. “You have to leave sometime,” she growled.

Angela bared her dagger. “Huntsman watch over me,” she whispered as she stepped between Zachary and Bernie. Her grip on it was white knuckled. “Unclean thing be gone from this sanctuary. I call the spirits to witness your violation of the natural order and restore it.”

Zachary feigned a shiver and laughed uproariously. “Good words! This isn’t Wicca summer camp girl!” He crossed the distance between them in several inhumanly quick steps and curled his fingers around the hilt of her dagger. Before anyone had a chance to act he was back at the threshold and Angela’s blade was buried deeply in her own chest. The hilt twitched with the beating of her heart as she sank to the ground.

“By this sacrifice I anoint this space to my own purpose,” Zachary spat.

No longer impeded by the store’s protective barrier, the possessed woman leapt for Bernie, clawing at him with her jagged fingernails, her teeth, screaming and screeching hungrily, frantically.

Christie stepped over Angela, tears filling her eyes, shaking with fury. “I call the spirits of the north, west, east, and south to visit upon the man before me the full invocation of the three times law!” She screamed.

“What was that?” Zachary laughed.

“That was a distraction, asshole!”

Zachary’s expression darkened as he looked up to the balcony overhead. Michael stepped to the edge and looked down, muttering at a feverish pace as he cut into his palm. “Where did you learn that Sumerian ditty?” He growled as he tried to run up the stairs. He was stopped as though his feet were nailed to the floor. Zachary looked down to see a fleshy, barbed white hand gripping his foot.

The stench that preceded the creature’s arrival clung to the mouth and nose, leaving a corpulent fragrance behind. Its head was broad, covered in slick, translucent skin. Yellow - red eyes opened, set in a nest of hard spines and barbs that begun around its toothy mouth and ran all the way down its jagged back and bony arms.

It opened its mouth wide, impossibly wide, exposing three rows of pointed teeth as it caught several drops of Michael’s blood.

“No! You can’t exist! Not here!” Zachary screeched as he tried desperately to back away, to brush it free from where it crept up around his knees. His eyes were wide, panic gripped and shook him.

Michael stepped back from the railing, he too was wide eyed and shocked. “I was summoning help, only help,” he muttered.

The creature caught his eye and grinned. The language it spoke was unrecognizable to Michael’s ears, but the words carried deeper, to other comprehending senses. “This debt you will repay. Soon you’ll hear the call.”

Climbing and shambling, it turned its attention back to Zachary. The thing’s barb and spine coat caught on Zachary’s fine suit, pricking the skin on his thighs, piercing his hips and stabbing the frantic man’s hands as he tried to fend it off. It spoke once more, this time only a rasping whisper.

“I won’t go with you!” Zachary wailed in return.

It was a small thing, white and sickly. The first drops of Zachary’s blood dripped to the floor. The creature ignored them as he placed his hands on the man’s withdrawing face like he was a hesitant lover. Zachary’s shrieks bordered on inhuman as the creature’s grip tightened, slowly lacerating his ears, scalp and temples. As though savoring the moment, the white thing’s mouth opened slowly, wider and wider until the toothy maw was large enough to encompass Zachary’s mouth and nose.

It tilted its head and hesitated, as though waiting for his meal’s screams to reach an impossibly panicked pitch. Michael and Bernie couldn’t look away. Christie only had eyes for her dying friend and tried not to look.

The screams muffled as the broad maw descended. Its teeth ravaged all the flesh under Zachary’s wide, panicked eyes. The creatures’ flesh and spines changed, flushing crimson slowly from its head to the tips of its barbs. Bones cracked, the muffled screams stopped and Zachary fell to the floor.

His fall didn’t end on the tiles, however. Zachary and the creature descended the same way the creature came, leaving the space they’d been darkened by black dust but in otherwise perfect condition.

Bernie let the crystal ball he’d bludgeoned the crazed woman with fall from his hand. “Michael, you’re not to so much as crack another book! Now come down here and call an ambulance!” He rushed to Angela’s side.

Christie was on her knees, holding Angela’s blood covered hand. “It’s going to be okay. Just hang on, it’s going to be fine.”

Maxwell arrived at the rear door at a run and caught a whiff of the air. “What did you do?” he asked as he brought a kerchief up to his face.

“Got rid of Zachary,” Michael shot at him as he ran down the stairs and past Maxwell. “He’s dead and gone.”

He caught sight of Bernie, who was inspecting Angela’s wound carefully. He took a moment to nod at Maxwell; “He’s gone for sure. If we ever see him again we probably won’t recognize him.”

Maxwell rushed across the shop and fell to his knees at Angela’s side. “Well look at that, caught a blade. Not to worry, it’s barely a scratch. Just hold still.”

“Tell my father I’m sorry,” Angela whispered.

“No talking, especially if all you’ve to say is goodbye,” he placed his hand on the wound, the dagger between his fingers and closed his eyes. “You can hang that phone up, lad. No need to bother emergency services. Now, let’s see how broken things really are.”

Michael was in the middle of telling the emergency operator the shop’s address when he hung up the phone. He turned to watch Maxwell attend to Angela’s wound and caught a glimpse of something moving at the neck of Maxwell’s shirt. It was a finely tattooed serpent coming to life right before his eyes, slithering under his collar and down his shoulder.

“No Max! She’s almost gone!” Bernie shouted.

Maxwell gritted his teeth and broke into a sweat. The pager under his coat vibrated.

Angela bit her lip, screwed her eyes shut and tried not to scream as the dagger slowly rose out of her chest.

The dagger clattered to the tile and Angela opened her eyes, astonished.

“There you are, good as new,” Maxwell smiled. “Don’t say I never did anythin’ for ya.”

Bernie helped him to his feet, looking him over. The thin serpent tattoo had gone from him and appeared around Angela’s throat like a choker. “You’re all right?”

“A shot or two of that swill you keep behind the counter and I’ll be fine.”

Angela took Maxwell’s offered hand and got to her feet, feeling under her blouse. “Oh my God, it’s like nothing happened.”

Christie pulled the side of her blouse open to look then squealed and hugged her enthusiastically.

“Looks like those crystal balls were good for something after all,” Maxwell said, gesturing towards the display table beside the mall entrance. The unconscious crazed woman lay beside the weighty crystal ball that had knocked her senseless.

Bernie chuckled as he brought out the pair of glasses and unscrewed the whiskey bottle. “I’ll never look at them the same way again. Make sure you tie her up tight Michael, we don’t want her getting loose before we drop her off at the police station.” He reminded the youth as he bound the woman’s hands behind her with a thin cloth Celtic wall hanging.

“If it were me I’d get her into that back room and get ready to perform an exorcism. Not like the coppers’ll know what to do with her,” Maxwell muttered as he picked up his glass and shot it back. “That hit it,” he sighed.

“Never did understand why you drank so much. Doesn’t seem to get you drunk.”

“Keeps the voices down to a dull roar,” Maxwell smiled wanly as he sagged against the counter.

Bernie stepped around the end of the counter, bashing his shoulder against the cash register in his haste and got under him in time to catch his long time friend in his arms. The glass slipped from Max’s hand and shattered on the tiles.

“Hang on, I’ll have the boy call-”

“Shut your gob and listen,” Maxwell whispered. Blood ran down the left side of his shirt through the wound he’d taken from Angela. “Just because Zachary’s gone doesn’t mean the covenant’s not broken it just means it spreads slower. World’s about to change and no one’s on watch.”

“What do I do?”

“Mind the shop,” Maxwell laughed softly to himself and cringed. “Glory that hurts.”

Angela knelt down beside the pair, her expression fraught with worry. Her brown eyes darted from Maxwell’s faintly smiling face to the growing circle of blood on his chest and back.

With a shaky hand he managed to touch her face. He was in awe, as though seeing something so beautiful he almost couldn’t stand it. “Couldn’t have come out better,” he whispered as she caught his hand in hers.

With a sigh he was gone.

~ Thank you for reading. The continuation of this story is dependent on reader support. If you like this story, its setting and characters please donate an amount you feel is appropriate for how much you enjoyed your experience. Browse to www.randolphlalonde.com and click on the Dark Arts link. ~

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Dark Arts: Rising