A Gathering of Crows (19 page)

“Now,” he said, his smile returning, “where were we? I believe you said something about taking my soul?”

“I’ll devour it,” the creature groaned. “If not me, then one of my brethren.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Surely you jest. You have given me your name, and you have not the sigil nor the power to make me talk.”

Levi sighed. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way, then.
Dullix, ix, ux.
”

Powwow hadn’t worked against this being, and the charm to still-bind it, while effective, was already weakening—otherwise it wouldn’t have been able to thrash and roll about. Levi racked his memory, searching for something that might work. Making sure he remained out of the thing’s reach, Levi quickly tried several different spells and charms, running the gamut from snippets of the traditional Catholic Rite of Exorcism to obscure Haitian voodoo recitations, Enochian chants and various rites of the Golden Dawn. All were ineffective.

“Is that your best, little magus? You are well versed in the art. Of that I can attest. But still, you are weak.
Weak
!”

The creature’s movements increased. It flopped back and forth like a fish on dry land, struggling to sit up. Levi grew desperate. There was no time to create a binding circle or to invoke the Greater Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram, although Levi had his doubts now that even that would work against this enemy. Nor did he have time to construct a spirit trap. Even if he’d had time, he didn’t have a luminol light or anything else that he could use to force the entity into the trap. And again, he wasn’t sure that would work, either. Spirit traps were only useful against incorporeal spirits, and whatever this thing was, it had certainly felt corporeal enough when he’d punched it in the stomach.

The entity lifted its head free of the ground, looked up at him and smiled. “Soon, bearded one. Soon.”

Levi nodded. “I’d prefer later, if you don’t mind. We’ll get together and do lunch.”

Turning, Levi fled in the same direction Donny and Marsha had gone. His enemy’s laughter followed him. Levi cringed at the sound. His ears burned with shame and embarrassment.

“You have given me your name,” the dark figure called.

As he ran past the church where he’d tried to communicate with the spirit of the dead man, Levi noticed that the corpse was no longer there. The chalk outlines and the bloodstains were still present, but where the body had been, there was now just a small pile of ashes. The dog’s corpse, which he’d left impaled on the wrought-iron fence, was gone, too. More ashes sprinkled the ground beneath where it had dangled.

Nothing left,
Levi thought.
They’re consuming souls, and their victims are reduced to dust within hours. No decay. No decomposition. They just turn to nothingness. This is bad magic. This is very bad magic, indeed.

He found Donny and Marsha easily enough. They’d made no effort to hide the signs of their passage. Both were breathing hard. Their footfalls slapped the pavement as they dashed across the street. Levi caught up with them on the other side, just as they were ducking behind a vacant apartment building.

“Wait.”

Donny spun around, fists raised, his jaw twitching.

When he saw that it was Levi, his shoulders went slack.

“Holy shit! We thought for sure you were dead.”

“Not yet.” Levi wiped the sweat from his brow with his ripped shirttail. “I appreciate the two of you sticking around back there, but I really wish you hadn’t. You could have been killed.”

“What the hell happened back there, anyway?”

Donny asked. “What are these things?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I thought you said this was your job? That you deal with things like this?”

“It is my job. I’ve just never dealt with something like this—or at least, something in this particular form.”

Donny frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I have an idea—a few ideas, actually—of what we might be facing here, but I’m still not one hundred percent sure. I need to do more, in order to be positive. I need to see more.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to learn their identity. Until I do that, I’m afraid I can’t fight them.”

Marsha paled. “Then what are you going to do?”

“Get the two of you to safety first. I can do that much, at least. After that . . .”

Donny nodded. “Yeah?”

“After that,” Levi repeated, “then I guess I’ll have to face them again. And this time, alone.”

“Are you crazy? I watched that fight back there. He nearly punched your head off.”

“But he didn’t. He wanted to, but if you remember correctly, his blows didn’t actually connect with me.”

“I noticed that,” Marsha said, nodding. “He clawed your shirt. How is it that he didn’t cut you?”

“You wearing body armor?” Donny asked.

“No.” Levi smiled slightly. “He couldn’t hurt me because I carry something on my person that prevents attacks like that. Something much better than body armor. His claws cut my clothing, but they were ineffective on my body.”

“Even so,” Donny said, “you might not get so lucky a second time. You go back, then I’m going with you.”

Levi shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. I told you, I have to face them alone.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You don’t have a choice. I’m going to make sure the two of you are hidden away. I’ll provide you some safeguards that should prove effective. But then I’m going back out again, and you’re not coming with me. Your responsibility is to your girlfriend here.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Marsha said, glancing at Donny.

“Oh. I’m sorry. The two of you seemed so close, I just assumed.”

“She’s . . .” Donny paused, floundering for words.

“I just don’t—”

A crow screeched overhead. All three of them jumped.

“Come on,” Levi said. “Let’s get under cover while we still can.”

***

“Get the hell away from here or I’ll blow a goddamn hole in your belly!”

The threat was accompanied by the sound of a shotgun being pumped. The noise was muffled through the heavy wooden door, but still identifiable enough that both Paul and Gus jumped out of the way. Standing on either side of the door, safe from any potential shotgun spray, they looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Go on!” The person inside the house was clearly terrified. His voice quavered as he shouted. “Get out of here now, goddamn you. I ain’t telling you again.”

“Greg,” Gus called out. “Put down the shotgun. It’s me.”

“Me who?”

“Your brother, dumb ass. Gus. Who’d you think it was?”

Gus kicked the door with the toe of his boot, which he’d wisely changed into after taking off his Spider-Man bedroom slippers. The door rattled in its frame. An ugly brown wreath that hung askew near the top of the door swayed back and forth slightly, shedding leaves and bits of bark.

“You didn’t say it was you,” Greg hollered. “All you said was ‘it’s me.’ How the hell was I supposed to know who ‘me’ is?”

“Never you mind that. I’ve got Paul Crowley out here with me. Now hurry up and let us in before somebody sees us.”

“Paul’s here with you?”

“Hi, Greg. Yeah, I’m here. Now open up. Bad things are happening and it’s not safe out here.”

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment. Then they heard a thump as Greg sat the shotgun down. A moment later, the locks clicked and a chain rattled as it was slid across its hasp. Then the door creaked open. The battered wreath shed more twigs and leaves. Greg peered out at them.

“Take a picture,” Gus said. “It’ll last longer. Now let us in, damn it.”

The door opened the rest of the way and Greg stood to one side, letting Paul and Gus rush by him. Greg was clad only in a pair of black sweatpants and mismatched socks. He quickly shut the door behind them and then locked it again. The shotgun leaned against the wall, next to a woven floor mat piled high with work boots and dirty shoes. Greg picked it up and eyed them warily.

“Would one of you boys mind telling me just what in the hell is going on? I hear shooting all over the place and folks screaming, and the power is out and the phones are off, too. Hell, I can’t even get my weather radio to work, and that runs on batteries.”

“We don’t know,” Paul admitted. “Something bad, obviously. Like you said, there’s people shouting and lots of gunfire. The big propane tank behind the firehouse may have gone up. We’ve seen some dead folks, just lying in the street. But nobody seems real sure who’s causing it or even what exactly is happening. One fella told us it was dark people, but we don’t even know what he meant by that.”

“Dark people? Who told you that?”

“You’d recognize him,” Gus said. “Used to bring his car into the shop. I can’t remember his name. Always seemed nice enough, but Paul seems to think maybe he meant black folks.”

“Dark people?” Greg frowned. “That don’t make any sense. Why would black people want to shoot up Brinkley Springs?”

“That’s what I said, too,” Gus exclaimed.

Paul shrugged. “I ain’t saying they are. I’m just telling you what the other guy said to us. None of it makes any sense to me.”

“Come on. Let’s sit a spell. Figure this thing out.” Greg motioned with the shotgun for them to followhim. He led them into the living room and beckoned to a brown, worn-out couch. Paul and Gus both sat down, grateful for the respite. The couch springs groaned beneath them and the cushions sagged. Greg crept over to the window and pulled the faded curtains shut, stirring up a cloud of dust. The room, already gloomy, grew pitch-black.

“Hang on a minute,” Greg said, stumbling around in the darkness. “Let me light a candle.”

They sat in silence, listening as he fumbled his way to the kitchen and searched through drawers until he found what he was looking for. Then he returned with a long red candle in a tarnished brass holder. The flame glinted off the three bottles of Rolling Rock beer he clutched by the necks in his other hand. He placed the candle on the coffee table and then handed each of them a bottle. Both men accepted them without pause. The glass was cold and wet, and the sound the caps made as they twisted them off was somehow comforting—but not as much as the first sips.

Paul sighed. “I needed that.”

“I reckon so,” Greg agreed. “You both looked pretty shook-up.”

“It’s hell out there,” Gus said. “And to be honest, big brother, I was a little worried about you. Glad you’re okay.”

“Shit.” Greg patted the shotgun almost lovingly. The flickering candle flame reflected off the barrel. “I’ll tell you what. I’m the last person in Brinkley Springs they want to mess with.”

Paul took a long drink of beer and then pressed the bottle against his forehead. He leaned forward, sighed again and then looked at them both. “So, what are we gonna do? You boys got any ideas?”

“I was thinking on this while I was in the kitchen,” Greg said. “I reckon that fella you met was wrong. It ain’t black people that are doing this.”

“Who do you think it is?” Gus asked.

“That’s easy. The NWO.”

Groaning, Gus rolled his eyes. “Oh, Greg. Now ain’t the time to start with that goddamn New World Order nonsense again. I swear to God, you’re worse than that crazy Earl Harper wing nut who lives up above Punkin Center. Always with the NOW bullshit.”

“N-W-O, not N-O-W. And it ain’t bullshit, little brother.”

“The hell it ain’t. First you thought Y2K was gonna kill us all. Then you said nine eleven was an inside job. Then there was all the crap about how President Obama didn’t have a birth certificate. And then you—”