The Wizard of Island Home

Part XLIX

2011-02-05T16:42:00.000-08:00

Part XLIX

The glut of small spiders things hit us like a wave. I found a hand hold and tried to let it sweep by. I mumbled under my breath just in case they were hungry and dropped a small repelling charm across my body. I forgot about my guide though and his screams almost burst my ear drums. Evidently there is no love lost in the mountain. I looked down just long enough to see him get carried past, half the demon he used to be.

Like water, they passed by and I was soon able to push myself off the wall. I tried to orient myself, and pushed my werelight further down the tunnel. I added four more balls to the mix and sent them in formation ahead of me. If the brood was this close, then there was no way momma could be too far ahead.

Grandfather Lee had figured out what Momma was. She was a special kind of demon. Her brood weren't so much her children as her mouth. She birthed them once every few years and they ate everything they could, then scampered back to her and entered her mouths and fed her. Kind of like a long distance stomach with a lot of mouths. He estimated I had a few hours before they returned, and she would be fairly weak before they did.

Twenty minutes or so later, time was a bit odd in the mountain, I came to the end of the corridor we'd been walking down, and where there had once been a web covering the cavern entrance, there was now a well chewed web with a big hole in it.

I stepped through and shot the werelights up and in all directions lighting up the cavern like some rave.

The scream that echoed through the room just about brought me to my knees. I mumbled under my breath and protected my ears so I could at least stand back up. I hoped my ear drums had survived.

The demon had tried to scramble away into the dark, but her egg sac hadn't broken free yet, and even as big as she was she looked like she was dragging a deflated hot air balloon behind her. I mumbled under my breath again and dimmed the werelights as far as I was willing to go, then brought the ear protection down since she'd stopped screeching once she'd tried to escape the light.

Once the lights dimmed she turned her head and drew a bead on me with all 30 eyes. I stood my ground and brought a canister of the sauce I'd made back at hotel from off my belt. It was basically Valium for demons. I filled the air with the aerosolized mixture and waited for her to calm down.

I need you to tell me where the Tall Man walked?

Her voice sounded like children crying.

He has walked many places, and has stood his ground.

I just need to know where the reliquary is. Tell me that and I'll let your brood live. Don't and I'll burn 'em before you taste even a single bit of sustenance. You might make it to brood time again, and you might not. Your choice.

What business do you have with him?

Just the business of killing.

She picked at her brood sac with her hind legs, finally freeing it from her body. She came at me fast, and I wasn't ready. One of her front legs took a swipe and I left the ground, just long enough to make returning to it hurt. She was on top of me by the time I rolled over. Her pincers just inches from my face and her breath hitting me like stale urine.

I pulled the trigger on the can and gave her a full spread in the face. She screamed again and backed up enough for me to pull myself up off the ground. She tried to charge again, but the sauce had set in and she looked like a giant drunk spider trying to walk on greased glass. I posed my question again.

Where is the reliquary?

She finally succumbed to the sauce and slumped to the ground.

You're standing in it.

She passed out cold. I guess I'd given her a bit too much, and as I thought back through everything that had happened I realized one thing. I didn't know if she meant the cave or the mountain, and I only had 30 minutes to figure it out before the brood came back to feed their queen.

Part XLVIII

2010-01-01T16:35:00.000-08:00

PART XLVIII

Its lair smelled like rotten meat and Lysol. It became obvious when I stepped inside. The floor was littered with rotting carcasses and the ceiling was covered with hanging car fresheners. I jumped when the first Hula Girl freshener smacked into my face. I mumbled under my breath and threw some werelight balls into the air. I almost slipped on the fresh viscera of a bear, but I tensed up when I felt the meat spread under my shoe.

All right you nasty bastard, I'm here to talk.

Nothing, not a sound beyond the squeak of rotten meat under my shoes.

I looked around and found its bed. Something stirred.

WAKE UP!

There was groan and the bear hides shifted, then it sat up.

Dude, I’m so not appreciating your manners.

He'd been eating too many skiers.

Dude, I don't give a rat's ass. Now shake your nasty bits off and do whatever it is you need to wake up, or I'm going to start blowing very small bits off you.

I waved my hand, and the balls of light surrounded him like lightening bugs. He tried to swat them away, but they had a little autonomy of their own and easily stayed out of reach.

He finally removed the animal skins and stood up, it was like he'd fluffed the sheets and the stink of rot hit my nose so hard my eyes started to water and the mucus in my head began to clear.

I coughed and shot him in the leg.

What the fuck, dude, I did what you said.

You'll heal, and I needed to make sure I had your attention.

You're the one looking for your Uncle's bits.

I shot him in the other leg, and he sat down.

Dammit. That smarts.

Focus on me and it won't hurt so much. There's a reliquary here in Utah, and I need help getting too it.

You're not making a positive advance on having me assist you.

You're not dead, nor are the rest of your siblings living in the mountain. I can change my mind though.

So what makes you think I can help, and by the way, what was your reasoning with choosing me?

I found you first, and I need safe passage through the Wasatch gauntlet.

The gauntlet is dead. Hardly anything there any more. They wiped us all out, and you know that.

It's not you I'm worried about. I hear there are still traps, things that separate a man from his useful bits, as well as a well-guarded crypt. I have no desire to desecrate sacred ground. Or in your case unconsecrated ground. I need a guide into the tunnels.

What do I get out of it other then you not shooting me again?

A warm fuzzy feeling inside.

Not fair.

I'm sure the last snowboarder you ate felt the same way.

He had a broken leg. I had to put him down.

A small short chortle echoed through the chamber.

Look, I don't know my way through the tunnels, but I know someone who does.

I leveled the gun at his head.

Seriously, I do. I'll take you to her.

I lowered the gun and he shambled up, the wounds in his legs already starting to heal.

Put some pants on.

I haven't worn pants in fifty years.

Fine, but stay in front of me. Your junk looks like a cow's utter gone sour. Don't make any quick move or I'll shoot you in the ass.

Fine.

He grabbed a weird bandoleer he'd made out of ten or twelve head lamps. Most were fairly modern LED types, and I wasn't even going to ask where he got batteries. He threw it over his shoulder and the lights spun face front and lit the way as he moved into a shadowed corner revealing a tunnel opening. I let my lights trail between us, even though the sight of his spiny back gave me the chills.

As we progressed deeper into the cave, the air actually cleared a bit as cold currents of fresh mountain air worked their way down through, pushing the stink behind us. I was down wind, which wasn't great, but it was better.

He didn't talk much while we ambled through, though unlike me he had to stoop on a number of occasions as the ceiling went up and down. I'd thought I'd have been sweating in the get-up, but the cave got colder as we descended, and I started to have to walk more carefully as the moisture made the ground slick with ice. There was also an uncomfortable amount of thick organic webbing. I rattled my brain to try and figure out what the demon we were going to see, and finally asked grandfather Lee if he had any idea. He'd kept quiet the entire time I had been negotiating, but once I asked him, he began to chatter again, and on this one occasion I found it more comforting than I ever would have thought possible.

We walked for about an hour before he stopped. I was carrying on a conversation with Grandfather lee and almost ran into his ass.

What's up?

Quiet.

I stopped and listened. Slowly, I began to hear something that reminded me of the Discovery channel special on ants, and the nasty ones in South Africa that can eat a whole cow. The noise was low, like a thousand tiny feet skittering in unison. In unison, toward us.

Ah shit, she just had a brood.

Part XLVII

2009-10-25T17:41:00.001-07:00

Part XLVII

It was a two bedroom, so I pulled the sheets of the bed and laid plastic across it. I took inventory and laid out all the equipment Bruce had sent. I liked the look of a bed full of guns. The crate contained seven pelican cases, each custom fitted to its contents. The first one I checked was the one labeled with a skull and cross bones. The skull had horns and really big teeth. The gun inside was creatively named The Reaper Weeper. It was designed to fire 2000 needles of frozen mercury a minute. It was good for killing, but bad for the environment. The case contained the gun and three magazines of Bruce's own design that contained liquid nitrogen vapor. You definitely needed goggles to use it, and in one of the smaller cases were the goggles; they were full spectrum and fully sealed. Bruce had fitted in a digital laser range finder and put it all in a snug steampunk looking package that included a snap on helmet and spooky looking fear inspiring respirator, all covered in hand tooled leather.

Another case held a back sheathe which housed pure silver samurai swords; these were his babies. They had been custom made by one of the last sword makers in Japan. They were folded steel, with thin layers of silver added between each fold. The finished sword was then electro-plated with a silver finish. If I lost or damaged these babies, I'd owe him more than a new eye. He'd also sent along an Australian range jacket waterproofed with a special oil infused with mistletoe, nightshade, wolfsbane, belladonna, and lavender. It smelled like the Old Man had drunk lavender water and then threw up, but it worked.

The nine mil's were standard, but the bullets were an herb mix Bruce called “Popuri of Death”. He dried and then ground everything down into powder and formed the bullets using high pressure. They hit, making the demon laugh at you until their face changed as the bullets started to dissolve; then they cried and either blew-up, melted, or smoked. I loved the look of confusion that interrupted their laughter.

He'd thrown in The Big Sleep, but I wasn't sure I was going to needed it as long as The Reaper Weeper didn't freeze up. There was also a small tear down blowgun with darts made from the bones of Saints. I didn't want to know which ones. The last case was a hodgepodge of little things that clipped to the mesh vest and straps. Pretty much everything but a Holy Hand Grenade, although Bruce had been trying for years to make a real one. The casing was easy, but he never quite figured out what would actually be in one. That's what you get trying to reproduce a Monty Python weapon that actually worked. Plus, as kitschy as the casing was, it was impractical. Crosses, as they were in the real world, were little more than decoration and meant nothing to the things I was going to fight.

I tried everything on for comfort and set the straps, locks, buttons and zippers. I looked at myself in the mirrored closet and thought I looked ridiculous. But I'd rather look stupid and stay alive then look stylish and die with a set of ten inch claws clipping my spine, or my eyes melting; some of them spit.

I grabbed some kit from the van and pulled out the few pots and pans the hotel provided. I set to making some sauce. Two hours later the room smelled like something had died in it. I opened the balcony doors and set the thermostat to FAN. While the room cleared out, I walked a few blocks away to a nice little place called Poplar Street Pub. They had a full bar and a number of beers on tap. Being Utah though, the taps were 3.2 % by volume, so I got a bottle of Squatters IPA and backed it with a jack.

The atmosphere was nice. It had three separate rooms and a back patio. While I waited for the alcohol to hit my system, I chatted with a few of the locals and the bartenders. A couple were Jack Mormons, but mostly it was tourists in for one convention or another. When they asked me what I did, I told them I was location scouting for a low budget film. I didn't know what I was getting in to, because before I left I had three business cards and four or five napkins full of names and numbers of people who needed work. Evidently film was dead here too.

I got the bison burger for the old man and got a club salad for myself. Back in the room, the Old Man clawed the bread off the burger and hissed at the lettuce until he decided it wouldn't move on its own. I reached down and picked it away so her could get at the meat. He fell asleep on my lap while I watched Leno die a horrible ten 0'clock time slot death. I fell asleep listening to Letterman talk about screwing his staff.

The next morning, I pulled out of the Residence Inn and drove toward the Wasatch mountains.

There's a bit of lost history about what Brigham Young did when he moved into the Wasatch Valley. Sure they had to endure the harsh winters, but they also had to deal with a brood of nightmares that lived beneath the mountains. The Mountain Meadows Massacre was a direct result of Young and his militia, along with his Native American allies, trying to purge the infestation. In retaliation, the demon brood possessed his men and made them turn their guns upon the Fancher-Baker emigrant wagon train. The media fury, trials and general outrage of this caused Young, the then Governor of the Utah territory, to make a secret pact. The Mormons could keep the valley, but the nightmares got the mountains. It's even rumored that the persistence of polygamy was necessary to provide enough children to both keep the population of Salt Lake City growing, while supplying enough surplus offspring to make the required sacrifices the pact called for.

Polygamy only went out of style in the 1910 excommunication of polygamists from the church. Like the relationship of the knights Templar to the Catholic Church, the excommunication was a cover. The secret reason was that certain families had been chosen to provide the sacrifices solely, and the excommunication was enacted to distance the church from the secret pact. In 1917, as the First World War was beginning to take its final breath, the polygamist Knights of the Later Days went deep into the Wasatch mountains and fought what would be known as the War of Final Sacrifice. The brood never recovered, and at last count there are less than twelve demons still calling the Wasatch mountains home. I only needed to see one of them, but I was willing to finish the job the Mormons had started if I had to.

Part XLVI

2009-09-19T18:08:00.000-07:00

Part XLVI

I mumbled under my breath as I passed through the doors to the hospital making myself unremarkable. It was past visiting hours and I needed to make sure Destiny wasn't getting any from things that shouldn't ever get a pass. I passed by the nurse on her way out of Destiny's room and she shuttered and looked around. I sat down in the chair and watched Destiny eat her Jell-o for dinner. It was magic to see her awake and responding, and I wasn't sure I wanted to reveal myself just yet.

She ate slowly, letting the Jell-o melt on her tongue. She stuck her spoon back in and paused. She looked around the room, then settled her gaze right on me. She smiled and took another bite. I stayed where I was. She got it, and that was all I needed.

She finished and put her spoon down and pushed the tray back and away from her. She leaned back and sighed, and patted the bed next to her. I hesitated, then joined her, not knowing what it must have been like to feel me but not see me as I slid in next to her. She turned on her side and we spooned like high school kids not sure what should happen next. She drifted off to sleep and I lay there feeling her breath and getting angry inside.

The window to her room was facing East, and the sun hit me like a pin prick on the back of my neck. I woke with a start and made sure I could still feel her and she was warm. I moved carefully away and sat back in the chair.

On the small side table next to the chair was a pad and a pen. I tore off a piece of paper and made a swan, it was the only piece of Origami I knew, but I'd practiced it a lot. I put it on the pillow next to her head and then laid my palm on her forehead. I consulted with Grandfather Lee, then mumbled under my breath and made her forget me. I locked all her memories so deep in her mind it'd be almost impossible for anyone to find them. If I made it out of this alive, maybe I'd come back with the key.

I paused at the door and felt my spine go rigid. I was done playing around. The Tall Man would pay. I was a hunter now, not a victim, and come hell or high water, I was going fuck him up so bad he'd wished he'd never met me. As my hand slipped off the door jam, I mumbled under my breath and sealed the room. I didn't take my hand off the wall until I reached the front door. Outside my nose began to bleed and Grandfather Lee complained that I was endangering myself by trying to lock down the whole hospital. I told him shut the fuck up.

Back at the hotel, I checked the laptop. It was finished. I was heading to Utah, and I was bringing death with me. The Old Man started to purr when I picked him up. He could feel the anger in me and it made him happy. I scratched him behind the ears and put him back down on the bed. I picked up my cell and called Bruce back.

I need a drop shipment.

I need a new eye.

What color do you want?

I want green.

Green it is.

Not hazel.

It'll be so green people will think it's fake.

I gave Bruce an address and a list of things I was going to need. I hung up and packed my gear. I picked up the Old Man and walked out of the W hotel. As I pushed through the front door, Steven Segal was walking in. I mumbled under my breath and heard him shit his pants. I smiled like the Cheshire cat and didn't break my stride. He was no Chuck Norris.

I pulled onto Wilshire, then dropped to Westwood. I turned right onto Santa Monica and onto the 405 and merged onto the 10 until I hit the 15 North. Grandfather Lee was mumbling low in my brain, keeping me focused. We had a plan, and on top of that I was done messing around. I was focused for the first time since the whole sorted affair had begun. I was out for blood. I was out for retribution, and I no longer cared who got in my way.

I made it to Vegas in record time and pulled into the Fed Ex where I'd had Bruce send my package. The package had to be moved to the van with a lorry. It filled up a quarter of the free space. The kid helping me get it in the van wasn't happy about it.

What they hell d'ya order?

A shit load of guns.

He laughed. It made me a little nervous he thought that was funny.

I laughed as I pulled out and hit the road, because there were guns in the box. Big magic guns, the kinds of things that look like props in a Sci-Fi film and put stupid amounts of hurt on things that shouldn't exist. I was carrying a box full of one-of-a-king Bruce specials, and I was going to use them in very imaginative ways, on very imaginative things.

I stopped in Salt Lake City five hours later and me and the Old Man grabbed a hotel room. I picked the Residence in in city center. We were going to be here for a bit and I needed a room large enough to work in. It had a full kitchen too, and I had things to cook.

Part XLV

2009-07-30T16:26:00.000-07:00

Part XLV

The nurse woke me and asked me to leave. Destiny was still in a coma. I stood up and felt my knees pop.

How long have I been here?

About nine hours. You spent the fist six mumbling something then you fell asleep.

I guess I was tired.

I left the room and went to the cafeteria. I got a coffee for myself and a chicken patty sandwich, which I took it to the old Man. He was a little pissy and panting when I got to the van, so I cranked it up and ran the AC on Hi. He jumped in the passenger seat and I tilted the vent so it hit him square in the face. He reached his head toward it and tried to rub it out of the dash.

I climbed in the back and lay down on the bed. I sipped my coffee and grabbed an errant WiFi signal from somewhere. I pulled up the mapping software. I rang Bruce on my cell phone.

You owe me an eye you slick bastard.

I'll try and work something out. I need a favor.

I'm in the office, so what is it?

There seems to be a pattern I'm not seeing. Some sort of order I'm supposed to find the reliquaries in and I don't know what it is.

What have you found so far?

I filled Bruce in. When I was done, I heard him tapping on keys.

You have Internet?

Weak, but yeah.

My cursor started moving without me doing a thing as Bruce hijacked the laptop.

I'm downloading some pattern recognition software onto your machine. It's something DARPA is working on.

I didn't even ask how he got it.

I'm putting in all the data points we've got, from your Uncle's location the reliquary pings to the GPS log from your trip. It will probably hate you for a bit. Look at the screen and I'm going to show you how to put in data points. Everything is relevant, tag them any way you like. It just needs the data, not the tags.

Forty minutes later I signed off with Bruce and started entering as many data points as I could. Everywhere I had ever seen or interacted with The Tall Man as well as everything I could remember. I called and e-mailed a few people as well. I input everything the way Bruce had told me. I ran the software and left the van to check on Destiny.

Destiny was still critical, so I touched the EKG and mumbled under my breath so it'd PING me if she coded or if she improved. Back in the van I checked the laptop and it was still crunching and thinking. I pulled out of the hospital lot and got me and The Old Man a nice room at the W hotel on Wilshire. We deserved something nice. The Old Man jumped on top of the air conditioner and I went down to the bar to Star Gaze. Hell, if I was going to be in LA, I might as well make some stories.

The bar was quiet, but I could feel the souls being taken. Not really, but the smiles on some of the girls were guarded as they talked to older men in suit coats, with their shirts open as though chest hair had made a come back. One of them caught my eye and gave me a bored sad look, then returned her attention to the obvious exec who still thought sun glasses were cool after the sun went down. I ordered a scotch and sat at the bar with all ears open. I mumbled under my breath and listened to all the conversations in the bar. It was simple trick, but one I really trusted. You could hear a mouse running across the floor if you wanted, instead all I heard was desperate sighs as people got up to go to the bathroom. LA was a cesspool. The air was full of regret, I was pretty sure it wasn't all mine.

At the end of the bar some kid was pounding away on his laptop while arguing with someone on his fancy bluetooth ear piece.

I don't care if she blows you, unless she loses fifteen pounds, I'm not even going to return her call.

I didn't like the cut of his jib, so I mumbled under my breath.

He screamed and grabbed at his ear, ripping the earpiece off. The high pitch scream coming from it could be heard as it sailed across the room and smashed against the wall from the force of his throw. He slapped his laptop shut and stormed out, telling the bartender to bill his room. It was much quieter now.

I ordered another drink and took a look around the room again. It was nowhere near as interesting or as exciting as I thought it might be. The only difference between here and a bar in a Holiday Inn was the décor here cost more than a Holiday Inn and almost everyone in here was rich but me.

I finished my drink and walked back to the elevators. The doors opened and I was staring at Neil Young. He smiled and looked forward. I stepped in and then stood like a kid needing to take a pee. I realized I was hoping on both feet, giddy as a schoolgirl. I settled down, and when the doors opened again he stepped off and I kicked myself for not saying Hi. I finally understood what the meant by star struck.

The old man was hungry when I got back so I ordered room service. I got him steak tartar just to blow his mind and got myself the club. No matter what hotel you’re staying in, if they have room service, the club is rarely disappointing.

I dabbled some potion on the tartar and The Old Man purred all the way through it.

I started to drift off to sleep, but then the spell I'd laid on Destiny's monitor pinged. Her heart rate was up and looking good. I bid The Old Man goodnight and headed back into the parking lot. I pulled out and headed back toward the hospital.

Part XLIV

2009-07-16T22:32:00.000-07:00

Part XLIV

I had to move fast. I was pretty sure that The Tall Man had set some sort of signal on the Hex so he'd know when Destiny was dead. So, I had to let her die, but not make it permanent. I wasn't sure I could pull it off, but Grandfather Lee seemed sure. I knew the spell, but he knew an older more powerful version, assuming my Mandarin was up to snuff. With Grandfather Lee whispering in my ear, I stepped into the circle.

The nullification symbol would undo anything I tried, so I wrapped my arms around Destiny and lifted her up off the floor as I mumbled Mandarin under my breath and planted a kiss on her lips. I then inhaled and drew her life force into me. It'd combine with mine if I held onto it too long. I dropped her back to the floor, and I felt the signal run through the circle and fly away to The Tall Man. The field kept her upright and I counted to ten while I got slammed in the brain with her entire life. I counted down to ten using the old Stephen King “My Pretty Pony” routine.

I got to eight and broke the circle with my foot, by scraping away some of the marks. I pulled her out, and dropped her to the sofa. I took a deep breath, and then exhaled her life force back into her. I didn't know whether it would work or not, because the energy it required drained me and I passed out.

I woke to the smell of bacon, but that was a memory ghost. It soon transformed into something burning, and as I drug my eyes open, I realized it was the nullification mark still smoldering. That was never coming out of the floor. Destiny wasn't awake, but I could see that she was breathing. Watching her chest rise and fall took a great burden off of me. I got up, and felt severely dehydrated.

I went to the sofa and put my hand on her forehead just to make sure she was warm. She was. I went to the kitchen and poured two glasses of water. I kicked more of the circle out of the way as I walked back through the living room, and dumped a bit of my glass on the floor where is hissed and cooled the mark. Grandfather Lee was excited that it had worked, and I had to yell at him in my head to get him to shut up. He was giving me a headache, and me yelling didn't help. I put a glass on the side table next to Destiny and sat in a chair across from the sofa, drank my water and watched her chest rise and fall.

I stepped out while she was sleeping and returned the bowling ball to the van just so it didn't attract too many Death Runners. There were probably more in Venice than in all of Tennessee. You'd think the ocean would be a deterrent, but it was pretty fixed. You could walk right out and see the tides coming at you. Few people ever slipped on the beach and got dragged into the ocean. Slipping on the bank of a river was another thing entirely.

The Old Man was asleep and simply rolled on his back exposing his stomach as I put the bowling ball back in the drawer at the foot of the bed. I reached out and petted him. He purred, and then bit me. I knocked out a can of tuna and some potion before I shut him back in. I wanted to be there when destiny woke up.

Climbing the stairs back to her place I smelled burning wood, and when I looked down I saw shoe prints burned into the steps. I ran the rest of the way up and found the door open. Two prints, smoldered at the stoop. I burst in, Destiny was still on the sofa, but she wasn't breathing. I was pissed, but didn't have time to think. I dropped her to the floor and started CPR. The painter's shirt was wet from where she'd lost bladder control. I lifted her head back, swept my fingers through her mouth to get her tongue out of the way, blew four times, dialed 911, and put the phone on speaker and started the four Hundred compressions. CPR had changed over the years, but I tried to make sure I was up to specs. You never know with magic, she's a fickle mistress.

The Emergency team arrived and took over. They had a heart beat five minutes later with a few shocks from a portable defibrillator, and a couple of ccs of epi. They rolled her out and drove off, leaving me behind. I wasn't a friend or family. I closed the door to her apartment on the way out and mumbled under my breath, sealing the door, so I'd know if anyone came calling. I went back to the van, curled up on the bed. The Old Man jumped up and curled up next to me. I could feel his purrs vibrating through me, and it lulled me into sleep.

I woke four hours later, rested enough to go to the Hospital and see what had happened. I could have gone with her, but I would have just gotten in the way. They'd taken her to Santa Monica Hospital. The receptionist was nice, and I found out she was on support but unresponsive. They had good brain waves, but she, was for all intents and purposes, in a coma.

I mumbled under my breath and shrouded myself in a little spell that made me appear so non-threatening to people that I was invisible. I went to Destiny's room and sat holding her hand until a nurse walked in.

You can't be here.

Sure I can.

Family only.

I looked her directly in the eyes and lied. It was a bit of a glamour, and she let me stay. It only worked on her, but she'd just come on shift, so I had a few more hours I could hang out. Grandfather Lee whispered healing spell into my brain and I mumbled them out and transferred them physically through the connection we now had while holding hands. I wasn't going to let her die. Even if it was the last thing I did.

Part XLIII

2009-07-13T08:42:00.000-07:00

Pat XLIII

Grandfather Lee chattered in my ear the whole way. It eventually became white noise that settled deep into me and became the rhythm for the drive. Truth is he kept me awake and I was able to make superior time. By the time I pulled into the beach lot off Rose, the sun was overhead and I was arguing with him in Mandarin. I didn't think about it anymore. I finally knew what he was saying, He was a smart man, and as I climbed the stairs to Destiny's apartment we'd figured out a solution to my problem.

I smiled as I knocked on Destiny's door. I was excited, and I didn't know how to hide it. She opened the door wearing her painter's shirt and my grin almost ripped my face in half. She placed her finger on my lips and I didn't say a word. She led me through the place and sat me down on her bed. I hadn't slept in two days. As she pushed me back onto the bed and straddled me, I looked up into her eyes and fell asleep.

I woke to the smell of bacon cooking. She'd turned the tables on me. I was still dehydrated from the drive so the first order of business was a glass of orange juice and a glass of tomato juice. I followed it with her smiling face and some whole wheat pancakes, bacon and maple syrup. She'd laid out breakfast like the last supper. It looked like she must have spent two hours just coring and cutting up fruit.

After breakfast we had coffee and retired to the balcony again. I was getting a serious case of deja vu. We hadn't spoken a word since I'd passed out the night before. She took a sip, then broke the silence.

I can't believe you fell asleep on me.

Let's be clear, I fell asleep under you.

She smiled, and I tried to think of what to say next other than, “I'm sorry.”

Either way, it was very anticlimactic.

Not for me, I slept like a baby. I guess it all depends on what you were looking for a climax to. Me it was a two day drive without any sleep. By the way, I didn't meet a dwarf.

You will.

Looking forward to it.

She took another sip of coffee.

You wanna try again?

Won't it be a bit odd, with me going to be killing you and all?

I don't know, might be exciting.

She was right, it kind of was, well at least when it wasn't really disturbing.

While she slept, me and Grandfather Lee conversed silently in Mandarin and laid out our plan. Truth was he wasn't too bad a guy. Although he pissed me off a few times during my and Destiny's tussle. I guess it'd been a while since he'd had that type of experience.

I slipped out of bed while she slept and prepared the living room. I moved all of the furniture to the side and drew some nasty and not so nasty symbols in circle. It'd bind her, and if I did it right protect her at the same time. The last thing I did was place my hand palm down at the center of the circle. I mumbled under my breath and burned the symbol on my hand into the hardwood floor. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but it was the only way I could think of to transfer it. I turned the tattoo into a branding iron. I was going to be wearing it for a while now. It would scar over soon, with the help from the salve Grandfather Lee had made me whip up.

I sat in a chair with a fresh cup of coffee and waited for Destiny to rise. While I waited I made a fist over and over to make sure the scar didn't set my hand in a way I couldn't use it.

A half hour later she walked into the living room rubbing her eyes. She stopped when she saw the circle. I stood up out of the chair. She smiled a sad smile at me and without even flinching she stepped into the center.

What now?

Well, you’re going to fell a prick.

Is that all?

No, after the prick, you'll feel like you’re on fire, and then hopefully before it gets too bad you'll pass out. Don't worry though, you won't fall. You'll be in stasis within the circle.

How will I die?

Slowly.

She pulled herself up straight and gave me a look of determination. She was still just dressed in her painter's shirt, and there was something almost too vulnerable about that, but I think she knew this.

I had a great time Aubrey.

Me too. I pulled out my pocket knife and cut open my finger just enough to draw blood. I mumbled under my breath, activating the nullification symbol, then I drew the last symbol on the floor sealing the circle. Destiny screamed. I stood firm, clenching my teeth. I started to breath heavy as she went limp, but stayed standing.

I mumbled under my breath again and stuck my scarred hand into the circle and closed my fist as though wrapping it around a piece of cloth. I ripped my hand back out and a sheet of energy came with it. I planted my feet and brought my other hand up and rolled the “cloth” around and finally into a ball, where it stabilized. I went to her front door and opened it. The bowling ball bag was still where I had left it. I unzipped it and shoved my hand in. I felt the bowling ball suck the energy right off me. It felt like having acid poured on my hand, but the burn died quick. I zipped the bag back up and this time I carried it with me into the apartment.

Destiny was still upright, protected but close to death. The only thing keeping her alive was the nullifying symbol. The Tall Man had created a kill switch that would kill her when the piece of my Uncle's soul was removed. By temporarily putting the kibosh on his hex I'd bought time, but that was it.

Part XLII

2009-07-12T10:28:00.000-07:00

Part XLII

I opened my ad hoc apothecary cabinet in the van and started whipping a little something special together. It'd just come to me out of the blue. As I ran my fingers down the labels I realized that in fact it had not come to me in this way really. It was grandfather Lee whispering secrets into my cerebral cortex. Tricky old bastard. It took about twenty minutes to pour, smash, crush and combine everything in the little pestle. When I was done, I poured it in a mojo bag and cinched it tight.

Back at the falls, I used it like a tea bag and chucked it out into the reservoir at the fall's base. Then I waited. I stood at the edge of the water and watched the run of the water slow. I then watched it gel, and finally after about an hour, it had hardened, all the way up to the top.

I took a tentative step out and felt the water beneath my shoe. It was the consistency of hard rubber tiling, or the stuff they use to make indoor running tracks out of. It'd have to do. Leaving the land, I walked on the water right to the base of the falls, which looked now like some bizarre modern sculpture made of frosted latex. Reaching out my hand, I mumbled under my breath and watched the symbol on my hand, the one I'd picked up in San Francisco etch itself into the gelatinous spray of the falls. It glowed for a second and then winked like a flash bulb. The falls began to quiver as the nullifying force of the mark skittered up like lightning through Jell-o.

Then I turned and ran as the water began to turn liquid again. I could feel the spray of the falls on the back of my neck as the once hard rubber pool became more akin to an under-filled water-bed. I almost made it too. Five feet from shore, the water became water again and I took a very cold bath.

On the shore, I started to shake. I hadn't been in long enough, nor was the water cold enough for hypothermia to set in, but it was damn cold. I mumbled under my breath and the water evaporated into a cloud of steam that both warmed me up and dried me off. I then sat down and waited. An hour passed before I heard it, the sound of a rock, or something like it, falling into the water from what I guessed was at least half way up the falls. Then I saw it, floating toward me. The reliquary, bobbing with the current as it floated through the spray.

I wasn't going to wait any longer so I waded back out into the water, feeling my balls scream and run for cover as I swam out into the clear pool to intercept the reliquary. It was a bottle. More specifically it was a wine bottle. The label was mostly worn away, but I could make the date on it as 1876. Back on shore I held it up and peered inside. There in the bottle, just like in an old story, was a note.

I climbed in the van, and pulled the door to. I flipped on the ceiling light and gave the bottle the once over. The cork in top was sealed over with wax, with a pull string sealed in it. The Old Man didn't seem to care, so I took that as a good sign. He had a nose for trouble and magic. I pulled the string and removed the wax seal. I turned the bottle up and the note slipped right out. I put the bottle on the floor and untied the string on the note. I opened it facing down just in case what was written on it decided to jump out and bite me. That wasn’t entirely a joke. I'd once been witness to someone opening a book that caused his face to melt. Luckily he hadn't dripped on the book. I'd needed what was in it.

Holding the note face down I mumbled under my breath and then blew on the back of the note. The paper went slightly transparent, but the ink didn't. It looks liked someone had used a nice fountain pen and had excellent penmanship. I turned the note over and read it.

It had been written in 1879, by someone named Joseph Stanton. It was written to me. I didn't like that. I didn't like to think something had been in motion long before I or my uncle had been born, something that culminated in him losing his soul and my trying to find it. I didn't like that fact that The Tall Man thought this was just a big game. More importantly, I didn't like what it told me I had to do.

It told me I had to kill Destiny before I would be allowed to continue. It wasn't a reliquary at all. The Tall Man had set rules that I didn't know about. I hate when people don't tell me all the rules at the start. Actually, what it said was:

All of the pieces of the puzzle must be assembled in turn. If you have found this then you have looked Destiny in the eye and have walked away without addressing what you have seen. No man can walk away from their destiny. That includes you Aubrey.

I opened my phone and started to dial. It rang before I finished.

Destiny?

I told you. Men never listen.

I'm headed back your way.

I'll be here.

I really wish you wouldn't.

You don't have a choice, and neither do I.

I hung up the phone, got into the driver's seat and started the old girl up. I pulled out of the lot and headed back through Portland.

I was angry as Portland slid past and beat myself over the head for wasting the three days I had drinking myself blind. I had until I got to Venice to figure out how I was going to save Destiny. I already knew how I was going to kill her.

Part XLI

2009-07-06T13:24:00.000-07:00

Part XLI

The Old Man was back to normal and licking the juice off his paws when I slid the side door of the van open. He looked at me and I swear he smirked. Then he started to purr and rubbed against me as I climbed in to clean up the mess.

Sorry about that. I lost myself for a bit.

He seemed to understand and we got back on the road. I felt like someone had blown insulation in my attic, and deservedly so. It was on this short jag that I finally remembered what the kid had said outside Shin Lee's. He'd said, “You have grandfather Lee in you now.” I wondered if maybe Grandfather Lee had been a bit of an alcoholic. He sure as hell was now.

We ended up on the outskirts of Portland at Multnomah Falls. We pulled into the Parking Lot of the Lodge and I went inside to see what was what. The Ranger was nice enough to inform me that the falls was the fourth highest in the nation and the second in ranking regarding running all year long. It evidently had the propensity to actually freeze in the winter which made me glad it wasn't winter. The falls dropped 620 feet from Larch Mountain and you could cross it at the top on Benson Bridge which was erected by the property's original owner in 1914. All of that assumed you you didn't suffer from vertigo.

The hike was about one and a half miles and went pretty much straight up. I got instructions on how to get to a parking area and bought two bottles of water and a Snickers bar in the snack shop. I had a feeling that if I was going to figure out where the Tall Man had hid the reliquary, I was going to have a to get a view from the bridge, and I was going to have to do without the crowds.

It had a been quite some time since I had done anything remotely similar to exercise. After about half an hour I could barely breath and had to stop and sit. I drank half the bottle of water and thought seriously about getting back into shape. The desire soon passed however, as I continued up and felt my calves burning and felt the peculiar sensation of my lungs turning to steel wool and attempting to scrape themselves o0ut of my chest.

All the misery soon gave way as I reached Benson Bridge and headed across. Luckily I did not suffer from vertigo, though I did need to take a piss. There didn't seem to be anyone else3 at the top so I crossed over and scurried a bit further into the growth at the edge of the path and produced a much less spectacular, but infinitely more practical falls of my own. I then moved even deeper and found a spot by which I could observe the bridge and wait for the access path to close for the night.

As I sat, eating my Snickers bar, I did my best to rummage around for a forked stick. I'd need a divining rod later, and saw no reason to waste time later looking for one. Truth is, it didn't have to be forked, I just liked it that way. I spent the next few hours whittling it smooth of bark with my swiss army knife and trying to think of the most ridiculously evil place the Tall Man might have put the reliquary. The base of the falls seemed too obvious, and so did the Bridge. The center of the falls however, that would be nasty.

As the sun began to set, the last of the day visitors faded, and I climbed out of my spot and walked to the center of the bridge. Holding the divining rod in both hands, I mumbled under my breath, then let go of the stick. It hovered for a few seconds then made a bit of a spin to the left. It came back to the right, then settled. I mumbled under my breath again, and it gave off a feint glow, just before it flew off the bridge and headed over the falls.

I paused every couple hundred feet on my way back down the path to take a look at the falls and see if I could see my stick. By the time I got to the bottom, I was a little frustrated. I walked to the edge of the river that ran from the falls and looked all the way back up, squinting to try and see even a hint of wispy glowing. Nothing.

As my eyes wondered down the falls, I gave a little whistle, just to see if I could coax the stick, even momentarily, from its hiding place. No luck. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I picked up a rock, mumbled under my breath, and chucked it at the falls and waited.

The rock would have hit me in the head and probably killed me it was going so fast, but just before it hit me Grandfather Lee decided to speak to me. I don't speak Chinese though, so I didn't have the slightest idea what he'd said. It freaked me out though, and I spun around to look behind me, just as the rock whizzed by. It sounded like I'd been dive bombed my a humming bird. The rock plowed into the ground thirty yards away.

It wasn't supposed to do that. If I'd wanted to throw a boomerang, I'd have thrown a boomerang. It was supposed to find the stick and then burn like a magnesium flare. It took me a few minutes to dig it up. It'd planted itself about four inches into the ground. I almost lost my hand when it started to heat up. I dropped it onto the pavement and it lit up like a sun and melted a hole for itself. It wasn't supposed to do that either, not while it was in my hand.

That tricky bastard had hexed the falls. Gave it the old I'm rubber you're glue once over. It was childish, but effective. As I walked back to the van, Grandfather Lee started up again. There was something in his tone I didn't like. I was pretty sure he was saying something about my mother.

Part XL

2009-05-25T10:47:00.001-07:00

Part XL

The truth was I felt a little guilty cashing in all the chits my Uncle had amassed. The only thing that kept me from feeling really bad was that I knew I was doing it all for him, but that just sent my mind reeling wondering if maybe he'd collected all the debts knowing I'd need them one day.

The pages were brittle and I winced a bit as one of the corners cracked off as I tried to flip the page. I took the piece and laid it aside. I'd have to cop to it once I was finished, but it taught me very quickly how to turn the pages.

I couldn't understand everything, it was an odd mix of Latin and Greek, with English, German, French, Italian and Russian marginalia. I think I even recognized a few notes in Farsi. Luckily I was looking for a diagram, not an instruction manual.

I found it fifteen minutes later. I turned the page and it hit me like a pissed off ex girlfriend. It was powerful, even on the page. I had to look away as it tried to pull me in. I took the cotton glove off my right hand, mumbled under my breath and waved my hand over the page slowly. Yeah, it was a Xerox spell. Sue me. I shut the book.

I sat there for about ten minutes, gloves off and book closed, waiting for Shin Lee to return. When I showed him the corner he frowned for a moment then called the Librarian. The Librarian scuttled over and gave me a “tisk” under his breath. He the licked his finger, opened the book, mumbled under his breath and reattached it.

Shin Lee laughed as the Librarian carried the tome away,

Happens all the time.

Yeah, but I felt like shit when I did it.

He'll be fine. It's a very rare volume. He becomes...possessive. Did you find what you needed.

Yes I did, and thank you.

We shook hands and Shin Lee led me back to the elevator.

My great grandfather likes candles to be burned in the windows at night.

I'll keep that in mind.

You should. He can be a handful.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped in. I didn't think about what Shin Lee had said until the doors shut again and I was traveling upward. The doors opened and there was the kid again. This time he took my hand and I gave him a look of confusion.

Don't let go of my hand, or they'll try and kill you.

As we walked back through the domino parlor, I almost shit my pants. Something had changed, and as the kid lead me through the room, I looked around. All of the guys playing Domino had changed. They weren’t human now, demons of some sort, and they all looked at me like I was a meal.

I leaned down to the kid as we hit the front door.

What was that all about?

You have grandfather Lee in you now. They want him very bad.

The kid led me all the way back to my van and waited outside until I climbed in. I rolled the window down and looked down at him. He smiled and then looked toward Shin Lee's. Pushing through the door were thirty or forty of the nasty bastards, all heading in my direction.

You go now.

The kid hit the side of the van twice, like I was a bazooka soldier and he was my loader, letting me know it was time to fire.

You going to be OK?

The kid smiled at me.

I'll be fine.

I turned the van over and pulled out, The Old Man freaking out in the back of the van. I mumbled under my breath and touched the rear view mirror. The hidden world opened within its gaze and I watched as the kid arched forward, leathery wings splitting his shirt in the back and pulling forward. He grew five times his previous size, now a small dragon who blocked the advance of the demons as I escaped.

Back on the road, heading to Portland, and the Old man finally calm enough to clean himself in the passenger seat,, I finally felt the adrenaline die and I almost fell asleep at the wheel. The Old Man stuck a claw in my leg and I crossed a lane screaming at him. It worked though. An hour later we had a hotel room and I was going on my third scotch trying to figure out what the best thing to do with the symbol I had stored just under my skin. I was afraid to look directly at my hand, even though it would be inverted, I wasn't taking the chance.

The spell I had used was like a tattoo for lack of a better term. It needed living skin to work, but I needed to get it off me. By the fourth scotch I was eying the Old Man's belly as he lifted his leg and licked his balls. He stopped mid lick, feeling my eyes on him. He looked at me and hissed. I poured another Scotch and turned on the TV. Suddenly I wished Carl was still here, the chuckled maniacally to myself.

I woke in the morning with the Old Man doing his best to clean my ear. I rolled over and he just crawled on top of me and kept going. It was truly disturbing. I got up out of necessity and took a shower then we found a diner and I let him sweat it out in the van while I cured my ills with a full breakfast of carbs, protein and grease. Don't know what it is about Oregon, but even the diners have good coffee.

We reached Portland by mid afternoon and I pulled into a mall parking lot and opened the laptop. The third dot was somewhere just outside the city limits, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to care. Maybe it was Destiny and what had happened in Venice, or maybe it was the mark sitting under my skin, or maybe I was just tired. I got us a nice hotel room and I went into a three-day funk, where all I did was drink. Portland has a lot of nice bars and a lot of good micro brews. It was a shame I was going to have to leave.

By the end of the third day my colon was trying to worm its way out of my body and my kidneys hurt. Normally beer doesn't do that to me, but normally I drank swill and not nice hoppy artisan IPAs. It could have been the fifth of Jack I downed at night watching TV too, who knows. Either way the maid, who entered my room because I forgot to check out on time, called 911 when she saw me. I tried to explain to her I wasn't dead, but I was slurring pretty bad. She wasn't convinced.

Before the ambulance and the cops arrived, I grabbed my bags and the Old Man and checked out.

I drove the van very poorly to another strip mall down the street, mumbled a conceal spell under my breath and passed out in the back. When I finally woke up, the Old Man was growling over me, and he'd started to change. He was the size of a bull warthog and I think if he hadn't kind of known me he'd have already taken a bite.

I mumbled under my breath and was lucky I wasn't slurring anymore. The Old Man went to sleep and I went into the closest grocery store and bought him a London Broil and marinated it in potion. I left it for him and stepped outside. The sun was too bright and I mumbled under my breath waking the Old Man up. He hit the walls for a few minutes before he found the meat. I could hear him tearing up the inside of the van, and it rocked like it had been stolen by high school kids on Prom night. It finally settled, but I still had a headache.

Part XXXIX

2009-05-23T21:39:00.000-07:00

Part XXXIX

San Francisco's China town is like no other. All major cities have one: London, New York, Los Angeles, et cetera. But, San Francisco has one of the oldest and richest. On the outskirts is a domino parlor called Shin Lee's. In the back is an office, and beyond that is one of the richest rare book libraries anywhere in the world, It's a collection maintained since the beginnings of the gold rush. The seed volumes brought over by Shin Lee's great grandfather, who arrived just before the gold rush. Since then it's been home to books that need protecting, old and new a like.

I pushed through the door and thought that maybe I'd made a mistake. In an instant, the chatter and clinking of dominoes came to a complete halt, as everyone turned at stared at me.

What's up?

The activity turned back to normal and I almost didn't hear the small kid, who'd pulled up beside me, over the chatter and clinking of clay tiles on metal tables.

You come with me.

I looked down. I swear to God the kid looked like Short Round from the second Indy movie, baseball cap and all. I nodded and he stepped in front and we weaved our way through the tables and smoke. I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure the only person not smoking was the one coughing, and he lit up a fresh one as soon as he got whatever it was up and hocked it onto the floor.

The kid pushed open a door in the back and we continued down a long hall that ended in an elevator where a very old man, dressed in traditional peasant garb stood before the door.

The little kid looked at him and waited for the old man to give a small almost imperceptible bow of the head. The kid then looked up at me.

Good luck.

Thanks kid.

Then, the kid was gone and I was left standing looking down at the old man.

Why have you come?

I need to see Shin Lee.

Why?

He has a book I need to take a look at?

Why should he help you?

No good reason, other than it'll help me kill the Tall Man.

The Old Chinese Man pondered this for a second then rubbed his chin.

You are a very stupid man.

I can't disagree with you.

He nodded and turned to push the only button on the wall.

We waited in silence until the elevator arrived. It was probably just a few minutes, but it felt much longer. As the doors opened, he stepped aside and I stepped in.

Your Uncle was a good man.

The doors shut before I could respond. The elevator lurched and started its decent. I counted as it went, and stopped when I felt it hit bottom and the doors slid open. I suck at math. There was no way my rough estimate could be right. If I was, then I was about two hundred feet below sea level.

As I stepped out of the elevator, sensors detected me and illuminated the first twenty feet before me with lights set into the concrete ceiling. Shin Lee's little library looked more like a bunker.

I stepped out and headed down the hallway. As I passed each light, the one behind me went off and the one in front of me went on. It was odd. After about thirty yards, I came to a set of intricate hand carved wood doors that looked like they'd been ripped from a monastery. I stood waiting for them to open, nothing happened. I reached out to touch them, but pulled my hand back quick as I felt the energy burning off them. This place was locked down tight, and I didn't know if I was supposed to try and open them, or just wait for some one else.

The answer came a few minutes later. I felt the hairs on my arm drop back down as the protection spells were removed. There was a loud click, and the doors swung in. Just beyond the doors was another Chinese man, also dressed in very traditional garb. His head was slightly bowed and his arms were intertwined and covered by the sleeves of his gown. Once the doors finished opening, he turned and walked away from me. I followed.

I heard my own breath catch as I looked at what surrounded me. It was possibly the single most beautiful library I'd ever seen. My obviously loud intake of breath got me a small scolding as the man turned and held a finger to his lips. Librarians.

He led me across the main apex and to a large desk sitting at the back. Behind the desk sat Shin Lee III, dressed in an Armani suit.

Mr. B...

I wouldn't say it out loud if I were you. The Tall Man has very many ears.

Yes he does, but not within these walls. What can I do for you?

I need to take a look at the book of Shadows and Dust.

Good choice.

Shin Lee snapped his fingers and the Librarian scurried away, I assumed to retrieve the tome.

You got a nice set-up here.

It's definitely different that used to be. Please, have a seat.

I took a chair across from Shin Lee and we let the silence settle.

My father owed a debt to your Uncle. This gesture shall put that debt to rest.

Of course, and if I get what I need, I may then owe the Lee family.

No. If you complete this journey that you are on, we will all owe you.

I shook my head.

I do this for my Uncle, not for anyone else. There will be no debts owed to me when I am finished.

Shin Lee nodded his head in understanding, and I think a little respect. This business that we were in was all about debts owed and paid. I think he was a little relieved I wasn't going to ask for anything once I was done. Then again, I was sure I'd probably die in my effort, so why make deals now.

The book was smaller than I thought. The Librarian placed it on the table and gave me a pair of still wrapped white cotton cloves with which I could handle it. After the librarian had left, Shin Lee stood and buttoned his jacket.

Take all the time you need.

I stood.

Thank you.

No, thank you. If you are successful, we will all be able to rest more easily.

I laughed a bit out my nose.

I guess it's all on me then.

Shin Lee smiled and moved from behind his desk. As he passed me he placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled.

It is.

I heard Shin Lee mumble under his breath and felt a rush pass through me, not unlike grabbing an electric fence, just after you've stepped out of a swimming pool.

What was that?

It was the blessing of my great grandfather.

Thank you.

As Shin Lee's footsteps faded across the marble floor, I sat back down and put on the cotton gloves. I took a deep breath and opened the book of Shadows and Dust.

Part XXXVIII

2009-05-17T12:39:00.000-07:00

Part XXXVIII

We sat outside until she had to get dressed for her appointment.
Once her appointment had come and gone, we watched the sun set until the breeze off the ocean picked up and brought in a nice thick marine layer that made the boardwalk look like a set from The Fog.

When that happened we went downstairs to have dinner. I asked her if would be OK if I checked on the Old Man. She said that would be fine so we walked to the van. I made her stay back while I opened the door and folded what was left of the Old Man's surf and turf into the newspaper I'd laid down. I told her to keep an eye on him while I took that and the scooped present he'd left me in the litter box to the closest trash can.

By the time I got back, the Old Man was curled in her lap purring up a storm while she gave him a shoulder massage. He hissed when I told him it was time for her to leave. He stumbled off to the back of the van and as I closed the door I thought of all the shoes I'd left out for him to piss in.

We had dinner at The Candle and watched as the drunken zombies as they shuffled along the boardwalk lost in their purpose. She talked and I listened. It was the least I could do if I was somehow going to be responsible for her death. I felt bad that she was spending this time with me, but then I thought she'd evidently seen it coming, so she must have been good with it.

The conversation was mostly small talk that occasionally got a little too deep for me. The five dollar pitchers of Bud were starting to make me a little happy. Once we were done with dinner she got serious and invited me back up to talk about whet I had come here for.

We sat on the couch with fresh drinks in our hands as a curtain of silence fell between us. She eventually cut through it.

So, you want me to tell you where the second reliquary is?

Yeah.

She took a sip from her drink and looked down at her hands, and fiddled with her glass like she was trying to divine the ice in the glass. She shifted her legs up and curled them beneath her.

You're looking at it.

I emptied my glass and cursed the Tall Man under my breath. I'd never imagined that he do this, cram a piece of my Uncle's soul inside a living breathing person.

I'm sorry.

It's going to get dirty and ugly from this point on.

I tried to hide my anger.

I don't know what to do' oddly enough.

Destiny moved off the couch like mercury and stood up. She held out her hand to me. I hesitated then reached out and took it. She tugged lightly, letting me know that I should stand up.

What's this?

A trickster's smile crept across her face.

This is the dirty part.

I woke up the next morning with Destiny by my side. I did my best to get out of the bed without waking her, grabbed my pants and shirt and went to the kitchen. There wasn't much there I could do anything with so I stepped out to the grocery store. By the time I heard her padding down the hall, breakfast was almost ready. She rounded the corner and I almost dropped the skillet. She was wearing her men's as button up painting shirt and a smile.

I poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her. She looked at the feast I was preparing.

I'm a vegetarian.

That's explains why I had to go to the grocery store.

She sat at the table and I fixed her a plate none the less. She surprised me when she picked up a piece of bacon. She looked at me, waiting for permission.

You only live once.

She took a bite, and her face instantly changed.

Wow, that's really good.

Yeah. All of it is.

I passed her the basket to biscuits and then slid over the sawmill gravy I'd made from the sausage drippings.

You should try this too, it might just kill you before I do.

She smiled a sad smile.

It's not your fault.

You're right, it isn't.

I hadn't planned to do what I did next. I stood up and walked toward the door.

Aubrey, it won't change anything.

Maybe not, but if I can figure something out, by leaving you until last it's worth the risk for me.

I shut the door behind myself and stumbled down the stairs before I changed my mind.

Outside the sun was coming up and burning off the fog. I was probably being a fool, but right now there was no way I could just kill her to get what I needed. Maybe she knew that and maybe she didn't. I doubted I had changed anything,

Back at the van, I got in and sat behind the wheel for a minute contemplating whether what I was doing was worth it. The Old Man jumped into the passenger seat, curled up and started to purr. That was all I needed. I grabbed the laptop and opened it to look at the next point. It was just outside Portland, Oregon. I turned the engine over and pulled out of Venice. I took the PCH North and just let the sea roll past me.

I'd figure something out, I knew I would. I wasn't going to kill Destiny unless I absolutely had to. She'd grown on me more than I could have imagined.

Just past Malibu my phone rang.

Aubrey?

Destiny?

Silence hung on the other end of the phone.

You're a good man Aubrey.

Don't be so sure. The next time I see you I'll do what I have to.

I know.

It won't change how I feel about you.

We just met Aubrey. Last night was just...last night.

I know, but everything that led up to it felt right, right in a way I'm not used to.

Be safe Aubrey, and don't believe the dwarf.

What dwar...never mind.

Be good Destiny.

You too Aubrey. I'll be waiting for you.

Sorry about that.

I hung up the phone.

I took the PCH all the way to Cambria and turned up the 46, letting the gumdrop green hills and grape vines calm my nerves. In Paso Robles, I got on the 101. First chance I got I crossed to the 5 and headed for San Francisco. Before I got to Portland I needed to see a man about a book. I just hoped he had access to a copy. Something my Uncle had told me about.

It was known as the Book of Shadows and Dust, and somewhere in its pages, assuming I could find it and my Uncle's story had been true, I could find a trick that might just give me what I needed to come out of this without killing anyone else. If not, I was going to have to push down what I felt about Destiny so that the next time I saw her I'd be able to pretend her screams were laughter.

I mumbled under my breath and hit the gas as the outside of the van appeared to everyone like a fleeting dream.

Part XXXVII

2009-05-02T22:05:00.000-07:00

PART XXXVII

A day and a half later, I pulled off the 10 where it dead ended into Lincoln Ave in Santa Monica. I headed south. One right turn later I was on Rose Ave, and it took me all the way to the beach. I parked the van and got a few accepting nods from a couple cholos who had their t-shirts tied around their heads to collect the sweat from doing nothing all day. Venice was riddled with gangs. A kind of beach front sanctuary, at least until the sun went down. I opened the side door and let the Old Man crawl under the van and knock out a hairball while I poured him a fresh bowl of water and dropped some potion in.

When the Old Man climbed back out from under the van, he had a limp seagull in his mouth. I could see he wasn't going to be able to jump up with it in his mouth, but I had to let him figure that out before I reached down and he let go. I spread a copy of the LA Times down as a dinner mat and laid the bird on it.

On the paper. I find any feathers in my bed and we'll be done.

The old man purred as I laid the gull on the paper, then hissed and bit its neck. I shut the door so the two of the could have some privacy.

Destiny's address was down the boardwalk, so I mumbled under my breath and set the van alarm. The sun wasn't too bad with the light cloud cover and a nice breeze was coming in from the ocean. I hated heat, I hated the beach and I hated sun even more. I already didn't like California, or anything I'd seen since I'd crossed the Mississippi. But, when in Rome.

The boardwalk was like an outdoor freaks how where the audience meandered through the middle of the exhibits. Since I was walking south, the stores were on my left and the people hawking wears on tables, mats and some just on the concrete were on my right. Everything from incense to handmade jewelery, and a whole lot of bad art. Really bad art. The kind of stuff that you couldn't possibly believe anyone would buy.

I have nothing to say about the large man wearing nothing but a gold leme banana hammock and enough gold chains around his neck to make Mr. T jealous. Even though it was all outside, exposed to fresh air and sea breeze, it smelled of patchouli oil, sage and desperation. The bottom tones were body odor and urine. The high tone was pot.

Even with all of that I still found it fascinating. So like the rest of the tourists, I walked slowly taking it all in, knowing I could leave at any time. Well, I could leave once I talked to Destiny.,

Her place was right on the boardwalk, on the second floor, above a small bar called The Candle. I climbed the stairs indicated by a sandwich board sign with a large arrow under which was written, “The steps of Destiny await you. $20.00 full reading. $5.00 mild assessment.”

I didn't even have to knock at the top of the stairs, the door was propped open with a wrought iron door stop in the shape of one half of a parrot, the relief side, peeling a once colorful paint job. I stepped over the threshold and looked around. Just inside was a shill parlor, replete with round table, covered in multiple layers of fabric and lace, each of differing lengths. Right in the middle of the table was a crystal ball, but hers didn't have a skull in the middle of it. Separating it from the rest of the apartment was a bead curtain hung in a natural doorway.

You can skip the circus Aubrey, I'm in here.

I pushed through the bead curtain, laid eyes on Destiny for the first time. To say that Destiny was pretty would be a waste of adjectives. To say that she was gorgeous would too. She was an ideal representation of everything that made men kill each other, and a few women too, one had to surmise. She belonged in Paris where they kept the perfect gram. It struck me as odd that I was having these thoughts, because Destiny was looking at me from behind a canvas she was painting. I could only see her face. When she finally stepped out from behind the painting, her body didn't disappoint, and it was covered with baggy jeans and an over-sized mens button-up dress shirt that was spattered with dried paint.

Shouldn't you at least look the part?

Oh, the first client won't wander in for another two hours. Perks of my gift. I hope you don't mind. I didn't think you'd care.

It's fine.

I walked toward her and the canvas.

Can I take a look?

Destiny stepped back and shrugged.

Sure, it's not finished though.

I walked around and took a peak. It was awful. I don't know much about art, but it was bad.

I know, I know, I should just give up, but I find it calming.

I didn't say anything.

I'm actually psychic Aubrey.

Oh yeah, sorry. I'm sure you'll get better.

We decided the art discussion was not going to go anywhere, so she made some tea that tasted like grass and we sat out on her small two chair balcony overlooking the boardwalk.

Why do you live here? Seems an odd choice.

Not really, I guess the French Quarter in New Orleans would have the same effect, but I hate humidity.

What do you mean?

Just look out there Aubrey, what do you see?

A lot of lonely desperate people.

Exactly, it's like white noise. Anybody that tries to find me through this soup is going to have a hard time. Too many emotions, running 24 hours a day. Keeps people like me safe. Sort of buries the transponder as it were.

Fair enough.

So Aubrey, before we go any further. I have to tell you that It's not your fault.

What isn't?

My death.

Destiny took a sip of tea and looked out toward the ocean, perfectly content with hers.

Part XXXVI

2009-04-04T10:59:00.001-07:00

Part XXXVI

As I drove him to the airport, Carl told me he'd never hitchhiked before, then thanked me for giving him a lift.

He told me how he was going back home, that something had happened but he didn't know what. He'd woken with a ticket in his pocket and one hell of a headache. The headache was familiar he had said, but the ticket in his pocket was not, so he thought he'd better pay attention to what ever it was it was trying to tell him.

He was still a little confused by the process, but I kept my mouth shut, afraid even a little slip would unweave the spell I'd dropped i his head. It was one thing to cloud the mind and quite another to trick it with false memories. I'd left it to the vagaries that existed naturally in Carl's head to lead him in the right direction. Like he'd said, it wasn't the first time he'd woken up in a strange place with no memory of how he'd gotten there.

I dropped him off at the terminal then drove out to the edge of the airport. Didn't know why, but I needed to see his plane lift off into the sky. I needed to know for sure that he was safe.

I'd called ahead and had Bruce picking him up from the airport in Knoxville. I'd tried Carl's wife, but she'd gone off on a twenty minute cursing jag and then had hung up on me. Bruce and his wife had survived the bad situation I'd left them in, but just barely. Bruce said he'd tell me about it over a beer when I got back. He then choked up a bit and thanked me for the barriers I'd put up when I'd left. He said they made the world of difference. He then told me I'd like his new glass eye. In classic Bruce style, he told me he was thinking of having a WiFi camera mounted in the hole, that would stream live video to the Bar's web site. I told him he'd have to make more eye contact with the ladies if he was going to do that. He then told me his wife was practicing day and night with her prosthetic hand so she could flip me off next time she saw me. I let the apology catch in my throat and die.

I sat on the hood of the van, leaning back against the windshield, sunglasses on and sun warming my skin, and watched Carl's plane fade to a pinpoint. Ten minutes later I was Hell bent at melting my tires as I headed for the second blinking dot on the laptop map.

I had a little over thirteen hundred miles to go. The second dot was on the coast. Los Angeles, or more specifically Venice. It was a straight shoot West on the 10 freeway through the top of Texas and across New Mexico and Arizona. I was going to get all the vitamin D anyone would ever want. I made it as far as Albuquerque the first day and settled into a Super 8. I'd started to like the Super 8. They're out of the way and come with free WiFi. Even better, there's always a bar within walking distance, and so that's how I came to be sitting on a bar stool at ten that night, nursing a PBR and thinking about what to do next.

I'd left the Old Man to his nightly ritual of Potion and tuna, the TV set on HBO. He'd grown fond of watching The Wire while he fell asleep.

I still had to figure out exactly where the second object was. The first had been underground, at the zenith point of a storm. They wouldn't all be the same, but they would be connected. LA was full of old stories, and a hell a lot of demons, for lack of a better term. I only kind of knew one person there, but if luck held they'd be the only person I needed to know.

Her name was Destiny and last I'd heard she'd set up shop on the Venice boardwalk, reading people's futures. Funny, most people did that on a lark, an extra twenty burning a hole in their curiosity. Thing was, if you went to Destiny, you got the real deal. Well, everything she told you was real, except for her name. Her real name had died a long time ago. She'd taken Destiny for a stripper name in college. Worked her way through Columbia undergrad in mathematics. Left with no debt and a major about as useful as an arts degree. She'd been good, but not postulate her own theorems good. She'd have spent the rest of her life scribbling proofs for more focused minds.

So, the girl known as Destiny packed her bags and headed for the coast. Some people think she got her powers of sight by solving on old equation, one written upon the atomic chains of the Universe. It wouldn't be the first time someone postulated that mathematics was the language of God. Thinking about Destiny, I unconsciously peeled the label off my PBR.

I was woken from my increasingly drunken contemplation of the secrets of the universe and the glue used to hold labels onto beer bottles by the vibration of my cell phone skittering across the bar and up my arm.

The number was blocked, but I answered it anyway.

Hello?

The girl's voice was smooth like aged whiskey.

Aubrey?

Yeah.

Hey, it's Destiny calling.

Hey Destiny. I was wondering when you'd find me.

I laughed out loud. Absurdity amused me greatly.

You have a pen and paper?

I grabbed a bar napkin and pulled the pen from my pocket.

Yeah.

Destiny gave me her address, and said she'd be waiting for me.

How'd you get my number?

I closed my eyes and dialed.

Kismet.

No, just destiny.

She hung up and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. I ordered another beer and put the napkin in my packet.

PART XXXV

2009-03-21T16:10:00.000-07:00

Wet sandpaper. Why was there someone rubbing wet sandpaper on my face? I turned my head toward the smell of brine and fish rot and came eye to eye with The Old Man. He stopped licking my face for a second and then yawned and licked his lips. Fish rot. I should have known.

I pushed myself up off the floor, leaving the bowling ball where it was, and crossed to the door. I was trying to figure out what I was going to say to Carl when I opened the door. He'd probably made up his mind, and that was for the best.

It only took a second to open the door, but it took even less time for the Tall Man to raise his hand and send me flying across the room, where I slammed into the bathroom door and felt the breath leave my body in a resounding Oof.

I could barely work my eyes, and the room was at a Dutch Angle. I realized my head was on the floor and I was slumped, which was why all I could see were his shoes and nicely pressed pants walking into the room. The carpet was smoldering slightly with ever step he took. Cheap carpet melting, leaving his dance pattern and filling the room with the smell you used to get as a kid when you blew up a plastic model with a firecracker. All that was left was smoldering parts, that gave off acrid black smoke. This was going to confuse the hell out of the cops tomorrow when they tried to figure out what had happened.

Lucky for me the water was still running through the hose, and by pure happenstance the loop cut right across the carpet, cutting off the front of the room. I laughed a little inside thinking the Tall Man was going to have to crawl across the bed like a cheap hooker trying to seduce a John if he was going to get to me.

I raised myself up into a seated position against the wall and rubbed my eyes. The Tall Man squatted down and looked from the bowling ball bag to the hose and then to me. He didn't even pay The Old Man any mind even though his back was arched like a Halloween cat, hair standing on end, fangs barred, hissing. I wished I hadn't just fed him his potion.

When he spoke, his voice raised the hairs on the back of my neck and I swear I could feel his breath on my face from fifteen feet away.

What am I going to do with you Aubrey?

I stifled a smart ass reply, which was more difficult than I thought.

Isn't this what you wanted? For me to play your game?

I didn't think it would take this long. You're really dragging it out.

Then speed it up for me. Fill in the rest of the clues. I'll go grab the last four pieces of my Uncle's soul and then we can High Noon it.

No, I don't think it's your fault. I think you're being slowed down. It should really just be you, then you can do what you need to.

Leave Carl out of this.

But he's already in it.

You touch a hair on his head.

The Tall Man's laugh sounded filtered through a glass jar filled with gravel.

Whew, lucky for me I didn't.

The Tall Man looked me straight in the eyes, then reached down and grabbed the hose. His hand began to shake, then his arm, the vibrations running all through him. It was taking everything he had to hold on, and he was doing it. He stayed like this for long enough to get his point across. He was a bigger bad ass than me. Before he dropped the hose, he dropped a warning.

Don't make me wait too much longer.

As he stood, he turned toward The Old Man, who backed slowly across the bed hissing, never moving his eyes from the Tall Man.

When all this is over, we'll have it out, just you and me. No pink monkey meat to get in our way. With that he turned and walked out the door.

I waited until I was sure he was gone and got to my feet. I felt drunk and had to steady myself with my hand on the bed as I walked across the room.

I didn't even pause as I stepped over the hose. It wasn't a trick. He was just delivering a message, a message I'd hoped I'd never get.

I stood in front of Carl's door and looked at the knob. It had turned black from the heat and was still warm to my touch. As I pushed open the door, I looked down at the carpet. The foot prints were sure, no hesitation at all. Each of them crisp, one set heading in, and another heading out.

The bed was unmade and the TV was still on, the sound low but audible. The smell of burning plastic mixed with the steam coming from the bathroom. I walked across the room and stood outside the bathroom door. I could hear the shower running, which normally would be a good thing, but I'd seen the Tall Man pick up that hose.

The knob to the bathroom door was still warm too, and I turned it more slowly. I wouldn't exactly say that I prayed to find Carl safe on the other side of it, but I thought about it real hard and addressed the thoughts to no one in particular.

The steam hit my face, warm and moist. It was thick.

Carl?

I took a step into the room.

Carl?

I took another. The steam starting to clear out through the open door.

Looking at head height, I didn't see a body through the shower curtain, but looking down, I could see someone was in the tub, just not standing up.

Reaching for the curtain, I noticed there was a hard clump of plastic curtain on the edge, so I grabbed it there too.

Pulling the curtain back, I looked down at Carl, pulled up into himself, hugging his knees, his head down, the hot water from the shower already starting to turn his skin red.

I reached across and turned off the water.

I knelt down and looked across at Carl, and noticed that he was shivering, his body vibrating so fast you almost couldn't tell he was moving.

Carl?

He didn't move at first, but then slowly he raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot and I knew there was as much salt water on his face as there was fresh from the shower. His voice was stuttered and weak.

Aubrey, I want to go home.

Ok buddy, we'll get you home.

I stood and grabbed a towel off the rack and put it over Carl. I had to lift him up, his muscles had been tensed so long in that position, that he had little control over them anymore. Getting his legs over the lip of the tub took a bit, but we finally pulled it off.

I walked Carl out of his room, grabbing his bag, and took him straight into mine and closed the door. After he had changed clothes, he came back in and sat on the bed. The Old Man purred and rubbed against him, and though it broke almost every rule in my book, I stood up and walked over to Carl. He looked up me, still shaking a little.

I can make you forget, if you want.

Will it hurt?

That hit hard, that question. Almost brought out an emotion or two.

No.

Will I forget you?

Not so much forget me as forget about me. I'll be like an old friend from high school, whose face you can't remember.

But you're my best friend.

You don't need a friend like me Carl.

But you're my only friend.

I'll tell you what, if all this goes well, and I get back in one piece I promise I'll look you up and we can get reacquainted, start over.

What if you don't come back?

That is a possibility.

Carl though for a bit, even reached out and petted The Old Man who let him. Just this little act, seemed to calm him. As The Old Man began to purr, Carl's shaking slowly stopped.

Carl looked up at me and a sad smile crossed his face.

You'll be better off without me anyway.

I can't say that's true Carl.

Carl nodded his head.

Do it.

As I reached out toward Carl, my hand started to shake. I placed my palm on his forehead and mumbled under my breath.

Part XXXIV

2009-02-06T13:14:00.001-08:00

Part XXXIV

I could hear the TV in Carl's room pushing through the walls like a picture out of focus. You thought you knew what you were hearing, but then it would shift and you realized that maybe you didn't. I'd told him to think over whether on not he wanted to continue on this little adventure of mine. If he didn't, I said I'd buy him a plane ticket home, as soon as we got near an airport big enough to have a plane heading anywhere near Knoxville.

For my part, I'd picked up a few things from a hardware store and did my best to secure my room. I had 100 feet of garden hose running the perimeter, with one end hooked to the bathtub faucet and the other clamped onto the side of the tub so that when the water made the circuit around the room, it drained out properly.

I sat in the middle of the floor with the bowling ball bag and tried to find the courage to look inside. It was probably a long shot, only having one fifth of my uncle back, but then again, I didn't know which piece I had. I cracked another can of beer and finally unzipped the bag. Three beers later I reached in and took out the ball.

The skull grinned at me like we'd just shared a joke and it was doing all the laughing; riga-mortis of a clown in repose. I held it firmly in both hands and brought it close until we were touching foreheads, or at least as close to that as 2" of pyrex would let us. I closed my eyes, mumbled under my breath and felt the room fall away.

When I opened my eyes I was standing on the jetty that jutted out into the Gulf of Mexico in St Andrews State Park. I had a rod in my hand and was watching my Uncle gut and fillet a small Spanish Mackerel he'd just caught using a our last piece of cigar minnow. If you knew what you were doing, you could buy one minnow and then fish the rest of the day by using what you caught. I remembered this day. I was 14, wearing my usual all black ensemble and enjoying the beach the only way I knew how.

The fillet knife ran the spine and pulled away clean. Then, my uncle laid prize on a flat piece of rock and cut it into strips that we could wind around the hook. It had been hot that day, and the jetty smelled of briny fish rot.

The strips cut, my uncle looked up at me, handing me a strip.

Don't forget to wind the hook through. They'll suck it right off if you don't.

I nodded and prepped the hook.

My first cast went short as my thumb slipped, hitting the spool of line and causing it to drag and hiccup. My second one was better and I watched the line disappear into the sun. My Uncle gave my a quick pat on the shoulder.

Nice one.

I turned to look up at him, and he was gone. The Tall Man stood grinning down at me. I felt my spine go numb as I realized his hand was still on my shoulder and the fillet knife was still in his other hand.

This wasn't right though. It was a real memory, and somehow he'd gotten in. He was changing the rules.

Just then my line puled tight and the spool started to scream. Something had taken my bait and was running. I didn't know what to do. I really wanted to catch what was on the other end of that line, but then again I didn't want the Tall Man to turn me into chum.

When I looked back up at him though, the knife was gone and my Uncle was back.

Set the hook.

I popped the rod up hard and the tip bent, forming a parabola. I grabbed the crank, and started bringing in the line little by little, easing the pole forward then pulling it back slowly. Whatever was on the other end of the line was big, and my hands were starting to hurt.

You need help Aubrey?

I looked at my Uncle, feeling about as excited as I'd ever been.

No, I can do this.

There's nothing wrong with asking for help.

I've got it.

Then, I struggled for an amount of time that's hard to explain since it was all a weird dream anyway. It felt like years passed, and all I did was continue to reel in whatever was on the other end of the line. Every-time I thought I had the upper hand, I'd weaken for just a moment, or get distracted, and it'd run the line out again.

Finally, I was just tired, and it was right at the second, just before I let go of the rod, that my Uncle stepped in. He took the rod from me gently and planted his left foot forward on one of the rocks to give himself greater balance. Then, he just started cranking the handle, bringing the line in smoothly, rolling the rod tip forward and then pulling it back.

There's some things you just can't do alone Aubrey.

It didn't take him very long to bring in our catch. The tide was coming in, so the waves breaking on the jetty were high and helped pull our quarry with them. As the end of the line neared, something surfaced just a few feet away from the Jetty. At first I wasn't sure what it was, but then sun reflecting off the water shimmered and then dimmed and I watched my Uncle's body take the next wave in and slam against the rocks.

I looked back and the Tall Man stood grinning in a Gorton's Fisherman yellow slicker and hat. The rod was gone, but he had a large fillet knife that he was using to gut Carl on the rocks. Carl's eyes were wide and his mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

You gotta chum the water first.

He reached into Carl's chest and pulled out a wad of viscera, which he threw out into the waves. He reached in again and the second handful looked even redder than the first. I looked back to the Gulf, and my Uncle's body was gone, but the water was teaming with sharks, fighting over the bits of Carl.

See that? All you have to do is Chum the water.

Shit. That's when I realized that that was exactly what I was doing. Sitting in my hotel room, holding the Nexus. Sure, the Death Runners were held at bay with the water, but now I knew how the Tall Man had gotten into my dream. He was close, and trying to keep me distracted while he closed in on the Nexus.

Then, the Tall Man in the dream came for me, with his bright yellow slicker and large fillet knife. I tried to back away, but lost my footing on the jagged rocks and went down. The Tall Man laughed and brought the fillet knife down in an impossible arc. Just before it's tip touched my skin, the knife and the Tall Man flew back and away, pulled by some invisible force.

The Gorton's Tall Man hit the rocks hard, but got up fast. Then, my Uncle was there at my side helping me up.

I can't hold him for long Aubrey. You need to leave.

I shut my eyes and thought of the hotel room. I didn't know if it would be that easy or not.

When I opened my eyes though I was staring at the bowling ball, and it was staring right back at me. I shoved it in the bag and zipped it up, just before I heard a knock at my door, followed by the overwhelming smell of brine and fish rot.

Part XXXIII

2009-01-24T13:42:00.001-08:00

Part XXXIII

There was a light breeze that kept the heat rolling up off the dirt from getting too unbearable, as Carl and I headed across the arid plain. We'd both grabbed a piece of gum before we started so at least the mud in our mouths had a pleasant, if not somewhat gritty, spearmint flavor.

I'd left Carl to carry the water, and I took the bowling ball bag. I'd figured that the short time we'd be here shouldn't attract too many death runners.

About 20 minutes into our walk, my spine went cold and I held up a hand to stop Carl. I walked in an ever dwindling spiral until I felt the energy under my feet. I dropped the bag and turned my head while it made a plume of dust that drifted slowly away on the breeze.

I want you to turn away Carl. Look at the van.

Oh come on, what they hell'd you bring me out here for if I can't watch.

Carl, I need you to watch, but I need you to watch the van and tell me if you see any cars coming down the road. Can you do that for me?

Carl kicked the dirt and turned back to the van.

Fine.

I laid my hands flat just over the soil and moved them around to pin point the energy. Satisfied, I mumbled under my breath and made my arm vibrate out of phase. I plunged it into the soil up to my shoulder and squirmed around until I found what I was looking for.

This was going to be delicate. I mumbled again and unphased my arm in the earth and reached my hand around what felt like a fist sized rock. Phasing again, I pulled my arm back out of the soil. I let it vibrate a bit more and slowly returned it to normal, I wanted as little dirt as possible under my skin.

When I looked down, I had smooth black river rock in my fist. I set it down on the ground and unzipped the bag. I pulled the clear bowling ball out and laid it on the dirt next to the rock. Just for the fun of it I turned it so the skulls eyes could look at what lay before it.

I placed a hand on each of the objects and dug deep into my mind to make sure what I was about to do was as accurate as possible. Unlike normal, I started under my breath, then moved the words to my tongue, and then to my teeth, where they resonated. Then, I brought them clean out, crisp and clear. In my periphery, I saw Carl scream, cover his ears with his hands and drop to his knees.

A crack started to form under me, small at first, as the Earth tried to reclaim the stone. I shut my eyes hard, just before the brightness slammed into my lids, I turned away and felt my hands on fire. The smell of of the hair burning off my hands wound its way into my nose, and then it was over.

It took my eyes a bit to adjust, as though I'd stared at the sun, but when they finally settled, the rock was porous, like a dried sponge, and I crushed it to dust in my hand. The bowling ball was warm to the touch, but not too hot to handle. I put it back in the bag and zipped it back up. I wobbled for a moment, but finally stood and went to Carl. I placed a hand on his shoulder and he took his hands from his ears and rose like as though from a baptism.

Carl didn't say anything as we walked back to the van, but I knew he was scared of me now. He'd always been a little scared, but now he was just enough to be unsure, and a part of me was glad. Maybe this would send him back where he belonged, out of danger.

Back at the van, I rolled the side door open and placed the bag down. I unzipped it again and pulled out the bowling ball. I didn't know what I was looking for, and it didn't seem to have any answers. I set it down and stared into the skull's eye sockets. Nothing. Then, the Old Man sauntered over and gave it a whiff. Then the Old Man rubbed his face along the smooth surface and began to purr.

That was good enough for me.

The ball secured back in the drawer, I played apothecary, and made an unguent for the burns on my hands. They hurt like hell, but it felt good to hurt. This was the kind of hurt I could endure, the kind that wakes you up and makes you feel alive and full of purpose.

As we headed out of town, Carl refused to look at me and had rebuffed the few attempts I'd made at conversation. I'd get us separate rooms tonight, so he could have some time alone to think. Just as we hit the interstate, Carl stuttered out a question that even caught me by surprise.

I don't really know you Aubrey, do I?

I didn't hesitate.

No Carl, you really don't.

Part XXXII

2009-01-09T13:35:00.000-08:00

Part XXXII

For the next six hours we rode in silence. Carl had the laptop perched on his lap, but angled toward me. The map Bruce had given me pulled up on the screen so I could find my way to the first piece of what was left of my Uncle's soul.

It was getting dark when we arrived at a small motel, that sat just off the road like a hitchhiker disillusioned with the world. The vacant stare from the office window told me they'd have a room.

Inside, Carl on his bed watching an old western on the TV, and the Old Man curled on a pillow at the head of mine, I looked at the map and tried to figure out exactly how I was going to find what I'd come all this way for.

If we were actually in a town, it was one by name only. It felt more like a border between towns, a nebulous rural outpost that struggled to survive on the fringes.

It took a while to find what I was looking for, but when I did I was sure. In August of nineteen seventy-four there had been a tornado that had struck in Ash Valley. Those that had seen it, were convinced they saw a face rolling out of the tornado's cone. It had been on such a clear day, that the film footage taken is crisp and I found a link to it on Youtube.

While I saw what they wanted me to see, I also saw something else. This had been an incident that still ran through the minds of the people who lived here. A demon in a tornado is the stuff of urban legend. That's where we had to go. I had to find the exact place it had been when the footage had been shot.

I closed the laptop and Carl took his eyes from the screen and moved them to me.

Find what we're looking for?

I hope so. Get some rest. Tomorrow we go hunting demons in tornados.

Carl gave me that quizzical look he always kept in reserve for when I spoke.

The Irony of the whole thing was that we had to drive away from where we were going in order to find someone who could tell us what we needed to know. The area around where the twister had hit was painfully remote. I knew that the best way to get some answers was to find the people who kept the local knowledge. We couldn't find a barber shop, so we found the next best thing.

The Diner sat by a gas station, the only one we'd seen in a while, near a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. The Pick-ups parked outside told me it was the right place since none of them were newer than the late 80s. Inside, Carl and I pulled up to the counter and ordered some breakfast. The sideways glances we got weren't predatory, just curious.

I'd waited to drop the question until I'd finished sopping up the egg yolk and bacon grease with my toast. As the waitress smiled and started to take my plate away, I licked the tips of my fingers clean and smiled.

You wouldn't happen to know where we can find someone who could tell us where the '74 twister touched down could you?

I'm not sure if it really happened or if I was just thinking it did, but it sounded as though every fork in the place dropped onto a plate at once and every conversation came to an abrupt halt. The smile on the waitress's face half hid and she took my plate away. She returned with the coffee and refreshed my glass. Everyone waited for her to give the OK, and when the first word slipped through her teeth, the Diner perked back up and the silence faded.

If you're some kind of storm-chaser, we don't really get that many. That one was a fluke.

We're not storm-chasers. I've seen the footage and just wanted to take a look.

People who go looking for Demons usually end up findin'em.

The statement had come from an old man sitting at the counter just down from Carl. He'd paused his consumption of toast and cigarette and was giving me and Carl the look of a man who knew what he was talking about.

So, you can tell me where we can find it?

I can do better than that, I can show you. It touched down on my farm.

My name's Aubrey.

He took a bite of toast and a drag off his cigarette, then followed it with a swig of coffee.

My breakfast is on you.

I laughed a little bit and then wondered whether or not he was lying to get a free meal.

The farm road hadn't been graveled in a long time and dust plumed up from behind his pick-up so that my visibility was ten feet at best. When he finally came to a stop, I almost had to slam on the break to keep from rear ending him. We sat in the van for a second to let the dust die down before we hoped out. Even having waited, I could feel the air turning to mud in my mouth and tried my best to not spit.

The area looked like it had from the old footage, except the field was desolate now and had not been farmed for many years. Even so, there wasn't a single weed as far as I could see. The field on the other side of the road was coming along fine.

That twister killed the ground. Never got crops to grow on it again. People said it had taken all the top soil and that was why, but I re-topped the soil four times and it didn't do any good. The big smart fellers from the University even came out and took samples. They said the soil had plenty of nutrients and there was no reason the crops should be growing. They even took some back with them, they didn't anything to grow either. I told 'em it was because the Devil had walked here. They thought I was crazy.

He turned to me and Carl, and took a drag off the cigarette that seemed eternal in his hand.

I don't set foot on that ground anymore, but the place you're looking for is about three hundred yards that way.

He pointed with his cigarette and I watched the smoke roll from it, it looked like a little twister coiling up.

Thanks, I appreciate it.

You're welcome to it. I've got things to do.

He got back in his truck and left me and Carl coughing and chewing on dust the devil had walked upon.

Part XXXI

2008-12-06T13:35:00.001-08:00

Part XXXI

Hello Aubrey.

How do you know my name?

I know the names of all things. I knew your Uncle. He was the only Unique who ever turned down my invitation to join the Fabulon. I choose my invitations wisely.

Her chuckle was warm and endearing and it passed through me taking all of my nervousness with it.

I was sorry to hear about what happened to him, and even more sorry to hear that you were allowing yourself to be dragged into it.

It's definitely not the smartest thing I've ever done, but I have to.

I know. What is it you want of me?

I need to know how to defeat the Tall Man.

There was silence, or at least as close to silence as there can be had with two people so close to each other in such a small room. Her contemplative sigh undid what her chuckle had accomplished earlier and I sat forward in the chair.

The one you call the Tall Man is very powerful. He is a product of of my battles with the Man of Shadows. He is fear and malice and cunning and avarice. He is the nightmare of a dying child.

The silence again.

He is, however, not all powerful. He can be undone with the very thing that makes him powerful.

What is that?

Fear. If you can turn it upon him, press it against him, his hunger for it will destroy him, as hunger does to all who let it define them.

I still don't understand how to do that.

Your Uncle will.

But he's dead.

Is he? I had understood that there is still an aspect of him, a whole that is now parts.

That's what I'm looking for.

Then you must find it, and make it whole again. It is the only way. You have everything you need.

The pieces, if I can find them, how do I make them whole?

They reside in a state of flux now, bound to objects like a djinn to a bottle. But be cautious, you can not simply release them and hope they remain, you must bring them together in a single object, something that will give them back their ability to be whole again.

You mean give them a body again?

NEVER!

The last word drifted with hot stinging breath to my face.

Once torn apart, they can never again be placed in a vessel of flesh, they would rot it and corrupt it like a virus.

Then, I don't know.

She chuckled again, this time more patronizing and lost of patience.

I have told you what you have asked, and you know more than I can give. The knowledge will come to you when you need it. Now, I must ask you to go. I have work that takes me away now.

Thank you.

How is Alexander?

Her tone, now thoughtful and full of motherly longing.

He looked...content.

She sighed deeply and I heard the unmistakable sound of her shifting her bulk in the chair, which adjusted itself with the sound of crackling timber.

I stood in the dark, wobbly and out of place, and felt my way back to the curtain. Upon opening it, the light split the room, and I turned back, but Mother was gone and her chair sat empty and silent. Then Father was there.

Yeah, she does that.

Back outside the trailer, Father paused for a cigarette and surveyed they dismantling Carnival.

She's talked about you, you know?

What do you mean?

She was a great admirer of your Uncle and how he chose to use his gifts. He even helped us out on a few occasions.

Father blew smoke rings and I looked at them expectantly, waiting for Dragons.

Did she tell you what you needed to know?

I don't know. She thought she did. Maybe I just have to let it sink in.

That's always best.

Father flicked his butt into the dirt beyond the porch and wheeled about to go back into the trailer.

You'll find your friend in the trailer that smells like a frat house, down at the end of the row. The Clowns are useful, but their deportment leaves something to be desired. Hopefully he still has some money left, or you'll find he has little else on him.

Father rolled back in and shut the door behind himself.

I stepped off the porch and walked the lines of the trailers, each seemed its own unique construct, modded and hacked by it's occupant. I knew I was at the right trailer when I began to smell the unmistakable odors of stale cigars and old beer.

Carl was sitting at a round table, dwarfed by the three Clowns sitting with him. He was down to his t-shirt, but looked happy, most likely due to the empty cans of beer before him. How long had I been with Mother? It seemed like mere minutes, but Carl had seven cans in front of him.

Time to go Carl.

But...I'm winning.

No, you're not.

Mr. Jingles stood up.

Let the man finish his hand.

I don't think so.

Jingles gave me the once over and thought a minute about what had brought me here, I'm sure, and finally he threw the cards down and cracked another beer.

Get out of here, games over.

Carl wobbled and looked up, then stood with the confidence of a stumble drunk. He'd lost his pants too.

I grabbed Carl by the t-shirt and dragged him out, behind us the sound of Clowns laughing, deep and mean, pushed through the door.

Back at the Van, I dug a change of cloths from Carl's bag and pushed them at him. He looked defeated and guilty, but about what I didn't know.

Did she tell you.

I guess.

Wha'd she say?

I've got to put all the pieces together. Find a single object that'll hold them all, if we ever find them.

Carl had fallen forward while putting on his pants and was steadying himself with his forehead against the van and trying to shove his foot into the pocket of his pants.

Wha' about the bowling ball?

I looked at Carl and a broad smile lit across my face.

I hate to say this Carl, but you're a genius.

Carl smiled and finally got his leg in his pants.

Part XXX

2008-11-30T10:28:00.000-08:00

Part XXX

The Carnival was set off the road on a parcel of community land just West of Slaughterville. It hadn't been hard to find since all of the announcement signs were still peppered on telephone poles along the route. We pulled into the empty gravel lot and parked about twenty feet from the entrance.

I think you should stay in the car.

Why? It's a carnival. It's daylight.

It's daylight, but this isn't your run of the mill carnival.

I'm tired of sitting in the car.

Suit yourself, but no whimpering or crying when things go sideways.

Carl nodded, a look of worry skittering across his eyes.

My business here is not yours, so if you come, you're on your own while I take care of it.

Carl nodded and we hopped out.

The entrance to the grounds was pretty standard, a collapsible arch of wood announcing the a point of disconnect. It was a portal, like all carnival entrances, brightly colored with hints of the wonders inside. Along the main arch was MOTHER'S TRAVELING FABULON in fanciful script of peeling paint.

We'd just stepped over the threshold, when the biggest clown I'd ever seem stepped out from behind a rolling popcorn cart and moved wearily toward us, while he stuffed handfuls of corn in his face.

He stopped in front of us and looked down, surveying us.

I'm Mr. Jingles.

I'm Aubrey, this is Carl. I talked to Father earlier, I'm here to see Mother.

Follow me.

Mr. Jingles turned without pause and walked away. I followed, with Carl squirreling up behind me.

Dude, that is one scary clown.

Just try not piss him off.

We zigged and zagged through the Carnival proper, while around us the Carnies were deep in the work of dismantling the show. It was like being back stage in Vegas, watching the magic become pedestrian when the lights were up.

Eventually we came to the rigs, where everyone camped. And Mr. Jingles put out his arm and almost clothes lined me. I came up just short enough to keep my head. Carl of course slammed into the back of me.

I'll see if she's available.

Mr. Jingles went up the steps and disappeared into the trailer. While we were waiting I caught Carl staring at a pair of twin girls walking the grounds. They were Siamese twins, sharing a dress. I smacked Carl on the back of the head.

You see anyone staring at you?

Why would they?

They may never have seen someone with half a brain walking around.

Carl hung his head then took a sideways cursory glance back at the girls. I smacked him again. he yelped and the door to the trailer opened again.

Mr. Jingles stepped out and came back down the stairs.

She'll see you.

Thanks.

Mr. Jingles then turned his attention to Carl.

You want a beer half brain?

Carl stared slack jawed until Mr. Jingles pushed him away from the trailer.

I hope you brought money too, we're going to play poker.

Carl reached in his pocket, freeing a moth. I handed him a couple of bills.

As Mr. Jingles led Carl away I took the steps to the trailer door, unsure what exactly it was I was going to ask, or how I was going to ask it.

Stepping inside, I had to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. As the door closed behind me I found myself standing in a small waiting area replete with two wing-back chairs and a potted plant, like the waiting room of a doctor who has their practice in their home. To the right was a curtain under which bright blue and green lights pulsed. To the left was another curtain under which no light was visible at all.

The Right Curtain swung open filling the small space with the cold wash of the bank of monitors and communications equipment arranged in a spectacularly small but efficient space. I then heard a familiar voice as a man in a wheelchair rolled through.

You must be Aubrey.

You must be Father.

We shook hands.

Have a seat, it'll be a minute or two. She'll let us know when she's ready. I sat on the edge of one of the chairs.

Coffee?

Sure.

Father pulled a cup from the side of his chair and a thermos from the other and poured a cup, handing it over to me.

It's only about 30 minutes old. It should still have a decent flavor.

I'm used to road mud, so I'm sure it's more than fine.

When you spend as much time on the road as we do, it's the little things that make the difference.

I took a sip. It was probably the best cup of coffee I'd ever had, complex and balanced with almost no acid and warm under tones of chocolate.

It's single source. We roast it here.

It's good.

It's Ethiopian Blue Nile.

Our little back and forth was broken when a voice, simultaneously strong and quiet pushed through the curtain to the left.

Father?

Yes Mother?

Please show our guest in.

Father took the coffee cup from my hand and maneuvered himself to open the curtain. I stood and ducked through the curtain, just fast enough to glimpse the small sitting room before me, where a woman, dark skinned and large, sat in a chair; her white milky blind eyes fixed on me. Then the curtain dropped and the room was plunged into darkness.

Part XXIX

2008-11-23T14:19:00.000-08:00

Part XXIX

The Old Man was pissed by the time we got back. He'd worked up a noxious combination of hair ball and hate, and had dropped it outside the sandbox, where it had festered in the heat and turned the atmosphere inside the van un-breathable.

We rolled down the windows and Carl lit match after match and flicked them at the Old Man trying to catch him on fire. I eventually put a stop to it. We pulled into the fist Hotel I could find, but not before we stopped into the S’Enivrer, the rotting corpse of a roadhouse, whose name meant "drink to excess".

I dumped the Old Man's sandbox just beyond the gravel parking lot and poured him a new landing strip. I'd given him his potion with just the juice from a can of tuna and told him he'd get the rest as soon as he quit pissing me off. He gave me the stink eye and a hiss and then curled up on the bed in the back.

I've heard people say before that beer tastes better in the heat of Louisiana. If they're talking about some dreck like Bud, they might just be right. What they forgot to mention is that from the moment the bottle is put in front of you, it's a race against time. You against thermodynamics. By the time you down the last, now tepid, sip, the outside of the bottle has enough condensation on it to drown a mouse.

We were two beers in before Carl said anything, and to be truthful I was grateful. I liked Carl, but most of what came out of his mouth was a mix of misinterpretation and stupidity.

You think that guy is actually part Gater?

No Carl, he's not, and I think you might not want to talk about it.

Carl had asked his question loud enough to garner the attention of just about everyone around us. We were being looked at like our our welcome was wearing thin. So I ordered another round and waited to see if anyone wanted to do anything about it.

It turned out they didn't.

Back at the hotel, I let Carl go under before I picked up my cell phone to call Father. I stepped out side onto the landing and leaned over the rail. I looked down at the swimming pool and wondered for a minute what lived beneath the fuzzy brown surface.

The phone rang through three times.

Donny's Donut Hole.

Gater hadn't said anything about a password, but I knew I had to say what I needed without saying what I meant.

I hear you make 'em from an old family recipe?

Where'd you hear that?

From a little girl and her brother.

He a big University of Florida fan?

Yes he is.

There was a click and then a squawk. The phone signal had been scrambled.

You must be Aubrey.

You must be Father.

How'd he look, we haven't seen him in a while.

He seemed content. Then again I'd never met him before.

There was a momentary pause on the line.

What can we do for you?

I need to speak to Mother.

Well, I can't promise you anything, but we're just outside Slaughterville, Oklahoma. We'll be here two more days, cleaning up, and then we're gone.

I'll be there.

That was it, phone call done, and a 13 hour trip to make.

I set the alarm and laid on the bed without taking my clothes off. I'd meant to, but I had just wanted to rest my eyes. As soon as the room went black, the alarm went off.

My eyes felt like they had bees trapped under the lids. I rolled off the bed and headed to the bathroom. By the time I had showered, Carl had woken up. I don't know for sure if he'd done it on his own, or if it was because I'd turned the TV on as I'd passed it.

I found him enraptured by cartoons.

Thirty minutes later we were eating breakfast and thirty after that we were on the road. While I drove, Carl looked up Slaughterville on the cell phone browser so he could be comfortable with its name. It had been named after a grocery store, not a slaughterhouse. As Carl poked deeper into the cities online presence, all of eight wikipedia paragraphs, we'd discovered that PETA had tried to get them to change the town's name. Sounded like a real swingin' place. In the back of my mind I kept hearing Father say they'd be cleaning up, but cleaning up what?

We passed the time listening to evangelical nut jobs on the AM, and playing sad games of I-Spy, that seemed to delve into the surreal of our subconscious. After about thirty minutes or so we'd just be making stuff up. The last thing Carl spied put an end to the game and made me take my eyes off the road to look at him.

What?

There's something not right about you Carl?

Part XXVIII

2008-11-14T09:47:00.001-08:00

Part XXVIII

Gater, there's two men with bad sunburns coming up fast in a canoe.

Oh hell Aubrey, she's seen us.

We weren't sneaking up Carl. It'll be fine, just make sure that when you see Alexander that you don't say a single thing that comes into your mind. Ok?

I'll try.

As if on cue, the man they called the Swamp Devil stepped out of the small house. He was drying his hands with a towel. I could only imagine he'd been doing the dishes.

He was shirtless, and who could blame him in this heat. His skin was the color of cigarette ash, speckled with with bumps like a 70's spray foam ceiling. When he flapped the towel over his shoulder to give it a place to rest, it sounded like it was hitting concrete, not skin. When he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were big and stained the deep rich color of saffron broth. Carl started to shake, and I was afraid he was going to start crying.

I took the advantage and cut Gater off before he could do more than clear his throat.

Alexander Delacroix?

How do you know my name?

It was told to me a long time ago by my Uncle.

I brought the canoe to a rest a respectful distance away. Carl whimpered in the front.

Did I know him?

No.

You've come a long way to find me.

I need your help.

What is it you think I can do for you?

I need to find the woman they call Mother.

Gater smirked and caught a small laugh from getting away.

What business do you have with her?

I need to ask her some questions. I'm hunting The Tall Man.

I saw what the name of the moniker did. Olivia quietly took her brother's hand, and the chill from her touch froze the moisture still on his hand.

The thing was that they'd probably never heard him called that, because everyone had their own secret name for him. But when someone said their name for him, the intonation was always the same, the understanding instant in its dread.

Come inside. Speak no more here. The Swamp is always listening.

The house was humble and sparce, but it also exuded charm. All of the furniture was handmade from the floatsum and jetsum of the world just beyond its front door. We sat at the kitchen table, whose base was a small cypress stump with a finished Oak door for a top. The chairs were similar to one's I'd seen in the Appalachian Mountains, tethered branches and logs manipulated with steam and held in place with wood pegs.

We don't have much, but I can offer fresh sassafras tea.

Sounds good.

Gater poured three glasses and Olivia went around the table and one at a time, she gripped the glass and chilled the tea.

Carl picked his up and took a long drink. It seemed to settle him.

Thank you.

Gater looked at him and dropped a smile of pity for Carl's obvious fear. Then, he turned back to me.

Your Uncle, was he a Magician?

You could say that I guess.

I think I have heard of him. There was a Magician twenty years ago or so, turned Mother down when she offered him a place among the Uniques.

Uniques?

Like me. People with the great gift of uniqueness.

The Carnival?

Gater nodded.

He never told me that.

You're unique too, aren't you?

Not really. There's a lot of people that can do what I do.

But not a lot who use it the way you do.

I couldn't answer that, so I took a sip of tea.

What is it you think Mother can do for you?

Help me figure out how to put an end to the Tall Man.

Gater leaned back and I could see him mulling it over. I was asking a lot, and I had a feeling it would probably come with a price.

Gater picked up a pencil and tore off a piece of newspaper from small stack lying on the floor behind him. He wrote phone a number on it and before he handed it across he locked his yellow eyes on mine.

How do I know I can trust you?

You don't.

Gater nodded and slid the piece of paper across to me. It wasn't much, but I memorized the number then turned the paper to ash with a green flame from my palm. It seemed to be enough.

I'll tell Father you're coming.

Thanks.

That little matter out of the way, we were invited to stay for dinner. I'd never known snake could taste so good.

It was dark out when we climbed back in the canoe. We hadn't brought flashlights, so I mumbled under my breath. At first I didn't think it had worked, but then they started to arrive. Around us the swamp began to pulse with the light of a thousand fireflies. I could hear the pleasured yelp of Olivia as they clustered around the canoe and then fanned out in front of us to guide our way. In a rare show of solidarity, they blinked in unison. As I lowered the paddle into the water and pushed us off and away, I was overcome by a feeling of well being, a sense that I was on the right path.

Part XXVII

2008-11-07T12:53:00.000-08:00

Part XXVII

The first stop we'd made was New Orleans. It wasn't for Pirate Jane this time, but to get a few things at the VooDoo shops that I'd not picked up last time I'd left Jane's. I couldn't go back there, no one could. As we rolled by, I noticed the place had already changed hands, and it looked as though someone was going to wash away the years of bad mojo by converting it into a nail salon. Somewhere Pirate Jane was cursing the heavens.

I knew a few other shops, ones that Jane had actually turned me onto. I didn't know the Priestesses who ran them, but we shared a few memories of Jane as they bundled up my purchases.

New Orleans faded fast as I headed down 23 to Plaquemines Parish and Port Sulfer. As we rode 23 down, it looked so different from the only other time I had seen it. This is some of America's best fishing country, but Katrina had rolled through like a mistress drunk on Gin, and had busted all the pretty vases.

I wasn't even sure the person I was looking for was alive, or even here. Last I'd heard he'd been building himself a home out deep in the marshes where he went by the name of Gater.

He'd been persecuted most of his life for the visual transformation the ichthyosis had performed on him. Grey scaly skin, and a yellowing of the eyes, that while unrelated, had significance. He'd lost his family in a fire, when some drunken good 'ol boys had tried to kill what everyone else referred to as the "swamp devil". Some said it was the beer that made them do it, some the heat, but in the end everyone secretly knew that what had made them do it was fear.

Plaquemines Parish is home to the first seventy miles of the Mississippi river, or the last seventy depending on how you look at it. It's where the river disgorges into the sea. It's what made all the Voodoo and witchcraft so prevalent in the area. With all the moving water, the dead could be handled with ease. So could just about anything susceptible to the pull of the mighty Mississippi.

It took a while to find anyone to talk to, not because everyone was skittish, but because there was literally no one in sight. I finally found a gas station, and after mumbling a little translation spell, I had a short conversation in creole with a man who looked like he'd lost weight recently so his clothes were loose and crumpled. Problem was, while his clothes where a a bit big, it was his skin that hung loose.

All it took in the end was a simple question.

Where's the swamp devil?

He raised a claw and pointed down the road a piece and told me we could rent a swamp boat and that if we took it 30 minutes west, we'd know it when we came to it. He said after Katrina rolled in, only one stilt house had remained, and that was were the Devil and his sister lived.

He tried to tell me not to go, but then just gave up and sat back down in his folding chair, lighting a hand rolled cheroot and coughing out the smoke.

It took a few more dollars than the rental to convince the proprietor I knew how to drive the boat and didn't need a guide. I asked him to look after the van and told him no matter how much the Old Man complained through the cracked windows, to not let him out. I lied and said I was afraid he'd wander too close to the water and get eaten by a gater. Truth was, it was the gaters I was worried for.

Carl smiled as the wind slapped him and we ran full throttle through what was left of the still recovering marshes. I hoped Gater would be able to help me, I needed to find someone he was close to. I needed to find his former home, the traveling Freak Show they called the Fabulon. I needed to ask the woman who ran it a few questions, a few questions about the Tall Man. Her name was Mother, and she knew the Tall man very well.

It was almost thirty minutes on the dot when the marshes started to become thick again and I had to slow down to maneuver more precisely through the tangle. Eventually, the Cypress appeared and we switched from the swamp boat to the small canoe we'd rented as well.

We tied the swamp boat to a tree and marked it by hanging the extra life jacket tied as high we could on the propeller cage. Fluorescent Orange stands out in a swamp of green and brown. It took a few minutes to balance Carl in the front of the little canoe, that reminded me of the ones I'd paddled on many times before in the camps my parents had always sent me to for the summer. I was going in the back. I didn't trust Carl to paddle well, let alone steer.

Ten minutes later, soaked to the bone with sweat and pretty sure that every mosquito biting me was going to give me malaria, the house on stilts rose into our sight. Carl kind of choked on some spit as he saw it, and I could feel the vibration of his nervous leg rolling through the canoe.

It's just a house.

Yeah, but what lives in a house that takes two kinds of boats to get to, through alligator and mosquito filled bong water.

A friend's house.

You really know this guy?

Well, I know of him.

The boat almost rolled as Carl shot back as though a snake had crested the side of the boat and slithered up his shorts.

Carl. you roll us and I will feed you to the first thing with teeth that pays a visit.

Carl raised his hand and pointed just to the right of the house.

I looked past his arm and saw what had spooked him. Standing on the little cross bridge that lead from the house to the patch of dry ground across from it was a little girl. She was dressed in a nice pink frilly dress and patent leather shoes as though just back from church. Through her I could see the trees.

She's not going to hurt you Carl. She's just a little girl.

A little transparent girl.

She's a runner Carl. She's Gater's sister. I think her name is Olivia.

Part XXVI

2008-10-24T12:43:00.000-07:00

Part XXVI

I parked the Van in front of the storage facility just as the sun was painting the world with magic. Carl had been glum the rest of the ride, so I left him wander away from the van to get his bearings. I worked the runes on the door to the storage unit and as it slid up, I heard Carl let out a yelp.

It's just an automatic door.

I turned to look at Carl who'd just had a wad of bugs vomited onto his shoes by the old infested guy.

While Carl freaked out and brushed uselessly at his clothes trying to knock off invisible bugs, I had a small chat with my infested friend. I mumbled under my breath so he could get a word in edge wise.

Been visitors...cough.

Yeah? what kind?

Night time...cough...shadows.

He was talking about the kind of shadows that don't have a body attached to them. They're all recon and can't do anything to you, but they're hell to get rid of. You have to push them into a corner, or somewhere they can't get away from and fry them with UV. If you don't keep the light on them until their entirely gone, they'll just grow back from whatever little bit you left behind.

I told him to wait for a minute and went back to the van. I opened the spice rack up and knocked together a sort of insecticidal tea mixture.

I put it into a zip lock back and took it back to the guy. I didn't know if he wanted to be rid of brood nut someone had convinced him, or forced him to swallow so long ago, but I told him if he did, this would do the trick. He thanked me, but the look in his eye told me he'd become accustomed to their company. I'd heard about it before, it was a form of Stockholm Syndrome, that most psychiatrists never knew existed.

I'd met someone who'd been cured one time. He was in an asylum and a witness to a case I was perusing. Unlike the guy down the hall from him who felt invisible bugs crawling all over him, and who was not allowed any sharp objects, this guy could no longer feel his insides move, and so he cried himself to sleep at night. He may have been the loneliest person I'd ever met.

Carl calmed down once I took him inside and closed the door. He and the Old Man hit the couch almost instantly. I wasn't sure how this whole thing was going to work out, but I knew that I wasn't going to get much help from the two dead beats I had watching my back.

Two weeks ago, I'd never imagined I'd be where I was now. That in its own way was weirdly comforting. It meant that there was no specific path that I had to follow. It also meant that I'd somehow, along the way, committed to giving up everything I knew to start a war with something that I wasn't prepared to do battle with.

There were five places I needed to visit, and along the way, I was going to be tracked, intimidated, hunted and basically pissed on. But if I succeeded, my Uncle could move on, move on to where he belonged. And if I made it out alive, my name would mean death.

After a beer or two, Carl came back from the dead and helped me transfer the gun rigs from the cabinet to the rack system already installed behind a sliding panel in the Van. In under two hours, the van had gone from a nostalgia trip to a death dealer.

It wasn't long before the Shadows started to creep in too. I noticed the first one trying to hide, balled under the desk like a bright light was casting the shadow of the Old Man onto the floor. Problem was, the light would have had to penetrate the table. I casually picked up the old man and walked him out to the van. I closed the door and mumbled under my breath.

Back in the storage unit I closed the door and took two pairs of goggles, tossing one to Carl.

What the hell's this for?

Put 'em on or go blind. Up to you.

Carl fumbled with the straps as I slid mine on. They were round aviator goggles, with the lens glass replaced with the same stuff found in Welder's masks. You could look an eclipse all day with these things on.

Carl finally got his on well enough for me to think he'd be OK.

You should also shut your eyes, just in case.

Carl's cheek bones rose as his eyes clamped shut under the goggles.

I mumbled under my breath, charming the shadows out like snakes from a basket. They were everywhere. As they rose through the air, diaphanous black sheets on puppet strings, I pushed a button on a small remote in my hand and the inside of the storage facility turned white. The shadows died, screaming like beetles being baked under a magnifying glass.

I let the button go and the room turned visible again. Taking the goggles off I looked over at Carl and realized I'd forgotten the sunscreen.

For the next two days Carl and I looked like Raccoons. By the end of the week, we'd started to shed our skin, molting into something to be reckoned with.

Part XXV

2008-10-05T15:19:00.000-07:00

Part XXV

As we passed the gates leading into Island Home, I mumbled under my breath, to see if anything had gotten through. Nothing lit up, so I had to assume nothing had.

When Carl and I got back to my place, the Old Man was curled at Em's feet purring. Em herself was just sitting there staring straight ahead, oblivious to everything. I took a glance in the direction she was looking, but there wasn't anything but window.

I asked her if she wanted me to turn off the water, she nodded almost imperceptible and I went back into the hall and flipped the switch on the bannister. By the time I got back to the kitchen, she was gone and the Old Man was awake and hungry. I took care of him first.

As the Old Man lit into his tuna and potion, I opened the fridge and grabbed a couple of beers. When I turned to Carl to hand him one, he was frozen, staring at the exact same spot Em had been. When she'd left, she must have passed through the window. The change in temperature had caused the water in the air to condense and what was left was a message, a message that had been written on the window from the outside. I guess Em has seen who'd written it, and that's why she wanted out.

On the window, set against the condensation were the words, I'M WAITING.

Carl downed his beer in record time and asked me WTF was going on. I tried to explain to him how Em had lowered the temperature of the window when she passed through, but then I realized he didn't see EM, so he just stared at me like I'd crapped in his shoes.

Who's EM?

You know, the poet. Emily Dickinson.

Carl just walked to the fridge and grabbed another beer and headed for the living room. He called back to me like a hurt child before rounding the corner.

You don't have to tell me, but there's no reason to an ass about it.

The next morning, while Carl was still sleeping it off in the spare bed room, I loaded the van with everything, including the Old Man, his litter box and his jug of juice.

I scribbled a note for Carl and left it on the last bottle of beer in the fridge where I could be sure he'd find it. I flipped the water on before I closed the back door and locked it. I hated to leave Carl like this, but it was better this way. He'd hate for a few days, but then he'd sober up and forgive me while he raided my freezer and played my XBOX until his eyes bled.

I pulled off the road in Dothan, Alabama with the intent of buying some pecans, but when I got to where Troy Simms Nuts was supposed to be, I pulled into a dead parking lot. I'd blinked for five years and now it was gone. Something inside shriveled and died knowing that I'd never taste a good pecan again. That's when I remembered that I'd forgotten to stop in Chilton for peaches and the whole day felt like it couldn't get any worse.

But, while I was here I took the opportunity to chuck some of the Old Man's finest creation out into the grass by the lot's edge. Even with a charcoal filter, the van was small. I couldn't be sure, but it looked like there were pieces of finger nail in one. I guess it took time to pass fingernails.

Getting back in the Van, I slammed the door a little harder than I intended and the Old Man gave me a hiss, just before I heard Carl wake up screaming.

I turned around, and there he was, bleary eyed sleeping in my back forty.

What the Hell are you doing here Carl?

Car rubbed his eyes and reached down into the cooler near the foot of the bed and pulled out the beer with the note on it.

I got your note.

Carl cracked the top off and climbed up to the passenger seat. He pushed the Old Man off the chair before the Old Man had time to react and sat down. The Old Man looked back at him in sheer confusion to his abrupt arrogance. Then the Old Man gave him that look that I knew would require much diligence on my part to keep from coming true, before he turned and showed Carl his ass as he wandered to the bed in back.

All of this took place in a split second, none of which Carl even noticed. When I looked at him, the beer was half gone and there was a grin on his face that killed most of my anger.

I sure do love a road trip Aubrey. So, where are we going?

Straight to Hell.

I turned the engine over and launched back onto the road, while out of the corner of my eye I watched Carl's grin die.

Part XXIV

2008-09-19T11:48:00.000-07:00

Part XXIV

Bruce opened a new terminal window and executed a search string. The monitors began to run trough an avalanche of data. One by one they settled, tumblers falling into place.

The last one settled on a map of the US. Each of the others was a pinpoint with longitude and latitude. The main monitor had five radiating ripple points, spread across the country.

Can you narrow it down?

Bruce swiveled in his chair and looked me straight in the eyes.

That is narrowed down Aubrey. He's in five pieces.

It took me a moment to wrap my head around it.

Reliquaries?

Bruce turned back to the bank of monitors.

Probably. But Aubrey, this isn't good. He can only last that way for a short period of time. Eventually the pieces will coalesce and then...

Yeah, then it's too late.

The printer next to the desk whirled up.

You starting from here?

Better make it Panama City. I need to gear up.

Bruce played the keyboard like a monkey plays a peanut. The printer started spitting out volumes. While it was running, Bruce reached down and pulled a flash drive from the USB port. He handed it to me.

Paper and secure, just in case. You can plug this in anywhere and bring the data back up. It's got a self contained Linux system on it. The host computer won't even know it's there.

I put it in my pocket.

What are you dealing with here Aubrey?

More like who. I'm pretty sure the Tall Man's behind this.

Bruce just nodded. He wasn't even going to allow my little moniker to pass his lips. He had a family.

What do I owe you?

A promise you won't get yourself killed. My wife likes you too much.

I'd be a liar if I gave you that.

Then give me a Sanctuary, in case word gets out I helped you.

That I could do. While Bruce bound the itinerary the printer had spit out, I pulled a piece of chalk from my pocket and got to work reinforcing his office.

As we climbed back up the stairs, I marked every step on the riser so the marks wouldn't get rubbed off. If something wanted to get down here, they'd have to fight every step of the way.

After Bruce closed the hidden door, I hit it too, the runes I was using were the oldest thing around. Once done I mumbled under my breath and the markings seeped deep into the surface. I did the same with the cooler door.

Outside, the crickets were awake, and the air felt thick and chewy. Bruce walked with me back into the bar. I stayed to the outside and he went naturally behind the bar. Around the corner, Carl was still in the corner booth. He had three more empty glasses in front of him. Bruce's wife just smiled at me.

I had one more sitting at the bar talking to Bruce and his wife. We talked about everything and nothing, just like regular folks. Cashing out, I said my goodbyes and grabbed Carl.

Just before the front door closed behind me, I mumbled under my breath and touched the door jamb. Only those who where welcome could walk through it now. It'd probably cause some confusion with people Bruce didn't like, but a few angry soon to be ex-customers were the least of his worries now. I'd implicated him and he knew it. If the Tall Man was behind this scavenger hunt for my Uncle's soul, then Bruce and his wife were probably going to get a visit soon.

PART XXIII

2008-09-14T12:08:00.001-07:00

Part XXIII

She laughed and poured 'em.

How have you been?

I've been OK. I came to see Bruce.

He's in the back office.

I positioned Carl in the back corner booth so he could watch the front door. The back office was in a covered garage attached to the back of the bar. The place had been a printshop or something a long time ago.

I walked around the bar and passed the dart boards, pushing through the door that led to the back patio. Through another gate to the gravel lot and a hard left brought me to the garage door.

I knocked lightly and entered. Bruce already knew I was coming, his wife had signaled him with a little switch by the register that turned a small 25w red bulb on next to the cooler.

Bruce was waiting for me.

I heared you had a Congregation at your place. You should have let me know.

Bruce was refering to the Reapers. A group of crows is called a murder, and a group of ravens a congress. Well, when Reapers got together in groups, they called it a congregation. The irony wasn't lost on anyone.

You'd have come over there with a case of beer and that little DIY crossbow of yours and sat on my roof raising hell. I didn't want to wake the neighborhood.

Bruce smiled in agreement, then looked off for a bit like he was imagining shooting a bunch of the bastards dead while he slammed PBRs.

So what brings you around Aubrey?

I need some intel.

Well, step into my office.

Bruce pulled hard on the cooler door and we both stepped in. He closed the door behind us and the temperature dropped. We passed the short distance to the back where Bruce reached behind a Keg and pressed the release for the back door, which swung up revealing a sloping staircase. A neon sign came to life, just inside the stairwell, lighting the way. It read:

Fine Weapons
The Right to Buy Weapons
Is the Right to be free

Bruce had stolen it as an homage to F. Paul Wilson and his Repairman Jack novels. It was the same sign Jack's friend and arms dealer, Abe Grossman, has over his secret stairwell in the books. It comes from a libertarian bent Sci-Fi novel, written by AE van Vogt, called "The Weapon Shops of Isher".

The Door closed behind us as we descended into Bruce's office. At the bottom of the stairs Bruce clapped his hands twice and lights came on.

A clapper, Bruce?

Bruce turned to me and smiled, amused.

Yeah, pretty cool huh?

The room looked like any workshop you might see in someone's garage except that almost everything Bruce built was a custom made weapon for killing things that went bump in the night.

The DIY crossbow I'd refereed to was a pneumatic crossbow that cocked itself and replenished the bolts from a clip, just like an automatic, except for the pneumatic bit. It was practically silent. The bolts themselves were custom made. The tips were standard four blade configuration, but had their tips coated with diamond dust and little channels in them so that when they hit, the impact would shatter an ampule of mercury in the shaft and it would be guided it right where it need to go. Mercury killed Reapers deader than Christmas in Sri Lanka.

The thing with Bruce's gadgets though was that he made them more complex than they needed to be. He had a thing for Steampunk, so even The Big Sleep, as he liked to refer to the Reaper crossbow, was tricked out in odd sorts of ways. The compressed air tank was actually two tanks. One was packed with Dry Ice, the other full of pressurized CO2. Every-time you shot a bolt, and it could shoot 40 a minute with each clip holding 80, two things would happen. One, a tiny LED light hidden in old Vacuum tubes would go off, and two, a small puff of white vapor from the bottom dry ice container would come out a little chimney on the top making the whole thing look like it was powered by steam. The canister itself was housed in a polished mahogany backpack sort of thing, with the tubes on top. It was a truly insane thing to watch.

Bruce moved past the tables to the back where he had a bank of 6 really nice 30" Apple flat screens running probably one of the most sophisticated pieces of supernatural tracking software ever conceived. It was truly SOFTware, too.

His three G5s were paralleled and then attached to an older, wetter sort of processor. In the closet next to the machine were two shelves. On each shelf was 3 jars, in each jar was a brain, kept functioning through an odd combination of magic, electrical current, and some sort of zombie tea cooked up by a witch doctor in Haiti. All the brains had belonged to psychics that had once been part of the Russian Army's Occult research during WWII. Bruce had bought them online, one at a time, harvested within seconds of them passing away. Yeah, it was a little beyond me.

The whole thing came to life in an instant. Something about the combined processor power made boot-up nearly impossible to see.

What are we looking for?

My Uncle. I need to know for certain that there's no trace of him on this plane.

Bruce nodded, too much time had passed for condolences.

Part XXII

2008-08-02T14:42:00.000-07:00

A couple of beers and Carl had returned to what passed for normal. There was a bit of a panic when he ran out of corn nuts, but I had him covered. I always had him covered.

I hadn't intended to tell Carl the bits of the story I'd left out earlier, but now that he was this deep in he deserved to know. He sat silently for about ten minutes after I finished, then he said what only Carl could say.

Dude, that's fucking boss.

Then he paused a moment and before he could open his mouth again I shut him down. I knew where he was going.

No, I'm a Wizard, not a Djinn. I don't grant wishes.

That's OK, it's still pretty boss.

The evening had begun to set in when I told Carl I need to go talk to someone and get some answers. I'd done little to find out who'd killed my Uncle in the past few days due to having to survive. But the Reapers had finally scampered off when nothing fun happened and I was getting a little cabin fever.

Em said she'd rather I left the water on for a bit longer and I told her to make herself at home, as much as a non corporal spirit could. I though about taking the van but then decided we should probably take Carl's car instead. As much as I liked the van it was a bit showy.

I took the keys out of Carl's hand before he could even think about driving and we burned out of Island Home. As we passed the pillars at the entrance I mumbled under my breath, setting a proximity alarm of sorts that would let me know if anyone who didn't belong came in while I was out.

The lights on the Henley Street bridge flickered on as we crossed and I kept to the right and took I-40 west. Most people who lived out here preferred to go downtown rather than to West Knoxville, but I'd grown up in West Knoxville and so I had a fondness for it.

The place we were going was a little bar off of Northshore. It sat between a bike shop and an upholstery store that never seemed to be open. If you didn't know where it was you'd most likely pass it. The sign that hung over the front door said it was an English Pub, but that was a load of bull. They didn't even have a deep fryer and the closest thing you got to fish and chips was salmon dip and pita bread, but it was good dip.

Union Jacks was where I spent most of my free time. I'd found it one day while tracking down a kid who'd been fencing artifacts to stupid people. One of the people who'd bought something off of him tried to use it in a summoning ceremony. That wasn't the problem, the artifact was genuine, the problem was that what they summoned was hungry.

I'd been asked by a friend of mine on the force to help track the thing down. She didn't exactly know what I was, but she knew I was good at tracking things down. The rest of the cops thought I was a phony psychic or something, but she always got her man, or thing. In the end we had to shave a dead dog and pump its stomach full of bits of the kids so the truth of what it'd been would stay hidden. Knoxville's a Baptist town, they like their hell where they can't see it.

It was a slow night, which was perfect for me. I hated crowded bars, and I hated this bar to be crowded even worse. This was my living room.

Bruce's wife was behind the bar when Carl and I walked in. She was pouring a Guinness with an odd smile on her face. She was German, so her name came with an umlout. She was also a Witch of the first order. I peered over the tap to see her finish the head with a little drawing in the foam. It wasn't a clover though.

Trouble?

She looked at me smirking.

Not anymore.

She walked the beer down the bar and set it in front of a guy who looked like he'd been there since open. They're a beer bar and don't open until 4, but some people drink fast, and then come here.

The guy turned around and looked at the Guinness.

What the fuck is this?

It's on me sweetheart.

Well if it's free then.

The guy grabbed the beer and took a sip and she walked back toward me like the cheshire cat.

What'd he do to deserve that?

He called me honey.

Fair enough.

The rune she'd drawn on top of the Guinness was going to make it turn into a semi solid before it reached his colon. It'd eventually work its way out, but it wasn't going to be fun. It was a very old bar trick and it only worked with Guinness, because it was the only beer you could draw in. She'd been kind though. I'd heard of a guy in Ireland who went home one night from a pub after making unwanted advances toward the owner's twelve year old daughter. They found him the next day covered in a green moss that'd eaten him from the inside out.

What'll you have Aubrey?

We'll have a couple of Table Rocks.

Part XXI

2008-07-21T21:47:00.000-07:00

Part XXI

Watching the mayhem unfold on the map had been a little more than I wanted to see. It'd thrown Em into a deep depression and we both knew it would be a while before she would be able to leave. The Reapers were probably going to hang around for a while. I also couldn't shrug the feeling that it had been my fault. I never should have pulled the bowling ball out of the van until I'd known what it was.

We sat silently in the living room well past the time when the candles had burned down to nothing and hardened again in amorphous blobs. Like the world outside, the map was clear. I'd almost started to think the Reapers had moved on as well until I heard one climb the gutter and perch on the roof. Listening to it chatter and coo made me want to drop some tar magic on its ass and send it packing, but that wouldn't do anybody any good. Reapers knew when you killed one of their own and the last thing you wanted were a bunch of mischievous Reapers shadowing you for the rest of your life just waiting for the chance to digest your spirit.

As I sat thinking about what to do I could hear Em mumbling the beginnings of a new poem in her head. You could always tell when she was working on one because she would repeat the words over and over again, adjusting them just slightly, then she'd pause and begin a new line. I felt a bit sad for her because she couldn't write them down anymore. I'd offered once to help her get them down, but she said they weren't meant for anyone but her.

The Old man had gotten restless alone in the living room and padded into the dining room where he jumped up on the table and walked onto the map. He laid down across it and started to purr. He was an unforgiving bastard.

Just when we were starting to get use to the Reapers scuttling across the roof like squirrel playing, there three hard raps on the front door. I knew who it was right away and cursed under my breath. Stupid son of a bitch.

I walked out of the dinning room and crossed the living room floor feeling like I'd lost a friend. I got to the first door and opened it and stepped into the mud room. I peered out the eye hole and dropped my head. I turned the nob and before Carl could say anything I grabbed his sleeve and threw him into the house shutting the door.

This wasn't going to work out well. I kept too many secrets and Carl reminded me of a friend I'd lost in the past. He didn't know what was going on and he looked at me only slightly startled.

He'd caught himself against the interior door jamb. I knew he wanted to ask me what the hell I'd done ripping him into the house, but by the beads of sweat on his forehead I knew he was actually grateful. At that moment I knew Carl had made a fateful mistake coming back and I ached inside knowing that even though I'd try my best to keep him safe, he was just too naive to survive what was coming.

He stammered and threw some Korn Nuts into his mouth. He talked through the crunching, I'm sure all that activity in his mouth gave him courage, like sucking on gravel to survive in the desert.

What the fuck is that on your roof?

It's a big squirrel Carl. Why are you here? I thought I told you to go away for a while?

You're all I've got Aubrey. I couldn't just leave you. I know something's up. It bothered me all night. I want to help.

I sighed heavy.

Then get us a few beers from the fridge, OK.

Carl shook his head like a little kid being told how a rocket ship worked, but not having the slightest idea what's being told to them.

It didn't look like a squirrel Aubrey, it looked like death.

Yeah. Sorry about that.

PART XX

2008-07-05T11:58:00.000-07:00

As I struggled to catch my breath I looked up and saw Em looking at me through the glass porch door. She looked upset. I tried to tell her it wasn't her fault, but the words froze in my throat.

Something moved to my right. I turned my head as I tried to lift myself up. It was more solid, this thing moving quickly through the front yard. It was a Reaper, and it scampered up the gutter and positioned itself onto the roof. I didn't know for sure what was about to happen, but when I saw another one jump along the back fence of the School for the Deaf, something about the way it was moving made me think of an Australian collie.

Reapers reminded me of something I'd seen in an old EC comic when I was a kid. It was a story about a grave hopper, this lanky wiry old man turned ghoul with tattered cloths and bare feet that hopped through the cemetery from grave stone to grave stone, occasionally stopping to perch atop one, knees at the chest. Reapers had the agility to move at astonishing speed. They never walked upright anymore, but scampered and jumped from perch to perch.

The creepiest thing about them though was that they had no lips and they communicated in a code akin to morse by chattering their teeth. The sad thing about them was they'd all been death runners at one time. If you survived long enough, you eventually became a Reaper. It was the price you payed for the extra time.

The death runners could feel their presence and started to scatter, the temperature rose drastically and by the time I'd made it to the door, it was almost balmy.

Shutting the door behind me I listened as at least two Reapers scampered back and forth across my roof, chattering their tactical strike. Back in the dinning room I hovered over the map and watched the whole sick thing play out. There wasn't anything I could do. There's a number of things you learn along the way, the first is never say the tall man's name, and coming in a close second is you never fuck with a Reaper when they've got work to do.

I soon realized why the Reaper on the fence had made me think of a collie. On the board there must have been twenty Reapers running the perimeter of the Island. They could be discerned from the death runners because in this particular conjure, they appeared on the map as small balls of light while the death runners were still just wisps of smoke.

I heard Em pull a deep breath, or at least the sound of one, when she picked up on their plan too.

Oh Aubrey, they're herding them to the River.

Well, you go to give 'em credit, it's a quick solution.

Only a few stragglers were able to penetrate and move through the Reapers lines, the others moved like lemmings to the final pull of the Tennessee. Some seemed to take it in stride and walked of their own accord into the final current. Others seemed to struggle and fight to the last minute. The worst was the three or four the reapers surrounded at the end. These poor bastards would never make it to wherever the final country lay. They were the prize the Reapers got for a job well done.

Reapers needed to eat too.

Part XIX

2008-06-21T11:09:00.000-07:00

I woke in a nice cool pool of my spit. The Old Man was cutting logs in the crook of my arm. I lifted my head a little to ease the hangover in. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Em in the breakfast nook shimmering out of phase in the morning light.

What are you doing Aubrey?

I was trying to talk to the skull in the bowling ball.

Em laughed as I pushed myself up off the ground. The Old Man hissed and trotted off.

Now I know you've lost it.

No, I heard it say something last night.

Where am I?

I looked over at Em who broke out laughing. I just shook my head. I couldn't get angry this time, I'd deserved every bit of it.

I laughed a bit myself at the thought of talking to that damn skull. I don't know what I was after. Maybe I was grasping at straws, as the old saying went.

I'm sorry about last night EM.

I know Aubrey. That is why I came back. My reaction was a little questionable as well. When I got here though I found that I could not stop staring at you staring at that skull. I found myself riveted. I was hypnotized by the rhythm of you drinking and staring, for hours on end.

I get it Em, I looked like an ass and you enjoyed it.

Yes I did.

A few minutes later I had a cup of coffee in my hand and a wad of cotton in my head.

I'm not wrong though about the skull. There's something about it.

Em hesitated.

It's a nexus point Aubrey.

I almost dropped my coffee. The water under the house wasn't running. I walked quickly and quietly to the banister and flipped the switch. The pump kicked in. Back in the kitchen I looked through the window into the yard. It was nearly impossible to see, but out of the corner of my eyes I could see movement.

Back in the living room I threw the map of the Island back on the table, lit the candles, rolled the bones, mumbled under my breath and then waited for the death runners to form in the smoke.

I could feel EM in the room.

Sorry to lock you in EM.

You don't have to worry Aubrey, The nexus point has a fail safe distance, otherwise they'd have already entered the house. It is like a signal fire right now, it attracts them, but they don't know why.

I'd never seen anything like it. Usually on the Island I'd see five death runners at the most, but now, on the map, encircling my house there had to be forty or fifty.

They'll keep coming Aubrey. Before long the Island is going be the most most haunted place in the world.

I thought you Death Runners didn't cause mischief.

Most don't, it would be like striking a bright flare for the Reapers to see. But this many in one place and they'll be here soon enough anyway. The Island will become a battle ground, that much energy being released and even the blindest person will be able to see what is happening.

Then I have to move the Nexus, keeping it moving so they don't congregate. How the hell did I turn it on? It was in my van, and it didn't do anything.

Was it covered?

It was in a drawer.

That was it, it was like anything that broadcast a signal. All signals could be blocked. There must have been something in the lining of the drawer. My Uncle would have known what it was.

I grabbed the towel from the base of the bowling ball and used it to wrap it up. I went for the door that led from the kitchen to the deck. This thing was going back into the van.

As I opened the door I could feel the air in the yard was older than it should have been. It was full on summer, and I could see my breath. Instead of condensation forming from the humidity, my deck was starting to ice over.

I almost slipped on decking. I didn't think any of the death runners would try and stop me, and wasn't even sure they could if they wanted to. I made it the van with little incident and slid the door open. I'd never noticed it before, but my Uncle had even lined the inside of the van with a run of salt lick.

As I dropped the bowling ball back into the drawer and shut it, I felt what could only be the wave of psychic confusion that was now emanating from the gathered death runners as they all realized they had no idea where they were. I could almost feel panic in some of them who had never been this close to the fatal pull of a river the size of the Tennessee.

Getting back to the house proved a little more complicated. I now had to deal with a yard full of confused and angry death runners, all of whom probably now knew that I had something to do with why they were no longer where they used to be. They also realized that gathered in a crowd like this it would only be a matter of time before the Reapers got wind of it.

I'd barely climbed two of the steps leading to the deck before they started to close in. The temperature dropped so fast that the next breath I took almost crystalized in my lungs.

Part XVIII

2008-06-11T21:54:00.000-07:00

I squinted as my irises dilated. As I moved my head down to get away from the sun, I saw where the Tall Man had been standing. Almost toe-toe, on the concrete front stoop were the prints of where he stood hadn't yet faded. They seemed almost burned into the concrete. I snorted, thinking about how I was now going to have to replace it. His steps had pulled all of the moisture out. There'd be holes full of crumbled concrete there in less than a week. What a prick.

I paused a moment, then stepped past them into the yard. I walked around the right side of the house, ducking under the tree limbs to see how the Van had faired. At first it seemed fine, until I made a full circuit around the back and noticed that the side turned from the street was sporting some punk's tag. I mumbled under my breath and the spray paint turned to ash and fell off the mural.

I admired the mural for a minute then went back around to the passenger side and opened the sliding side door. I climbed in and went straight back to the bed. I pulled out the drawer containing the skull bowling ball. I pulled it out and held it in my hands. I looked deep in its sockets and decided we needed to talk.

Back inside the house I cracked a beer, never talk to a skull in a bowling ball sober, that was just stupid. I took one of the kitchen towels and made a donut out of it on the mobile island, and rested the ball in the center. I righted it with a level of care I hadn't shown to anything in a long time.

I wasn't sure I could do it, but a yowl from the Old Man gave me confidence. I pulled a mouthful off of the beer and then stared deep into the sockets. The Old Man jumped up onto the island and hissed at the skull. I didn't know who this used to be, but if I was lucky I cold find out the basics.

The thing was, bones talked. Stuck in a clear acrylic ball though was a bit of a challenge to overcome. It was nine in the morning and I was sitting across from an acrylic coated skull trying to figure out how to make it talk, while my cat played lover to its smooth surface. The Old Man kept rubbing against the outside of the ball, completely confused why the lack of texture and surface couldn't satiate his desire to be loved.

By ten I'd cracked another beer and continued to sit shiva with the skull. I was sure the answer would come to me, I just wasn't sure if it would come before I passed out or choked on my own vomit.

I ate a sandwich around noon and settled back onto the stool to stare at the skull. The Old Man had long since given up on being satisfied and had made do with a spoonful of potion and something Carl had left in the fridge. I was pretty sure it was some sort of chicken dish, but when I'd put it down for the Old Man to eat he hit it like a drunk hooker pulling a drag off a sidewalk butt, so I stopped worrying about whether or not it was still good.

A case of beer later, the skull had become fuzzy, and so had I. The sun was running low and I was pretty sure that if my beer induced vision didn't come quick I'd have to chalk the days lesson up to being an alcoholic.

Just before I fell off the stool I heard a voice.

Where am I?

Part XVII

2008-06-05T22:32:00.000-07:00

I called him the Tall man, because you had to call him something other than his name. I'd been a kid when my Uncle had told me about him, so I chose the scariest thing I could think of, the Tall Man out of the Phantasm movie staring Angus Scrimm. When I was younger I'd have dreams about the Tall Man and was pretty sure it was him pissing on the lawn that made the grass die.

My Uncle had taught me his true name, three actually, but the first was the most powerful. He'd written the name out, breaking it into syllables, each syllable written on a piece of Magician's flash paper. As I correctly pronounced each syllable, my Uncle put the page to the flame. He told me I could roll the whole name around in my head as much as I wanted, but if I ever let it past my lips there would be Hell to pay.

The problem with this kind of old conjur was that even a death runner like Em could summon him. The truth was, that you never got all of him unless he could find a weak spot, so almost as soon as he appeared on the lawn, he was gone. The thing was, neither Em nor I saw him there, the windows were still covered in plastic, but we both felt him, like tar in the veins. I'd even, in the little time I had to think, imagined Angus Scrimm reaching out to ring the front door bell. It made my balls make a beeline for my stomach.

It was too damn close for comfort, and when it felt like it was over I turned on Em in a way I regret.

Em was still a product of her time, even though she'd flittered through the decades since, I use the word flitter for a reason, it wasn't like she was watching the news everyday any worrying about the world. She just carried on in a kind of loop, stuck in the era in which she died. So I couldn't be mad that she'd rattled off his name like it was a ride at Disney World, But the fear in me made me less than chivalrous.

What the fuck Em? Why's everything a game to you, he could have ended us both and it wouldn't have been like having fun on the banks. You'd be split into so many disparate pieces, you'd be lucky to know you were dead.

I moved close, brooding and angry. If she'd been solid I might have even done something worse, but she just evaporated and reformed near the front door. I'd never seen her shaking, it was odd. Watching a thing made of cohesive dust reflecting the light shiver and shake with fear even though it was dead.

I'm sorry Aubrey...I was not thinking. Please, please let me go. I won't do it again, I promise. Just please...

Suddenly I realized Em wasn't scared of the Tall man, she was scared of me.

I walked to the banister and flipped the switch. Em faded with the sound of the last drops dripping from the pipes under the house.

I said I was sorry under my breath and walked into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. I hesitated, then put it back. I could wallow later. For the frst time in a week I truly didn't know what I was doing.

Something rubbed against my leg. The Old Man was hungry again. I picked him up and scratched him on the underside of his chin. He purred deeply. He started to drift off under the attention. I walked him into the livingroom and put him in my chair. He stretched then curled into a ball and slept.

I hesitated before I opened the front door, imagining the Tall Man, standing on the stoop in the morning sun grinning, his mouth full of yellow teeth.

I sucked it up and turned then knob and stepped into the morning light.

Part XVI

2008-06-03T20:32:00.000-07:00

The Old Man got a can of tuna and a quarter teaspoon of potion for breakfast. I started some coffee and found that Carl had left a half eaten box of chocolate coated Entenmann's donuts on the kitchen counter. The day was already looking up.

I tried not to spend much time contemplating what had set the Old Man off. He'd not turned after two days with the corpse of Pirate Jane, but he'd turned within only one and a half days with me and no potion, so I had to assume that the potion suppressed his true nature, but could be exacerbated by the stress of having some goon enter his field of angry hunger.

I knew I needed to reconnect with Em once the sun went down, but before that I need to figure out who had gotten into my house and what they wanted. Cup of coffee in hand I went out front and took a peek at the van. Nothing had changed. There were no scratches or anything to give me the feeling anyone had tried to get in. But, when I looked up I noticed a car, parked on the street, I'd never seen before. That didn't mean anything though, I hadn't been here in a week.

Before I made it to the end of the stone path that led to the street, a wiry kid, who liked he was tweaking, jumped in the and sped away. I almost mumbled under my breath to make the car hit a tree, but it wasn't worth it. I took another sip off coffee and walked back inside.

I found Em Sitting in the living room. The dust in the room ran through her like it was caught in the rays of the sun.

What the Hell are doin' here Em?

I waited for you, but you didn't come back. I came over to see if everything was OK. I got here just in time for you to throw the switch. You looked tired so I spent most of the night looking around. You need a girlfriend.

I apologized and threw the switch on the banister that shut off the water and quelled the pipes.

Sorry about that. You should have said something.

Trying to see Em in the light of day was like looking for something out of the corner of your eye. Even with the windows of the living room covered in plastic she was elusive.

I moved to the edge of the sofa to finish my coffee.

What made you come all this way. You knew I would have found you again tonight.

Em paused a second before she answered.

After you left, I had a talk with what was left of the gentleman your cat ate. He was scared Aubrey. Usually what is left is not scared, but he was. It took me a minute to calm him down, by that time the hounds had already sniffed him out. He barely said anything before they dragged him away.

This was why I needed Em, she had access to those moments us meat sacks didn't. The hounds themselves were a rare occurrence, and didn't exactly fill me full of hope. Most people shuffle off with the help of a Reaper. Reapers are generally cool, they're just biding their time before they too get to move on, but when the hounds come for you it means someone doesn't want you to have a good trip. That someone has a thousand unspoken names.

What'd he say Em?

She went in and out of focus as the light from the other rooms grew more intense.

He said he'd been hired by a gentleman the name of...

The first syllable rolled out of her mouth before I figured out what was going to happen next. My coffee cup shattered on the wood floor as I ran again for the switch. Em finished uttering the name just after the switch kicked in. I heard the pump gear up and then the house began to shake as the water met itself in the pipes under the house, creating a loop of running water, seconds before the Tall Man materialized on the lawn and tried to gain entry.

Part XV

2008-05-29T23:03:00.000-07:00

I picked up as many of the remains as I could and dropped them into a nice black contractor's bag. As I did, I tried to find anything I could use to identify who this poor rat bastard had been. I came up with nothing, no wallet. The Old Man was fast asleep, currled into a ball in my easy chair. He'd come back in a few minutes after he'd left the living room and acted like nothing had happened.

I used a small dust broom and pan to get as many of the big bits up as I could. I carried the trash bag into the basement. The basement was unfinished with little more than a washer and dryer, but what it did have was an old coal furnace that I'd never removed. When I'd first bought the place, the coal chute had shuttered out a few lumps when I'd opened the door. I'd had the furnace checked out, but never used it. It was still study enough to contain a good bit of heat.

I chucked the bag in and mumbled under my breath. The green ball of flamed formed in my hand and I shut the door behind it. The temperature was too intense to really make a smell, everything was ash before it even had a chance to give away my secrets.

Back upstairs I got a bucket and some good wood floor soap. If I didn't get the floor clean and the moisture up, the boards would warp. I used two rolls of paper towels and knew there'd be at least one more trip to the furnace. I could already feel the radiant heat seeping from the basement.

I wished I could wrinkle my nose and have the place flash back to spick and span, but that was only on TV. I'd never met anyone who could cast a cleaning spell. Magic had no practical domestic uses. What I could do though was knock off a bit of trickery to make all the blood splatters glow bright as phosphorous, at least that way I could make sure I got them all. It didn't just work on blood though, it was an old protein trick.

I cracked a beer two hours later and wiped the sweat from my forehead with my shirt sleeve. I'd had to open the upstairs windows the vent the excess heat. I'd also opened every window I had that wasn't facing the street and covered with plastic. I mumbled a small alarm spell and went as sat on the sofa. The Old Man was still in dream land and purred with the small guttural consistency of tectonic plates shifting.

This little escapade had cost me time, and an audience with Em, but I'm sure she was laughing about it. Truth be told though I'd learned a thing or two. One, Pirate Jane was a crafty old bird and number two, the Old Man was something to be reckoned with.

I was definitely going to have to rig something to make sure this didn't happen again. That'd have to be tomorrow though, because I could feel the sandman as he went down the street putting out the lights. My house was coming up fast. Putting the beer down I bid the Old Man a good night and gave him a quick scratch between the ears. I dropped the wards across the from door and flipped a switch on the banister leading upstairs.

As I climbed up to bed, I heard the mechanism of the house coming to life. Nothing was getting in now. This house was tighter than the gates to hell. The last cogs clicked and the water in the underground piping ran at a consistent rate, surrounding the house with moving water. It was the most beautiful white noise anyone could ask for. As I fell into bed I remembered everything that had happened over the last week and all of the pain and anger I'd endured. I remembered the promise I'd made to myself and to my Uncle.

Just before sleep finally took me, I mumbled under my breath and watched as my Uncle appeared before me in a bright green hologram. He smiled and I smiled back. Then, just before I drifted off, I told him I loved him, and even though it shouldn't have been possible, the hologram smiled and told me it was sorry.

I woke the next morning to a rumbling on my chest. The Old Man had shifted places during the night and had come to rest on top of me. I opened my eyes and he stared at me. He gave a soft yowl then got up and stretched. He was hungry, and he damn well sure expected me to feed him.

Part XIV

2008-05-24T12:54:00.000-07:00

I eased onto the back porch, which was no larger than five feet wide and ten feet across, through the screen door and let it shut smoothly behind me as silently as possible. The truth is, this was one of the few aspects of the house that made no sense to me. It could barely fit a Parisian cafe table and two chairs, but it came with the house. Looking through the door that led to a small hallway that connected to the kitchen. I waited until I was sure nothing was moving beyond it.

I could hear every sound the knob made as my hand forced it to do its job painstakingly slowly. I was counting on Mr. Toots to be distracted by viscera. When the door finally cracked, I made a mental note to buy some WD-40 for the hinges, then slipped inside.

The Jug of tonic I'd taken from Pirate Jane's was next to the litter box. I grabbed it and popped the cap, letting it bounce on the floor. I wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but I was pretty sure Pirate Jane had written the instruction on the jug so she wouldn't forget. I didn't have time to ruminate on exactly what Mr. Toots was, or why Pirate Jane had him, but after everything I was pretty sure I knew how he'd lived this long.

Easing into the kitchen I almost went sprawling as my shoe lost friction gliding across a puddle of blood. I could hear something satisfying itself with food in the living room. The loud crunches had given way to more of a lapping sound and a deep guttural purr that would have made a pit bull piss itself.

Just beyond the portable island in the center of the kitchen I saw a possible remedy to my problem. An arm lay sprawled on the floor. The ball of the Humerus beckoned from the top of the shirt sleeve. For a second I flashed to the cantina sequence from Star Wars. Hopefully Mr. Toots liked Walrus Man.

I put the jug down for a second so I could remove the shirt. I was left with a nice length of arm that I could use as a bludgeon if I needed too. I held the arm by the wrist and turned it palm up so the elbow joint wouldn't flop. I took the jug and poured more than a quarter tablespoon onto the shoulder joint.

I held the arm in front of me and walked down the small hallway that ran beside the stair case. I tipped left into the living room and had to fight my brain from singing Rocky Top. "Half Bear the other half cat..." stuck in my head as I looked at Mr. Toots.

Rocky Top was practically a hymn in these parts and whether you liked it or not, and I hated it, you knew it almost instinctually by the time you were five or so. Truth is it wouldn't surprise me if someone were to tell me it's actually in the hymnals of some churches around here. But right now I really didn't need the lyrics taking up what little space I had for problem solving.

I stepped forward and the floorboards underneath ratted me out. Mr. Toots brought his head up from his meal and hissed. This time I almost wet myself. It was at that moment, as the smell of warm raw meat hit me in the face with the breath of the hiss that I knew I could never call him Mr. Toots again. The moniker of Old Man I'd given him was what was going to stick.

It's a bit hard to describe exactly how he looked, or what exactly he was. His dynamic true form was about three feet tall and four or five feet long. His hair was thick and bristly and all I could think of was he looked like what might be the side effect of a wild boar raping a bobcat.

He prowled left to face me. We stared at each other for a minute sizing one another up.

You left a wing Old Man.

I tossed the arm to him before he could think about pouncing on me. He caught it in his paws and then settled to the floor to give it a good gnaw. His purr changed to a low happy thing, but I could still feel the vibrations of it deep inside me.

The thing about transformative magic is that it generally defies the laws of science. That's what makes it magic and not physics. Where the mass of him went, I couldn't say, but about five minutes after he started on the arm he was back down to kitty size and looked like he should have.

He licked his paws and slowly padded toward me making me realize I'd not moved the entire time. My lower back screamed and my knee popped as I bent down to rub him behind the ears. He rubbed against my knee then padded out of the room, leaving me to clean up.

Part XIII

2008-05-21T22:15:00.000-07:00

What're you doing Em?

She hesitated. At that moment I could hear the current of the river like a song rushing against the shore. It lapped the bank like a thousand desperate tongues reaching for a grain of rice.

I don't know.

I pushed forward and mumbled under my breath. My right forearm went translucent from my hand to my elbow and I reached for Emily. She reached out and our fingers locked. Knowing I'd only have an instant I pulled as hard as I could. Emily flew into the bushes lining the shore and I lost my footing, driving my right leg into the current, just beyond the bank of the river. The water was was cold as death and filled my tennis shoe making my toes spasm. I managed to pull my leg out again and stood panting on the bank, waiting for Em to stand up.

Dammit Em, this isn't a fucking game.

My heart tried to pry itself out of my chest as Emily began to laugh. Then, in her usual style, she drank up the moment as though no one was affected by it but her.

I've never gotten so close. The rush of it all was quite amazing.

She almost stopped laughing when she looked at me. I know what she saw on my face. I was pissed.

Oh Aubrey, where is your sence of adventure?

What Adventure?

While Emily basked in her new death rush, I shook my arm trying to make the feeling come back. The translucence faded slowly and I breathed a sigh of relief when finally the whole arm coalesced again and I was able to feel my fingers rubbing against the palm of my hand. It wasn't a trick I cared to do, and I'd known more than one person who'd lost a piece of themselves performing it.

My anger didn't subside until Emily and I were back at her house. The architecture had changed over time, but the essence of the house was still intact. The interior wasn't much and I never was able to figure out what exactly the house had been kept around for.

Emily had reverted to her age of death. She did that when she was done playing around. I knew she was thankful for me pulling her back. I even suspected she realized she'd gone too far this time.

I need to know what the word on the wire is Em. I need to know if my Uncles been felt.

He hasn't.

She didn't even hesitate in saying it.

But I'll tell you something.

What?

That cat of yours has found a few new play toys. I just felt one of them shuffle off.

Shit. Mr. Toots. Wait, what the hell could Mr. Toots do?

I left Emily at a full run. I told her I'd be back, but I couldn't doubt her ability to feel the truth of things, at least on the island. It was almost a mile to my place and the entire time I was running, I couldn't help but feel like whatever was happening was my fault. Too much too soon. I wasn't in control of the situation.

I vaulted the fence to the access road and then slammed myself against the small back garage at the edge of my property. Going in fast with no plan was stupid at best and fatal at worst. I caught my breath and tried to figure out what was happening.

Inside the house, I could see the shadow of a man backing away from what had to be the ceiling lights in the living room. Something large and nasty blocked the light and I heard a scream. Across the street the lights went on in the neighbor's house. I pushed away from the wall of the garage and walked toward them.

My neighbor Mrs. Caldwell came out of her house looking a freight. Her robe was wrapped tight against her dense body. Her hair was up in curls. I met her half way.

Mrs. Caldwell, I am so sorry. I didn't realize the TV was that loud.

She looked at me suspiciously and then pulled her robe tighter.

That didn't sound like a TV to me.

I know, Carl is over and we were catching up one one of those Horror films. I got spooked and thought someone was outside. Turns out I'm just easily frightened.

Luckily for me there weren't anymore outbursts from the house. Mrs. Caldwell did a few more quick looks toward the house and gave me the evil eye.

Those films aren't good for the soul.

I think you're probably right. They spook me pretty good, and I'm a grown man. I'm sorry, it won't happen again.

Mrs. Caldwell made one more sideways glance toward the house then relented to my rakish charm.

Honestly. Some of us have to get our beauty sleep.

I'm sure some do, but if I may say, all you're doin' is banking it for later.

That broke a sheepish smile across her face and she chortled a little under her breath.

Good night Aubrey.

Halfway across her lawn she turned back.

You won't let it happen again will you? Scared me half to death.

No ma'am. I promise you it won't happen again.

Her door clicked shut just in time. Something large, prowled across the light and then I heard the sound of bones cracking drift lightly from my house.

Part XII

2008-05-20T21:45:00.000-07:00

It had started the day after I'd left to see my Uncle. It seemed to me that while I had been flying overhead, whoever had killed my Uncle had hit the road and made a beeline for me. Serendipity maybe, pure dumb luck more likely. At least I hoped it was the same people. It'd save me a hell of a lot of bother if it was.

According to Carl they'd drive by slowly at night looking for any sign someone was living here. Carl said he kept the lights off at night except for the TV and then pointed to the windows of the living room, where I hadn't noticed that he'd hung black trash-bags over the wood slat blinds so the light wouldn't leak out.

I winced a bit inside when I realized he'd used duct tape to do it. That was definitely going to remove the finish. I'd have to stain them again.

Now that the van was in the driveway, I could readily assume I'd be having visitors. I pulled a couple hundreds from the draw of the desk in the study and handed it to Carl. I told him to get a hotel room until the whole thing blew over.

It took two more beers and me having to listen to Carl apologize a few more times before I could convince him I'd be fine. After he left I annoyed Mr. Toots by rubbing him on the head then went out into the back yard.

One of the other reasons I liked this house, beyond the hardwood floors and trim was the fact that the back yard butted up against the School for the Deaf. All that lay between my property and theirs was a narrow access road. I liked the fact that even though my yard ended and their lawn began, that almost all I could see was a nice hill of green grass. This view wouldn't change any time soon.

Back inside I laid a map of the Island on the kitchen table. I doused the lights and lit four candles I'd placed on the north, south, east and west corners. It was adjusted to true north. The first time I'd done this trick I'd forgotten to align the map with true north and I'd spent a week walking in the wrong direction. Ever since then I used a compass. My internal sense of direction was for shit. I can't say why, or what started it or made it stick, but ever since I was about nine I thought whatever direction I was facing was north. The first day I learned to use a compass I almost fell in love with it.

The map and candles set, I opened the drawer next to the sink and pulled out a small silk bag. Inside were twelve chicken bones I'd won in a game of poker off the Carolina coast. I don't so much remember the card game as the man I won it from. His name was Black Earl, and these were his prize divining bones. Lord knows how long it took him to fix 'em the way he did, or where he learned, but these bones were as solid as anything I'd ever seen.

I mumbled under my breath and rolled the bones from my hand. They lay on the map a second then began to right themselves. Slowly, the smoke from the candles moved inward, drifting to the map and coalescing into human forms like tin soldiers on a field. It seemed that there were five death runners on the island tonight, but only one was Emily. It took me a second as I scanned the group. Picking her out wasn't too hard. She wasn't at the house, but by the river. She always was a bit of risk taker.

A half a mile from the house I remembered that I hadn't fed Mr. Toots in almost a day. While he hadn't complained or begged for food I felt bad just the same. He was relying on me now, I had to get that thorough my head. It'd been a long time since any body, or anything had relied on me for something so basic as food.

Emily was watching the lights from downtown Knoxville dance on the water. She'd crept close, but not so close she couldn't pull back if the wind kicked up a surge. Even a bit of the river water would rip her right off the land and carry her where she belonged. She heard me coming and turned to watch me as I made the last few meters to the water's edge. Her face went from fifty-six to twenty-five in half a second.

Aubrey, it's good to see you again. What brings you to the river?

I need to know Em, I need to know where my Uncle is. I need to find who killed him, and you're the only Death Runner I can trust.

Emily smiled and moved toward the river a step.

Part XI

2008-05-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

Oh shit man, you OK?

My friend Carl was leaning over me. He'd been eating corn nuts.

I sat up, which was all I could do and felt the back of my head. The skin wasn't broken; his sap was a beavertail.

What the hell are you doing walking around smacking people on the back of the head with a beaver tail Carl?

You just got back, you don't know what's been going on around here. The Island's gettin' edgy.

The Island wasn't really an island. But, it had probably felt that way when Emily Dickinson's favorite cousin Perez had built a home across the Tennessee River from the burgeoning bustle of downtown Knoxville. His place still sat on the grounds of the Deaf School, and I'd chatted with Emily on more than one occasion. She still hung around the place. I'm not sure why. Maybe she split her time between here and The Homestead in Amherst. Her biographers would roll over in their graves if they knew she preferred it here. Most of them never knew she had visited.

I'd relocated here because of the river. It's always good to have a large body of moving water on at least one side of you at all times. If I had my way I's live on a real island. Moving water has a way of keeping dead things form gettin' too close. I actually have my suspicions that it's the very reason Emily likes it here too. It's not easy if you choose to stay behind when your time comes. Death doesn't work that way, but 'ol Emily was a pro at keeping ahead of the Reapers.

Carl eventually helped me up and into the house. Mr. Toots came on his own accord. I had Carl get the litter box from the van and put it in the downstairs bathroom.

You still haven't givien me a good reason for sappin' me.

I thought you were one of the guys whose been hanging out watching your place. I thought one of them had gotten ballsy all of a sudden.

They've been watching my place?

Yeah?

Wait, how do you know? You live ten miles from here.

Actually, the old woman threw me out. I came over to see if you'd let me stay here for a while. When I didn't find you here. I just sort of...

...moved in.

Yeah.

I had a soft spot for Carl. He was one of those people who worked hard all of their lives and never got a break. I'm not saying his drinking didn't have something to do with that, but he never missed a day of work and he was one of the most honest people I'd ever met. Plus his old lady was a real hard ass. She was the kind of woman that'd make a man work two jobs just so she didn't have to work at all.

I don't know what Carl saw in her, she catted around right in front of him. One time he told me she'd made him bring Ice Tea and sandwiches to her and some guy she'd picked up that night after they were done messin' up the sheets. When I'd pressed him about it he just looked away embarrassed and defeated and told me that marriage was a oath, and that meant his word. Carl never went back on his word.

Mr. Toots settled in on my favorite chair, so I took the sofa with Carl and a couple of beers. I told him most of what had happened. He looked glum for a bit, he'd known how much I'd cared for my uncle. When I was done it was his turn.

Part X

2008-05-05T08:35:00.000-07:00

Back at the storage facility I took time to think about what I needed and what I didn't. I wouldn't be back down for a while and if I miscalculated it could spell trouble. So, as Mr. Toots wandered around familiarizing himself with the new interior, I took time to go over what I had.

I also took a minute to plug in my laptop and go online. I'd never really used my wireless modem account, but now I was glad I had it. I made sure I'd paid all of my bills and checked my e-mail for the first time in a week. Nothing earth shattering. I rolled some funds from one account to another and made sure nothing would bounce. I e-mailed the storage company and switched whatever payment scheme there had been to my credit card. It'd do for now.

I'd put everything I thought I'd need in a black duffle back I'd found in the storage room. I hoisted it over one shoulder. I felt bad waking Mr. Toots. He'd found a warm spot on the desk under the lamp. My hands were full when I approached the door. It went up without me doing a thing. I'm sure my Uncle had rigged the motion sensors for just an occasion such as this. Not the cat, but being laden down with things.

I had to put the bag and the cat down outside to rework the runes, but Mr. Toots knew where we were going. He sauntered over to the van and waited for me to open the passenger door. Somehow he jumped up into the seat. He was curled and purring before I even shut the door. I threw the duffle in the back and got behind the wheel.

I shot up 231 heading for Dothan, Alabama. I racked my brain trying to remember where the best boiled peanuts would be on the way north. It was the right time of the year for peaches too.

The trip would take about ten hours. Mr. Toots was asleep so there was no one to talk to. I turned on the radio and finally found an AM station with news of the Apocalypse. I could never really say why I loved listening to AM radio evangelists, but it was a road trip habit. It had something to do with their delivery. They spoke with passion and conviction about something so muddled and convoluted it had a truth of its own. My favorite part was how they would shift gears every ten to fifteen minutes and ask for donations. What the hell did they need donations for? The world was coming to an end.

I finally found some good boiled peanuts two hours into the drive. Something had changed in the last twenty years or so. It was almost impossible to find plain ones anymore. All of the signs now said CAJUN or RED HOT. The only spice I wanted on mine was salt. Nothing like sucking a boiled peanut out of its shell with a couple of drops of its briny embryonic boil.

Mr. Toots didn't seem to care for them, so I pulled into a grocery store and bought a couple of cans of cat food and a couple cans of solid white albacore tuna in water just in case he turned out to be snobbish. He'd probably grown old on left over gumbo and Creole butter shrimp. It turned out I was right. He turned his nose at the cat food but got damn near apoplectic when I cracked the tuna. I plopped it into a bowl and grabbed the jug. I added my best approximation of a quarter teaspoon of his special tonic from the jug. He'd lived this long, who was I to take his tonic away.

An hour later I realized I'd thought of everything but one thing. The smell of Mr. Toots taking a toot drifted into my nostril and started burning my hairs.

Dammit 'Ol Man, the least you could have done was warn me. Whew, you sure you ain't dead?

Mr. Toots hissed and lay his head down. I found his little gift at our next stop and promptly pulled into the next pet store I could find. I bought a hid-a-way number with charcoal filters and placed it in the back of the van as far as I could.

We made it Knoxville just after 11:00 PM. I pulled up my driveway about ten minutes later. Getting out of the van I took a minute to breathe the air. It was fresh and smelled of home.

If I hadn't had my eyes closed I probably would have seen the bastard that'd hit me in the back of the head with a black jack. Everything went dark. The last thing I smelled was Sassafras and wormwood.

Part IX

2008-04-30T08:33:00.000-07:00

Since I hadn't been here in so long it was hard to tell if anything had been taken beyond her eye. At first glance the room looked undisturbed. But as I started getting closer to things I realized there would be a quick way to tell if anything had.

Dust is a wonderful thing, especially if it occurs in a place where no one feels the need to remove it on a regular basis. Pirate Jane obviously had no compulsion to do so. If I had a keener eye I could have read the levels of dust like rings in a tree, but right now all I needed to look for was anywhere the dust was not, or at least where a surface had only been exposed to a few days accumulation.

Admittedly Mr. Toots and I were stumped after about half an hour gazing around with the shadow inducing bare bulbs over head. Mr. Toots gave up before me and lay on Pirate Jane's chest purring longingly. He didn't hiss when I picked him. I think he knew it was over. As I held him in my arms I knew I couldn't leave him here.

Back upstairs I put him on his mat and told him to watch the door. He hissed and I smiled. We were going to get along fine. Back downstairs I loaded up on a few things I thought I might need, as well as an old gallon milk jug with something I couldn't make out inside. Written on the outside in marker was "1/4 tsp. for Mr. Toots with food." Jane wasn't going to mind at this point. I still hadn't found what I was looking for when I pulled the Van around to the alley behind the store.

After I had loaded everything into the van I returned for the last time. I left Jane where she lay, but closed her lids over where her eyes used to be. It was only right. As I shut the door to the cellar, I locked it with the same bit of encryption that was on the storage space, then hit the door with a bit of concealment. By the time someone got around to renting the space, Jane would be gone back into the earth and no one would disturb her.

I left Mr. Toots for last and he instantly gave into me. With him in one arm, his claws extended just enough to pierce my shirt and remind me he was there, I grabbed his bed thinking it would help in the transition. As I pulled it off the counter, it dragged something underneath, which fell to the floor. It was a book. It was a journal. I moved the cat bed into the hand holding Mr. Toots and bent down to pick it up. I put it on the counter and opened it mid way. My Uncle's writing filled the pages. I was an idiot. It was the least obvious place to hide something. I should have looked here first.

I didn't have time to hang around and read it so I picked it up and carried it with me. I put Mr. Toots bed on the front passenger seat of the van and then put Mr. Toots on top of the bed. He walked around twice kneading the top with his front paws. He finally lay down facing the driver's seat.

I got in and stuck the key in the ignition. I reached past him and put the journal in the glove compartment. I looked at Mr. Toots.

You ready to go old man?

Mr. Toots hissed and laid his head down, closing his eyes. By the time I reached the city limits of New Orleans Mr. Toots was purring in time to the engine. I headed back toward Panama City, from there I was going home. Back to Tennessee. Back to Knoxville. I had a few things I needed to take care of before I finished my Uncle's business.

Part VIII

2008-04-29T08:26:00.000-07:00

I woke up feeling eighteen again. I hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door as I shut it gently behind myself. She'd earned her sleep. Normally I'd have felt bad about it, but since I was pretty sure she wouldn't I let it go.

I pulled the Van out onto the road and merged onto I-10 and headed West toward New Orleans. The sun had just begun to rise and it kept pace with me all the way to Gulfport, Mississippi, where I stopped for breakfast.

My waitress was a beehive five star and she practiced her own brand of slight of hand. She kept my cup of coffee endless without me ever seeing her pour. It took me a minute to decide between the Uncle Herschel and the Grandpa's Country Fried. In the end I went with Grandpa.

I got it over easy with biscuits, chicken fried chicken and the hashbrown casserole. As I ate the casserole I lamented the days when they'd served plain hashbrowns without all the extra crap. I used the last half of one of the biscuits to clean my plate and almost died from pleasure as the last bite of biscuit, runny yolk, batter crumbs and butter melted across my tongue.

I grabbed a bag of horehound candy in the restaurant's general store on the way out. I'd never much cared for the taste, but they'd been my Uncle's favorites. I'd keep in the glove box and learn to like them.

Two hours later I hit the outskirts of New Orleans. I tapped Pirate Jane's address into the GPS and listened intently as it ran me down the convoluted streets. Eventually I started to remember where I was. I parked the van five blocks from Jane's place walked a few extra just in case.

The bell over the door rang, just like it always did, but then the store fell into silence. I looked over to where Mr. Toots should be and saw an empty cat bed. I waited for Pirate Jane to tell me to "Fuck Off," but when it didn't come I gently closed the door behind me and locked it, turning the sign to closed.

I didn't take another step until I had mumbled a reveal spell. Nothing jumped out, so I took a moment to look around. It didn't appear at first that anything other than Mr. Toots had been disturbed. But, that was enough to worry me. It was possible Mr. Toots had passed on, it had been almost an average cats life span since I had been here last and Mr. Toots seemed pretty damn old even then.

Pirate Jane? It's me. It's...

Something rubbed against my leg causing me to choke on my sentence. When I looked down, a chill shot right through me. It was Mr. Toots. He was rubbing against my leg. He wasn't hissing. Something was definitely wrong. I reached down to pet him and he backed up and hissed, then started walking toward the curtain. Not quite lassie, but I followed Mr. Toots anyway.

I found Pirate Jane in the basement cellar. She'd been dead for a few days. If she'd been upstairs I would have smelled her right off, but the cellar was cool and so she hardly smelled any different than normal. What I did notice right away though was that someone had taken her other eye. If what my Uncle had told me was true, then I figured she must have taken sides again.

Part VII

2008-04-28T08:34:00.000-07:00

The interior of the van solves another problem. It's converted to live in. Small but utilitarian, and less dated than the exterior. If anybody planned on looking for me, they'd have to think beyond the norm. No doubt the van would stand out in motel parking lots, but whoever looked for anyone in KOA campgrounds anymore.

I stuck the key into the ignition and the Van growled, then settled into a gutteral purr. The tank was full and the dash even had an inset GPS NAV system. I pulled out of the storage facility and headed back to the motel. I needed a loose plan, something I could tweak if I needed to.

I spent the next two hours slowly moving the stuff I'd taken from my Uncle's trailer into the Van. I arranged it as best I could. One of the cabinets became a library and the spice jars got a new home under the small sink. The bed in the back had a series of pull out drawers and I filled these with my cloths. Pulling out the last drawer though I almost hit my head on the roof as I stood up in involuntarily to what was already in it.

The skull smiled at me like it knew me somehow. It was bleached pure white and looked to have come from some poor bastard who'd been around my age when he'd died. Whatever had killed him hadn't been a headshot. The skull was perfectly symmetrical with no signs of trauma.

There was no way to tell though whether my Uncle had acquired the skull first or whether it had been picked up as it was now, encased in a perfect sphere of clear acrylic. Well, it wasn't a perfect sphere. It had three smooth holes bored in it's surface just above the crown of the skull. I slipped my thumb, middle finger and ring finger into the holes and dreamed of bowling a perfect game.

Man, what a way to live on. I put it back into the drawer. I didn't know it at the time, but that bowling ball was going to become a integral part of my life.

Feeling confident I'd finished everything I could, I hoped in the van and drove around looking for a bar. I needed a drink. I needed to be surrounded by people, people who didn't care who I was. I needed to think long and hard about what I was about to do, even though I knew I was going to go through with it anyway.

Roosters was a small dive with a gravel and dirt parking lot. There were more motor cycles than cars, so I instantly felt at home. People in these types of places hated strangers, but they usually ignored them if they kept to themselves, which was exactly what I was planning on doing. The other great thing about bars like this was that if something got started, it could be finished without interfearence. That's the thing about tribes, they have a built in code of honor, even if it's the kind of honor no one else can understand. It's insular and integral to the group dynamic. One might even say it's the glue that keeps the whole thing together.

As I parked the van and hoped out, two bikers came out of Roosters swaying like the front porch was encountering rough seas. They looked at me for a minute, sizing me up, then saw the van. It seemed to overwhelm them with nostalgia, that quickly got the better of them and made them choose poorly.

Who the fuck are you? Han Solo?

He looks more like the Princess.

In there own minds, they'd summoned images of themselves as comedians and laughed.

I kept my mouth shut and plied my way through them, heading up the stairs. I knew they'd take offense at my lack of interest in their challenge even though I hoped, for their sake, they wouldn't. I almost made it to the door.

Hey, I'm talking to you Princess.

I turned around and the one who'd said that came for me. It was probably unfair, I could most likely have taken them in a fight, seeing as how they were both stumble drunk, but I'd run severely low on patience.

I mumbled under my breath.

The biker doubled over at the foot of the porch stairs and vomited a steady stream that lasted long enough to make him realize he was throwing up more than he had in his stomach. His friend backed away, scared to help him. Somehow he knew I was responsible though and went for a gun in his waste belt. Before he could draw it I let him have a taste of what I'd given his friend, only this time I chose a different orifice.

I went into Roosters and let the door shut behind me. Luckily for them they'd suffer nothing more than dehydration and embarrassment. As I sat down at the bar I cocked an ear and took great pleasure in the sound of the motorcycle engines revving. Gravel smacking the outside wall of the bar made everyone look up as the sound of the motorcycles speeding away faded fast.

In a split second everyone was back to what they'd been doing two seconds before. The bartender came over and I looked squarely in her eyes and ordered a scotch. She paused a second licking her lips then turned around and stretched up to grab the bottle off a shelf that was almost out of her reach. She'd done this on purpose, since there was another bottle already on the counter behind her. I didn't mind though.

After she poured the scotch I thanked her and took a sip. It rolled down my throat like fire then settled warm and comforting in my stomach. I polished off the rest and while she was giving me a refill I asked her what time she got off work.

I was too tired to make a plan, even a loose one.

Part VI

2008-04-23T09:26:00.000-07:00

I was a little too overwhelmed to dig too deep. There were no obvious messages left here other than it was now mine. I’d have to check the rental status and fix things so I never worried about missing a payment and having the whole thing be auctioned off. I’m sure there were people who knew about the place. They may not have known where it was, but I was sure they knew it existed. You can’t do what my Uncle did without raising a few red flags.

It was starting to heat up as I stepped back outside. Behind me, the door quietly trundled down on its own. I placed the lock back on and mumbled under my breath to scramble the runes and walked to the rental car. I was pretty sure the old man hadn't been standing across the way when I'd driven up, but now I couldn’t be so sure. He was so still, I might have mistaken him for a discarded coat rack.

I paused a moment and he came out from the shadows. He was somewhere between 40 and 60 and wore a tattered jean jacket and sported a haircut and beard from the late 70s. As he approached, he held up his hands to let me know that at least for now there wasn't going to be any trouble. I turned fully to him and crooked my head so he knew I was ready to talk.

Are you the...cough.

He spit a couple of bugs onto the concrete where they scurried from the light. He looked embarrassed and tried to compose himself. I held up my hand telling him not to speak again then mumbled under my breath.

It started to grow in him almost immediately and he doubled over. I'd seen it before, but not this bad. He was infested, the poor bastard. It took a few minutes for the purge to end, and even when it was over he spit a few maggots onto me while talking.

You're the nephew right?

How'd you know?

He said you would come, plus that's his locker.

What do you want?

He told me if you ever came here without him, I should make sure you got something.

He reached into his pockets and pulled out a set of keys. He threw them over and I caught 'em. I remembered the key ring. I'd gotten it for him when he'd taken me to the fair. He'd dropped twenty dollars on Skee ball and I'd chose the key ring with my tickets. It was a silver skull with emerald eyes. Most likely it was aluminum and glass, but we didn't talk about that.

I didn't recognize the keys at first, but then I went flush.

No way. It's still around?

OK, so the outburst was a bit childish and the closest I'd come in the last two day to being human. But if it was what I thought it was, it changed everything.

The man smiled and pointed to the end of the isle, where a rectangular brown tarp sat. It looked like someone had covered two trash bins with an old canvas tent. I hesitated a moment then began to walk. With each step I picked up my stride.

I'd only seen it once, but the memory of it had resonated throughout the rest of my life. It was like a soft focus photograph in a porn magazine glimpsed when you had no idea what you were looking at. You never knew about how it would affect you until later, when you remembered seeing it, but couldn't describe what it was exactly you had seen.

I stopped in front of the tarp. My heart was racing. I could hear the old man coming up behind. He'd started accumulating bugs in his throat again.

I grabbed the corner and pulled, no magic needed, and the tarp fell away. What lay beneath was pristine. It looked the same as the first time I'd seen it. The old man behind me coughed in genuine surprise and I heard him fight swallowing what he eventually spit onto the concrete. I heard it scuttle away.

Before me stood my Uncle's 1977 Dodge Ram 200 van. It glittered like new in the sun. It had a spoiler on the back top ridge and the rims shone silver in the sun. The mural on its side looked new. He'd actually taken my advice. I was only nine and it was blank the last time I'd seen it, but now it told me how much he'd cared for me. Why he'd never shown me I don't know, but now looking at the mural on the side of the van I didn't care.

It looked like Ralph McQuarrie himself had painted it; a frozen image from a time long since past. And though I'm sure it didn’t happen, I saw Princess lea wink at me from the left hand corner of the image. If I hadn't have laughed, I probably would have cried. When I turned around to thank the old man he was gone.

The rental car company sent two agents and met me at the lot. I paid my outstanding bill in cash and watched them take the piece of molded plastic I'd driven for the last two days. If I was going to see Pirate Jane, I sure as hell was going in style.

Part V

2008-04-20T21:14:00.000-07:00

The truth is that keys only have one purpose. They exist to unlock doors. Many people believe they can close them too, but that isn't exactly right. Anyone can close a door and lock it. Most doors will lock without using the key, but try and unlock a locked door without the key, or an improvised facsimile. You can't.

The storage facility was twenty minutes outside of town on a barren lot with nothing around it but highway. The whole thing was automated and the code for the gate worked without a hitch. He'd definitely chosen a good isolated location, but as I drove down the rows of orange doors I wondered why I'd never known about this place. What could be so secret that he wouldn't have told me? Until that key had fallen into my hand I believed that he had no secrets from me, but as I came to a stop in front of the storage unit door, I had a momentary thought that maybe I'd never really known my Uncle at all.

The lock was well cared for even though it looked rusted shut I could still smell a hint of WD-40. He'd let the outside go, but he'd kept the inside in fine working order. The key slid in smoothly and the lock popped with barely any pressure. Pulling the lock off though I realized it wouldn't be this simple.

Putting the lock on the ground I stepped back and mumbled a few choice words under my breath. The runes on the door glowed like fire. He'd definitely signed his work. This was one of his. One he'd taught to me and made me practice many times. Evidently he'd been thinking something like this might happen. I started to wonder if I'd been taught, or merely trained.

I reached up and reworked the runes. They moved under the light touch of my finger tips, allowing me to reorder them. I heard a secondary lock give as soon as the last rune was in place. Then the door began to rise. I liked that. It'd save me a bit of rope burn.

For a split second I could feel the cool air on my skin as the room exhaled. The rich earthy aroma of sassafras and mistletoe hit me next. Evidently he thought something less than human might try to get in. He used to find it amusing that most people who drank sassafras tea no longer knew why. Somehow, even in the superstitious south, the oral history of the tea had been lost while the recipe to make it and the novelty of drinking it had survived.

Before I stepped over the threshold I muttered a reveal spell just in case. It seemed that he'd considered the personal seal enough and he was probably right. He'd only ever taught it to one person. He'd also set a salt line just inside the door. It wasn't the normal crude line of poured kosher salt. He'd actually cut thin strips of salt lick and inset them into the concrete floor. As I made a quick survey I realized they made a complete circuit of the room. He'd even taken care of the ceiling.

Almost as soon as I stepped over the threshold, the door began to close and the fluorescent lights in the ceiling came on. The entire interior was custom. The room went the full width of the building comprising what had probably once been two units; ten by forty with a ten foot ceiling.

The interior was meticulous. I laughed out loud at the thought of my Uncle, with his beer can silver and stained carpet trailer having the ability to maintain something so pristinely. That's when I realized this was what he used to refer to as his "Fortress of Solitude," his little joke reference to Superman's shining palace of crystal where all of his secrets were hidden.

A portion of the front was taken up with filing cabinets. It was a bit of relief, this would be where all his case files truly were. Just beyond the cabinets, in the center of the area was a small living room portioned out with a Persian rug. He had decorated it with a reading chair with a lamp, and a small roll-top writing desk. The wall opposite the chair housed a cabinet. It's interior filled with curiosities; a Wunder-Kammer.

Just beyond the sitting area was a small kitchenette one side and a cot against the wall opposite. At the fare end of the room was a workbench, filled with half finished clockworks and reliquaries. But opposite the workbench was the thing that surprised me the most. A steal lattice front cabinet, lit by interior lights, containing a wide variety of weapons.

The lock on the front looked identical to the one I'd unlocked outside. So, slipping the key into the lock and turning it, I took a breath and as the lock gave a warm rush went through me. At that moment I realized that I wasn't just here to avenge my Uncle's death. I was here to take his place.

Part IV

2008-04-17T08:30:00.000-07:00

When I was fifteen, my Uncle took me on a road trip. We went west from the panhandle of Florida and stopped when we got to New Orleans. He evidently made the trip every few years or as needed when his "spice" jars ran low. He took me to a small store in the Creole part of town and introduced me to an old woman named Pirate Jane.

Pirate Jane smoked thick dark cigars and exhaled smoke into your face to punctuate her sentences. She smelled of cat urine and dried leaves and had a high cackle of a laugh. She refused to put a patch over the hole where her left eye had been, so more times than not you stared at the hole instead of her good eye.

Neither my Uncle nor Pirate Jane indicated how long they had known each other, but it had been long enough that they were comfortable in each other's presence. In the end I made a total of three trips with my Uncle to see Jane. Every-time, the transaction went the same way.

Entering Jane's small store would cause a bell over the door to ring. Jane would answer this with a loud, "Fuck off," and then Mr. Toots, her cat would raise his head from where he lay on the counter, bear his teeth and hiss at you. Then, if she didn't hear the bell ringing again to indicate that whoever it was had been scared off by the theatricality of it all, she'd cackle and come into the main room through a haze of smoke and curtains.

Her store was set up like most Apothecaries or Chinese herbalists. There were undreds of small drawers lining the walls from floor to ceiling, each with a label. A scale on the counter sat next to a mortar and pestle. Behind the counter were rows of empty jars of differing sizes, and in this case at the end of the counter was the ever watchful gaze of Mr. Toots.

Of course what my Uncle was buying was not in the front room, so Pirate Jane would lock the front door and flip the open sign to closed. We would follow her trail of smoke through the back curtain where she'd pull aside a rug. My Uncle would grab the iron ring in the floor and pull open the basement door.

Descending the stairs into the basement always made me uneasy. The room smelled of earth and decay. The shadows cast by the exposed bulbs would dance across an entirely different set of small draws, lining the walls, each with a label. What was different here were the large Jars inside which floated all manner of things best left to nightmares and fever dreams and the relics which filled a whole wall of shelves.

Later when I asked my Uncle about what I had seen he told me that both magics shared a common menu of ingredients, but where they diverged, they diverged widely. Pirate Jane was an Apothecary. She sold whatever was needed. Pirate Jane didn't take sides. According to my Uncle the last time she had, she'd lost an eye.

When I woke, I remembered my dream, and then I remembered why I'd had it. I was heading to see Pirate Jane, just like the letter had told me to. She had something I needed. Something in the basement. Something that diverged from what my Uncle had taught me. Before that though, I had a key that needed to be used.

Part III

2008-04-16T09:57:00.000-07:00

I sit on the edge of the bed in the hotel room staring at the envelope. The writing on the back is gone now, which means I can read it. If only I could make my hands move to open it. It's not magic keeping me from doing it, it's something else. I'm not sure I want to know what's in here. I guess I'm afraid that it might change what I thought about him, or what I feel about him. It's silly and very real at the same time. I laugh at myself, then finally find the courage to open it.

The key tumbles into my hand. Pretty standard lock key. I thought it might be for a safety deposit box. I hate when I do that. I hate when I get ahead of myself like that. All it does is confuse the reality. I put it in my pocket.

The letter is three pages front and back in my Uncle's uniquely small and precisely spaced hand. When I try and read it though it doesn't make much sense. It feels like filler copy in a newspaper layout. I'm an idiot.

I put the letter down on the table on walk out to the car. I rummage through the spice jars until I find what I am looking for. I should have been prepared. I think he probably knew I wouldn't be.

It took me too long to figure it out, but it was the first chemical illusion he ever taught me. It was an old trope, invisible writing. It could be done a number of ways, including with Lemon Juice, but that was too easily resolved. He'd used babel root and wrote between the lines. Trite for sure, but the chemical encryption was more difficult to decipher than the obvious placement of the text.

I hovered over the pages uncertain now that I wanted to read what they had to say. Even dead, my Uncle had me feeling unsure. I used the aluminum tray from my carry out dinner. I set it on the wire frame from the lamp shade, so the flame from the candle licked its underside. As the powdered root burned, I passed the pages over the smoke until the writing relented and showed its face.

Using the side of a legal pad as a straight edge I crossed out the original writing with a sharpie so I could skip unbroken between what I wanted to read and what I knew was useless. When I was done with all three pages I popped the top on a mini bottle of scotch and sat down for my last lesson.

My Nephew. My apprentice. My erstwhile son. I am sorry.

There is a great possibility that I have doomed you. If

you have found this letter then my past has intercepted

your present. I ask you now that if you ever felt love

for me that you will walk away. You will find happiness

and shed what you knew of me and what I taught you.

Put this letter down now. burn it and walk away.

There is nothing but pain from this point on.

No, really, stop reading now or all you knew will be

torn apart and you will most likely die a horrible and

useless death.

How's your hand?

Please tell me you didn't leave all of the silver.

Did you find the book by Crowley, the one he wrote under

the pseudonym of Madame Ponte de Flore?

Are you really still reading this?

That's my boy.

I knew I could count on you.

The last page leaves me stunned. I read it twice then drink myself to sleep and dream of Pirate Jane.

Part II

2008-04-15T08:30:00.000-07:00

I'm making a fist now, trying to use the feel of the scar as a mantra of calming, otherwise I'm going to end up killing too many people. As I look down at my Uncle's body I just keep rubbing the scar. The anger in me just keeps building. Every-time I think about the fact that killing him wasn't enough for them.

The position of my Uncle's body and the runes scrawled on the floor and ceiling are hallmarks of a nasty bit of what my Uncle used to call "tar magic". The fact that his eyes turned violently inward before he died settles it. There's only one reason for the eyes to do that. It's the body's reaction to having its soul removed before death. It tries to look inward to catch a last glimpse of the soul before its gone.

There's no way I'm going to be able to clean this up. No matter how good of a job I did, there'd still be questions. So before I do what has to be done I make a thorough sweep of the place grabbing everything I'll need. If there were time, I'd trade in the rental car for a truck. Instead I simply have to be more picky than I'd like with what I can carry away.

The books are first. He had a nice collection. I pick out the rare and one of a kinds. I also grab a few that can't be destroyed, just so they don't look out of place later sitting somehow untouched in what will be left of the place when I'm done. Unfortunately this pretty much fills the trunk.

In the kitchen I pull the food catcher out of the sink drain and start the hot water running. I pull the pig's blood and other easily obtained, but questionable liquid contents out of the fridge and pour them away. I don't want some local inbred cop thinking my Uncle worshiped Satan or something. The fridge'll probably survive in one form or another. All they need find is a bunch of exploded beer cans and condiments.

I box up all the old corked stopped glass "spice" bottles from the pantry without pausing to read the labels. I'll sort them out back at the hotel.

I jump at the sound of the phone ringing. I wait for it to stop and for the answering machine to kick in. Hearing his voice almost makes me lose it, but the beep at the end brings me back. The voice on the other end sounds like an angel in distress. She asks for him to call her back. She has a job. She'll have to find someone else, but it reminds me I still need to grab the files.

In the hallway leading to the back bedroom, the wall is lined with old war era metal file cabinets. Somewhere in them may lie a clue to what happened, but there's no way I can go through them now. I pull out each drawer in turn until I find the start of the case files. It makes me wish he'd just used a computer.

I start to pull them out, but stop when I see my name on one. Pulling it out I flip it open. There's nothing in it but an envelope. I can feel a key at the bottom. The envelope is addressed to me and has today's date on it. I look back over at my Uncle and almost ask him a question. How did he know I was coming?

I start to open it hoping the answer is inside, but when I turn it over there's something written on the back. All it says is "Not Here," so I do what he tells me and stuff it in my back pocket. I also realize I don't need the files now, he's made my job easy, then again he always did.

Before I leave I break the circle holding him so I can get close. I lean down and whisper in his ear. I tell him I love him and then I tell him what I'm going to do next. For a just a second I think I see him smile.

I step outside into the muggy Florida afternoon. All the activity had starting me sweating, but now that I'm outside it drips from my pores like tears. I open my scared hand and say a few words under my breath. To this day, it still amazes me every time that green flame appears. I focus and roll it into a ball. When it's about the size of a baseball I let it drift from my hand. It passes easily through the screen door and settles gently on the carpet, where it begins to feed and grow.

I finally drop a tear as I watch the trailer fade in the rear view mirror. By the time I get to the hotel there won't be anything left but memories. Ten minutes later I see the fire engine coming past. I almost laugh at the thought of them trying to put the fire out with water. I know my Uncle would have too.

PART I

2008-04-14T10:51:00.000-07:00

I discovered my Uncle was a Wizard in the late 70s. He lived in a trailer whose floor was strewn with hunks of silver that he conjured from beer cans. He smoked Swisher Sweets, and when he exhaled dragons came from his mouth, circling the room until they were dissipated by the ceiling fan.

His favorite shirt was dark blue polyester, decorated like a Jackson Pollock. He'd done something to it though. I remember watching a knife break against its surface as someone tried to stab him outside the bait shop where he bought his crickets. Seconds after the blade hit the ground, my Uncle pulled the man close and whispered something in his ear. The man ran away screaming, ripping out large tufts of his own hair.

I'd come to stay with him for the summer when I was 9. My parents had gone off on a jaunt to Jamaica and decided I was too young to enjoy the trip. Really, they just didn't want me around. We all knew it was true and had all come to accept the fact. I slowed them down.

I didn't realize what he was until I watched him light his cigar one night with a green flame from the palm of his hand. I had gotten up to get a drink of water and had frozen at the door at the sight of the flame dancing in his hand. He watched me as I walked across the living room and into the kitchen. He knew I'd seen him, and I guess it was then that he decided to let me in on the secret. He didn't say anything that night, but the next morning he woke me up by levitating me off the bed. I pissed myself when I realized what was going on. He broke out laughing hysterically and lost his concentration. I hit the bed and bounced onto the floor.

After he'd stopped laughing he helped me up and apologized. He promised not to do it again and I believed him. I always believed everything he said, so later when he told me he was a Wizard, I just accepted it as fact. It was the only explanation after what I'd seen.

Later I would come to the realization that my Uncle wasn't just a Wizard, he was the Rockford of magic. He was a private eye with something up his sleeve. I've never met anyone cooler, or more honest.

It was a fateful summer and it made me who I am today. While I still can't turn beer cans to silver, I can conjure a green flame in the palm of my hand. That, and I can turn a shirt impenetrable. I've picked up a few hundred other small tricks along the way including one I just learned. One that I'll use as soon as I find the person who killed my Uncle.

Most of the tricks I learned directly from him during the summers I spent in Florida. After that first summer I just kept going back and he kept letting me. As I grew older, we got to know each other better. I had my first drink with him. I also picked up his other bad habit. Not Swisher Sweets though, something about sugar and smoke makes me want to vomit every-time.

The flame in the hand conjure was the first one he taught me. That same night I made my second visit to a hospital, my birth being the first. I told the doctor that I'd burnt my hand while trying to light kerosene in it. My Uncle pretended to be angry with me and the doctor gave me a lecture about setting things on fire in my hand, then he rubbed some ointment on the burn and wrapped it.

That first lesson, my Uncle said, was the principle behind everything he would teach me. The conjuring is the easy part. Controlling what you Conjure was where the skill lay. I never forgot that, and when I think I might I make a fist with my hand, letting the scar at its center remind me.