“Patched”
By Tom Tinney
©2019 Tom Tinney and PiR8 Productions. All Rights reserved
Any resemblance to person Living, Dead, or Undead, is purely coincidental. Seriously, it ain’t about you!
Chuck stared at the black diamond mounted in the center of the oval mirror, as he ran his hand along the carved mahogany frame. It was called “Trape je demon an”. A Haitian-creole name that roughly translates to “Hold a demon’s gaze”.
“You got the gold, mon?” the Bob Marley t-shirt wearing voodoo priest asked.
“How do I know it’s legit?” Chuck replied, knowing it was. The diamond had caught, and held, his attention for a few seconds. He’d had to think hard to look away. A residual effect of the time he’d been possessed.
“Ya already know, doncha mon? It’s legit.”
“Seems like it,” Chuck replied, withdrawing a small leather pouch from his coat pocket and shaking out six gold Krugerrands. They clinked slightly as they spilled out onto the table, each with a drop of dried blood marring it’s golden glory. The priest’s eyes grew wide as he produced a dried chicken foot. He waved it over the coins and they hummed in response.
“Oh, the Legba are pleased, mon,” he said, as he flipped his dreads back and carefully picked up the coins with a linen cloth. “You actually found the South African engineer’s payment for sabotaging the locomotive that fell into the Vaal Reefs mine? It killed over 100 workers. Legend has it he held this same bribe in his hand when he was beheaded by his tribe.”
“Blood splatter makes that kinda obvious. And they weren’t easy to get. Or cheap,” Chuck replied, glad to be rid of the coins. “First off, they’re cursed. Second off, they’re illegal. And now they’re your problem. I need that other thing as well.”
“Mon, I don’ like doin’ this,” the voodoo priest said, doubt and concern in his voice.
“You know what I’m up against. I need all the help I can get,” Chuck said, sliding a small vial of red liquid across the countertop, its lid removed and a strong coppery smell coming from it. “It’ll be mixed with the other. No way to use it against the individual. I just need that extra punch you can give to it.”
The priest pricked his fingertip and held it over the vial, counting off five drops of blood as they fell into the open top.
“Appreciate it, Leon,” Chuck said, as he tightened the lid over the vial. “Later, gator.”
Chuck left the shop, walking out into the blistering Caribbean sun. The oppressive humidity hit him in the face like a wet sock, an unwelcome, but strangely refreshing, circumstance of island living.
He slipped the mirror, wrapped in linen, into his large coat pocket. The coat was a loaner from a friend of his. A dark leather duster, like the range riding cowboys of old used to wear. Way too much coat for fending off tropical rains. The mirror was the latest acquisition, and the last item he would collect this year. Time had run out. Seven sunrises to charge the artifacts and magic trinkets that he had travelled the world to acquire. Seven sunsets to make sure they’d work together without additional complications. The full moon would rise then. He had to be home. Not his current home of Chicago, but his real home. Where he’d grown up and his problem waited to be solved.
In outward appearances, the town hadn’t changed that much. But it was a hollow shell of the place he spent his childhood. Fifteen years before, it had fallen on hard times. That was half a lifetime ago. Businesses moved away, shops closed, and the people lost hope. Ten years ago, the hipsters and artists moved in, soon to be replaced by the Burbies. Close enough to the big city for convenience, far enough away that it didn’t break the bank to own a nice house with a big yard.
The cleanliness and fresh painted storefronts on Mainstreet were more “show than go”. The functional trade-goods and local grocery stores were replaced by niche specialty shops and coffee houses. The rustic charm was still there in the fake patina on the streetlamps and press-pattern brick sidewalks.
The Fall season’s weather had come late, so the trees still held onto their red, orange and yellow leaves. Mainstreet would have made a wonderful post card. Except Chuck knew what was going on behind the scenes. A town with secrets and a dark cloud that the noonday Sun could never quite shake.
It felt cold. Every step wore on him a little. Not a lot, but enough. It was the same way it felt when he had left, in defeat, last year. And the year before that. Each of the previous ten years had seen him come, try, and hold his own, which in his mind was a failure. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t there to reminisce. Chuck shivered and shook his shoulders
“Focus on the mission. Stick to the plan,” he mumbled under his breath. He was there to put an end to the curse.
His reached into his coat pocket and felt one of the charms he had found on his trips abroad. When he touched it, the dark weight pressing down on his soul lifted. He smiled.
“Screw you, El,” he mumbled, picking up his pace with renewed energy. He wanted some coffee.
Where Main street met Hempstead, he could see the corner café was still open. The paint looked old and the door looked worn, but he knew it was for effect. The entire place had been remodeled less than three years before. Had to be. It had been blown up on that trip. The contractors had done a good job of putting it back together. The casual observer wouldn’t even know that a giant blue fireball had emptied the interior and damn near killed him, along with the two cops that had shown up for a disturbance call. He’d heard they both left the force shortly after. He’d been close to beating El that year, ending the madness.
“I’ll take it back. We’ll take it back. I‘m gonna make this place alive, whole, and safe again,” Chuck said. A woman walking by stared at him, eyes flickering for a moment, then turning away. She probably recognized him and knew to get far away from him. Bad things happened when Chuck came to town.
A fall breeze blew up Main street. The smell of mulch, cut-grass, and well-fed fireplaces brought back a flood of memories. The entire town had been his playground growing up. Playing baseball in the open lots, building forts in city park, and riding his bike through the two-lane streets. That changed when he hit puberty and thought more about girls than tossing a ball around or flying a kite. With the first wisps of a teen mustache, he’d parked the bike and moved off the streets, into a continual loop of gatherings that started in some friend’s basement, then on to take up residence in the café. He and the gang. Drinking coffee, sharing plates of fries, and dreaming about getting out of their picturesque town.
“Man, we talked a ton of shit back then,” he said to himself as he walked toward the Café’s front door. He paused and looked inside through the gold-leaf emblazoned door glass, then he shot looks up and down the street. Nobody else seemed to take notice of him. That was good. Last year had been a total cluster-fuck and he didn’t need the attention of the law or his adversary. How do you top a blue fireball engulfed café in two short years that followed? On last year’s visit, he had. Spectacularly.
Just under two days. That’s all he had left, and he still had a few things to get straight. Once through the door, he headed to the back of the café, a corner booth with seating that let him look out the front and side windows. A full one-eighty-degree view. A young waitress, blonde with red streaks, came over to take his order. She looked familiar.
“Whatcha havin’ mist—. Oh, shit, you’re that guy!” she proclaimed taking a step forward. That surprised Chuck. Usually, anyone that recognized him took a few steps away, and quickly. He put his hands up, palms out, and then down, making a patting motion.
“Easy. Easy, young lady,” he said, using his most soothing voice. “Shhhh. No need to get excited. I’m in town for a visit. Just lookin’ for a cup of coffee and maybe a sandwich.”
“Yeah, that’s total bullshit,” the girl replied, sliding into the booth beside him “Scooch over.”
Chuck slid to allow her the minimal amount she need to sit, rather than let her cause a disturbance. He brought his hand up to partially shield his face as he met her eyes. “Anybody else in here I should know about?”
“Not really,” she said, looking around. “Just the usual’s. Maybe some tourists. Name’s Miranda. And you’re Chuck.”
“Nice to meet you, Miranda. And yes, I‘m Chuck,” he replied, lowering his hand. “Looks like you’ve heard of me, so you know hanging out near me can end, well, badly.”
“Meh, I need some excitement,” she replied her eyes bright with mischief. “I figure you’re where the action is going to be this Halloween. And besides, I want to figure out why my Aunt hates you so much.”
“You’re Aunt? Who’s your Aunt?” He asked, more to make sure it was someone that had a good reason to be pissed-off at him, versus some random stranger.
“Well, I used to call her Auntie M, since she lived with us, like, forever, but things changed with the ruling, so her and Mom came out. Like I didn’t know what was really going on, right?”
“Right,” Chuck said, nodding. He had no idea what she was talking about.
“So, now she’s, like, my Step-mom on account of her and Mom got hitched,” she paused, smiling. “I call her Mom-two sometimes. Mother-two when I’m pissed. Mom calls her Marce. They bought this place together after the fire. Oh, my Gawd, they said you caused the fire. Or whatever you were here for caused the fire. Nobody wants to talk about it, but I saw the inside before the remodel. This place was burnt up! I was in the park that night. Saw the light. Huge. Oh, and the boom. Epic. First thing interesting to happen in this boring-ass town in For-ev-er. So, I guess I owe you a cup since you helped me get this job, in a roundabout way.”
She sat with a cute smile, pleased with her reasoning, staring at Chuck as if he could add more. Chuck raised both eyebrows and blinked. He was trying to put together the litany of informative snippets she had just spilled when the little metal bell above the door dinged and Miranda looked up. “Oh, shit. And there’s Mother-dearest now.”
Chuck followed her gaze. The girl was already sliding out of the seat and heading for the lunch counter, pulling an order pad out of her apron.
Chuck knew “Mother-dearest” immediately. They’d grown up together. Her carrot hair was cropped short, but it was definitely her. She stared daggers at Chuck, then looked at Miranda. A wave of indecision rolled across her face, then she frowned, and walk purposefully toward Chuck’s table. When she reached it, she stood and stared down at him.
“Chuck.”
“Pat.”
“What are you doing here?” she said, her cheeks almost as red as her hair.
“Just came in for a cup of coffee to knock off the chill.”
“Well, it’s gonna get a damn sight colder inside here than out there,” she replied, crossing her arms. ”What were you talking to ‘Randa about?”
“Nothing. She just came over to take my order and say hi,” he replied. He wasn’t sure why he felt like a man with a cut, swimming in a pool of sharks, but his watch what you say radar was pinging loud and steady.
“Right. She sits with every customer to take their order,” Pat replied. Chuck tried a sheepish grin to break the ice. Pat looked fit enough, although he had to admit he liked her better with slightly longer hair. The crew-cut wasn’t doing her any favors. She looked more worried than angry.
“I’ll get my cup to go,” Chuck said. “Just passing through. I’ll be out of town in a day or two. Didn’t mean to cause a ruckus.”
“Chuck,” Pat said with a sigh, “I don’t mean to come off so strong. I’m over-protective of Miranda. And trouble seems to follow you into town every time you visit. Stay, finish your coffee. Before you blow out of town, stop back in. We should catch-up. There’s some stuff you should probably know.”
Chuck frowned. ”You mean about El?”
“What? Who?” Pat replied, then shook her head. “No. Not him. I wish you two could work this feud out. You used to be such good friends. I never see him anymore. I do see your sister sometimes, but we don’t have much to talk about.”
Chuck grunted and felt a wave of grief. His sister. She was a goner now. That was El’s doing. “What’s she calling herself nowadays?”
“Circe? I think. Maybe Selene? Something connected with Greek mythology. She’s harmless enough, as long as you don’t bring up Li-—.”
“El. Call him El,” Chuck said quickly. “Speaking someone’s name lets them see you, allows them to focus energy when they want to ca—.” He stopped short. Pat was staring at him like he was nuts.
“You two and your bullshit. He won’t say your name either. It’s like you’re a couple of five-year-olds.”
“Yeah. Silly shit. Old habits,” Chuck said as Miranda walked up with his coffee in a plastic-lid covered paper cup.
“Based on your face, Mother, I figured he’d be getting this to-go,” Miranda said, extending her hand toward Chuck. He shook it. “It was nice to meet you, Chuck. That’s got a splash of milk and two sugars. Not sure how you like it, but that’s how I drink it.”
“Thanks. That’s fine. Actually, that’s how I drink it. You two have a great afternoon,” he said as he released her hand and slid out of the booth. He walked quickly to the door, without looking back. He’d make every effort to stop by on his way out of town, because that would mean he’d survive what he was planning to do. To put an end to El’s bullshit. And maybe get his sister back.
He felt the anger rise in him at the thought of her. What she had become after that night.
“Whoa, brother of mine, you’re putting off some serious heat,” said a voice he knew. Her voice. Chuck turned to see the girl he’d remembered, but now all grown up. She was leaning on the wall, next to the alley entryway. Autumn leaves woven into her blonde hair, the tips dyed black and purple. She wore a blue dress, tight and short, a necklace with rune covered stones around her neck. The self-inflicted scars on her legs were visible through the black nylons she wore. Chuck’s anger went from rage to despair., How could he save her?
“You’re thinking about me, but not the real me. I can feel it through the Spirits of the Season. Tammuz is not pleased. Neither is my love. And now he can feel it.”
She threw her head back and laughed. Not a pleasant girlish laugh. No humor. It was pure crazy. Maniacal, empty and short. She stopped and their eyes met. She crooked a finger and flicked it back and forth, beckoning him to come close. He took a step toward her. She took a step back. He took two quick steps, and she retreated further. She ducked into the alleyway and he followed. It was dark. He felt the oily-ethereal barrier on his skin. A ShadowVeil had been cast.
He smiled and pulled a charm from his pocket.
“So, Sis, what name you going by now?”
“Siren,” she replied from the alley’s unnatural darkness. “I call men to their doom or salvation. Men who want to hurt him. Or who don’t want to join him.”
“That include me?” Chuck asked, manipulating the charm in his fingers until the flat face pointed outward while pinched between his fingers.
“Not you, Brother-dear,” Siren replied. “You know that. You’re bound, to him. He knows that, too. He is the high priest of Tammuz. His eyes on Earth throughout the year. The Other, Tammuz himself, will take care of you. Come closer, out of the light. Let’s have some quality family time.”
“Sounds good. So, you think that thing is Tammuz, a Summerian Earth God? We’ll see tonight, but for now, can we do something about turning on some light?” Chuck said. “Kinda hard to see you, Sis,”
He was already picturing a thread extending from his inner-being to his fingertips, letting it touch the once-hollow network of Anthill-like branches that had been dug through his very soul. The hollow network’s shape left by the binding tendrils of a demon that had once possessed him. Now it was place where he gathered, and stored, his own positive magical energies. That empty part of his soul was forever gone, so he might as well use the vacant space for something.
Chuck smiled at the irony of demon that El had summoned, sent to destroy him, making him stronger in the magic arts by its departure. Unintended consequences. He felt the tickle when the thread’s connection was made and charged the charm without further thought, raising his hand and pointing the charm into the alley.
“I like it in the shadows, brother. Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” Siren’s voice said, oozing calm and warmth.
Chuck shook it off. “It’s not you I’m worried about. Beacon retro Pharum urn ac tenbras!”
The charm he held was a shard from the silver mirror used in the Pharos lighthouse, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. It had served as a beacon to the harbor of Alexandria for hundreds of years. It also packed a nice little cleansing spell instilled by the priests of Ra to drive back supernatural creatures approaching by sea.
The shard glowed white and emitted a beam that cut the murky shade, bathing the entire alleyway in a noonday brightness. The veil of darkness retreated into smoking inky pools. Chuck saw what had waited hidden in the ShadowVeil. Standing behind his sister were three big guys, dressed like goth wannabes, armed with black staffs. Based on the way they howled when the light hit them, they were probably possessed.
“Nothing burns like some good ol’ ancient Sun God light, eh boys?” Chuck said, reaching into his pocket for glass beads filled with blessed oil and holy water. Chuck didn’t mind mixing magic and divinity. Anything to get the job done. He didn’t have time for full blown exorcism, but he could at least neutralize the demons that possessed those men for a couple of days. Hopefully he would live long enough to contact the Priory so they could send a legitimate priest to finish the job.
Before he could pull the beads, he’d have to deal with his sister. She walked toward him, her arms raised and ready to cast. He brought his free hand up, pinky and index fingers extended, his other fingers folded down. He called it his “Zen-magic” position. Energy crackled as he connected his hand to his internal energies.
Siren stopped, cocked her head to the side and laughed, before ducking behind a dumpster.
“What the shit, Sal—Siren?” Chuck asked, not sure how he would proceed. The possessed were shielding their eyes and taking cautious steps toward him, forming in a wide semi-circle. “Come on out nice and quiet, or I’ll just waste these three.”
A young voice came from the direction of Main street, “Hey, Chuck, I brought you a burger to go with…” then a scream. He turned to see Miranda drop a brown paper bag as a fourth possessed goth goon turned away from him. The minion had been sneaking up on Chuck from behind. But now the asshole bore down on Miranda.
Chuck tried to swing his arm around, the one holding the Pharos shard, but it resisted him. He looked back and stared into his sister’s eyes. She held his arm with one hand and her other hand was inches from his face, her palm up and parallel to the ground. She smiled and blew a puff of air across her open palm. A cloud of powder exploded out and stuck Chuck in the face and eyes. He coughed and accidentally inhaled some. He immediately felt weak. Disoriented. Someone kidney punched him, but his borrowed coat deflected 99% of the energy. Another larger hand struck the side of his head. That one did a number. He closed his hand tightly around the shard, not wanting to drop it. His legs became jelly as he flopped to the ground, the world a blur. The coat protected him from any additional blows, and he felt magic deflected as well. He heard more screams, then laughter. He tried to grab the energy he had stored inside. He’d let it cleanse him and clear his head. A spell to counteract whatever was in the powder. He knew the spell, but couldn’t remember the order of the words, much less say them.
“We’ll see you tomorrow, brother dear. You know where. Don’t be late….”
The world went dark.
“Red moon rises, clock chimes twelve
Into your soul the demons will dwell,
Strike the keys, Hell’s trumpet blows,
Everybody hides, ‘cause everybody knows
Animal Sounds inside your bedroom window,
The sun goes down, and so do you.”
Chuck woke to the screaming lyrics, a riffing guitar solo and heavy double bass drum. His head was pounding as he looked up at a pock-marked ceiling tiles with recessed lighting. The room came into focus. It looked like an office, but with comfortable furniture throughout, which included the leather couch he was laying on. He saw a woman in a dot-patterned blue dress. She stood next to a file cabinet with a drawer open, a bottle of bourbon in her hand, and was pouring some into two plastic cups. She had short black hair, curled outward at the bottom. Lots of hair spray holding that hairdo. He wasn’t sure who she was. He sat up and the leather creaked. The woman turned and smiled. Chuck felt a wave of relief.
“Doctor Heller,” he said, rubbing his eyes and coughing. “Long time no see.”
“Right back at you, Chuck,” she replied. “And it’s now it’s Dr. Johnson, psychologist and marriage counselor. Drink?”
“Sure,” he said, looking around and scrunching up his face. “Can we turn down the tunes? I’ve got a splitting headache.”
She picked up a stereo remote and pointed it to the wall above him. The music dropped into a low rumble then barely audible.
“Johnson now, huh? So Mr. Stanley Heller is out of the picture? Is Mr. Johnson marriage five or six?”
“Four, you asshole,” she replied as she walked over with his drink. He took a deep swallow, the alcohol burning all the way down.
“I forgot you like the single malt. Is that song from the Back From The Grave album by Shredder?” Chuck asked.
“Yes. One of my vices,” the doctor replied. “I like to bang my head after cracking them open all day. He plays brilliantly.”
“I know he was a prodigy when he was younger, but this is so different from what he used to play. And on guitar no less,” Chuck commented, noticing the doctor’s far away gaze.
“Still carrying the torch, huh Luce?” Chuck asked.
“No,” Dr. Lucy Johnson replied. “Maybe. Probably.”
“That’s a yes. It’s why you’re still here and El won’t let you leave,” Chuck said, his voice getting tense. “All we have to do to get out from under him is give up the thing we love most. That’s what Shredder did. Name change and all.”
“You did it, too,” Dr. Johnson observed. “Even when he got his supposed powers, it’s like El never had a hold on you at all.”
“I lost the thing I loved most the night he became El,” Chuck felt a weight in his heart as he remembered his best friend, now long gone. Dr. Johnson moved to the window and pushed the curtain aside, then dropped it quickly.
“The cops are looking for you,” Doc said. “They think you had something to do with that girl getting kidnapped.”
“Miranda? Oh, shit. I thought I dreamed that,” Chuck said. “Siren has her. Wait, how long have I been out?’
“All night and half the day. It’s already 2 o’clock,” Doc replied. “Whatever you took, it really knocked you on your ass. I didn’t picture you as much of a recreational drugs guy.”
“I didn’t take anything. Siren blew some dust into my face,” Chuck said, rubbing his temples. “Probably zombie powder from Haiti or some shit.”
“You a zombie now?”
“No. It’s a paralytic. Didn’t you go to medical school? Never mind. Dammit. Do you still have Frank’s number? I need a favor from him,” Chuck said reaching into his coat pockets. A look of panic came over his face.
“They’re over there. Your baubles and junk,” Doc said, pointing to her desk. “Even that little one you had a death-grip on. What are they for?”
“Weapons of war,” Chuck replied in a serious tone, rising and walking to the desk. She laughed.
“That makes sense for that dagger,” Doc said. “Silver is it? But the rest? A pocket watch, a tiny piece of broken piece of silver, a jar full of butterfly wings, and a few vials full of liquids? What kind of war do you wage with those?”
“The kind that puts an end to El and his partner. A magic war,” Chuck said as he picked up each item and inspected them.
“Sure. This again. Look, El’s only power is the power of suggestion and guilt. That’s the only reason any of us—.”
“That’s what you have to believe,” Chuck said, regret in his voice. “I know different. Tonight, I’ll end it and you’ll all know. I can’t bring anyone back, but I can free everyone’s minds and souls. Tonight, I break that asshole.”
“Well, I was going to tell you to wear a coat, but you’ve got that covered. In spades,” she said, pointing at his leather duster. “You become a cowboy when I wasn’t looking?”
“If only,” Chuck replied, brushing at the leather overcoat, running a finger along its scarred surface. “This coat is protection, and not just for the weather. Got it from an author buddy of mine. He was writing some Urban Fantasy about a magician-detective in Chicago. Apparently, some of it hit too close to home, some covens and powerful…beings…took notice and came after him.”
“So, real magic and monsters got mad and did what?”
“Everything they could. Curses, spells, mini-plagues and direct attacks. In the end, he had this coat charmed to defray magic, resist fire and cold, the whole ball of wax.”
The Doc giggled, rolled her eyes and asked, “So, did they get him?”
“Nope. The interested parties reached a sort of agreement. He’d cool it for a few years with the stories, let things calm down, and they’d stop trying to blow him up with the random fireballs. Oh, and he’d move to Colorado. I think he built his new digs on a lay-line.”
The doctor laughed and grabbed her side. “Okay. Okay, stop. You’re killing me. You look so serious. I’ll leave it alone. Believe whatever you need to get through the day, Chuck.”
The phone rang. Dr. Johnson answered, spoke quietly and then turned to Chuck. “It’s for you.”
Chuck put the charms and magic items in his pockets. Moving his hands and speaking a spell that would begin the charging process.
“Who knows I’m here?”
“Nobody. Well, I guess she does,” Doc said, as she nodded toward the phone and handed it to him. Chuck took the phone.
“This is Chuck.”
“Oh my God, you have to do something! You gotta’ save her!! Chuck, you can’t let them hurt her!””
The voice was screaming, crying, and it made his heart sink. “Pat, take a breath. Breath in and out. Slowly. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I got a call from your fucking sister, Chuck. That crazy bitch has Miranda. She said I better not call the cops, but I’d already called them. She said that was strike one and I heard Miranda scream over the phone. She wanted me to find you and only you. The only one that can get her back is you and only if you meet them at the place. She said you’d know the time to meet there. What place, Chuck? They must know. That’s why they took her.”
“Know what, Pat? Why do you think they took her?”
“So I’d tell you. So you’d finally know. So they could hurt you.”
“Know what, Pat?” Chuck asked.
“She’s your daughter, Chuck. Dammit, she’s your daughter.”
Chuck held the phone perfectly still, his mind racing. He stomach went into knots, then did electrified flips. “That night,” he thought. The night El had become an evil piece of shit. Every other Halloween, El and Chuck had hung out, making jokes about their lousy candy hauls. El played with some occult stuff out at the patch, but never got anywhere. Until that night sixteen years before.
Halloween. Chuck had gone to the dance with the gang. They’d been after him to blow off El and go have some fun. He finally did, but not before he and El had a big blow-out. Pat and Chuck had a couple of drinks and hooked up in the dugout on the baseball field. They were just kids. They weren’t even going steady, but they’d known each other forever.
“You never put it together, did you?” Pat asked.
“No,” Chuck responded, his grip on the phone tightening.
“Even when I took off before the end of that school year, went to live with my grandparents? I didn’t come back until second semester the next year, Chuck. You told me I looked like I had gained weight. Remember? They raised her until I turned eighteen and graduated. You were gone by then, so I brought her home.”
Over the phone, Chuck heard another female voice ranting in the background, “Tell that asshole I’m gonna cut off his balls if his stupid sister hurts one hair on ‘Randa’s head.”
“Um…Marcy says Hi,” Pat said quietly. “She’s really fond of our girl. And she’s looking through the sewing drawer.”
Chuck wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to cry. It all came together. His act of betrayal , as far as El was concerned, was when he skipped their Halloween ritual and went to that dance. Now El was going to hurt the result of that betrayal. Result? She was a person. She was his daughter. Miranda. “Does Miranda know?”
“No. She didn’t seek you out at the café. You were just someone she’d heard about. She’s a great kid. Chuck, you must get her back. Bring her home safely.”
“I will, Pat. Stay home and wait for my call. Tell everyone to just stay home. Maybe talk your wife off the ledge. This ends tonight.”
Chuck hung up the phone and looked at Doctor Johnson. “Doc…Lucy, get me Frank’s number and grab a coat, I need your help to save my daughter.”
“Your…? Never mind, that makes sense. I’ll help, but you have to promise not to hurt El, Chuck. Promise.”
“Oh, he’s gonna live and this ends tonight, but first, do you have any superglue?””
Chuck stopped by his parent’s house. Doc had dropped him off and gone back to her office. His folks were out of town. They could leave at will, since they’d lost the two things they loved the most, Siren and him, to El’s ministrations long ago. Chuck found who he was looking for in the backyard.
“Here, Camille, come here girl!” he said, as he slapped his leg and held out a jerky treat.
A big dog, mixed breed, came running out of her doghouse at the sound of his voice. She was 2nd generation, and would be the last connection to the friend he’d lost that Halloween night 16 years before. Pitbull on her Dam’s side, and Golden Lab/beagle on her Sire’s, she was an oddly proportioned mutt. Mostly yellow-white fur, with a dark patch on her back and black ears. She had personality to spare. Like her GrandSire, his boyhood companion. Chuck felt a weight in his chest thinking about his four-legged best friend during his childhood.
Camille was getting old and had never had puppies. Her energy came in bursts as she battled the ravages of time on her joints. She still had enough strength to knock Chuck on his ass.
He laid back and let her lick his face. He scratched behind her ears and grabbed handfuls of loose skin, rubbing her with affection.
“Long time no see, girl. Tonight’s the night. We settle old scores. Are you ready? To do the thing that has to be done?”
She stopped licking and stared at Chuck intently. Then sat back on her haunches, tilting her large head and protruding snout. She turned to look the direction of the place. The place El had told him to come. The place he would save his newly discovered daughter.
“Yep, me too, Camille, let’s go inside, eat and relax. When it’s time, we’ll go.”
Chuck timed his arrival. Three O’clock in the morning. The witching hour. And the moon was rising as well. Halloween was over for the trick or treaters, but it was just beginning for people that could touch the energies that lay outside of most people’s view or ability to accept. The perfect setup for El to pull his next stunt.
Chuck walked across the road, Camille walking beside him with her ears forward, and stood at the entry to the old patch, the one that had been there since before they could remember. The corner of some farmland that was adjacent to their old neighborhood. It had been the home of a roadside fruit stand for years. At season’s end, the farmer had tossed the unsold pumpkins out back. They had grown wild there for years. People didn’t take the pumpkins anymore. The rumor was that they were cursed. Townsfolk also knew that El considered that piece of ground his church. His sanctuary, and no matter what else they believed, they knew El was not to be messed with. Let him be, and he’ll let you be.
A cold wind came out of the North. Leaves rustled and blew across the patch. Winter was coming. But Fall had one more grab at the apple. Chuck paused and drove his hands into his coat pockets, feeling each item he’d brought with him, taking inventory. He heard footsteps behind him. He’d already cast a number of spells and was fully tapped into his energy reserves. He knew without turning.
“Morning, Doc,” he said.
“Chuck, Camille,” she said, reaching to scratch the dog behind the ear. “I’m here to make sure you keep your promise not to hurt El. I’ll help you end whatever this is between you and him, but I’m not going to let you hurt him.”
“That’s up to him, Doc,” Chuck said. “But I promise I’ll try. I’ll give him and Sal—Siren every chance to save themselves. But if either one tries to hurt Miranda, the gloves come off.”
“Fair enough,” Doc replied. “What can I do?”
Chuck pulled his hand out of his pocket and handed her the linen-wrapped mirror he had acquired in Haiti.
“When I say so, unwrap this and hold it out, facing toward El and the thing that’s gonna scare the shit out of you when you see it.”
“I’ve seen your sister, she’s crazy, but not scary.”
Chuck turned toward the Doc, a dark look settling across his face as he locked eyes with her, “Luce, you don’t believe in this stuff. I get that, but I think you’re strong enough to power through. What you’re gonna see tonight is gonna change you. And if I succeed, maybe you can finally get out of here. Maybe go look up Shredder. It’s real. And you’re gonna see the thing that corrupted your brother. You’re going to understand and it’s going to make you furious. Stay strong.”
The Doc stood perfectly still. She looked like she wanted to laugh or giggle. The more she stared at Chuck, the more she realized he wasn’t joking. He wasn’t crazy. He was deadly serious.
“Ok. I’ll do it,” she replied, taking the cloth wrapped object from his hand.
“Don’t unwrap it or point it until I say. And make sure you stand ahead of me once we cross the threshold. I got something planned to keep everyone else safe.”
A low hum and thrum emitted from the patch. The air smelled fruity-sweet with a touch of brimstone. An orange and yellow glow appeared in the far corner.
“Move, now. Cross into the patch,” Chuck said, as he and his canine companion followed the Doc into the tangle of vines and badly carved pumpkins. He stopped just off the sidewalk, standing on the dirt of the patch.
Chuck squinted toward the glow and saw his nemesis. El was standing at the far end of the patch his arms moving in a jerky, but mesmerizing, motion as he hummed between muttering phrases and convulsing.
“That you, Chuck?” El yelled over his shoulder,
“It’s me El. This shit ends tonight.”
“Oh, on that we agree,” El replied, without turning. “It ends tonight. We’re tired of your antics, Chuck. You’re not sending him back this time. I have a vessel. Tammuz is staying. Come closer and take a front row seat.”
“The hell he is,” Chuck said, but he didn’t move any further.
A whoosh of hot air blasted into Chuck’s face, followed by a deeper chill in the air. Camille growled and Chuck heard the Doc release a slow breath to calm her nerves. A glowing orange orb formed in front of El.
“That’s what I was waiting for, asshole,” Chuck muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cheap walkie-talkie. “Now, Frank.”
In the distance, a diesel motor started. A large truck rumbled up the street. It looked like a dump truck. As it approached, a chute extended from the side and swung out.
“What’s that?” Doc asked as she turned to look at the noisy vehicle.
“Containment,” Chuck responded as he turned toward the approaching vehicle. The dark-skinned driver placed the hydraulically controlled chute over a portion of ground where a trail of previously unnoticed white power had ended. He placed the end of the chute above it and the truck-bed’s gate opened. White rocks and powder came pouring out. As it began to stream out, the driver rolled the vehicle forward until it had left a lengthy pile across the entry to the patch and well into the other side, where it connected with a another length of white rocks and powder. Chuck waved at the driver that was about the same age as him. The driver waved back, smiled and drove off.
“Is that road salt?” Doc asked.
“Yep,” Chuck replied reaching into his pocket. He turned to where El was working his incantation. A thrumming sound grew louder, the air cracked like thunder, El stood straight. The orange orb took on a more defined shape. A glowing pumpkin head, complete with hideous facial features and burning eye holes. Green vines sprouted, turned brown and formed a trunk, then branches. Those became spindly legs and arms. It grew to twenty feet, contorting and towering over El.
“And that’s what I was waiting for,” Chuck said quietly.
“What are you doing, Chuck?” El said, turning toward Chuck and his psychiatrist sister, his eyes glowing orange.
“Gladiators need an arena, El, and this way I keep everyone else safe,” Chuck yelled.
“I smell the salt now, what’s that little pile gonna do, Chuck?” El asked, more entertained than curious.
“A little pile of salt? That wouldn’t do much,” Chuck said as he stood by the salt, just inside the patch. “But along with the salt I had Franklin drop around the patch this afternoon? Well, it makes a giant-ass continuous circle.”
Chuck held out his hand, gripping a vial filled with red fluid. He twisted off the cap. The vial had been around the world, last opened, and topped off, in Haiti. He poured the liquid it contained over the salt, staining it deep red. Chuck withdrew the dagger from his coat pocket and pricked his finger, added his blood to the spreading spot.
“I was never really good at blood magic, but I’m really good at incantations,” Chuck said, pouring a full quarter of his stored magical energy through his blood into the circle of salt that had a 150-yard diameter. His arm was going numb. That meant the salt was taking his magic in and the giant circle remained intact.
“You think you’re blood is gonna stop us? You’re not strong enough,” El said, but a groan came from the orange beast behind him.
“Mine alone? You’re probably right,” Chuck replied, turning to face his one-time friend. “I’m just the binder. The rest are drops from some of the most powerful mages, and purveyors of magic, that I could find. They gave it freely to stop you. Sèk nan chèn limyè move lespri yo jiskaske volonte nou fè.”
The last words bound the blood to the magic, the magic to the circle, the circle to the purpose and then locked in the only way the circle could be broken. Chuck would either die or triumph. The orange orb behind El hissed and the branches flailed. It screamed in rage.
A loud thud pulsed through the ground, like an ethereal door slamming closed. The outside world looked hazy outside the salt circle, light distorted by the emanating barrier of magic rising from the ground.
“You’ve bound this trap to your soul? Your life? You’re leaving me little choice, Chuck,” El said, but his voice quivered. “And you trapped my sister in here? MY SISTER!?”
“I came on my own, Li—El. I want to help.” Dr. Lucy yelled. “You must let that girl go. We can work through this.”
‘You can’t even work through a marriage. You’re so weak. I was always stronger. Smarter. You want to take his side? Fine, your fates are now joined.”
Fire leapt from El’s hands, arcing toward the edge of the patch, above where Chuck, Lucy, and Camille stood. It was a brilliant piece of magic. Chuck marveled at how powerful his friend had become. The fire struck the circle’s invisible barrier and turned upward, following the barrier over a hundred feet up. It would go no further. El screamed as his test confirmed the circle’s power.
“Huh. It worked,” Chuck said, looking at Doc with a smirk. “At least we won’t have another blown up café incident. We’re trapped in here, so pay attention, this is where it gets dangerous.”
Doc nodded. There was a solid look of disbelief on her face. The kind one might get when they see their little brother blast fire from his hands at an invisible wall their other friend conjured using a giant circle of salt and a vial of blood.
“This is impossible,” she muttered. “What the hell, Chuck? I must be delusional. There‘s a gas leak or …or…”
“Or your baby bro is in league with an entity that’s been terrorizing this town for fifteen years and he’s about to help it possess a daughter I never knew about. Is that what you are trying to elucidate?”
“Lookout!” The doc yelled, pointing behind Chuck. He turned and saw four figures rushing him. The minions had been waiting across the street to take him from behind, but they were on the wrong side of the barrier. They hit it at a full run and flew back as the barrier’s energy discharged into them. They hit the ground hard, like sacks of meat. They didn’t rise.
“They’re not moving,” she said with concern, her caregiver training taking over. “That thing stopped them? Oh my God, are they dead?”
“Shouldn’t be. But they’ll be out of commission for a bit. That must have stung like a bastard. And fuck your brother for trying that sneaky shit.”
Doc shook her head to clear it, her grip tightening on the linen wrapped mirror. “Okay, this may not be the bullshit I thought it was. Just tell me what to do to end this craziness.”
“Follow my lead. I’ll tell you when. Remember…at them, not me. Shit, get behind me!”
Chuck flapped his coat, grabbing the lapel and holding it open, the outside of the coat facing El’s direction. Chuck’s finger and hand gestures were rushed, but precise as he uttered his defensive spell. “Pwoteksyon dlo.”
Blue Fire flew from El’s hands. The fingers of El’s flame struck the conjured wall of water. Chuck felt the humidity and temperature rise as ethereal steam cleansed the area, both spells neutralizing each other.
“Nice one, Chuck. You’ve been practicing,” El yelled, his voicing cracking.
“Leave my sweet Baboo alone!” a woman’s voice screamed. “If you hurt him, I’ll cut her! I will!”
Chuck lowered his coat lapel, so he could look over it, and saw Siren dragging Miranda across the clearing, the teenager’s hands and feet bound. The look of fear on his daughter’s face made his heart sink. The sheer terror. But then her look changed. She focused on Chuck and her eyes showed defiance. She nodded toward him, acknowledging his presence. She trusted him to save her.
“I believe you two have met,” Siren said, grabbing a handful of Miranda’s hair in one hand, a black metal dagger in the other. “I hope you got all caught up, because in a few minutes, she’s going to be an entirely different person, huh, my sweet Baboo?”
“I told you not to call me that in front of his Greatness,” El said, tilting his head to the glowing orange entity behind him. “Just put her on the rock alter in the casting circle I’ve prepared.”
“Now? Chuck?” Doc asked.
“No,” Chuck said in hushed tones. “I need that piece-of-other-worldy shit to fully materialize and El to start his incantation. I’ll tell you when. But in the meantime, I don’t want to make this easy.”
Chuck let go of his coat’s lapel and catalogued what was going on. Lucy went to move toward his daughter, but he held her arm.
Siren, knife in hand, danced like a crazed wood nymph around Miranda’s bound form. There was no telling what would set her off.
“We don’t want to give her any reason to hurt Miranda. If we don’t do anything rash, she should be okay. Up until that thing possesses her.”
“Well, let’s try not to let that happen, okay?” Dr. Lucy said in a serious tone.
Chuck took a tentative step toward Miranda. Siren immediately turned and pointed the knife at him, then back toward Miranda, making a mock cutting motion across her throat. Then she laughed.
“Crazy bitch,” the Doc said.
“Agreed,” Chuck said, watching El’s gyrations. The orb grew brighter and it’s vine-like appendages started reaching toward Miranda. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” Lucy asked.
“The conduit. A transference spell is big hoodoo. Lots of juice required. Most people can’t manage it. So, Tammuz is going to have to channel some serious power through El and finesse it. Take over the heavy lifting. The conduit is usually something physical. An anchor to the physical world that can be used by powerful entities to bind their minions. Something with deep meaning to those servants that it’s enchanted.”
“Like that?” Doc said pointing.
The materializing shape of Tammuz looked more like a giant glowing Jack-o-lantern. It extended a grisly, branchy hand, El responding by holding a blue cloth aloft, the end of it rising, like it was being sucked toward the entity. The entity grabbed its end of the cloth and El shook. El spewed a stream of almost forgotten languages, invoking ancient magic to solidify his casting.
Chuck smiled, as he took a knee. “Yes, that’s it exactly. I was hoping it would be.” He reached over and held Camille’s canine head between his hands, talking to her directly. “Okay, girl, go do your thing!”
The dog barked and leapt forward, her old legs moving her faster than she’d run in years. She reached El, leaping between him and the glowing entity, as she latched onto the blue cloth. She immediately dug in and back-peddled, tugging the cloth and shaking her head.
El screamed. The creature roared. The dog pulled the cloth loose and turned to run. Camille’s head snapped back around, as the cloth held fast. On the other end, Siren gripped the cloth in both hands. Camille’s chest rumbled and she snuffed out a long, low growl. It was a serious game of tug of war. A game Camille loved to play. She dug her paws in and leaned hard, showing her commitment to win.
“Grrrrr,” her chest rumbled, and she shook her head back and forth.
“Careful you stupid mutt. Don’t tear it!” El yelled, kicking at the yellow-white furred dog with the big black spot on her back. The dog dodged him and redoubled her efforts. Siren yelled and grunted.
“Lucy, call El, and when he looks your way, show him what’s in the cloth. Now.”
The Doc did as instructed, setting the bottom edge on the ground and angling it toward her brother. She yelled El’s real name as she pulled the cloth off the mirror. El turned in surprise, his eyes landing on the mirror with the embedded black diamond. And they held there. The orange orb, the one El called Tammuz, followed his action and also locked onto the mirror. They admired their reflections, turning and tilting their heads in unison to get better views. Enjoying the power reflected in its seductive silvery surface. Their mutual gaze was held.
“You bitch!” Siren yelled, dropping her end of the cloth and running toward the kneeling doctor. She was quick, stutter stepping as she reached Lucy, she threw a kick toward the mirror. Lucy quickly jerked the mirror out of her foot’s path. The momentum of the kick, without connecting, took Siren off her feet. She flew up, twisting horizontal and landing flat on her back. The wind was knocked out of her as she expelled a painful breath.
“I guess it runs in the family. You missed. Badly,” Lucy said. “But I won’t.”
Lucy kicked Siren in the ribs three times with all her might. Siren curled up in a ball trying to catch her breath. Lucy turned back toward her brother, but he was shielding the side of his face and refused to look her direction. She saw that Tammuz held one end of the blue cloth again, but Camille was still playing tug-of war, not giving an inch.
El tried to peek between his fingers to find where Chuck had gone and avoid looking into the mirror.
“My turn, asshole!” Chuck said as he pulled the silver pocket watch from his coat. The initials “HGW”, engraved into watch cover, sparkled. He pressed the release and it sprung open. Inside the cover, an inscription read “Herbert, The magic of our love transcends time. Edwina”.
“Here goes nothing,” Chuck said as he looked at the watch face. The second hand ticked away. He pulled on the winder, disengaging it for the mechanism. The second hand stopped. And so did time around him.
Chuck smiled. He had acquired H.G.Wells time travel watch from a collector in London. The time-piece was the inspiration for the author’s most famous story. Not that he could travel forward or backward, but the watch allowed the holder to stop time around him. Very handy for escapes, but not much more. Chuck took some tentative steps. And immediately felt warm all over. Friction. Magic and physics didn’t play nice, but they did play. He walked to Miranda and grabbed her restraints. They wouldn’t budge. Neither would she when he tried to pick her up. Only he, and things on his immediate person, were covered by the enchantment of the watch. The collector had warned him of the quirk and limitation.
“Fine. We do it the hard way,” Chuck said. Holding the watch, being careful not to touch the winder, he walked over to the tug of war between Camille and Tammuz. The summoned creature’s flaming eyes followed him, but it could not take any other action. Chuck gave it the finger.
He reached into his coat pocket, with his free hand, and pulled out the jar of butterfly wings. Technically they were moth wings, not butterflies. He had gathered them outside of Turin, Italy. They were the result of a curse to attack a specific Christian relic in the local cathedral. The protector priests held them at bay and were happy to help Chuck gather them for removal. He twisted off the lid and set the jar down on the ground, under the blue blanket between Tammuz and Camille. He patted the motionless Camille on the head.
“Such a good girl,” he said.
Chuck walked over to El as he withdrew another vial and twisted the top off. This one contained a clear liquid. Chuck wrapped his left arm, holding the watch, around El’s neck, getting a firm placement in the crook of his arm. He held the vial of liquid over El’s face with his other hand. Chuck took a cleansing breath and pressed the watch’s winder in, engaging the clock. The world went into motion.
El was surprised by Chucks appearing out of nowhere and the tightening hold around his neck. He immediately grabbed and pounded at Chucks arm. The Moths of Turin burst forth from the jar, drawn by the energy emitted by the blue cloth above them. They were drawn to the ethereal flame that meant food, they set upon it, quickly chewing large holes into the fabric. The cloth started to tear as its overall integrity was compromised by the voids and the continual pulling between Tammuz and Camille.
Chuck made his move. Pouring the clear liquid into El’s eyes. El grunted then spoke an incantation. Where his hands grabbed at Chucks arms, they fed fire into Chucks coat.
Chuck held until he was sure the liquid that he’d dispensed into El’s eyes was doing its work. Only then did he let go, falling back into a defensive position. He drew more energy from his reserves, not sure what defense he would have to muster.
El rubbed at his eyes, blinking hard and squinting. He tried to focus. “What the hell is going on? Who’s there? Everything’s a blur. Chuck? What did you put in my eyes?”
“The cure. Or at least part of it,” Chuck said, moving as he spoke. He was watching El’s hands for any indications of conjuring as his former friend turned to follow his voice. Camille jogged over with half of the blue blanket in her mouth. She seemed happy with her trophy, flipping it into the air, before trapping it with her paws and tearing into some more.
Behind Ell, Tammuz started to moan and scream. It’s movements no longer tracked with El’s. They were becoming disjointed.
“I figured it out. Took until last year and the minions confirmed it,” Chuck said. “You believe that thing is the earthly incarnation of Tammuz, the Sumerian Harvest God. What you called the Great Pumpkin. It’s not.”
Tammuz shrieked “Mmrimp mmpht row. Mrumph mmmp mwah!”
“You sound like my old teacher,” Chuck replied. “Just as incoherent and now blocked from your conduit on this plane. You’re not Tammuz.”
El stopped ministering to his eyes. He clapped his hands over his ears. “No, no, no, no. It’s him. I know it’s him. He showed me. He heard me.”
“Stop. You can still hear me, El,” Chuck said. “I know you can. So, I had to ask myself why, and how, a Sumerian deity of the harvest would summon and control demons, much less be able to help them possess human beings. The answer is that it can’t. Different planes, divinations, and magics. No square deal to be cut. It just didn’t add up.”
Tammuz had stopped moving and was staring at Chuck. It probably wanted to speak, which it had done through El in the past. But Chuck had severed the ability of Tammuz to “conduct” through El on the earthly plane. The bond was being burned away.
“So, that’s not Tammuz. But it was summoned by you,” Chuck continued. “That means it’s demonic. And probably a minor demon to boot. One that the Lord’s of Hell wouldn’t miss during this thing’s once a year trip to visit you. Where it could gather energies and leave you enough to keep you enthralled. But you had dreams, didn’t you Fake Tammuz? Big dreams.”
The entity wavered back and forth, looking skyward and speaking an incantation. Its muffled attempt failed.
“Your tie is broken,” Chuck said, feeling good about his deduction. “You can’t channel big stuff on this plane without a host.”
“You’re full of shit, Chuck. I feel his power,” El said. “So does Sally. We’re both committed to Tammuz. We’re his high priest and priestess.”
“Are you? Both, I mean?” Chuck said, looking over to where Lucy was approaching with Sally, who had been going by Siren. “I noticed the minions follow her lead. Her orders. They work for her, not you. I wrote down every encounter. It took me awhile, but it finally clicked. You were the big stick. The rod Tammuz used to direct his magic, but she is the one doing his will. She was the one working the plan. She was the one keeping you in line. You’re a prop man.”
“You’re full of shit. I am a Priest…a High priest…I…He…He came for me,” El sobbed.
“Yep. You’re right. He came for you that night, but who called him? Think back, El. I went to the party. You were here, alone. Or were you? Who came and sat with you? Who brought the real tools you needed? Who helped you do the corrected summoning? The one we always joked about, but never got right, so it never worked before. Who made it work, El?”
El turned, blinking hard as he looked around the patch, his eyes landing on Sally. “You…?”
“Don’t listen to him, my sweet Baboo. Tammuz is here to serve you. Like I am. We love you. I love you. I’d do anything for you. I have done everything for you! You’re mine!” Sally cried, her face distorting into rage as she saw El cracking, knowing he was starting to listen to Chuck’s words.
“I proved it tonight, El. Fake Tammuz is a demon. What did I put in your eyes? Well it wasn’t holy water. That only works on the demon itself. But it was holy. Those were the tears of Joan of Arc. Gathered by a cleric who’d snuck into her prison, dressed as a dungeon guard. He gave her communion and she wept. They burned her at the stake. Those tears cleared your sight. Holy vision. I spent six months working with the Vatican to get those. She’s a Saint, you know? And that pumpkin thing? I wasn’t sure how to vanquish a God, but a demon? Well, I can take care of them.”
Chuck turned and ran toward the demon posing as Tammuz. It reached for him, but as it did, Chuck flipped up his borrowed coat’s lapel, exposing the shard of the Alexandria lighthouse he had glued to a button.
“Beacon retro Pharum urn ac tenbras!”. The patch lit up, bathed in bright white light. The demon shrank back, it’s form becoming softer under the onslaught of magic illumination.
As it cowered, Chuck climbed its vine-covered body, reaching the large jack-o-lantern of a head.
“You’ve been kicking my ass for years, you piece of shit,” Chuck said through gritted teeth. “My Turn!! This is for killing my best friend, the coolest dog I knew, Camille’s Grandad!”
The demon swung at Chuck and snapped at him, but held back as it tried to keep it’s head out of the shard’s light. Chuck punched and tore at it. He heard another fight breaking out. Glancing down, he saw Lucy tackling Sally, who had slipped her grip. El was trying to separate them, but Camille was gnawing on his leg, pulling him off.
“That seems like old times. Time for you to go, asshole,” Chuck said as punched into the pulpy glowing mass of orange.
His fist got through on the third shot. He felt around inside the head and touched something dark and cold. He felt his heart sink and and a wave of overwhelming despair. He released it and reached into his pocket, withdrawing the dagger and as many of the glass beads as he could hold.
“While I was at the Vatican, I got a few other things blessed. This is gonna hurt!” he said as one of the vines, covered in thorns, dragged across his bald head. Blood immediately streamed into his eyes.
With renewed energy, and pain-filled rage, Chuck punched the dagger into the head. He broke the beads against the grip of the dagger as he stabbed about. The holy water and oils dripped into the cavity, making the creature bellow in rage and pain. The blessed blade sliced through the enchanted flesh, searing gaps and openings that couldn’t reform or recover.
Chuck twisted the dagger around and stabbed upward. The blade tip protruded out of the head, in front of him. Chuck pulled back, using the sharp edge to cut all the way back to the hole he had punched. Punching into the head again, he repeated the motion a few inches to the right. That portion of the pumpkin-head fell away. Chuck looked into the heart of evil. His vision blurred under a wave of pain. His entire face suddenly hurt. Fake Tammuz’s flailing had connected with force. It may have been a lucky shot, but it rung his bell.
Chuck swatted, punched, and ducked under the ensuing onslaught, letting his head clear.
“Enough of this bullshit,” he grunted. He pushed his entire magical reserve into his hand that held the dagger. Stabbing it forward into the center of the demon’s head, it penetrated the dark orb. “Mare move lespri sa a.”
He knew his spell of binding wouldn’t hold the demon for long. But he only needed a moment. Leaving the Dagger stabbed deep into the black orb, leaving the blade stuck as he reached to his collar and pulled the shard-button off the coat. He pushed it hard, deep into the head, and then held it against the black orb. Fake Tammuz began wailing, but stood frozen. Chuck pressed the shard in further, the black orb trying to slide away from the light. The orb grew smaller, exposing more of the dagger until it fell away with nothing holding it. A small puffy trail of oily smoke remained, but it eventually disappeared from sight.
Chuck realized he was standing on the ground and the creature was now a mess of tangled vines and pumpkin remains. He held the shard in his hand, turning a full 360, but felt no resistance to the light. The shards brilliance faded, the last of his stored energy used up.
Chuck could see Lucy sitting on Sally and El sitting on the ground, legs bent in front, his head resting on his knees. Camille was watching him out of the corner of her eyes as she continued gnawing on the remains of his blue blanket.
Chuck ran over to Miranda and used the dagger to cut her bonds away. She hugged him and sobbed.
“I knew you’d come and save me…Dad.”
Chuck stiffened for a moment. “How long have you known?”
Miranda leaned back, her arms still around him neck. “A couple of years. When Mom and Mom-2 were arguing about the restaurant rebuild, it got a little cut-throat. Things were said I wasn’t meant to hear. I figured it out.”
“And where does that leave us?”
“Well, you kinda saved my life, so let’s call it a good start. Oh, and you owe me a pony for all the missed birthdays.”
“Sure. Pony,” Chuck replied, unsure if he should, or even could, deliver. “Got it.”
“Or front row seats to a Shredder concert.”
“That I may be able to swing. I’ve got a couple of more things to take care of. You gonna be okay?”
“Sure,” his newfound daughter replied. “I just want to get the hell out of this patch.”
“Roger that,” Chuck said as he walked to the edge of the salt circle. He held his hands together, like he was praying, and set them on the salt. Using a slow spreading motion, he parted the salt a few inches at a time, until the circle was broken.
A rush of cold air came across the patch.
“Why didn’t El do that?” Miranda asked from behind him.
“Couldn’t,” Chuck replied. “Nobody but me could ever break that circle as long as I was alive.”
“And if you had been killed?” she asked with a frown.
“It would have held for a bit, but eventually they’d have broken through.”
“Eventually?”
“About a month.”
“Geez. Remind me never to piss you off…Dad,” Miranda said.
Chuck smiled. Miranda calling him Dad gave him a warm feeling. He nudged her across the salt line.
“I’ll get everyone headed out. You get across the street and wait. Cops ought to be coming soon. Our little fireworks display probably got some attention.”
He turned toward his nemesis of the last 15 years.
“Chuck, I didn’t see it,” El said. “I was just angry. How will people forgive me?”
“Don’t worry about it. And call me Charlie. Your powers are toast. I broke them good. As long as you do normal things, you’ll be okay. No more summoning. No more magic. You’re gonna only see the good in people for about a year, if the myth about those tears holds true. Okay…Linus?”
His old friend looked up at him. He seemed lost, but relaxed. Charlie knew a huge burden had been lifted.
“I was going to call you a blockhead when this all started tonight,” Lucy said, patting Chuck on the back. “But turns out you were right. And Thank you for saving my brother. Now, Sally, you fucking nut-bag, you’re another problem entirely.”
Charlie left those two to sort out their new dynamic when he noticed the red and blue lights of a police car. He walked toward it, hands raised. A women officer got out and looked around as she pulled her badged hat snugly in place.
“You’re Chuck,” she said matter-of-factly.
“I am,” he replied. “Do we know each other?”
“Sort of,” she replied. “My Older Brother is an officer, too. You saved him a couple of years ago during the restaurant bombing. He left the force, but he lived. I never got a chance to thank you for that.”
“No problem,” he said, looking at her more closely. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?”
“Well, sort of,” she said coyly as she pulled off her cap, her long red hair falling loosely around her shoulders. “We went to the same school growing up. I think you had a crush on me.”
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