Dead Set Page 12

  Click.

  “Done. Is Mom there?”

  The nurse loaded a small syringe.

  “I have to run, Cathy. Just, I need to know, do you have your necklace on?”

  “Yeah, but I was going to ask you if I could—”

  “Is your brother’s bracelet on?”

  “I think…”

  The nurse injected a small amount of local anesthetic in my cheek.

  “Damn it.” I switched the phone to my other side.

  “Dad, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

  “Good, you should be scared. This isn’t something to go texting about while you’re at school. This is serious, deadly serious, and I need you to focus. You’re going to become a target, Catherine, and I know for a fact you aren’t ready for what that entails.”

  “Where’s Mom, is she okay?”

  The fear was rampant in my daughter’s voice, and I knew I’d gone too far.

  “She’ll be fine,” I said, trying to turn my face so the nurse could get her needle through the skin. “She just took a bad fall, and we stopped at the ER to get her looked at.”

  “What?!”

  “Listen, whatever you do, don’t take off those charms, either you or your brother, and do not go in the garage until I get home. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes…”

  My headstrong daughter’s voice had never sounded so small, or so weak before.

  Magick has a price.

  “Good, I’ve got to go. We’ll be home when we can. Do not open the door for anyone.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Cathy, I love you.”

  “I love you too, Dad, I’m sorry about the texts, I’ll forget all about Magick.”

  “No, you won’t—your mother and brother need you. We’ll talk about it later, sweetheart.”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up and let the nurse finish her stitches. I knew they’d fall out on their own by tomorrow. Magick does strange things to the body, and even without the gift from Mallory Lane I knew I’d heal up faster than a normal person.

  I thought long and hard about that while I waited for word on Porter—she had no such power, and her ring was now unmade, meaning I might as well be ringing the dinner bell for the dark things that prowl just beyond the shadows hungry for innocent flesh.

  I’d spent my entire marriage keeping my wife—and later my children—safe, and all of that hard work had spiraled out of control in the last forty-eight hours: Cathy was finding her Magick, what I thought had been a few stray spirits appeared to be a well-organized hunting party of New Dead with the Law family in their crosshairs, and now my beautiful wife lay unconscious in the emergency room. All of this on top the Minor Demon in our garage, Old Dead being unearthed, and John Kinder’s attorney wanting me out on the street.

  Maybe Porter was right. Maybe I’d taken on way too much—maybe I’d gotten too sure of myself and lost sight of what was really important.

  The nurse wrapped up and placed a bandage over her stitch work, then ducked out the door, letting me know she’d go check on my wife.

  The dark phone screen reflected my bruised and bandaged face.

  You can’t do it all, Gene. It’s only a matter of time before you won’t be there to save them.

  I tugged at the edges of the bandage and peeled up enough to see the gash reflected in my phone.

  I can’t put Cathy through this—but can I really stop it from coming?

  There was nothing I could do. Cathy and Magick were on a collision course, and once they reached critical mass we’d have even worse things banging down our door. I couldn’t stick my head in the sand and hope that it all passed, nor could I lay enchanted baubles on my family and hope they stay safe from the darkness that thrived in my world.

  Cathy needed to be trained, and we’d start tomorrow—we had an Imp to deal with, after all.

  “Mr. Law? Your wife is conscious, and she’s asking for you.”

  25

  Seal of Ariadne

  Porter didn’t remember anything after the coffee spill. This was both a blessing and a curse; she couldn’t tell me anything about the New Dead that had possessed her, but any reminder of the possession would have been crippling for my wife, and she’d find a way to blame herself.

  The doctor explained concussion protocols to us, but to be honest I was only half-listening. The other half of me was too busy trying to determine where we’d go from here. We had more than a few problems to contend with, but after tonight the New Dead had rocketed to number one on that list.

  We drove home in silence, my wife staring absently out the window, her knuckles white against the dark and torn folds of her dress. We pulled into the garage, and I shot around to the passenger side to help her out of the car. Porter leaned on me, her body cold and fragile in the humid evening air. Together we slipped past a sleeping Cathy and into the master bedroom.

  “Honey, are you—”

  She brushed me off. Porter didn’t want to talk, she only wanted to lie down. I helped her peel out of her dress and into pajamas. She shoved the wad of silky fabric into my hands.

  “Burn it,” she whispered, then crawled into bed.

  Lying there under the sheets she looked so small and fragile—the tough-as-nails woman I married was like an exposed raw nerve that hurt to touch.

  I woke Cathy up and helped her to her room. She was too tired to ask questions, but I knew they would be there tomorrow—too many to count.

  With the rest of the family asleep I checked all the doors. True to her word my daughter had made sure they were locked. Those locks would keep the burglars and robbers at bay, but more than that they’d keep the supernatural solidly on the other side of the door. There were rules when it came to homes, and I used them all to make sure mine was well fortified.

  Satisfied the Law Family estate was on lockdown I crawled into bed beside my wife and shut my eyes. Sleep was elusive. An hour dragged by as I listened to the quiet of the house, my restless mind studying the problem from every angle.

  This wasn’t a random or uncoordinated spiritual mob—this was a direct assault.

  You’re in no position for projection. Wait until morning.

  The logical half of my brain was right, but after an hour spent listening to that wet blanket, along with Porter’s labored breathing, I gave up. I slipped out of bed and into the living room.

  Kris’s toys consumed the shaggy rug that dominated our family room. Quiet as a church mouse I removed the bright plastic cars one at a time. Careful to remember the ones with batteries and blaring noise-makers, I turned them off first, then lined everything up against the wall. We used to have a coffee table, but after Cathy was born and we watched her tumble head-first into one of the corners, that devil-desk ended up at the end of the driveway for the garbage men. Now the rug was easier to get to, but I still hadn’t touched the Magic underneath it in years—the Gloom was serious business, and more than a little dangerous—yet I needed to get past Claudia Wilson, and that dark place was my best option.

  I peeled back the edge of the rug slowly, letting the ragged end curl up on itself, and create a man-sized cigar roll of dust and dander next to the cars along the wall. I blew off the stray cheerios and flecks of glitter to reveal, in exquisite detail, the only sigil I considered myself any good at making, the Seal of Ariadne. I crawled into the center of the swirling lines and symbols, planted my tired butt and exhaled.

  You dummy, you’re too spent to do this.

  Porter mumbled something in her sleep from our bedroom, and while I couldn’t understand the words, the pain was evident in her addled voice even down the hall.

  No. I’m doing this.

  Ariadne—the girl and her string. History hadn’t been kind to that young Greek woman, but she had left us one heck of a useful Magickal sigil. Ariadne’s ball of string had been instrumental in keeping Theseus from being lost forever in the Minotaur’s maze—having met a Minotaur once while vacationing in Cr
ete, I would have been a lot nicer to Ariadne. Still, whether she was real or not, the seal was ascribed to her, and was the fastest way to travel light.

  I let the seal’s Magick wash over me like the gulf at low tide—a soft lapping wave, it soothed my wounds and pulled the tension from my muscles. I took a deep breath, and placed my hands one inside the other, then let my lungs swell with Ariadne’s Magick.

  There was a gentle pop, and then the sensation of flight. I opened my eyes to find myself staring down at my quietly seated body. I was happy to see my hair wasn’t thinning on top—you don’t normally get to see these kinds of things—which was a short-lived but welcome relief. Streaming down from my translucent form to my body lay a softly billowing silver cord. I was free from my mortal coil, but like an astronaut on a mission in deep space I was tethered to the physical me which was still seated and breathing quietly in the Seal of Ariadne. Much like the Greek girl’s string, this silver thread was the only way to make it home again. Without it I’d be lost to the Gloom, a revenant buffeted by the winds of darkness. Who was I kidding, though? Before that happened I was sure to be eaten by something with a taste for modestly aged Magician soul—the Gloom was full of just that kind of hungry.

  I floated into Cathy’s room, passing through the wall with ease and stopping only momentarily to admire the complex mess that was my daughter’s closet. Cathy lay quietly sleeping beneath the sheets, her soft face turned away from me in the dark of the room.

  You see things differently detached from the Gloom. With the masks of flesh and bone gone, the true souls of things are laid bare. My daughter’s Magick swirled like a bubbling brook just beneath her skin, rich colors shining through in vibrant purples and blues. Cathy would be a force to be reckoned with one day—I just prayed I’d taught her enough to make sure she played for the right team.

  I drifted into Kris’s room to watch the smallest member of the family sleep. His bed was like a puppy mound of stuffed animals, making it difficult to locate the littlest Law. Thankfully, he rolled over and knocked an overstuffed Akita to the floor, giving me a chance to see his sleepy smile. I brushed a translucent hand over it and would have tousled his hair had I substance to tousle with.

  Satisfied the children were safe, I pushed through the wall and left them to restful sleep, descending instead into the master bedroom. The sadness was suffocating—thin stabs of moonlight sliced through the blinds and fell across my wife’s tortured form. Her soul was caught in a fitful and restless slumber. Slender glowing fingers would clutch at the sheets, then release them again in unceasing frustration. In a fit of desperation her spirit cried out and sat up—eyes looking without seeing, locked in a thousand-yard stare of unreconciled pain.

  I placed a translucent hand on hers and held it, willing what tranquility I could to still her fearful soul. She turned over, dark hair covering her face, and her soul lay back with her.

  I let go of her hand and hovered there for a moment, gathering my strength. I needed all I could get where I was headed. I closed my eyes and painted the picture in my mind, holding tight to Ariadne’s thread—it was time to pay a second visit to the Brighton 8.

  Let’s all go to the lobby…

  26

  After Midnight Showing

  Narrow spotlights of orange cast from humming street lamps cut through the damp parking lot in the pre-dawn hours. I willed my translucent form down to the street level and coasted gently between the spaces. There were no cars in the lot, but given the time of day that wasn’t unexpected. The jiu-jitsu school didn’t do much business at two AM, and neither did the Yarn Barn—both of which appeared relatively normal even in the Gloom. This was a welcome relief, as there was no way to tell what dwelled in either place in this dark and twisted half-world.

  The Brighton 8 was another story entirely. Claudia’s crews had put in a serious effort, raising a fifties-era art déco sign above the box office windows, complete with chaser bulbs and a considerable amount of neon. At least that’s how all of it would have looked if it were on, and if I weren’t floating in the Gloom holding on to Ariadne’s thread like a life-preserver.

  Here in this world, it was on fire.

  Broken chaser bulbs dripped sparks from blackened bases, and flames licked at the edges of the melted sign. Smoke billowed from the box office windows, rolling out in thick clouds of noxious black. Soot covered the glass doors to the lobby, and even the metal frames bent under the heat. The building itself was bent and warped, pulling away from the foundations like melted wax. In fact, the Gloom version of the Brighton 8 appeared to have received the brunt of a blow torch. I floated closer, keeping Ariadne’s thread safely behind me and out of harm’s way—I had no desire to risk losing my way home.

  The lobby doors bowed out as if struggling to contain the roaring heat behind them. I placed a translucent hand against the hazy glass and pulled it back quickly, shaking off the searing heat.

  Here goes nothing.

  I pushed my way through the warped doors and right into the fires of Hell.

  I’d been inside the theater before, but here in the Gloom it was a far different place. Flames licked the walls, dancing in conga lines of whipping orange and red. The carpet itself more resembled molten rock than the movie-star red of the real world.

  Would have made it easy to play ‘The Floor is Lava’ when Cathy was little. Except falling in would likely burn away your immortal soul—yeah, no good.

  The pictures that had been propped against the wall were melted and broken. Their frames were crumpled and the oily canvases beneath them wadded and scorched. I whipped a few loops of Ariadne’s thread around my hand and let the silvery cord float gently behind me. The lifeline might have had an infinite length, but something told me to keep it close.

  I floated past Claudia’s office. A small bonfire roared on the desk; papers and books burned in equal measure in that cramped office and sent thick plumes of noxious smoke into the air.

  I pushed my way farther into the theater, and the deeper I went the higher the heat became. I knew at home my poor body must have been sweating like crazy, and soon the temperature would become too much, but I wasn’t about to turn around yet—not with my wife’s tortured face filling my mind. I floated past the open caskets and burned-out display, which had no doubt been arranged as part of a promotional pitch for the upcoming film. The lid of one of them was open, but at this angle I couldn’t see much beyond the burnt edges of the lining—not without getting closer.

  “Hey, Gene,” said a light and airy voice, intermixed with spurts of coughing. “Wow, you just find all the best places, don’t you?”

  The burned body of Claudia Wilson sat up in the coffin. Her face was charred and ashen, with streaks of skin like bubbled wax. Something formless shifted behind the old woman’s parchment skin, something I knew very well.

  The House.

  “Whoa, man, would you just look at this place?” Claudia took a deep breath and coughed again, this time dislodging bits of her nose. “Huh, they just don’t make manifestations like they used to.”

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  Claudia nodded, her neck bones crackling. “You’re always short on time. Sort of comes with the whole mortality thing, eh?”

  I floated past Claudia, ignoring her uncoordinated attempt to climb out of the casket.

  “Should have thought this through a little better,” the malignant manifestation said before tumbling to the ground and propping herself up on creaky joints. “Yeah, next time I’m going with something more coordinated. Your imagination leaves a lot to be desired.”

  The concession stand was a smoldering wreck. The popcorn machine’s painted sides were browned and bubbled, and the scrollwork edges had been burned beyond recognition. I pushed deeper into the theater. “What are you doing here?”

  “Gauging my investment,” Claudia said, somehow now holding a bag of mostly burned popcorn.

  “I’m not your investment.”

  Th
e broken manifestation shuffled along behind me, her bones popping with each step. “Well, actually, you kinda are. I mean, who took care of you in the fiery dark of the library? Who checked on your ruined hands in—”

  “Don’t—”

  “That would be me. Who has been there for you through it all, Eugene Law?”

  I willed myself forward, past the theater doors and deeper down the fiery tunnel. Claudia’s voice echoed in the narrowing hall behind me, intermixed with the snapping of burnt tendons. “Me again!”

  I tried to ignore her, and instead focused my attention on the individual theaters. Each door was dark—except for one.

  Lucky number eight.

  Flames flickered along the door seam, and the metal push plate glowed a bright red.

  “Demon High… They did a remake?” Claudia rolled her partially detached eyes. “Couldn’t just leave well enough alone. The original was a classic—inspirational story-telling.”

  “Demons and cheerleaders?”

  Claudia nodded, her boney jaw popping on the burnt corn kernels. “Yep, inspirational.”

  “I’m going in.”

  “Actually, I think it’s time you headed back, Gene. Ariadne’s thread’s getting a little crispy around the edges and all.”

  “No.” I floated closer to the door. “I’m not leaving until I find out what’s on the other side.”

  “You read the story about the cat, right?”

  The Claudia-shaped house was right, Ariadne’s thread did look a little worse for wear, but I hadn’t come this far to turn back now. I had to know what lay on the other side of that door.

  I pushed my translucent form through the flame-kissed wood, holding tight to the silvery cord while wondering if I was ready for what lay on the other side.

  27

  Innocence, it's what's for dinner

  A gob-smacking Claudia leaned against the wall on the other side of the door. “Would have been nice of you to open it for me, you know, chivalry and all—”