Dead Set Read online

  My bare feet agreed, but I wasn’t going to the restroom. I had to get the necklace back on Cathy, then deal with the New Dead.

  Yo ho, yo ho, it’s a Magick life for me.

  I released the mass-increasing Magick, not interested in carrying any extra weight with me while I scanned the studio for the New Dead.

  He must have gone to ground and slipped beneath the skin. He’d surface again, but first I needed to get Cathy safe.

  The necklace glittered from atop the bench just beyond the mats. Its bright silver shone in the industrial fluorescents that hung high above our heads. Cathy’s necklace was a custom design. I knew an old Magician out west in Nevada who excelled at those sorts of designs, and who had been more than happy to fabricate it for me. The hard work was in the enchanting.

  The necklace had started as a bracelet, sized for my baby’s wrist, but as she got older it got a lot harder to keep it on her. Porter and I tried longer chains and better clasps, but nothing worked for long—you try keeping jewelry on a toddler—go ahead, I’ll wait.

  I tried to slip past a couple of middle-aged women working their way through the escape when I caught the stench of New Dead. It was a vile, rotting aroma that made the Law family compost pile downright heavenly in comparison.

  An arm shot out from that twisting mass of femininity and reached for my leg. I pulled my foot out of the way, but not without losing my balance on the sweat-soaked mat and crashing headlong into another set of students.

  “Okay. We stop for a new technique, yes,” our instructor said, his bellowing voice momentarily overtaking that dense accent.

  Like a fountain bubbling apologies, I untangled myself from the crash pad of students I’d just landed on and got to my feet—along with the rest of the class. Salvation in the form of Cathy’s necklace disappeared behind the sweat-covered masses.

  “Okay, so now we are gonna to cover a new escape. I show you. First, I need a person.”

  Please don’t be Cathy.

  My daughter launched herself to the front of the class, jockeying her tiny frame in front of the instructor.

  And so much for that…

  The young Brazilian grabbed my daughter’s wrists. “Okay, so now we pretend they grab your wrists—like this.”

  All eyes were on the instructor—all eyes except one set. Blackened sockets sunk deep in the face of a middle-aged woman twisted around to face me. She smiled, showing me the withering remains of her rotted teeth—the New Dead were not without dramatics.

  Bingo.

  I pushed my way through the mass of students, but the spirit was faster. It shifted bodies like falling dominos, each one touching the next, and sending the monster surging toward my daughter.

  “Yes, now how you would escape? Don’t answer, Cathy,” the instructor said, turning to face the sweat-laced students.

  The New Dead was gaining, manipulating skin-to-skin contact and working its way through the crowd at a blistering pace. It would reach Cathy in seconds if I didn’t stop it.

  I slipped off the white belt holding the folds of my gi together and twisted it into a loop. I was out of options for exorcisms—I didn’t carry a full kit around with me, even though Porter thought I should.

  Magicians do not wear fanny packs.

  Still, there had to be something—something salty that wasn’t rolling out of my pores. A shiny green can of energy drink beckoned to me like a siren’s call from just off the mats. I scooped it up and poured a little on my loaner gi belt.

  It’s not salt from the dead sea, but I’m sure there’s enough heart-stopping sodium in here to do the job.

  The New Dead shed its latest ride and washed over a gangly teenager only a few feet from Cathy. The kid’s newly burned and blackened hand reached for Cathy—his fingers mere inches from my beautiful daughter’s wrist.

  “Coercere,” I whispered to the twisted loop of energy-drink-soaked white belt, sending a bit of the Magick swirling around in my chest into the soaked fabric, then hooked the wide loop around his blackened hand.

  Ride em, cowboy!

  3

  Occupado

  The Magick wasn’t perfect, but you did what you could with what you had available—in this case that meant restraint.

  “Dad!” my easily embarrassed daughter cried as I dragged the white belt loop down the young boy’s arm. To her—and everyone else in the room—I was just a strange old duck, but to the New Dead I was an infuriating mallard.

  There’s a difference!

  The New Dead’s ghostly hand was now cinched in a loop of Magickal white belt—and it hated every second of it. The monster tore at the fabric and reached for Cathy, those blackened digits straining against the belt, but coming up short.

  “Sorry, honey. Just need to hit the restroom,” I said, doing my best to keep the New Dead from making contact with my daughter or the young Brazilian instructor.

  The instructor nodded, pointing to the same narrow doorway my partner had indicated earlier.

  “Thanks, sorry.”

  The New Dead flailed wildly, and like an angry pit-viper it lashed out at both of them. Not wanting to draw any more attention to myself, I did my best to keep the twisted loop tight, but casual. This proved to be a tall order with an overly aggressive Hellspawn doing its damnedest to joy ride your daughter.

  “Okay. So I show you the escape, yes,” the instructor said, with a hint of frustration in his voice. I’d love to have watched, but I had an escape artist of my own to deal with.

  Keeping my arms low and as nonchalant as possible I dragged the cursing spirit to the bathroom door.

  Locked?!

  “There’s somebody in here,” said a voice behind the paper-thin wood.

  “Do you think you could—”

  The New Dead switched tactics and didn’t give me time to finish my sentence. The Magick I’d laid on the belt gave the spirit mass—enough to catch it with a loaner gi belt—but that also meant it had enough mass to take me down.

  Somewhere physics was grinning at my self-inflicted predicament.

  Black and twisted fingers wrapped my neck, and I fell backward against the hard concrete—we were well off the mats, but thankfully obscured by a long counter. I was already in enough trouble with Cathy, and having her dad grapple with some invisible monster was not going to improve my polling numbers.

  The ghost squeezed, cutting off the air to my lungs and reminding me just how bad an idea it had been to give him solid form, but if I dropped the Magick now I’d have to fight off a possession at close range, and I was just too damn tired to even consider that.

  I grabbed the spirit’s wrists and tried to pry its hands from my neck. They might as well have been steel rebar for all the give I could muster. The monster squeezed harder, and the edges of my vision darkened. Sulfur mixed with the rotting stench of New Dead filled what little air passed through my nose. Was this how it was going to end? Florida man, found dead on the sweat-stained floor of a shopping mall dojo, looking to all the world like yet another victim of heart disease.

  The instructor’s booming voice broke through my pity parade. “Don’t forget now you have two escapes. I wanna to see both ah them.”

  The escape!

  I shifted my hips and changed hand positions, hoping to God I wasn’t missing anything, then threw my weight into it. The effect was immediate. The New Dead flipped, and I landed solidly on top of it.

  So, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu works on corporeal spirts of the damned—who knew?

  Flush.

  The New Dead’s fingers clawed at my face, but I pushed them aside. The door to the bathroom opened and a rail-skinny old geezer stepped out.

  “Might want to wait a minute or two,” he said, running a hand over his bald head and thankfully ignoring the fact that I was on the ground looking for all the world like I was practicing mount escapes on myself.

  “Ah, okay…” I said, swatting away the New Dead’s arm and reaching for the discarded white belt.

>   “Yeah.” He opened and closed the door a few times, sending a potpourri of concerning odors washing over us. “I lit a match…”

  “Thanks,” I said, getting a hand on the belt, but not before the New Dead’s rotten teeth bit down on my wrist; that wasn’t part of the escape—I might have to bring it up later, ‘cause it was highly effective.

  “Damn it!” I shouted, practically leaping off the beast and opening up a lasso of Magickal gi belt.

  The old guy shrugged and fanned the door a few more times.

  “I know. Sorry, man,” he said, leaving us with only the scent of his passing.

  The New Dead changed tactics—seeing a ride so close must have been too compelling. It ignored me and scrambled after the old man.

  “Oh no you don’t.” I tossed the large loop of belt around the creature’s neck and yanked it back like a yoked horse.

  The New Dead’s fingers scraped at the edge of the old man’s gi pants, but came up short.

  I dragged it toward the bathroom, twisting the belt like a bag tie and squeezing the monster’s neck. The dead don’t breathe, but the idea that having your neck squeezed is a bad thing doesn’t go away the instant you die—you got to be Old Dead to not fall for that trick.

  Shrieks, screams, and then a litany of curses flowed out from the New Dead’s peeling lips. I just had to get it to the bathroom—I had an idea, but it was more than a little dicey.

  Beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Dad?”

  Cathy!

  I looked up from the New Dead to find my daughter leaning over the counter and staring down at her father. A dad presently in the midst of pulling an invisible Hellspawn into the half-open bathroom door, looking for all the world like he’d gone bat-shit crazy.

  “You okay, Dad?”

  You bet, I do this all the time.

  4

  Aw Hell

  The New Dead clawed for my daughter, its charred fingers swinging wildly. I pulled the ends of the belt out to either side pretending to stretch but actually cinching down on the monster’s neck.

  “Sorry, honey,” I said, pulling the ends taut. “My back’s tight. I think I might have pulled something.”

  “Really? Does that mean you won’t come back again?” A frown crept up around the edges of Cathy’s lips.

  The New Dead snarled and clawed at the belt loop, dragging me across the polished concrete.

  “No!” I shouted, pulling the rotting spirit back harder. “No, I can come again. Sure. Just need to loosen up better before I get here.”

  Cathy smiled and her eyes lit up; even covered with sweat and other people’s funk my daughter was beautiful—how on earth does one say no to that?

  “Thanks, Dad!”

  Cathy’s heart-shaped face disappeared behind the counter, and the New Dead turned its attention back to me.

  “Time to go,” I said, yanking the beast back into the broom-closet-sized bathroom with me.

  “You say something, Dad?” Cathy’s voice asked from somewhere on the other side of the counter.

  “Nope.”

  I hooked the door with my foot and closed us in—one sweaty middle-aged Magician and a scrappy, and hellish New Dead.

  Definitely need to loosen up more next time—provided there is a next time.

  Mercifully the owner had installed a motion-sensor light because I didn’t have a spare hand to locate the switch. The phone-booth-sized bathroom had a narrow pedestal sink, a toilet that had been around the block the hard way, and an impossibly tight set of utility shelves holding all manner of supplies.

  “Clauditis,” I shouted, using my head to whack the door—when both your hands are full of belt you use whatever is available.

  Click.

  Magick flowed over me like a cresting wave and locked the door. We were in this together now—two things enter, one thing leaves.

  Welcome to Thunderdome, New Dead.

  I found the utility-sized box of matches the old man had mentioned on the shelf.

  That’ll do. I hope.

  I slammed the monster’s face against the sink and smiled at the wet, cracking sound of contact—the dead are much easier to handle in corporeal form.

  I switched hands with the belt and reached for the matches. If I could get enough sulfur, there was a chance I could punch this bastard’s ticket and send him home—straight back to Hell. The trick would be not joining him, or bringing back any souvenirs.

  No sooner had I got a hand on the box than the New Dead latched its fingers on my neck. It was the spirit’s turn to yank me against the wall, and not to be outdone; my own head provided an equally nice thump as it made contact with the drywall. “Aargh!”

  The inner tray of the match box shot out into the air, knocking into the wall and sending a confetti spray of precious sticks into the air.

  Plink. Plink. Plink.

  Wet matches weren’t going to do me a damn bit of good, and now the toilet bowl held at least half of those drowned soldiers.

  The New Dead tossed me to the floor. I tucked my head to my chest to avoid a second brain-jarring impact. The New Dead turned its attention to the tangled belt wrapped around its neck, clawing at the enchanted fabric.

  “Oh, hell no.”

  I yanked down on the belt edge and dragged the foul-smelling spirit on top of me for the second time tonight.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Dad? You okay in there?” Cathy’s sweet voice asked through the door.

  I kicked my legs around the New Dead’s neck and grunted in pain as its claws tore at my sides.

  “Uh. Yeah… just give me… a… second.”

  The New Dead screeched and bit down on my thigh, only scant inches from my man parts.

  “Son of a bitch!” I shouted, swinging a fist and making contact with the creature’s torched face.

  “You sure?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Just fighting off a New Dead spirit, honey. In a second or two I’m going to open a portal to Hell and toss it in—can I get you anything?

  “Okay, but if you need something we’ve got a doctor here. She said it’s okay, that sometimes guys your age—”

  “I’m fine, Cathy!” I shouted, kicking off the New Dead and scrambling backward.

  “Okay…” said a clearly concerned teenage voice on the other side of the door.

  Nice work, Gene. This was supposed to be a daddy-daughter bonding session.

  The New Dead clawed at the belt loop, its scorched fingers tearing on the once-white fabric.

  I didn’t waste any time. I scooped up as many matches as I could locate on the floor. Once I had a fist’s worth, I turned to face the beast.

  “It’s time to go back in—you look a tad under-cooked,” I said, grabbing the box sleeve and striking the bundle against it.

  Nothing.

  “Come on!”

  I struck the bundle again.

  Still nothing.

  The New Dead tore at the belt loop, widening it until the last bits of Magick fell away.

  “Dad, I know you said you were okay, but I’m starting to get worried. Doctor Judy is here—”

  “Hello, Mr. Law.”

  “She says if you need her to come in she will…”

  “I’ll be right out, Cathy!”

  The New Dead smiled, its withered lips cracking. It was non-corporeal again, and that meant Cathy was fair game. It had only to pass through the door and it would take my daughter, one leg of the three-legged stool that made life worth living, away from me.

  “Portae Inferni!” I shouted, ripping the matches across the box sleeve with all my might and sending my Magick into those wooden sticks.

  Whoosh!

  The fistful of fire roared to life and filled the tiny bathroom with the acrid scent of sulfur.

  Time to get you back in the oven, you undercooked ash clown.

  The New Dead scrambled for the door, clawing at the painted wood. I traced a sigil in the air with my bundle of brimstone
, and in an instant my window to the inferno was open.

  The swirling ring of fire between us was a portal to a nightmarish Hellscape—it was ‘the bad place,’ after all—lakes of roaring fire, boiling pools of magma, and souls by the thousands writhing in agony. Screams of pain and terror washed over me and the hot wind singed my eyelids. This was the hard way to take out your dead, and more than a little reckless, but at this moment it was that or risk Cathy—easy decision.

  Across the bathroom, the New Dead scrambled for the door, but it couldn’t fight the pull of the gate.

  There’s no place like home.

  A rocketing roll of toilet paper shot past my head and into the great sucking void, soon to be followed by half the contents of the utility shelf. A plunger, paper towels, and a jug of hand soap toppled in from behind me and burst into flames in the fires of Hell.

  My window to Dante’s summer home was wide open and with each new item dragged in it burped up hot blasts of fiery embers. At least, I thought they were embers until the first one landed on my cheek and bit down.

  Hell Fleas!

  Hell was the epitome of all things evil and malevolent, the antithesis of life and love—of course it had fleas.

  The spirit clawed at the sink, its blackened fingers sliding over the smooth porcelain, but the yawning mouth of Hell only drew it closer. I took my eyes off the Hellgate to swat at the swarm of infernal insects staking out their claims to my skin. The New Dead was already halfway through the portal, its charred fingers clinging to the edges, and its limbs stretched taut.

  What remained of the spirit wailed as flakes of its undead flesh burned away.

  “I’ll be back—”

  I kept swatting at Hell Fleas while holding up the still smoldering bundle of spent matches.

  “Come on, that’s the best you have? ‘I’ll be back’ is so over-used.”

  “Dad?” Cathy said, her voice faint through the bathroom door.

  “I’ll be back, for her!”

  “Like Hell you will!”

  I rammed my fist into the toilet water, matches and all. The portal collapsed, taking with it the New Dead and leaving a faint hint of brimstone, a few falling embers, and a cyclone-wrecked bathroom as the only evidence of its passing.