I.
N. I. R.
I.
SANCTUS SPIRITUS
I.
N. I. R.
I.
SATOR
AREPO
TENET
OPERA
ROTAS
He’d carved them himself, just as his father had taught him, carefully inscribing the words from
The Long Lost Friend
—the main powwow grimoire—as well as words, charms and sigils from other occult tomes he owned that dealt with other magical disciplines. Most of the books had been passed down to him from his father, but since then, Levi had gained access to books that his father would have frowned upon. As he often did during times like this, Levi wondered what his father thought of him now, as he looked down on Levi from the other side. Was he proud of his son? Did he approve? Did he understand that sometimes you had to use the enemy’s methods and learn the enemy’s ways if you were to defeat them? Or like the rest of Levi’s people, did his father disapprove even in death of how Levi used his talents?
There was no way of knowing, of course. It would remain a mystery until the day when Levi saw him again. The day when the Lord called him home. Sometimes, Levi prayed for that moment. Yearned for it. But he feared it, too. Feared what the Lord’s answer might be when he finally stood before Him in judgment.
“Your will be done,” he whispered. “That’s what it’s all about, right, Lord? Your will?”
Another scream pulled him from his thoughts. Levi shivered. The night air was growing chilly and damp. He reached into his pocket, produced a key ring and removed the padlock. Then he opened the box and, despite the growing chaos around him, sighed in a brief moment of contentment. The interior of the box smelled of kerosene and sawdust and dirt. They were comforting smells. They spoke to Levi of hard work and effort and honesty. Many people had boxes like this on the backs of their buggies or in the beds of their pickup trucks. Usually, they held tools of some kind. Chainsaws, shovels, screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, spare engine parts, oil or gasoline cans. Levi’s box held tools, as well, but they were different tools, the ones of his trade.
A rapid volley of gunshots erupted. Levi could tell from the sound that it was two different weapons—a rifle and a handgun. They were far enough away to not immediately concern him, but close enough to tell him that whatever was happening was coming closer.
He reached into the box and sifted through the contents. Normally, a duct-tape-wrapped bundle containing a dried mixture of wormwood, salt, gith, five-finger weed and asafedita—a charm against livestock theft—was at the top of the box, to protect Dee during those times when Levi left the buggy unattended. He’d had her since she was a foal, and the horse—along with his dog—was Levi’s closest companion. She was descended from an old line, and her family had aided his family for a very long time. Her safety was of paramount importance to him. Since she was stabled beyond the town’s outskirts, he’d tied the bundle around her bridle. No harm could befall the horse as long as the bundle remained with her. He felt satisfied that Dee would be safe. He wished that he could say the same for the people of Brinkley Springs.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his slim, battered copy of
The Long Lost Friend
. Written on the cover in tiny, faded gold lettering was the following:
The Long Lost Friend
A Collection
of
Mysterious & Invaluable
Arts & Remedies
For
Man As Well As Animals
With Many Proofs
Of their virtue and efficacy in healing diseases and defeating spirits, the greater part of which was never published until they appeared in print for the first time in the U.S. in the Year of Our Lord 1820.
By John George Hohman
I N R I
Just holding the volume in his hand made him feel better. This was his primary weapon—an unabridged edition, unlike the public-domain versions one could find online. Those were watered down and edited. This was the real thing.
Smiling, Levi returned the book to his pocket and then focused his attention on the box. He sorted through the books and trinkets. It was an odd assortment. The first item was an e-book reader loaded with the unabridged versions of Frazer’s
The Golden Bough
, Francis Barrett’s
The Magus
and Parkes’s
Fourth Book of Agrippa
, as well as the collected works of John Dee and Aleister Crowley and a scattering of scanned pages from the dreaded
Necronomicon
and other esoteric tomes. Also in the box were a knife, wooden matches, a cigarette lighter with a cross emblazoned on its side, a small copper bowl, plastic freezer bags filled with various dried plants and roots, a peanut-butter jar filled with desiccated locust shells, a black leather bag filled with different stones and gems, a vial of dirt, a second vial filled with water, a third filled with oil, a small compass, a mummified hand wrapped in cloth, pendants and other assorted jewelry, a lock of hair tied together with red string, fingernail clippings held together with a strip of masking tape, flint arrowheads, baby-food jars filled with various powders and debris, his Rods of Transvection and Divining and many other items. There was also a black cloth vest with many deep pockets.
He put on the vest. The garment was snug around his middle, but it would suffice. He selected the compass, a small bundle of dried sage, another of dried rose petals, a canister of paprika, a second filled with salt, the vials of oil and water, the cigarette lighter and the knife, and stuffed them into his vest and pants pockets. His pants bulged around his thighs when he was finished, and he had to tighten his belt in order to keep his pants from falling down around his ankles. Satisfied, Levi quickly shut and sealed the box. The padlock snapped into place with a sound of finality.
The buggy’s axle groaned again as he hopped back down. Levi stood in the street and glanced up at the moon. It was bright and full and cold. The breeze brushed his face and ruffled his hair. Bowing his head, Levi murmured a prayer.
“The cross of Christ be with me. The cross of Christ overcomes all water and every fire. The cross of Christ overcomes all weapons. The cross of Christ is a perfect sign and blessing to my soul. Now I pray that the holy corpse of Christ bless me against all evil things, words and works.”
He hoped that the prayer and the items in his pockets would be enough to face whatever evil had been visited upon the town. Ideally, he would have fasted for several days before undertaking this task, but these were far from the ideal circumstances. The screams grew louder and more numerous. Armed against whatever might be causing them, Levi waded into the night, ready to do battle.
FIVE
Trish Chambers danced around in her darkened living room, singing ELO’s “Shine a Little Love” in a breathless falsetto. Her treadmill had died when the power went out, and her iPod had stopped working, too, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from getting into shape. She was dressed in a faded gray T-shirt and a pair of black loose-fitting sweatpants. The sweats hadn’t always been so baggy, and it was their distinct lack of snugness that kept her going, no matter how exhausted from her exercise routine or disillusioned with her diet she became. Two months of working out every night—of running on the treadmill or dancing along with Richard Simmons and sweating to the oldies—had delivered results. All she had to do was keep going, and she did. Electrical outage be damned. She was divorced, thirty-two and desperate to find someone again.
Not that Brinkley Springs offered her many choices when it came to finding someone to date. Trish worked at the bank in Lewisburg, and the choices there weren’t much better. All of the male employees were either married or gay. A friend of hers had suggested she try one of the online dating websites, but Trish hadn’t quite worked up the nerve yet. She decided to wait until she was happy with her body.
After all, she’d spent the last twelve years of her life trying to make someone else happy—her ex-husband, Darryl. Now it was time to focus on herself. If she was happy with who she was, then it would be easier to find someone else who’d be happy with her. A man like she’d always dreamed of. Someone who would take her breath away.
She switched from ELO to Garth Brooks’s “Friends In Low Places,” singing out the vocals with an exaggerated drawl, and did a series of jumping jacks. The knickknacks on the shelves trembled and the ceiling fan swayed back and forth, but Trish didn’t care. She pressed herself for another three minutes and didn’t stop until she heard the gunshot.
Gunfire was a normal sound in Brinkley Springs. Lots of people hunted in the mountains around town, or engaged in a little backyard target shooting from time to time. On the Fourth of July, many residents often celebrated by firing their guns into the air. Normally, the sound of gunshots was nothing to be concerned about. Trish was just about to start exercising again when she realized that the gunfire was accompanied by multiple screams.
“What in the world?”
Breathing hard from the past half hour’s exertion,she padded to the front door and looked out the window. The streets were dark, and she couldn’t see anything. More shots echoed down the streets, followed by more cries of alarm. Trish was just about to open the door and peek outside when she heard glass breaking in her bedroom. Her hand fluttered to her chest and her breath caught in her throat.
More glass tinkled, as if falling to the floor. Then she felt a slight breeze drift through the house. Someone had broken in.
She reached for the phone, picked it up and dialed 911. Then she brought the receiver to her ear. There was only silence. No emergency operator. No ringing. Not even a dial tone. Whimpering softly, she placed the phone back in its cradle and tiptoed toward the kitchen. Her cell phone was lying on the counter. If she could reach it in time . . .
Laughter drifted from her bedroom, cold and malicious and definitely male. Her heart rate, already rapid from her exercise routine, increased.
Trish kept a pistol in the house, a Ruger .22 semiauto. She’d bought it at the gun store on Chestnut Avenue after she and Darryl split up because she’d been nervous being alone in the house at night. She kept it loaded. (“No sense having an unloaded gun in the house,” her daddy had always said.) The weapon was in the top drawer of her bedroom nightstand— right next to the window the intruder had gained entry through, judging by the sound.
Fat lot of good that does me.
She wondered if the intruder could be Darryl. She wouldn’t have thought so. He’d been pretty satisfied with the divorce, because it meant he could cat around at the bars and elsewhere without fear of getting caught. But if he’d been drinking, she wouldn’t put it past him. Maybe her lawyer had been right.
Maybe she should have gotten a restraining order.
Trish reached the end of the living room and was just about to step into the kitchen, when her bedroom door banged open at the far end of the hall and a figure dressed entirely in black leaped out into the hallway and rushed toward her. Trish backed away, screaming, aware that other people were shrieking right outside her house. She collided with an end table, sending a lamp her aunt had bought her as a wedding present crashing to the floor. Then the dark figure was upon her. He stank like something dead. The last thing Trish noticed was how big the man’s mouth was. Darkness engulfed her. She opened her mouth to scream again, and her attacker stifled her cries with a savage, forceful kiss that suffocated her. She was aware that he was laughing as he did it. His body shook and jiggled against hers as he wrapped both arms around her and squeezed.