Dark Arts (12 page)

“He can’t get us if we stand between you
three,” answered her young brother.

“I call the spirits that guard us and this
sacred space to break the bond between this,” Maxwell caught
himself mid sentence and corrected. “The Ablesmith family and
whatever may wish it harm. They are to be conducted across the
waters, beyond the physical world.”

The four children beamed up at him,
grinning, but Maxwell felt something else from the parents, and had
to make a conscious effort to look them in the eye. Even though
their pain seemed to have eased, he could feel their anger, and he
knew what he had to do to release them. “I promise you justice,” he
said, looking from Henrietta Ablesmith to Cole Ablesmith. “Go in
peace and be free from hate.” The entire family turned towards the
water then. “Bernie,” Max whispered. “You know what to do.”

For the first time Bernie saw the family as
they passed through him and the second to youngest, a little boy
who clung on to his sister’s hand, looked over his shoulder at him.
“Thank you, Sir,” he said in a near singsong tone.

Maxwell could see Bernie staring at the
family as they continued across the lake’s still waters, but was
not delayed in his duty. “I call to our defenders and keepers: It
is time for you to take our charges into your care and deliver
them. We focus our will with you with clear purpose. Protect these
souls as they are freed. As it is right in light, so may it
be.”

“May it be right in light, so let it be,”
repeated the crowd reverently.

Golden light surrounded the family as they
walked out of the circle and onto the lake. To them, it was solid
ground, and the water was a path of glittering, liquid gold. By the
time they were over twenty feet away, the family and the light
faded.

“I bring this rite to a close, with thanks
to all those who wished us well, who stood in our defense, and to
our guides,” Maxwell said. “This circle is ended as it began, in
light and peace.”

The crowd of over thirty who were on the
beach and were witnesses to everything looked at Maxwell, Miranda
and Bernie in wonder, a spell that was broken when someone clapped
once. The people there followed the example, breaking the peace
with applause. It didn’t suit Maxwell at all, he’d done something
that had to be done. He felt he would have to deal with
consequences very soon. Everything he’d just done and experienced
made it plain that he was wrong to doubt for so long. When the
noise started to abate, Miranda gave him a hug and a brief
kiss.

Maxwell turned his face to the crowd and
asked; “Anyone got a smoke, a beer and a burger?” which caused a
wave of laughter. “Maybe a tattoo gun too,” he whispered to
Miranda. “I’m going to need some protection.” He pinched the cheek
where he knew Miranda’s protection tattoo was hidden and was
rewarded with a surprised squeak, then a punch in the arm. It was
enough to get him smiling again.

As the sun kissed the calm lake waters in
yellow-red hues, clothes went back on, more beer was brought out,
and there was no escaping that a fairly low-key party was beginning
on the beach that was reserved for more adult fun. Maxwell and
Miranda changed at the big cabin then returned to the beach in time
for barbeque.

She was quiet, but so was he. He knew he
wouldn’t last in front of the fire pit after he’d had something to
eat. Scott was one of the greatest grill masters Maxwell had ever
seen. He could turn a cut of meat fit for dog food into a moist,
mouthwatering morsel with the assistance of a hibachi. The funniest
thing about it was that the short drummer had better luck with
cooking while smoking pot, which there was no shortage of around
that fire pit.

Maxwell passed, knowing that he’d be out
like a light shortly after his first puff. Miranda returned from
Bernie’s big cooler beside the fire pit with two beers, and sat
down with him on the sand. “Thanks, luv.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” she
said quietly. “Never felt peace like that. After they left, I
mean.”

The shadows cast by the tall trees around
them grew longer, the sunlight was fading, and the fire crackled to
life under Bernie and Scott’s attention. “Bernie hasn’t so much as
looked at me since,” Maxwell said. “He always wanted to be a
weaver. I remember hearing it when my father was alive. I think the
jealousy went away when he realized I’d never be initiated, can’t
blame him.”

“I’ve never heard of a releasing ritual
going like that,” Miranda said. “The feeling that you’ve helped
spirits find peace can be very strong, but I’ve never heard of
anyone actually seeing it happen.”

“It’s all the same in the end,” Maxwell
said. He took a long pull on his beer. He took his time swallowing,
knowing that Miranda and the few people nearby who were overhearing
were waiting on his next word. “I saw innocent people being trapped
by something, and I sent them off in the right direction because I
knew how. If you and Bernie weren’t there, I probably would have
tried to do it alone, but I know well enough how dangerous that is.
I had a persistent teacher.”

“You’re powerful, Max,” Miranda whispered.
“If that’s even the word.”

“I don’t know,” Max told her, looking her
right in the eye. “That was the first time I’ve ever put what I
know to use.” He pulled her close, drawing her back against his
chest. She settled in and smiled, still paying close attention to
him. “Never felt peace like this either. You, me and Bernie getting
into a rhythm and performing, same as music. Now I just wish I knew
what the big bloke was thinking.”

“Max!” called Allen from the path leading
onto the beach. He was with Darren, and judging from his bearing it
was serious.

“No rest for the wicked,” Maxwell said as he
got up. “Stick around here and meet some people, I’ll have this
chat with Allen alone, it’s a long time coming.”

“See you later,” Miranda said. “Take it
easy,” she added with a smirk.

Bernie started walking towards Allen as
well, leaving the fire pit in Scott’s capable hands. The large
grill they had laid atop the fire was already being plied with
sizzling meat, and Max’s stomach growled its farewell. “Time to pay
the piper,” Maxwell said under his breath as Bernie drew close
enough.

“Don’t worry, man, I’ve got your back.
Nothing we did back there was wrong,” Bernie replied.

“Where is the book?” Allen asked, turning
around and leading the way down the path to the cave passage.
“Where’d you leave it?”

Maxwell realized then that he didn’t have
his jacket with him, and the book was most likely on a lawn chair
beside the bus. “Back at the bus, should be fine.”

“Why isn’t it in your room in the cabin? Or
in your father’s safe? Or in the library cabinet?” Allen asked.

Maxwell could feel a strange tension in the
air as they came through the other side of the cave. He knew it was
coming from the bus. “What’s happened?”

“Man,” Darren began to explain, looking
spooked. “Everything was cool for a few hours, Zack was trying to
sleep, you know how that goes, can’t sleep on LSD, but he was
quiet, you know? Looked out the window a few times to make sure no
one was coming to the bus, but everything was cool. Then he got
restless, and while I was talking to a few people who were hanging
out close by, he got out one of the windows. I didn’t think he
could fit, you know? Before I could even chase him, he ran around,
messing with us I guess, then grabbed your jacket and went back on
the bus. I locked him back up and held up the peeler like you told
me, and he didn’t get out again. Then, maybe fifteen minutes ago, I
hear him yelling and shit, just ignored it at first thinking he was
peaking pretty hard, but he starts screaming about being immortal
and praising-“

“Don’t say the name,” Allen said.

“What passage was it?” Maxwell asked
Allen.

“Anyone who knows better won’t touch that
book,” Allen replied. “What about that didn’t sink in?”

“Better you get your hands on it and get it
away from Zack than let him mess around with whatever he likes. He
believes he’s half Ozzy Ozbourne and half David Bowie for Christ’s
sake, and he’s got an ego that makes them both look like meek choir
boys.”

“He’s your band mate, your guest, and it’s
your book,” Allen said, turning to face Maxwell. “This is a problem
that is going to last, I’m guessing, but I won’t know until someone
who has read the book, an expert on it like you can tell me how bad
it is.”

The cab lights of the bus were on, and Max
could see Zachary sitting calmly in the front seat. His head was
bowed and his shoulders were hunched in such a way that told
Maxwell that there was something wrong with him. He barely noticed
the crowd of people around the bus. Many of them clutched religious
symbols or quietly watched what was going on.

Max and Bernie ran the last of the distance
between, Allen barely keeping up behind. They were on the bus
quickly, but Maxwell slowed himself down in those last steps,
stopping to kneel beside the seat so he was just below eye level
with Zack. He was bare chested, with a little blood on his arm. It
was immediately evident that he was coming down fast. “I did it,
man, the Aurora Trial, I’m immortal now,” Zachary said wearily.

Max glanced at the symbols drawn on most of
the bus’s ceiling, relieved that almost all of it was done using
the black markers they used to make flyers. There was one scrawled
in blood, but it looked like getting enough on the metal surface
was a real struggle. “That’s cool, are you all right, mate?”

“Yeah, I’m tired, but I don’t feel high
anymore, like that shit was just drained out of my system,” Zachary
said.

“Can you show me what you did in here?” Max
did, picking the old book up from the floor at Zack’s feet. “You
said the Aurora Trial?” he tried to remember roughly where it was,
what it was.

Zachary gently pulled at a page in the
middle of the book and Maxwell found what he was looking for there.
It was a rite that was supposed to give a spirit the ability to
hide in living bodies and appear in reflective surfaces. He sighed
in relief and patted Zach’s cheek. “You’re all right, mate. I’m
sorry I left you here with your thoughts and an orange peeler.”

“Pretty funny, that was your best,” Zachary
said as though fighting to stay awake. “I know how I can get. You
take care of us. We fight, I pull shit on stage, get fucked up, but
you keep the wheels turning, make sure there’s someone there when I
finish sleeping it off. I know, man, I know. You’re an older
brother, a bitchy British older brother, but the food’s on the
table. I know.”

“Thanks, mate,” Maxwell said soothingly.
“Just, no more acid for a while, especially so bloody much. Hendrix
keeled over because of that stuff, remember?”

“Yeah, don’t have to worry about that
though, do I?”

“You know none of this works, right?” Max
said, holding the book up. “It’s all chicanery, theater for the
religious.”

“I don’t know, Max,” Zachary said, his dark,
tired eyes fixing on his. “Feel like something got me for a while
there, it was hard to finish.”

“I see you did a little blood work there,
too,” Maxwell said, nodding at a small prick on his lead singer’s
arm. If it weren’t for the smears around it, he wouldn’t have
noticed it at all. “Going to have to start calling you Ozzy.”

Zachary laughed quietly. “Man, that hurts,
like a lot. They make it look so easy in the movies, you know? Just
cut with a knife, and out it flows, but it kept on clotting, had to
keep picking myself.”

“Well, no more of that, and fake blood on
stage if you’re going to go all Alice Cooper on us, right?”

“Yeah, man, definitely.”

Allen patted Max on the shoulder. “The
Southern Circle want to take care of him. They’ll get him hydrated
and bless him, they have two nurses in their group too.”

“You all right with that, Zack? A bunch of
granola munchers are going to take care of you tonight, sound good,
mate?” Maxwell asked.

“Yeah, I’m hungry,” Zack said.

Maxwell took a good look at his friend, who
was slack jawed and pale. “Yeah, let’s get you off the bus,” he
said as he helped his friend up and off the bus into the waiting
crowd of middle aged and younger women.

“Feel like a bloody asshole,” Maxwell said
as he climbed back aboard and dropped into the front passenger
seat. He held the book on his lap and rubbed his forehead with his
free hand.

“I don’t know much about LSD, but he didn’t
look high,” Allen said. “More like he was tired.”

“Whatever’s left in his system is just
kicking his ass while he’s coming down,” Bernie said. “When you’re
on that much, your heart races for hours, then you come down and it
doesn’t necessarily slow down for a long time, it just burns off
whatever energy you have left.”

“You don’t do that, do you?” Bernie’s father
asked.

“Twice,” Bernie said, not looking at Allen.
“Just a microdot, about a hundredth of what he was on. It’s not my
thing.”

Maxwell picked up the thick black marker
that Zachary had been using and stood up. He began putting a line
through all the symbols on the ceiling.

“Well, glad you’re not into that at least,”
Allen said. “What’s all this? I don’t recognize most of it.” He
said, gesturing to the symbols on the ceiling.

“We’ll have to sand all this down later,”
Maxwell said. “He turned the bus into a chamber for giving spirits
the ability to hop from one living body to another, appear in
mirrors too. It’s a spell for people who don’t want to let go of
their dead. He thought he was making himself immortal, but this
isn’t made for the living.”

“So he didn’t give a spirit that gift?”
Allen asked.

“There’s no summoning component to it, you
have to summon a spirit once you’re finished,” Maxwell answered.
“Zack barely knows enough about this stuff to pretend he’s a
novice, so I doubt he could remember a summoning to use.”