Dark Arts (17 page)

“He wasn’t getting lucky tonight anyway,”
Miranda said, exhaling a small cloud.

Maxwell took a deep pull on the joint. The
throbbing pain of his head and bruised neck began to fade
immediately. “Thanks, doc, this beats a lollipop.”

“Anesthesiologist,” Jeff said. “Training to
be a doc though. Take that thing, and her back to the big cabin.
Sleep.”

Susanne came out of the bedroom, sniffing,
her eyes found the joint in Maxwell’s hand just as he was starting
to hand it back to Miranda and he froze. “I thought that’s what I
smelled.”

“He’s an anesthesi-man,” Maxwell said,
trying to hold his breath and pointing at Jeff with a ring-bedecked
finger. “It’s on the up-and-up. And I’m up and up.” Maxwell
exhaled, Miranda took the joint from his fingers. “Allen going to
be all right?” he asked.

Susanne let Jeff into the room and nodded.
“He’s going to be fine. If you two plan on smoking that whole thing
yourselves, you should start walking now.” She looked to Miranda,
who was taking a more conservative drag than before, as though
behaving a little for her aunt. “And you’re not injured at all, so
take it easy on it, yes?”

Miranda nodded and handed the joint back to
Maxwell, who was standing up. The fog descending on his senses made
it clear that he really didn’t have much time to get back to the
main cabin and his bedroom gracefully.

The farm and the cabins a short way down the
road felt safe, and the night air was finally cooling. Miranda and
Maxwell didn’t have trouble finding their way together.

The heat of the day was just starting to
creep in through the windows of Maxwell’s room. He watched Miranda
sleep as he woke up slowly. She’d borrowed one of his t-shirts late
the night before, it bunched up overnight, riding half way up her
back. She spared him questions, didn’t try to hold him accountable
for what he tried to do, or the trouble he caused. For her, it
seemed that it was enough that everyone made it back, and she was
surprisingly unshaken by the events.

Instead of giving him the tongue-lashing he
deserved, she offered companionship and comfort. Most remarkable of
all, he was sure he fell asleep first, and his ease with Miranda
was partly to blame.

With great care he slipped out of bed,
immediately regretting the act of moving at all. His back, his
shoulders and especially his neck were stiff and sore. He didn’t
bother dressing, but crept from his room in his boxer shorts,
picking up his pants, a shirt and his guitar case on his way
out.

The door creaked as he opened it and he
cringed, Scott was right outside in the hall, staring at him with
an amused grin with a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Good
morning,” he said.

“Quiet,” Maxwell whispered.

Scott peeked over Max’s shoulder and smiled.
“You guys had a good night after all,” he whispered, taking Max’s
guitar case.

Max carefully closed the door and started
putting his jeans on. “We were too tired and stoned, nodded right
off,” he said.

“I got it on with April, man she’s a handful
in all the right ways,” Scott said. “She must be adopted, can’t be
from the Sands family. How they could make an angel like that, I
can’t see it, she’s a pure sweetheart. A dirty minded, playful
sweetheart. I love her laugh, maybe more than anything. It’s hard
to think she’s from that family. I don’t think her dad knows she’s
come here though. She takes off when the sun comes up.”

“Careful there,” Maxwell said. “Steven Sands
is dangerous, her whole family is worth their reputation.” He took
Scott’s pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and popped one
into his mouth. His band mate offered a flame with his lighter, and
Maxwell nodded his thanks. They moved down the hall to a bench and
sat down.

“I’m telling you, Max,” Scott said. “April
knows all about that stuff, we talked about it. She wants to be
initiated here, but it breaks her heart to know that there’s no
way. Samuel would probably allow it, maybe encourage it, but her
dad and the rest would make a huge stink, or try to wedge
themselves back in.”

“They’ll never get back in,” Maxwell said.
“Tell her to stick around, get to know people, try to make it right
with her brother at least so she doesn’t have to walk away from her
whole clan. She’ll get her initiation,” Maxwell said. “It’ll take
time, but if her heart’s in it, it’ll be worth it. I feel like I’ve
survived the gallows, then got knocked out with a bat,” Maxwell
groaned, massaging the back of his neck.

The sounds of plates, voices and other
breakfast activity drifted up from the first floor. Maxwell’s
stomach grumbled. He craved a hot shower more, and from the slant
of the sunlight, he could tell he had gotten up early enough to
catch the hot water tank before it was empty.

“What happened last night? No one’s talking,
but I caught a look at Uncle Allen, he’s got two stitches on his
lip and scratches all over.” Scott said.

“I tried to dump something I found on the
road,” Maxwell said. “I think it’s been the cause of what people
have been seeing, the good and the bad.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing, I’ve never
heard of what happened at the lake yesterday with that family. Not
outside of fairy tales and old stories about spirits in the night
and shit. You know, from when people thought they could still meet
their Gods in person and get up after being dead a few days.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Maxwell said. “The
Dawn Shard, I think it throws gasoline on the fire whenever spirits
were around, or when someone’s performing a ritual. It definitely
has some big blokes attached to it already. I was afraid that
someone would get an enlightening surprise during their morning
prayers if I kept it around here. We do have some people here who
pray to the holy trinity, and I’m all for them getting a visitation
from one of their high spirits, or even the Man himself, but the
Dawn Shard seems to attract as many charlatans, and those souls
love a believer. I dumped it and sealed it in the ground.”

“But, if that’s really what brought the
spirit world into Technicolor, then it made what we saw on the
beach happen, right? I mean, sure, if you felt there were spirits
in need of release, and you performed that ritual without the shard
around, then maybe you’d get the same result without seeing the
spirits, but what we saw was like a miracle or something. That was
all good, right?”

Maxwell looked down the hall at the sound of
the shower flow stopping. He would prefer to take a shower in the
main cabin as opposed to having to use the public ones in the
bathroom building outside. “Check this out,” Maxwell said, raising
his chin and showing the rope-shaped bruises around his neck. “That
shard is definitely a bad news, good news situation. You saw the
good news, and when I went to bury the thing, I got the bad news.
Bugger who was holding that family we released tried to hang me.
Bloody hell, he did hang me. Bernie, his dad, and Miranda’s Aunts
got there just in time to save my ass. Didn’t end there though. The
bad pastor and his whole congregation got a hold of Allen. Felt
like I stepped into one of those old medieval paintings with the
demons inflicting torment on a trapped soul. I’ll never look at one
of those the same way again.”

“That’s why you’re wearing your medallion,
and why you’ve got that weaver’s blade,” Scott said, saddened a
little. “Yeah, maybe it’s not worth it, glad everyone came out okay
though, really. Uncle Allen looked beat up when I saw him
downstairs, he was helping out in the kitchen.”

“That’s a relief,” Maxwell said. “Any idea
how Zack’s doing?”

“He passed out with a bunch of hippies late
last night,” Scott said. “I think he found a few fans who took care
of him after he came down and Southern Circle let him out of
sight.”

“Good, we need to start playing, our last
gig is coming up,” Maxwell said.

“So we’re setting up in the barn today?”
Scott asked, his mood visibly improving.

“Yeah, going to see if Miranda will join in.
Get some of the other musical folk up on stage too, maybe we can
make our last show our biggest. Backup singers, tambourines,
keyboards, I’ll take horns if there are good players around.
Everything but the kazoo.”

“My cousin brought his accordion,” Scott
said.

“Maybe we can get him on the old Hammond
organ if Darrel doesn’t want to,” Maxwell said.

The door to the bathroom opened, a puff of
steam rolling out and just far enough down the hall to precede
Bernie. “Good morning,” he said to Scott and Maxwell. “Better get
in there before someone jumps in. They’re already out of hot water
in the main house.”

“Done, and done,” Maxwell said, butting his
cigarette out in the freestanding tray beside the bench.

“Oh, did Scott tell you that we went out and
got your bike this morning? I was afraid to leave it so close to
the road.”

“No, he didn’t,” Maxwell said. “Thanks, I
owe you one.”

“De nada,” Bernie replied. “I’m going to
start setting the barn up. My dad’s already told me I’d get a list
of chores to do if I hovered around him.”

“Cool,” Scott said. “I’ll give you a
hand.”

“Oh, who rode my bike back?” Maxwell
asked.

“Scotty,” Bernie said. “I hate riding two
wheels on gravel, remember?”

“Thanks again,” Maxwell told Scott. There
was something wrong there, maybe he scratched his Harley, or
something worse, but Scott had a guilty look about him.

“No problem, Max.”

The bathroom was still steamed up while he
took care of his morning needs, and it didn’t have a chance to
clear before he got into the shower with a disposable razor he
found in the cupboard. He shaved, then turned and let the hot water
massage his sore neck and shoulders. The day before had left him
with more questions than he could handle. Three of them nagged
heavily.

Why were he and Miranda separated when they
were young? He understood that her aunts didn’t live in the
country, but he’d heard there was more to it. Everyone seemed
afraid of the book, but from his experience, the shard was far more
dangerous. The biggest question on his mind was one that he was
sure other people shared: why was the spirit world interacting with
him and people around him so much more clearly, so
aggressively.

These questions, and thoughts of Miranda
took turns occupying his mind as he selfishly, guiltlessly used up
almost all the hot water left in the main cabin’s tank. He felt the
water begin to cool, and hurriedly finished washing. By the time he
was finished, the water was getting colder by the second. If he
stayed in another minute, he may as well be bathing in the
lake.

There was a line of five people with towels
in the hallway when he finished, and the fragrance of freshly fried
bacon was in the air. “Sorry folks, you’ll have better luck finding
hot water in the public bathroom,” he said as he passed, causing
groans and shaking heads all down the line. None of them should be
trying to use the main cabin’s bathroom, as far as he was
concerned, they weren’t staying there.

He carried his guitar case downstairs into
the main room, which had two old, wooden folding tables set up so
more people could sit and eat from platters of eggs, bacon, toast,
sausages, waffles, English muffins, and a yellow-orange casserole.
Maxwell headed to the dining room, and the main table, where a
plate was put into his hands by Gladys who said; “Mangiare a
sazietà,” gesturing to the table.

Amongst a full table with children in high
chairs and people moving in and out of a crammed kitchen, there
were several older people there who Maxwell recognized, including
Scott’s mother and father, Nadia and Desmond. They both smiled at
him from their seats, and Maxwell shook Desmond’s hand. “How’d our
boy do out there?”

“Best drummer on the circuit, and he didn’t
fall into any trouble. He spent most of our time chasing after Zack
and Darren,” Maxwell said as someone spooned a helping of the
deep-dish egg and cheese casserole onto his plate.

“I wish he’d shave more,” Nadia said. “He
has such a nice face.”

“I’ll remind him,” Maxwell said. “I’m sure
that compliment will get his attention if it comes from me, that’s
if I can get him away from April when she gets back,” Maxwell said,
forgetting that she was from a family not well liked by the Webb’s.
It was difficult to think of the smiling blonde girl as a Sands,
daughter to the only family that had been exiled from Circle events
and ceremonies.

Nadia changed the subject right away. Her
husband’s mood darkened as he continued to pick at his eggs. “I
hear you’re getting initiated this week?”

“Can’t fight it any longer,” Maxwell said
with a slightly forced smile. “Time to step into the circle.”

“Good, it’s about time.”

Maxwell’s plate gained weight again as an
older woman speaking a language he did not recognize stepped out of
the kitchen, dropped two steaming waffles onto his plate, grabbed a
big spoon and then added scrambled eggs and a few sausages. She
flashed him a smile, dropped a half dozen strips of bacon on top of
everything then gestured for him to move along. “I’m being
directed,” Maxwell said to Nadia and Desmond.

“Where’s my son right now?” Desmond
asked.

“Scott’s setting his kit up in the barn,
he’ll be there a while.”

“Thank you, Max,” he said.

Feeling as though there was a reckoning
coming for his friend, Maxwell decided that it was none of his
business. Whatever happened with Scott, April and their parents
would be too complicated for him to get into, especially
considering the little he knew about the feud. He spotted Samuel in
the corner, sitting alone at a card table, treating a plate of
yellow casserole as though it was chocolate cake. Maxwell stopped
to stand beside a chair there, and Samuel said; “Please, have a
seat, boy. It’s a good day, and I have this,” he gestured to his
plate. “I keep asking what it is every year when I come here, and
that Gunnering woman says some name I could never pronounce, and I
know nine languages. Doesn’t matter, best thing I eat all
year.”