In the House of Mirrors (8 page)

The cute girl in the black hoodie.
Aurelia
. She had caught me glancing at her when she stormed out of the church in somewhat of a hurry.

“
I did notice,” Boone told her. “Trust me when I say Aurelia is a very bright student. She will be spectacular, I promise you.”

“
I trust you, Father,” Danica said. She used the term “Father” the way we used to address priests when I went to Catholic Mass, before my father died. My mother stopped taking us after the sickness had taken him. “It's
her
I do not trust.”

“
Consider your concerns addressed, my child,” Boone said.

Danica nodded, her lips curling ever so slightly. “Goodnight, Father.” She walked out of the door without turning to me, or wishing me a good night. This suited me just fine, however, because I figured the less contact I had with these people, the better off I'd be.

Boone turned toward me. “I apologize. Aurelia, you may have noticed her, she was sitting in the pew across from you, is receiving a sacrament next week.”

“
A sacrament?”

“
Yes. It's when someone becomes an official member of our congregation,” Boone explained. “There is a ceremony. A very intense ceremony. Those who do not understand our ways will probably misconceive it, and misinterpret its true meaning.”

“
You mean someone like me,” I responded.

He smiled again. “Don't get me wrong. I'm not telling you you're uninvited. It just might seem a little... strange to you, being an outsider and all.” I didn't know how much more bizarre it could have gotten, but now he had me curious. “I trust if you show, you'll retain an open, receptive mind.”

“I can do that.” If my aunt and her secret lover were going to be there, than he could bet I'd be there too. “Thank you for the experience, and the chance to... seek alternate religious methods.”

“
The ways of the Creator—God if you will—is not for everyone. Not everyone enjoys being told what to do, how to live their lives. Here we do not command people how to live their lives. We give them guidelines. And with the awesome power of our Infernal Majesty, we can obtain secrets to live our life completely, without compromise. Without faith. Magic is our faith, and we can show you how to receive every gift you ever wanted. And you don't have to pray to a voiceless God to do it. Come next week. We will show you.”

I nodded, shook his hand, and exited the house.

Olberstad, Aunt Danica, and pretty much everyone else who attended the Black Mass, had vacated the premises. My car stood alone in the dirt field that was Carter Boone's parking lot. I walked through it, wondering what exactly I was going to witness the following week.

The possibilities terrified me.

7

I took several photographs of Boone's quiet sanctuary before I threw the car in drive and put the house in the woods in my rear-view mirror.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The night before seemed surreal, a lucid dream like the one I had involving Lynne and her lizard-like lover. Except this somehow seemed worse; I woke up and realized that it had not been a dream, but what I had witnessed was reality.

Most of Sunday morning was spent trudging around in my bathrobe, working on the website in fifteen minute intervals. I would work, get bored, maximize my word processor and begin typing what I had seen the previous night. I hoped I could build some sort of story around it, but nothing came.

What I really wanted was to get my pictures developed. I took a few more hours tidying up the site, punching some more words into the not-so-blank screen in front of me, before calling Cameraland to see what hours they kept on Sundays. Little Chris told me they were open until six.

I hung up the phone, got dressed, grabbed the Denlax, and rushed to my car. I had plenty of time, but I was eager.

I arrived at Cameraland within a half hour. I strolled up to the counter and presented Little Chris with the film I wished to have developed. I told him I wanted 8X10s, in which he told me that they'd be ready the next day. I must have made a face that told him I was dissatisfied.

“Is that not okay?” he asked, his eyebrows climbing his forehead.

I shrugged. I couldn't explain to Chris how badly I wanted those pictures developed that day. There were at least two clean shots of Olberstad. I was curious to see how my detective work turned out. “I was really hoping I could have them today, but it's okay. I'll stop back tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “You know what? I can have them done today.”

“
Are you sure?”

“
Yeah. It'll probably take to closing, but I can get them done.”

“
I don't want to be a pain in the ass.”

“
It's no big deal.” He snatched the film off the counter. “Besides, you're like our best customer.”

I smiled. “I owe you one, man.”

He squinted his eyes at me. “You're awfully excited about these photos, mister. I'm not going to find anything illegal in here, am I?”

“
Call me Ritchie. I never liked mister. And no, nothing illegal. Just a few pictures of some people and a house. Nothing exciting.”

“
Okay, Ritchie. I'll see you at six.”

“
I really appreciate it.”

I never should have had those pictures developed.

2

I didn't want to go back to the zoo. It was Sunday and the kids were home. Plus Robert and Anne had off. I decided to venture to the Red River North Mall, where I could wander around for a few hours or so, maybe find something to eat and drink at the food court. I arrived there shortly after one o'clock and debated how I'd spend the next five hours pretending to shop. The mall wasn't overly crowded, which I found surprising considering it was a Sunday afternoon in pro-football's off season.

The Red River North Mall was pretty big as far as most malls go. It was three-stories; they added one in the six years since I had last been there. I started wandering through the giant department store called Rizzo's, going through the men's section at a leisurely pace. I had no intentions of buying anything and I had to fend off several employees who were overly eager to assist me in whatever it was I was looking for. “Just looking,” I told them. “But thanks.”

There were few places in the mall I really wanted to visit. I perused the sporting goods store and held a fifteen minute conversation with one of the clerks about treadmills. I pretended to be interested in one to pass the time.

One of the stores I was excited to spend my time in was the bookstore, located on the third level. There used to be a bookstore on the first level when I was a kid (which was long gone), and my mother used to take me every week. She always bought me one new book a week, barring I had finished reading my previous purchase. I didn't find out until much later in life that my mother was too lazy to drive to the library; the mall was much closer to home. She'd rather pay for a book than drive to get them for free. Plus, “When you buy a book,” she later told me, “you have it forever. You don't have to worry about returning them!” My mother assumed I was a destructive little brat and I guess she figured she'd end up paying for them anyway. To her credit, I did lose most of the books she purchased.

I love the smell of bookstores. It invigorated me for some reason I was never be able to explain. When I walked into Brook's Books, I felt more alive than I had in the past few months. I didn't think about coming home to find Lynne and Buster doing the horizontal polka on my bed, nor did I think about the basement I felt like a prisoner in, nor the reconnaissance mission I recently embarked on. I wasn't thinking about my stupid camera and the photos I was anxiously waiting to see, or the cult meeting I had witnessed the previous night.

The smell of books cleared my mind, and purified my soul.

There was also the faint smell of coffee, which I followed first.

After the young lady behind the counter served me a 16oz hazelnut coffee with sugar and creamers, I headed down the aisles, in search of something I could dig into to pass the next few hours or so. I knew exactly where I wanted to go. After last night's bizarre episode I was officially on a supernatural kick. I was interested to see if there were any books written on offbeat organizations dealing with powers beyond the realm of reality, or anything regarding the occult. I found the section of the bookstore labeled NEW AGE/SPIRITUALITY and thought that would be a good place to start.

And then I saw her, in the aisle I was intending on walking down.

Her
. The cute girl with the black sweatshirt. The cute girl who sat—like me—in the last pew. Aurelia. She was to be officially accepted into the group next weekend in a ceremony that I was not uninvited to.

The church's candles did not do her looks justice. She was much prettier in the bookstore's fluorescent lighting. Plus, it helped she wasn't wearing a hood over her head. I felt nervous about approaching her. What could I have said to start a conversation?
Oh, hello. Great cult meeting last night. I especially loved the part when we tried to raise Satan from the underworld. Good times!
No. That would be ridiculous. Besides, something told me that Devil worship is a lot like
Fight Club.

I took a gigantic sip of coffee, took a deep breath, and walked over to where Aurelia was standing. Her eyes were glued to an A-to-Z encyclopedia regarding monsters and mythical creatures.

“Looking for some light reading?” I asked, as I walked past her, pretending that a book further down the aisle had peeked my interest.

She shot me a glance. Obviously confused, she shook her head. “Do I know you?” Aurelia asked.

“Um, no. Well, kind of.”

“
Kind of?”

“
Let's say we share... a common interest,” I told her.

“
Wait a minute,” she said, squinting her eyes as if she couldn't see. “I do know you. You were at the church last night. You sat in the back row, looking like you just shit yourself.” She smiled.

“
That obvious, huh?” I asked.

“
Yeah. It's okay. I wouldn't worry too much. It's a normal reaction the first time. A lot to accept, I think. I almost wet myself my first time too.” She was pretty, much more attractive than previously noted.

“
Wow. Glad to know I'm not alone there... Aurelia, was it?” I asked, although I already knew.

“
Yes. How'd you know?” Her brow furrowed.

“
I overheard Boone talking to one of the other members.”

“
Ah, Danica.”

“
Hm, how did
you
know?”

“
She's the only one who would be talking about me to Boone. She's a royal pain in my ass,” Aurelia said.

“
What else do you know about Danica?”

She took her eyes away from the book she had skimmed through and looked at me curiously. “Why? You have a thing for older women or something?” She didn't look like she was joking.

“No. God, no. I was just... nevermind.”

“
If you have a crush on the woman, you'll have to wait in line.” She put the book about mythical beasts back on the shelf, then continued scanning the row of literature in front of her. “From what I hear she has a husband. I'm under the impression that the guy she's always hanging around—Marcus, or Martin, whatever his name is—is just her little plaything. Pretty sure she's banging him. Don't recall seeing him with a ring on, so he's not married.” She looked back to me. “Sorry. Babbling again. I have a problem with that.”

“
Doesn't bother me. I happen to like people who babble. They tend to be very entertaining.”

She squinted at me again, as if she had been reminded of something. “You know something? You don't seem like the kind of guy who practices the black arts.” She withdrew another book from the top shelf, something written by a guy named David Ralston. “You seem like... I don't know...
different.”

“
Is that meant to be a compliment or an insult?” I asked, displaying a goofy smile.

“
Neither.” She began flipping through the Ralston book. “This is one of my personal favorites. You should check it out.” She got to the end of the book and handed it to me. I looked at the cover. It displayed an old painting. The scene depicted the heavens opening up, several angels cascading from the skies, all equipped with heavy body armor and swords. Demons were rising from an enormous hole in the ground, weapons in hand. They were snarling at the sky, as God's army descended upon them.
The War for Heaven, The War for Hell,
by David Ralston, the cover read.

“
I'll give it a read,” I said, tucking the book under my arms.

“
What's your name?”

“
Ritchie Naughton,” I said, extending my hand.

“
Aurelia Anderson,” she said, shaking mine.

“
I hear you're going to be given some sort of ceremony next week. Excited?”

“
Yes, considering
that
ceremony will officially make me a member of the Order. I've been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. I'm pretty nervous too.”

“
I'm sure you'll do just fine.”

She smiled and nodded. “You coming?”

“Wouldn't miss it.”

“
Good. Well I must be off. It was good running into you. I'll see you around.”

“
Absolutely.”

I watched her walk away. A strange feeling overcame me. It was reminiscent to when I left an Atlanta club with Lynne's phone number. I didn't want to entertain the notion, but I think I had a crush on a Devil-worshiping witch.

I sure know how to pick them.

3

I arrived at Cameraland around a quarter to six. Little Chris wasn't behind the counter, propped in his usual position. Big Chris was also missing in action, although that was hardly a surprise.

“
Chris?” I called out. No answer. He had to be in the back somewhere, probably finishing up the photos so he could go home. I felt like a dick taking up his entire Sunday afternoon.

I sauntered over to the counter and rang the service bell. A few seconds later, Chris emerged from the back room looking disheveled. He appeared to be at the end of a twenty-four hour shift.

“You,” Little Chris said, “come with me.” Then he disappeared behind the curtains which led to the back.

I followed him, reluctantly at first, hoping my impatience didn't cause him to fuck something up. “Chris?” I asked, as I walked through the curtain and noticed the hallway split in two directions. To my left there was small room that looked like an office. I couldn't exactly tell because the door was three-quarters closed. To my right, looked like the darkroom. I could tell because it was, well,
mostly dark
.

“
In here,” Little Chris called from the darkroom.

I made my way to the door and peaked inside. The room was dim, the only light coming from several small desk lamps, soaking the room in dark amber light. Little Chris called them Safelights.  

“Close the door,” he said.

“
What's going on? Is there a problem?” I asked.

Several of my photographs were hanging from clotheslines, fastened by clothespins at each top corner, over small trays of chemicals. The place reeked like bleach and other cleaning products, except much more unpleasant. My nostrils were stinging.

“Look,” Little Chris said. He pointed to the two photographs that I snapped of Marty Olberstad. “See it?” he asked. I didn't. I shook my head which told him so. He sighed, and pointed to the picture again. All I saw was my aunt's lover leaving his middle-class apartment. “Look at his face.”