Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four (12 page)

Lou was being released from the hospital this afternoon. I’d promised Honey I’d drop by with a load of groceries and help her set up the hospital bed at his place.

I turned over the Vic to Doc and paid him what I owed, then drove out to Henrietta to the Outdoorsman’s Cavern to pick up a few essentials we’d need tonight. Given that hunting season was in full swing, the place was packed, but I managed to score a lightweight cot we could use as a stretcher for carrying Lou, flashlights, batteries, and even a couple air horns that were on sale. After a drive over to Wegmans in Pittsford for groceries, I was feeling pretty confident that our plan was going to work.

I just had one more stop to make.

The Shore Haven Public Library was located on 6
^th
Street, between Empress and St. Leonard. Built in the 1940s, the squat, two-story building had been renovated several times over the years, but to me, it still looked the same as it had when I was a kid. Built of rough-hewn grey granite, it resembled a prison more than a temple of learning. Only the stone courtyard in front, rimmed with bright orange marigolds and benches, softened the severity of the place. A wide stairway led up to the double doors, and once inside, the narrow windows and deep sills made for a perpetually gloomy interior.

I entered the vestibule, where dozens of jackets in a variety of colors and sizes hung from wall hooks placed at varying heights around the room, awaiting the return of their owners. It looked like Saturday was busy day. In a month, down parkas would line the walls and the place would look like a patchwork padded cell.

I stepped up to the information desk, where an older woman appraised me with a bored expression. My friend Karen used to work here, but she left six months ago, and this woman didn’t look familiar. Silver hair cut shorter than mine and cat’s eye glasses gave her a decidedly un-librarian-like look. Kind of arty. Maybe she was a volunteer.

“Can I help you find a book?” She asked.

 “Um, I’m looking for the demon section.”

She gave me a disapproving look. “Excuse me?”

 “Or sorcery. Specifically. I’m looking for any information you might have on summoning a demon.”

She picked up a pencil twiddled it between her thumb and forefinger. “What is the name of the book?”

Yeah, I really hadn’t thought this through. “I don’t know the name of the book.”

“The author then.”

“Can’t you just point me to the demon section?”

She gave me an angry, doubtful look that I remembered from every teacher I ever had in Junior High. “Wait right here.” She marched swiftly to the far side of the library and spoke to a dark-haired, younger woman replacing books on the shelves from a cart. The two women spoke for several minutes, all the while, glancing sharply over at me. 

I was just about to slink out, when the second of the two women approached. The crescent-shaped scar on the palm of my hand began to itch like crazy. A rush of adrenaline spiked through me. The woman was no djemon. And she had a lifeline, which ruled out a vampire or any other sort of undead. She was human, but something about the way she looked at me reminded me of the women at Growlers. My heart skipped a beat.

Could she be one of the cultists? A sorceress?

Oh jeeze. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I really should have talked to Lou first.

My hand began to burn, warning me to get out. I backed away. “Um, never mind.” I said.

She stopped just short of the information desk, watching me, not saying a word. She was about my height and wore her long brown hair pulled back in a single braid. She wore a simple black t-shirt and skirt which accentuated her wiry, muscular build. She didn’t look like a librarian, either.

I edged my way toward the vestibule, but with each step, my feet and legs became heavier—as if I were wading through invisible quicksand. I didn’t know what was going on, but whatever it was, I trusted the little voice in my head, telling me to
get the frack out of here!
My heart pounded.

As hard as I tried, I could not take another step.

The dark-haired librarian raised an eyebrow at my predicament, a look of sly amusement on her face. 

Morta’s shears slid into my hand and reflexively. I clenched and released my fist. The scissor action seemed to diminish the sluggishness in my leaden legs.

She closed the distance between us, stopping just out of arm’s reach.

I held up my shears. No one else in the library seemed to see me, or notice anything at all.

 “You don’t belong here,” the librarian said. “We don’t serve your kind.” The weight around my legs seemed to increase. I flexed the shears again.

 “It’s a public place,” I said. “I don’t like bullies.” As a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, I’d met more than my share of them. I probably had ten pounds on her, but she was solid muscle.

She gave me a superior sort of sneer. “Maybe I’ll just hold you there and call the Sheriff.”

I know a bluff when I see one. She wasn’t going to call anybody. Two could play that game. I pulled my newly organized cell phone out of my pocket. “Yes, by all means, let’s call Sheriff Jim. He’s a good friend of mine.” Well, maybe I was stretching it a little. “Better yet, I’ve got the FBI on speed dial.”

The heaviness around my legs lifted so suddenly, I fell right on my ass. Of course, everyone in the library saw that. I scrambled to my feet, and got out of there, the sound of the women’s mocking laughter ringing in my ears. 

* * *

Lou and Honey lived on St. Drogo’s Street. Most of the streets in Shore Haven are named after obscure Saints or Tarot Cards. Every school-aged kid in Shore Haven knew that Saint Drogo had been a shepherd in 12
^th
century France who possessed the magical ability to be in two places at once. He was the patron saint of deformities, mental illness, and coffee houses.

I arrived at the duplex where Honey and Lou lived around three o’clock--later than planned, but it couldn’t be helped. Unlike many of the wood-shingle beach cottages in the neighborhood, the duplex was yellow Tudor-style stucco with a steeply-pitched roof and dark brown trim. Each side of the duplex had its own entry and tiny walled garden in the front. On Lou’s side, the garden consisted of a fountain and patio with potted plants, now withered and brown, while on the opposite side, an unraked lawn and paved walkway were strewn with plastic toy soldiers and a soccer ball with practice net.

Lou’s door was wide open when I arrived, and the hospital bed had already been delivered, and was sitting in the middle of the front room. Nine year-old Arby was seated at Lou’s dining room table, drawing a ‘welcome home’ picture on poster paper.

“Oh good,” Honey checked her watch and flashed a harried smile. “Nate Junior is at a friend’s, so you can help me with the bed. Knowing Lou, I doubt he’ll be needing it for very long.”

She turned to her son. “Pick up those crayons and go on home. You’ve got homework to finish. Mattie can help me with the rest of this.”

“Okay, Mama.” Arby slipped from the table and carefully set his drawing on the adjustable bed table that had been delivered with the hospital bed. He gave me a thoughtful look.

Arby was a typical kid, with grass stains on the knees of his jeans, his shirttail hanging out. In looks and his stocky build, he took after his father more than Honey, although he shared her Senequois features and coloring. His eyes were so dark, they appeared almost black—he actually reminded me a little of Charlie. Old man’s eyes.

“Hi Arby, remember me? I’m Mina’s aunt Mattie.”

“He shook his head. “No. That’s not right.” He pointed at my poison-blackened hand. “You’re the dead hand lady.”

“Um.” I glanced at Honey, uncertain.

“Good heavens. Out of the mouths of babes,” Honey murmured, as she rushed him out the door. “Off you go. No TV until your homework is done, right?”

“Sorry, Mattie.” She grabbed a folded bed sheet and shook it out.

I reached for the other side, and we smoothed the fabric across the mattress. “What was that all about?”

“He’s got the sight,” she said. “He takes after my grandmother. Three hundred years ago, he would have been apprenticed to the tribal shaman. But now,” she gave me a wistful expression and tucked a corner of the sheet beneath the mattress. “There isn’t anyone to teach him the old ways. He sees so much he doesn’t understand yet. When he looks at you, I imagine he sees your affinity for spirits and demons. He means no offense; he just doesn’t have the vocabulary.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been called a lot worse.”

I explained what Charlie had told us about the swamp lights and the Nalusa Falaya. “Lou and Charlie both think that the cult is going to try to summon it tonight. We have a plan to disrupt the ritual and stop them.”

“I’ve never liked Halloween. I’m keeping the boys inside with me tonight.” She stood at the big picture window and looked up and down the street. “Where is he? The Medi-Van should have arrived hours ago.” The cast on Lou’s leg made it impossible for him to get into a car. “I’m going to call the hospital and see what’s taking so long. You want some coffee? I can make a fresh pot.”

“Coffee sounds good,” I said. “He’s checking out against doctors orders. Maybe there’s a problem with the paperwork. I’ll finish up here and be right over.”

She gave me a little wave and left. I shook out two cotton blankets and smoothed them over the top sheet, recognizing the familiar scent of Stay Fresh dryer sheets. Same brand I used. I folded the down comforter Honey had retrieved from Lou’s upstairs bedroom and placed it at the foot of the bed. Although the hospital bed dominated the room, the rest of Lou’s place was modest and neat. Clearly, he’d been a bachelor a long time, and was good at it. A better housekeeper than me, come to think of it. I washed and dried the few dishes in the sink, put away the groceries, and plumped up the bed pillows before giving the place a final inspection. A pair of framed photos flanked the fireplace mantel–an old one of Lou and his partner Nate in uniform, and a more recent one of Lou standing companionably between Nate Junior and Arby. All three of them were holding fishing poles and laughing.

Nice.

CHAPTER 16

TEN MINUTES LATER, I walked over to Honey’s side of the duplex. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. It wasn’t locked, so I let myself in. Unsurprisingly, the inside layout was a mirror image of Lou’s place. “Hello?”

The house echoed, as if no one was home.

Something’s not right here. I made my way to the kitchen, and froze. An open can of Folgers coffee lay to the floor; dark grounds had spilled across the linoleum. Even an apprentice private detective like me could see at least four sets of shoeprints in the grounds. A scuffle. The back door was wide open.

I stepped around the coffee and out the back door. The lawn had been recently raked, and the patio table and chairs neatly covered in canvas for the winter. A gate leading to the alley behind the house was ajar.

The alley was empty.

“Honey?” I ran back to the house in a panic. “Arby!”

I checked every room, but the place was empty. In the kid’s room, on the floor between the twin beds, I found a crudely carved snake-like figure sitting on a blood-smeared page of lined notepaper. A message had been cut from newspaper headlines and glued to the note:

The day of reckoning has finally arrived.

You know where to find us.

The carved fetish began to emit an unnatural mist. Like a fog, it surrounded me—cold as ice. I backed out of the room, my heart racing. Holy shit. Lou had been right all along.
Lou.

I dialed the hospital and asked for Lou Scali.

“He’s been released,” the nurse said.

“How long ago?” I asked, my throat dry.

“They left mid-morning.” She sounded harried.

“Has the driver come back yet?”

She made an exasperated sound. “No he hasn’t and I’ve got three people here waiting on him. Lenny usually calls if he’s going to be late. He’s not answering his phone.”

I hung up. The hospital was ten minutes away. No reason it should take so long. This was bad news.

The consequences of Charlie releasing the trapped spirits from the Fewkes farmhouse became clear to me.

The Fewkes needed souls to summon the demon. They’d have to replace the souls Charlie freed, and they didn’t have much time. That was why Lou, Honey, and Arby had been taken, and there were probably other victims as well. Thank goodness Nate Junior hadn’t been home. I hoped he was safe.

How many souls had the Fewkes planned to use to summon the Nalusa Falaya? I didn’t want to think about it.

Dark had come early this Halloween.

If I called 911, they wouldn’t consider it an emergency. The victims had only been gone a couple hours. I called Sheriff Reynolds’ cell phone instead. He answered straight away. “I’m kind of busy here Mattie.”

I could hear sirens in the background. It wasn’t even full dark yet. All the crazies come out on Halloween.

“I’m at Lou Scali’s place. He was checked out of the hospital in a med-van before noon, but it never arrived. The driver is also missing, and he’s not answering his phone.”

“It’s going to have to wait. I’ve got shots fired at the Halloween Event in Mumford. Everybody’s in costume and the power is out. It’s darker than Hades out here. Can’t tell what’s going on.”

Mumford was twenty miles away. The Historic Village was a living museum of impeccably preserved 19
^th
century buildings set out in the middle of nowhere. Their traditional Halloween event attracts hundreds of kids and families every year.

“Honey Briscoe and her son Arby are missing, too. I think they’ve been kidnapped. There’s a bloody note here. Something’s going down tonight, I know it.”

“Shit.” Reynolds said. I heard screams in the background. I didn’t know if he was cursing at me or them. “Stay right there. I’ll send somebody when I can.”