Queen of the Dark Things (48 page)

“No. I don't.”

“Neither do I. Bill was good to me. He deserved better than that. I hope it was worth it.”

The demon smiled again, laughing. “It was. Now you're truly damned, Colby Stevens. Truly damned.”

“Go. Tell your brothers. Accept your punishment.”

“Good-bye, Colby,” said the demon, still smiling.

“Good-bye, Amy.”

Then the Holocaust Man fell away into ashes, a small flaming circle left burning in the ground where he'd knelt.

Colby looked down at Gossamer. “I told you. What you've gotten yourself into with me, it can't be undone.”

“All due respect,” said Gossamer, “but go fuck yourself. There's nowhere else I'd rather be, boss.”

Colby scratched Goss behind the ears. “Let's go home.”

“Good idea. I need a beer.”

C
HAPTER
60

T
HE
B
URDEN OF
S
OLOMON

C
olby and Gossamer were only five minutes ahead of the storm, the smell of the rain wafting in from the west, thunder rumbling through the streets. The stars were gone now; only clouds remained. They were only a few blocks from home when they heard a third pair of footsteps. At once, from the barefoot scuff, Colby knew without looking who it was.

“Hello, Coyote,” he said without breaking stride, too tired to make a big deal out of it.

“When was the last time you slept?” asked the manitou.

“Australia.”

“That was awhile ago.”

“And not the best sleep. How can I help you?”

“I'm good. Just a friendly visit.”

“There are no friendly visits from Coyote.”

“They're all friendly visits, Colby. I don't believe in getting angry.”

“Probably because you're very good at helping everyone else with that.”

“It's good to have a skill.”

Colby stopped, Gossamer stopping with him. “What do you want?”

“To congratulate you.”

“For what?”

“What do you think?”

“I really don't know.”

Coyote grinned, beaming like a proud father. “Four hundred years ago, five demons decided to sink a ship just because they could. Tonight they paid for their arrogance and lost the one thing they hold most dear.”

“The ring?” asked Colby.

“No. Their immunity from repercussions.”

“They didn't suffer long for what they did.”

“They've only just begun to suffer. You saw to that.”

“I have no intention of tangling with them again.”

Coyote smiled wider, increasingly pleased. “But they don't know that. You're a being of the flesh, Colby. You aren't bound to your word like they are. From this day forward, they will always want to know where you are because they're always going to be afraid that you might at any moment renege on your end of the deal.”

“So they'll come for me instead. Is that what you're saying?”

“What, and ensure that you'll bind them? Mark them with that little ring and make them kneel like you did Amy? They only have the illusion of choice, like they gave you. Either they trust you or they ensure they'll become your slaves.”

“That's not a very good choice,” said Colby.

“That's why I like it so much,” said Coyote through a churlish giggle. “Of all the options presented to you, the wealth of possibilities, and this was your path. You could have asked for power. Immolated your adversaries. Become a god. You could have had any woman in the world, ended all your loneliness. One boon can grant more power than most men ever dream of. You had five. Instead you asked only for what you needed. Knowledge and tools.”

“That was the only way to do it.”

“It was the only way to do it and retain your soul.”

“Like I said. That was the only way to do it.”

Coyote nodded, walking again toward Colby's house, waving a lecturing finger. “At night you drink yourself to sleep, wondering why your life has to be so hard. Wondering what it would be like if you hadn't made that wish. And yet every morning you wake up stronger. Smarter. Wiser. And now you have that ring.”

Colby walked briskly to catch up, Gossamer in tow. “I don't want it.”

“Good. The people who want it shouldn't have it. They say Solomon didn't want it.”

“Yeah, but I'm not Solomon.”

“Solomon was just a man, Colby. A man who cared about his people. Greatness isn't given to anyone. It's taken after years of hard learning.”

“I'm not great.”

“No. You're not. But you've become a problem. Almost everyone hates you. No one can trust you. You have grown far more powerful than you have any right to be. And worse yet, you are driven by ideals that run counter to the very world you are a part of. You look around you and see great corruption—dangerous creatures that need to be taught a lesson. And you figure you're just the one to teach them.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Maybe you are.”

“Maybe you could use a lesson or two.”

Coyote smiled, shaking his head. “It's not yet time for the student to become the teacher.”

“I'm not your student.”

“Aren't you?”

“No.”

“What was your first boon?”

“What does that have to—”

“You stood before that demon and he gave unto you a mind that could never be deceived by a spirit again. So tell me, oh seer-through-of-bullshit: am I lying?”

He wasn't. Colby stopped in his tracks. “Mandu.”

Coyote turned, the biggest, smarmiest smile Colby had ever seen pulled back over pearl white teeth.

“But he said his spirit—”

“Was a dingo. A large dingo.”

“Yeah.”

“Living in Arnhem as he did, do you imagine he'd ever even seen a coyote?” Coyote returned to walking, his stride now more of a stroll. “Angels have their preachers, Colby. Demons have their sorcerers. And I, I have my Clever Men.” The manitou kept walking, fading away as he did, until he was nothing but a shadow dimming in the night. And then he was gone, one with the black.

Colby muttered beneath his breath, but Gossamer knew what he was saying all the same. Then the two continued home, ever more unsure about everything that had just happened.

As they rounded the corner, they saw her, sitting on the front porch, a six-pack of icy Mexican beer at her side. Austin. She gave a slight nod and motioned to the beer. Colby nodded back, then looked down at Gossamer.

“I think I'm going to take a lap or two around the block, boss.”

“You don't have to. You'll get caught in the rain.”

“Nah, it's about time.”

“That it rained?”

“That too. Save me a beer.”

“It's a sixer. I'll save you two.”

Gossamer rubbed his head against Colby's leg, looked up at him with the kind of love only a golden retriever knows, then loped off down the street, dreaming about beer.

Colby plodded slowly up the front walk, hands in his pockets, eyes on the cracked cement. Austin smiled, pulled a pair of beers from the sixer, and popped off the tops without an opener.

“Mayor,” he said, looking at her, hands still in his pockets.

“Sheriff.”

He sat down, taking a beer from her hand, and looked out into the night. Austin sipped at hers, staring out with him.

“I'm not the mayor,” she said.

“I'm not the sheriff.”

“That's not what you said before.”

“That's because I was an idiot. I'm no sheriff. This town doesn't need one.”

“It doesn't?”

“No. This town needs something else.”

“What's that?”

“A Clever Man.”

They sat there, together, in silence, drinking, neither saying a word. Neither needing to. Gentle slaps of rain rolling down the street, the storm only seconds away.

E
PILOGUE

O
nce upon a time there was a very clever little girl who possessed the power to walk through dreams. Each night, as she slept, she would traipse out past the black stump, deep into the outback, and dance beneath the moon. She would frolic from billabong to billabong, leaping on top of rocks, scaling cliff faces, climbing trees, visiting all her friends of the dream as she did. And this made her very, very happy.

But one night, as she danced deeper than she ever had before, she came across a barren desert that stank only of the dead. It was soundless, with no bushes or trees for the wind to rustle. But when she heard the wind rise up she grew frightened, for it was unlike any wind she had ever heard before.

There is a vast difference between the large, boisterous sound of the wind tearing across an open plain and that of its twitters through a tight space. In the desert you notice these things. One means bad weather, the other means something is nearby. This was the latter. The whistles were like a stiff wind through a wooden fence, long, labored, the trill changing pitch with the rise and fall of each gust.

The little girl stopped in her tracks, noting the sound was moving with her, surrounding her on nearly all sides. As she came to an abrupt halt, she heard a flapping, scurrying, but the whistles still wailed. She looked around. Nothing. Darkness everywhere the eye could see. Even the stars were afraid of this place.

The little girl pulled a small box of matches from her pocket, plucked one from the tiny cardboard tray, and struck it against the side. The match brightened, growing in intensity until it became a white-hot blaze, like a phosphorous flare against the black of the outback. The darkness withered and twenty skeletal creatures, dressed from head to toe in rags, cowered from the light.

Nomorodo.
Desert vampires. Dried skin wrapped tightly around brittle bones; their insides, meat and all, sucked out by their predecessors; their hair long, straggly; finger bones filed down, sharpened to fine, deadly points. They stood there, feral, snarling, cowering behind their hands from the light, stunned for the moment by the surprise of it.

The little girl gasped. Not only had she not expected vampires, but she also hadn't imagined that if there were, there would be so many. She was completely surrounded, some on the ground, some hovering in the air, wind blowing through them making such terrible sounds. And at any moment they would pile on and drain out every last bit of her.

Then, from out in the desert, came the most terrifying sound, like a pig being both strangled and stabbed at the same time. The earth rumbled, tremors like a freight train headed right for her. And then the wind took away her light.

Screeches of a scuffle surrounded her, howls, bloodthirsty and raw, shrill against the night. Bones shattered to dust. Leathery skin shredded. The ever-present whistling began to quiet and the remaining nomorodo began chittering nervously.

Then came a burst of light so bright it lit the desert purple for miles before blinding the little girl, the image of a half dozen nomorodo being mauled by a gigantic beast burned into her eyes. Whatever it was, it was too massive, too malformed to comprehend in so brief an instant.

The nomorodo begged for their lives in dry, sand-mouthed rasps, but whatever this thing was, it showed them no mercy at all. The remaining nomorodo scattered, the whistling fading quickly as they ran for their lives.

A tangle of rags blew in the wind, wrapping loosely around the little girl's ankle, the only reminder left of its former owner. Another gust came along and took it away, dragging it off, lonely, into the desert.

Her eyes adjusted and when she looked again, the stars and moon had come back out. Standing before her was a monstrous beast, six clawed legs, fangs larger and longer than she, bristling fur from stem to stern. Atop it sat another little girl, roughly her own age, wearing purple pajamas with bright yellow stars.

The little girl atop the monster offered her a hand, helped her up onto the beast along with her.

“Thank you,” said the little girl.

“You're welcome,” said the girl atop the monster.

“Are you . . . are you the Queen of the Dark Things?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The Queen of the Dark Things is dead. She died in a land far, far away. My name's Kaycee. Just Kaycee.”

And they rode off together to a safer part of the dream.

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

C. ROBERT CARGILL
is the screenwriter of the film
Sinister
, and he is currently working on the film adaptation of
Deus Ex
. He wrote for Ain't It Cool News for nearly a decade under the pseudonym Massawyrm, served as a staff writer for Film.com and Hollywood.com, and appeared as the animated character Carlyle on spill.com. The author of
Dreams and Shadows
lives and works in Austin, Texas.