Something Wikkid This Way Comes (7 page)

“Get off my land!” it screeches. I start to whip around, catching a glimpse of a hooded figure, as its power booms out.

It’s old magic.

I still have my camo up, so the bulk of its force bounces off my shields with only enough strength to knock me on my ass. Moo, however, goes flying, as even her Alfar strength no match for the old magic. She hits the massive altar hard, her manifested shields taking the brunt of the impact, but it still has to hurt.

Then the hooded figure disappears, apparating with an audible pop.

I get to my feet before hurrying over to Moo. She’s pulling hard on her power, healing herself, and I let her finish before offering her my hand. She stands gingerly, shaking her head as if her ears are ringing.

“Well, that answers one question,” Moo says, her voice calm despite everything. I nod. I, too, have recognized the power signature: a bizarre combination of mostly old magic with a little bit of elemental magic thrown in.

There’s only one creature that starts out elemental like us but ends up being able to use the old magic.

“Gnome,” I say. Then, to clarify, “Young and squatting.”

Moo nods, then gives me the information I need to call Tom so he can round up his paranormal posse.

We may need reinforcements.

“This is it,” Moo says. “The dead patch.”

We’re back outside the cornfield where Shar had her original run-in with Jodi. But now that we know what we’re looking for, we can feel the same curious blankness that blanketed the school. In fact, the field’s actually not far from the school, separated only by the school’s ample grounds and a thin strip of forest surrounding what used to be a railway track but has long since been turned into a nature trail.

The blank spot probably resembles a large oval from above, encompassing the school and its environs, the bit of trail, and a patch of this cornfield.

Not a huge amount of territory, no—but a good patch of land for a very young gnome to squat on and eventually bind with to create its own territory. Gnomes start out like us, able to use only elemental magics. But once they bond to a territory, they have access to the old magic, the essential stuff of which our elemental powers are but a shadow.

They wizen up like tiny elderly beings when they fully bond, giving life to the legend of garden gnomes. But they’re the sort of garden gnomes more likely to wield the power of a nuclear warhead than a wheelbarrow.

After we’ve probed the hell out of the blank patch to make sure we know exactly where the squatting gnome’s territory ends, Moo turns to me expectantly.

“What’s the plan?”

Plans are my job. Sometimes I hate my job.

I cross my arms and think about it. If we charge into the gnome’s territory, it’d just do what it did earlier and thump Moo. I might be able to forge ahead using my camo, but then it’d be me against a field full of drugged girls, someone posing as Satan—who may or may not be powerful—and the gnome. I’m pretty good in a brawl but not that good. So if we can’t go in, we have to divide their forces and get Satan to come out. But how? And will our reinforcements arrive in time if Satan really is a prince of darkness?

“Uh, Cap?” Moo says, interrupting my reverie.

“Huh?”

“We have a visitor.” Moo points toward the parking lot where we left the Bronco. There’s a girl walking toward us, dressed in an unseasonable trench coat, large-brimmed straw hat obscuring her face, and kicky strappy sandals. She looks like a flasher all done up to go to the Derby. She’s also carrying enough Styrofoam trays of Starbucks to caffeinate a flotilla.

“Oh, hey,” she says, when she manages to get close to us. She’s been weaving quite a bit on her walk, and I’d chalked it up to her sandals on grass and her coffee burden. But once she’s close enough, I can see her eyes are three-quarters pupil.

“Hey there,” I say agreeably. “What’s going on?”

“Just getting the coffee. Am I late? Are you new?”

I grin happily at her. Thank the gods we’re dealing with a Master who takes Starbucks breaks. Too bad for the girls he’s less into them wearing clothes, as it’s chilly out. Her trench coat has gaped open enough to show she’s wearing yoga pants and nothing else.

“You could say that,” I say. “We’re here to talk to your Master.”

“Oh. Does he know that?”

“I think he might.”

“Oh. Should I get him for you?”

I nod to Moo, who’s crept up silently behind the girl.

“That you shall, honey. Now hold still; we don’t want to hurt you.”

Moo strikes, wrapping a powerful Alfar shield around the girl so fast it’s like she’s stepped in a bear trap. We manhandle the girl well away from the border of where everything goes “dead,” so we know we’re safely outside the gnome’s territory.

“Dude, the coffee,” is all the girl has to say for herself, as she forlornly gazes upon the spilled contents of the overturned cups. Her hat has also fallen off, and I belatedly recognize her as Brittany, one of the last girls to go missing. She’s lost a bit of weight in the cult and has chopped off her hair.

“I know, hon,” I soothe. “Now I want you to scream.” She looks at me with confused eyes, and I sigh. I really don’t want to have to hurt her, but desperate times…

I yank sharply on a lock of badly cut hair, and she shrieks. I do it again, and she shrieks again. At the same time, Moo uses her power to batter at the subtle shields surrounding the field. It’s less a polite knock on the door and more the pounding of an enraged giant.

It’s not long before we see movement in the field. There’s nothing creepier than people melting in and out of a cornfield, as the director of
Children of the Corn
knew very well. One minute someone can be there, but they can disappear with just a few movements.

“They’re there,” Moo says.

“Amplify me,” is my only response. Moo does it with her magic so my voice will carry.

“We’ve got something of yours,” I call. “Why don’t you come out and talk?”

I give another vicious tug on Brittany’s hair, and she shrieks obligingly.

More stalks rustle, hinting at hidden watchers.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” I boom. A pair of horns is suddenly floating above a row of corn, but Satan stays put.

“I knew it,” he says, his voice furious. “I knew she’d betrayed her Master.”

I frown, unsure how he knows about Shar but even more intent on getting her back.

“Hand her over,” I say. I refrain from adding, “Or the girl gets it.”

There’s more movement in the corn.

“Why would I do that? I relish the chance to punish this little bitch, as she deserves. As you interrupted.”

I shudder, hoping the punishment hasn’t gone that far. We hadn’t taken long to uncover the site and get over there.

But if that jackass has hurt Shar, he’s gonna pay.

“Come out and talk,” I say. We need to get him in our line of sight. We need to engage with him. Then we need to piss him off. Luckily, Triptych seems to specialize in pissing people off.

The horns bob, but Satan doesn’t show himself.

“Are you afraid?” I boom. Sure enough, that does it.

Satan appears at the edge of the cornfield, looking rather surly for a reputed fallen angel.

“Of course I’m not afraid. I am the Master!”

I yank poor Brittany’s hair. She shrieks again. The Master twitches.

“A real master would keep a better handle on his girls,” I say, initiating Operation Annoyance.

Satan grumbles.

“So where is she? I’ve shown you mine.” I poke Brittany in the back, and she mewls in fright.

I don’t want to do anything else till I’ve seen Shar and know she’s okay. Satan narrows his yellow goat’s eyes at me, as if assessing his options. Eventually, he nods.

Out stumble Jodi, Shar, and the girl Laura.

Except Laura and Shar are holding Jodi, as if Jodi’s the prisoner.

I try not to act surprised, and Jodi’s in no condition to give us away. She’s badly beaten and barely conscious.

“How did you know?” I say, hoping Satan’s not too wily.

He’s not.

“She let that woman nearly get to me. And she was a spy! An interloper! Sent by our enemies! She’s talking to the parents, even now.” I assume he means Jodi’s parents, as he spits at her to punctuate his rant. The spit lands with an audible squelch on the bare skin of her belly.

Jodi’s eyes flutter. “I didn’t know,” she pleads. “Jenny lied to me, too…”

Suddenly I remember Jenny, the girl Shar beat out to meet the Master. Also a relatively new student, Jenny’s a loner. And, apparently, also undercover, with enough focus on her mission she didn’t magically forget what she’d seen upon leaving the gnome’s territory.

Laura turns Jodi to smack her hard across the face, and Jodi’s pleas subside. Shar’s eyes meet mine and I see a flash of concern. She’s not sure how much more abuse Jodi can take. Meanwhile, Shar’s more than capable of healing the cheerleader, but not without giving herself away.

I hand Brittany over to Moo and take a step toward Satan, then another. We’re only about two feet from each other, but with him in his gnome ally’s territory, we might as well be miles apart.

I need to bring that mountain to me.

“So,” I say, lowering my voice conspiratorially and praying I’m right. “I know you’re not really Satan.”

Satan’s expression turns mulish, my first clue that, while we don’t know what he is, he’s probably not a fallen angel. But he’s obviously sensitive about the subject, something I hope we can use against him.

“I am Satan! The Dark Lord! Lord of Pain and Glory!”

I shake my head. “Thou doth protest too much. What are you, really?”

“I am Satan!” he roars, spittle flying.

“No, you’re really not,” I repeat calmly. “So what are you?”

“I am the Master! You will bow before me!”

“Look, that might work on those children you’ve kidnapped. But I’m not a teenager.”

Satan frowns. “I didn’t kidnap anyone! They are minions!” he roars.

“Enough with the roaring, ‘Satan,’” I say, gesticulating great big air quotes with my fingers. “I’m right here.”

Satan stomps a hoof. I roll my eyes.

“You can’t be Satan,” Moo calls from over my shoulder. She’s realized my game.

“Of course I’m…” Satan roars. Then he catches himself, dialing down his volume. “…Satan!”

“Would Satan hide behind a gnome? And not even a fully mature gnome?” Moo once again tests her strength against the shields. They don’t break, but they waver right where she’s hitting.

“Well, let’s be fair,” I say to Moo. “It
is
an immature gnome. And he does like them young, even when it comes to gnomes.” I turn back to Satan, who’s obviously fuming. He’s been so careful to pick girls who are older than eighteen; I knew that was a nerve ripe for picking.

“Did you kidnap the gnome, too?” Moo asks calmly. Satan snaps.

“I kidnapped no one!” Satan’s back to roaring. He’s also taken a delicious step forward, although he’s still safe behind the gnome’s barriers. We’re getting to him, but not enough.

I need a new tactic.

“Girls!” I call. “Oh, girls! Come out and talk to me for a second.”

“Stay back!” barks Satan.

“Why should they? If you’re the all-powerful Satan, what can I say to sway them? Only someone who wasn’t really Satan would be afraid of me.”

It’s cheap psychology, but it works. There’s movement in the corn. The girls have heard me, and, more importantly, “Satan” knows they’ve heard me.

“Come out,” he barks again. “This woman’s tongue is full of lies. You know your Master!”

Slowly the girls melt out of the corn. One minute they’re not there, the next they are—the magic of the cornfield. In the far right of my peripheral vision is the hooded figure, the immature gnome who nailed us earlier. It appears to be facing the wrong direction—an amateur mistake. Even an immature gnome is a powerful ally if it’s partially bonded to the land, as this one is, and it’s never a good idea to let your big guns dip into your stash.

“Howdy, ladies,” I say with a friendly wave. “My name’s Cappie, and I think you’ve been lied to.”

“Aren’t you the janitor?” one girl asks, her unfocused gaze wandering haphazardly over me. They’re all stoned to the gills.

“I’m actually a detective,” I say, which is true. Triptych does have a human PI license, even if we don’t need it often.

“Oh,” she says, then giggles inappropriately before closely examining the back of her hand.

“Like I said, I’m a detective, but a special kind. I investigate frauds that pass themselves off as magical. Does that sound familiar to you?”

The girls look around, their expressions confused. Satan tosses his horns.

“I am no fraud! I am Lucifer!”

“Oh yeah? The thing is, ladies, I think he
is
a fraud. I bet he’s not even magical, himself. I bet he’s hooked himself up with someone who
is
magical, but he’s probably just some schmuck who can’t even shift his own shape. I bet that whole Satan shtick is just a good glamour.”

“What’s a glamour?” another girl asks vaguely.

“It’s nothing!” Satan yells. “This is no glamour!”

“Oh yeah? How can we tell? You’re behind your special little barrier there. I bet the second you were to cross over, you’d be some redneck wearing overalls. Maybe you’re just a kid. I wonder if he’s just a kid?” I turn to Moo, who’s stepped up next to me. “It would explain why he kidnapped all the children.”

“They’re not children. They’re not kidnapped. And I am the Prince of Darkness.” Satan’s so mad now, his voice isn’t loud. He’s gone all cold and creepy with real rage. Just like I want ’im.

“Whatever,” I say. “You ladies believe me, right? You’re wondering why he’s still standing there, aren’t you? All he has to do is take one step out and you’d know he was really Satan, but he’s not even budging.”

Stoned heads swivel toward Satan, including the hooded form of the gnome. Satan hisses.

“Here!” he shouts, stepping over the invisible boundary that demarcates the immature gnome’s territory, and its power, from us. He’s still Satan, but now I can feel his power. It’s very, very familiar. I smile.