Queen of Wands-eARC (13 page)

“Stepfords are addicted to wealth and power. GPA girls are addicted to wealth and power.”

“A common failing. Go on.”

“All of the victims in the Madness cases, the
ba
-ripped, were former boyfriends of GPA girls. You don’t dump a Stepford.”

“
All
of the victims?”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt said then gulped.

“I see that the evidence builds. And Janea’s
ka
was functionally stripped, also a Stepford trait. Stepfords do not strip the
ba
nor infill. They do not create…zombies. Which is why you called me, Ms. Rickels.”

“Yes…sir,” Sharice said.

Barb looked at her quizzically. She had never heard the old witch use the “s” word before.

“My, we tread lightly, do we not,” Germaine replied.

“My after-action analysis was that the Stepford ritual originated somewhere in the Hellenistic region,” Sharice said. “But that is one of the three most common regions. And the best I could do at the time was Persian.”

“You wish to know more about the infill ritual,” Germaine said. “I had deduced that. Yes, it is broadly Persian in origin, as well. Probably earlier. Possibly Assyrian. from some of the oldest texts. Give me a moment.”

Why does Germaine…?
Barbara mouthed at Sharice. Sharice just looked at her coldly.

“I support your theory, in general,” Germaine said after what seemed a very long fifteen seconds. “I hypothesize thus. First, for Agent Spornberger. Zombies, as you call them, are not originally houdoun. African witch doctors learned the technique from Arab wizards, who learned them from Persian sorcerers. Among the Persians and those regions Persian-influenced, the Hellenistic regions including Judea, the term you may have heard is ‘golem.’”

Barb slapped her forehead lightly and shook her head. “Golems,” she whispered. “Of course.”

Golems! Why’d it have to be golems?
Kurt mouthed, rolling his eyes.

“Golems, zombies if you prefer, are known for their anger and violence. That is because they must be fed. And not upon brains, Agent Spornberger. The necromancer must continually fill their…beings with, not the souls of victims, but the power of the soul. Thus, the necromancer must have a continuous supply of sacrificial victims. And golems are quite perfect for gathering them, if you can control one. Or more. Elsbeth Bathory had at least five in her control at one point or another: the origin of the Frankenstein myth.

“If the necromancer does not so supply the golem, the golem turns upon its creator. And as the golems are very hard to kill, absent strong mystical aid, the creator rarely survives. Your golems do not require such a supply. Thus I had, falsely, struck golems from the list of potential phenomena. They do, otherwise, quite resemble them. However, the most ancient known rituals are…quite clearly hacks of some still-older ritual.”

“Hacks?” Kurt said, then clapped his hand over his mouth.

“If one has studied the occult as thoroughly as I have, you know when someone has been copying and pasting bits of other rituals, Agent Spornberger,” Germaine said. “Hacks. I have read your reports. Given that we appear to be dealing with a prehistoric cult that may be tied to the origin of the Stepford and golem rituals…it is possible that they have found the original rituals. How they create the golems, how they create Stepfords or something similar without the necessary sacrifices…shall wait to be determined. I have calls to make, and you have a girls’ school to check out. Carefully. For both mystic and mundane reasons. They are, as you pointed out, tied into a rather wider-based power structure than you are aware. Tread lightly, absent definite indicators.”

“As long as I don’t have to wear a uniform,” Barb said.

“Ooooo…” Kurt muttered.

“Stop
right
there.”

CHAPTER NINE

It was sunset by the time that they left the safe house, and traffic was heavy on 27 crossing the river.

“I hate commuters,” Barb said, weaving past a slow-moving vehicle in the left lane. She let out a cry, though, as the traffic suddenly slowed to a halt in a sea of brake lights.

Kurt looked over, a tad nervous since her normally terrifying but flawless driving seemed to be less than flawless, and was surprised to see a look of shock on her face. She was staring wide-eyed at the mass of lights.

“Did we forget something really important?” he asked.

“No,” Barb said in a strained voice. “I just forgot to turn off my Sight.”

“Your…what?” Kurt asked.

“Sight,” Barb said pointedly. “Second Sight. Crazy psychic sh—stuff. Ability to see into the other world. I just started getting the, hah-hah, ‘Gift’ of Second Sight before this mission. Never had to deal with it before. I used to not
mind
going by graveyards. I’d forgotten to push it back after we were in the safe house. Which, by the way, is a
really
safe house. Which was why I was using it.”

“So…what?” Kurt asked, unhappily. “Demons?”

“Angels,” Barb said, as the traffic started to move again. “Lots and lots and
lots
of angels spread their wings when the traffic slammed to a halt. Think white light ten times brighter than all the brake lights. Blinding.”

“Seriously?” Kurt asked, peering forward. “It’s just normal evening traffic.”

“To you,” Barb said in an annoyed voice. “In Second Sight it’s cars, people, angels and demons. Lots of angels but plenty of demons as well. In all the readings I did before I got this gig and since, in the list of things about angels, one of the characteristics
not
listed was being
pests
. Leave me
alone
! Yes, I know you’re there! I’ve got a
mission
to perform! Don’t you?”

“Barb,” Kurt said. “You’re talking to the air.”

“When I reacted I think I started to radiate,” Barb said as a car swerved
out
of her lane and out of her way. “In fact, now I
know
I am. All the cars don’t have guardian
angels
in them.
That
one got out of my way for
another
reason.”

“Reason being…?” Kurt said, looking at the Mercedes. The driver was a normal enough looking guy. Lawyer type, one each. On his cell phone, of course.

“Demons,” Barb said. “Lust, greed, envy, a couple I can’t identify. When the angels spread their wings, I sort of let go the cover I was under in surprise. And every demon in the mass wants to get the hell, literally, out of my way. And all the angels who aren’t involved in keeping their charges alive in traffic are swarming over to say hello. Yes, hello, yes, I see you. I’m trying to
drive
here…Gah. I have
got
to get this under control.”

“Want me to drive?” Kurt asked. “In fact, I’d really prefer to drive.”

“Once we get off 27, I’ll pull over,” Barb said. “And, yes, until I can get my Sight back under control, you’d better drive.”

“You really see angels and demons?” Kurt asked, looking around. It was bugging him that the consultant “saw” stuff. On one hand, it was making him wonder about her sanity. On the other hand, the whole point of this investigation was making him wonder about his. And the Bureau’s. So far, all he’d really seen was a woman in some kind of coma and what looked like a multinational involved in neurological experiments. There had been a complete lack of
visible
demons, werewolves or vampires to stake.

“Everywhere,” Barb said. “More than I’ve seen before. I think it has something to do with the traffic. But I dunno. This is all new to me.”

They pulled over after they got on Manufacturers Road and changed places.

“They call it a ‘Gift,’” Barb said as Kurt pulled out. “Capital and quotes. So far it’s just been a royal pain in the patootie.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on closing down and cloaking.

“What do they look like?” Kurt asked.

“Which?” Barb replied.

“Either? Both?”

“Angels look like a bad special effect,” Barb said. “Just sort of clouds of sparkly light. I’m not into science fiction, but I’ve watched a couple of
Star Trek
episodes. There was one where there was some sort of mist that sucked out people’s blood…?”

“Saw it, too,” Kurt said.

“Sort of like that but more sparkly and whiter,” Barb said. “Except, as it turns out, when they spread their wings. And even then the wings don’t really look like wings. More like gossamer strands of light with white stuff in between. Really bright gossamer strands. I’d never seen them do that before, but I haven’t had my Sight working in traffic before. Demons generally, to me, look snakelike or like black mist. Best I can say. Again, this is all new to me. I was told that angels can fly and demons can’t. Apparently you can sometimes see demons hitching rides on planes, since they need something to travel long distances.”

“You’re joking,” Kurt said.

“It’s what I was told,” Barb said. “I haven’t seen it, but I haven’t traveled on a plane since I got my sight except the Foundation one. And as you can guess,
it
wasn’t infested.”

“And here we are,” Kurt said, pulling up to the entrance to the school.

“Dang it,” Barb said. “I just got my Sight turned off. Now I have to open it up again.”

“I sort of wish I could see what you see,” Kurt said.

“No,” Barb replied. “You don’t. And…I don’t see anything.”

The entrance had de rigueur brick pillars and a large sign. The road curved around the main entry building. From the maps and satellite photos, they knew there were several buildings in the compound with a “quad” in the middle that was entirely enclosed.

“No demons?” Kurt asked.

“They’re generally associated with people,” Barb said. “I’ve never seen one schlepping down a street. And there’s a distinct lack of people here.”

The school was closed and there weren’t even any cars in the parking lot.

“So we get out and poke around?” Kurt said.

“There is never anything interesting in the front of a building,” Barb said. “Let’s take the road around.”

“Public road,” Kurt said. “No problems there.”

“Public?”

“It goes to a subdivision sort of behind the school,” Kurt said. “High-end condos.”

The road curved around the school, under a bridge and down to the river. Behind the school there were athletic fields, more buildings and a dock on the river.

“Good a place as any to start,” Barb said.

“Why couldn’t we have checked it out when the girls were around?” Kurt asked.

* * *

Lazarus suddenly lifted his head off of Janea’s chest and hissed.

“Familiar?” the young witch said, looking around the room. There were no apparent threats.

The cat stood up and hopped to the floor, then scratched at the door urgently. He had gotten up a few times before, mostly when the rest of the team was awake, to eat and use the catbox. But this was something different.

The witch let him out, then followed, more or less at a run, as the cat bounded down the stairs to the front door and started pawing at it frantically.

“I wish you could talk,” the witch said, opening the door.

The cat darted past the startled security guards and down to the road, turned right and started running.

“Should we follow him?” one of the guards asked. “I mean, we were told the cat was one of our protectees.”

“Cats such as that can look after themselves.”

* * *

They got out by a large concrete-block building that was apparently the support building for the athletics department. The bottom was mostly open, surrounded by chain-link, and appeared to hold the boats for the crew team.

“I’m seeing a distinct lack of goat’s blood,” Kurt pointed out.

“Ever see a building like this with a large fireplace?” Barb asked, pointing at a massive chimney. “I mean, one that was made after 1920?”

“And the significance of a chimney is…?” Kurt asked.

“Heck if I know,” Barb said. “But it’s odd. Burning the bodies?”

“And there’s a distinct lack of bodies,” Kurt pointed out. “We probably should have parked up by the school buildings. Any psychic read?”

“I wish you’d quit asking that,” Barb said. “I’ve got Sight. I’m not a psychic.” She paused and turned her head from side to side. “On the other hand…”

Kurt’s phone buzzed and he pulled it off his belt to check the message.

“What was the ‘on the other hand’…” Kurt asked, curiously.

“Something’s…happening,” Barb said. “I mean…I don’t know. Something. What, I’m not sure.”

“The reason I ask is the message,” Kurt said. “I set up a query to Headquarters on anything related to GPA. We don’t have Carnivore access, but cyber teams track certain open-source information on the Web. Mostly looking for predators, but they keep track of other stuff. And they picked up an indicator.”

“Which is?” Barb asked, trying to look over his shoulder at the phone.

“Apparently several open sites, Facebook mainly, are reporting that ‘GPA girls are skinny-dipping off McLellan Island.’ There are even photos being circulated, which was what triggered the alert. Technically, they’re child porn. Good thing I’m exempt from the statute or I’d be in violation of federal law just looking at this stuff. What are you getting?”

“Basically…I guess you’d call it the feeling you get right before a lightning strike,” Barb said. “This area is a current of energy as strong as the river, and something’s pulling at it. Something nearby, but I can’t tell even which direction. I’m not
good
at this. Where is McLellan Island?”

“Right there,” Kurt said, pointing to the apparently deserted island in the middle of the river. The bridge they’d gone under passed over the river and the island.

“Then that’s where it’s going down,” Barb said.

“What is going down?” Kurt asked. “More zombies?”

“I don’t know,” Barb replied. “But…my spidey senses are saying that it’s about time for you to run for the hills.”

“There are boats headed for McLellan Island,” Kurt said, pointing. “Looks like a waterborne flash mob situation.”

“Party on McLellan Island,” Barb said. “Figure that is going to be mostly males. And as the climax of the party, everybody gets turned into zombies.”

“If it’s GPA girls who are doing it, and we still don’t have a good read on how,” Kurt said.

“Then I guess it’s time I went and found out,” Barb said. “The question being, how do I get to the island?”

“Well, you can rappel off the bridge,” Kurt said. “If you’ve got rappelling gear. Or you can swim. I think you’d probably
float
okay…”

“Not in body armor, I wouldn’t,” Barb said. “We need a boat. Now if I just knew how to use one of those crew boats.”

“I guess I am going with you, then,” Kurt said.

“Like heck.”

“Do you know how to scull?” Kurt asked.

“No. Not one of my skillsets. I don’t even use a rowing machine to work out.”

“Then I’ll have to scull you over.”

“You know how to scull?” Barb asked, looking at him askance.

“I had a rowing scholarship,” Kurt said. “Doesn’t mean I’m gay. It’s not like it’s male gymnastics or something!”

“Seriously?” Barb asked. “You?”

“I’m a man of many parts,” Kurt said, looking at the chain and lock that secured the chain-link. “Just one problem. FBI agents, despite what you see on TV, are not routinely trained in picking locks. Got a pair of bolt cutters?”

“No,” Barb said, sighing. “But I’ve got something that will work. On the other hand, it’s practically blasphemy to use it.”

“Where?” Kurt asked.

“In my bag.”

* * *

Cats are sprinters, not long-distance runners like dogs. And while Lazarus didn’t really have a concept of distance, he did know he had a long way in cat miles to go. Which meant he needed a ride. One he could control.

Dean Jensen was, all things considered, a fairly nice and inoffensive fellow. He contributed both time and, when he had it, money to various causes. He liked animals. (That was about to change.) He did his duty as a steward of Earth by not littering, contributing to environmental awareness and, alas, riding a bike as his primary form of transportation.

It was simply bad luck that had him pedaling down East Third Street when Lazarus needed a convenient and controllable form of transportation.

Jensen’s first inkling that his evening was going awry was when claws sank into his back. He let out a rather girl-like scream and swerved so badly he nearly ran into traffic.

“What the hell?” he shouted as the claws climbed up his back. He started to pull over and was thoroughly raked for his troubles, the claws, which had now sunk into his neck, pulling him from side to side. They stopped when he was pedaling, so he just hunkered down and hoped for the best.

When he came to Hawthorne Street he started to make a turn and was clawed again. Clearly, whatever demon was on his back wanted him to go straight.

He kept pedaling. After a couple more rakes he pedaled faster.

* * *

“Nice setup,” Kurt said. “I’d wondered about what was in the bag.”

“This’ll cut it,” Barb said, drawing the katana.

“Okay, yeah,” Kurt said. “It will and, yeah, it is blasphemy.”

“And while you get the boat ready, I will start rigging up.”

* * *

“Just keep your weight centered,” Kurt said as Barb carefully boarded the quad scull. “I got the biggest boat I could manage on my own, but all that weight is going to be an issue.”

“I’m not fat,” Barb said. “And I have excellent balance.”

“It’s not
your
weight,” Kurt said. “It’s the body armor, rifle, pistol, sword and ammo that’s the issue.”

Barb carefully took a seat as Kurt pulled away from the dock.

“As soon as we hit the shore you are out of here,” Barb said, clipping a radio onto his belt. “I brought you a spare tac set. I’m on four-one-five-eight. It’s encrypt…Oh…
drat
.”

“What now?” Kurt asked.

“I really
should
have made this call before we pulled out,” she said. She reached for her phone and hit Send.