The Burning Time (34 page)

“—He is known throughout the world as the Great Liar. Amaguq, Kupua, Kokopelli, Jacob, and Seth. Huehuecoyotl, Anansi, and Bamapana. Juha, Gwydion, and Veles. He is all those and more. Since the dawn of time—”

“ENOUGH!” People cried out and covered their ears as Christian’s voice roared from every speaker, every radio, every cell phone. “He calls me the Liar, but it is he who tricks you with his lies. How do we deal with liars?”

“Kill him!” The crowd repeated it over and over. “Kill him! Kill him!”

“Yes! In the name of Yig, Tsathoggua, and Nug, and all the Gods of K’n-Yan. Kill him now!”

Christian stepped aside as the crowd surged toward John.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Danni kept her voice to a whisper even though they’d already made sure they had the church to themselves.

“Nothing happened the last time,” Mitch said, gripping the knob to Christian’s office door. It turned easily in his hand, and he pushed the door open. “See? Let’s—”

The attack came so fast he didn’t even have time to scream. Two winged demons the size of small cats struck him, knocking him back into Danni, who cried out before grabbing one and throwing it against the wall. It bounced like a rubber toy and came at her again. Emitting a high-pitched squeal, it swiped at her with clawed hands. She ducked just in time to avoid losing part of her face, but the creature still managed to tear a clump of hair as it went past, igniting a burning pain in her scalp.

“Get it off me!” Mitch cried, struggling to pull the second demon from his leg. Like its partner, it had a furry body and the face of a deformed toad. Danni kicked it, drawing another teeth-rattling squeal. In tandem, the two airborne monstrosities swooped down the hall and then turned around to mount another attack.

“Watch out,” Mitch said, pulling his slingshot from his backpack. He took aim at the creatures as they began their run. There was a soft twang and something shiny struck one of the demons, which let out a horrible screech and then disappeared in a burst of black smoke.

“What was—?” Danni started to ask, before diving to the ground as the second imp lunged at her.

“Stay down.” Mitch stepped past her, loading the slingshot again. As she watched, he sighted in on the remaining demon, his arm quivering ever so slightly.

“Almost,” she heard him whisper, and then he let go, sending another metallic object on its way. A moment later, the second demon exploded.

“Holy shit.” Danni touched her head, and her hand came away spotted with blood. “Are you okay?” she asked her brother.

Mitch set down the slingshot and pulled up his pants. Small punctures showed where the monster’s claws had pierced his jeans. Danni inspected them, but they looked no worse than if he’d caught himself in a thorn bush.

“What did you shoot them with?” she asked, as he loaded the slingshot again and peered carefully into the office. When nothing else attacked, he put the slingshot in his back pocket.

“Silver dimes from my coin collection.” He showed her one. “Silver killed the Hellhounds, so I figured it might be a good idea to bring some with us.”

“Smart thinking.” Danni pointed at the desk. “You check the drawers. I’ll check the closet.”

She crossed the room and slowly opened the door so that just a crack of darkness appeared. When nothing happened, she pulled it all way open and jumped back.

One of Christian’s black shirts hung from the rod. On the floor were a pair of shoes and a white cardboard box, the type offices used for storing files. Danni pushed the heavy box aside, but the rest of the floor was empty. The one shelf above the hanger bar held only a thin coating of dust. She was about to close the door when something stopped her. She looked at the box again. Something about it...

Why would Christian keep a box of files in the closet?

Danni’s heart beat faster as she lifted the lid.

A human head stared at her.

“Fuck!” The shout escaped her as she fell backward, landing on her hands and butt. She pushed away from the closet like a small child doing a backward crab walk.

“What is it?” Mitch rushed over, his slingshot at the ready. Danni tried to speak but her mouth refused to work. A vision of the head, with its dark hair and terrified face, seemed superimposed over everything. Even worse was the fact that she recognized that face, had seen it more than once.

Mitch reached toward the box, and that was enough to unlock Danni’s jaw.

“Mitch, no!”

Her warning came too late. His hand went in, came back clutching something dark in his fingers. Danni whimpered and slid farther back, dreading the sight of her brother holding the severed head by the hair.

Instead, he held out a leather satchel. “We’ve got it!”

“Mitch, didn’t you see...?” Danni paused, wondering if the head she’d seen had been an illusion of some kind.

“See what?”

“The head! There was a human head in that box.” She leaned forward and peered in.

The box was empty.

“I don’t understand.”

“Remember what John said. The Trickster is a Master of illusions.”

“Could he have set up an illusion to scare anyone looking in that box?”

Mitch frowned. “I don’t know.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him away from the closet. “Then he might know we’re here. Let’s go.”

“Wait a sec.” Mitch opened the bag and reached his hand inside.

“What are you doing?” Danni asked.

“John said all you have to do is think about what you want, and you’ll find it. I’m looking for that oil he put on us before, to protect us from evil. We might need it when we get to the park.”

Danni watched as her brother’s arm disappeared into the bag, well past his elbow.
Someday I’ll have to ask John about that.

“Got ya!” Mitch held up a small glass jar.

“Well, well, what have we here?”

Both of them jumped at the unexpected voice from the doorway. Sheriff Showalter stepped into the room, his hand resting on his belt right next to his gun. “Looks like I caught myself a couple of intruders. I think the reverend’s gonna be real happy to see you two.”

Danni stepped forward and then stopped as Showalter gripped the handle of his pistol. “Don’t do anything foolish. The reverend wants you alive, but he didn’t say anything about unhurt. Now here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m going to toss you my handcuffs, and you’re going to put them on you and the brat. Then we’re all gonna take a ride to the park, so you can watch your friend John die.”

Showalter took a step forward and threw the handcuffs to Danni, who caught them. “Nice and slow,” he said.

She spoke to the Sheriff while she snapped one cuff on her wrist. “You don’t have to do this. He’s evil. Can’t you see that? He’s just—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Showalter’s face was hard and angry. “I got no problem hitting a woman.” As soon as the second cuff clicked on Mitch’s wrist, Showalter motioned them forward. “Let’s go. I—”

He stopped as Mitch pushed past Danni and threw the open jar. It hit Showalter in the chest, spraying clear liquid everywhere. He froze with this gun half out, his eyes wide. Then he fell sideways, his head hitting the floor with a muffled thump.

“You took an awfully big chance, little brother. What if that stuff didn’t work?” Danni asked, as they searched Showalter’s pockets for the key to the handcuffs.

“It wouldn’t be any worse than getting taken prisoner.”

“You got a point.” She pulled out the key and unlocked the handcuffs. “C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here before he wakes up.”

Remembering the Sheriff’s words about John dying, she ran down the hall as fast as she could.

I hope we’re not too late.

*   *   *

“You’re weaker than I thought.” Cyrus Christian gave no indication he was exerting himself. Overhead, oil and sludge and rotten flesh masqueraded as clouds. Discomforting swirls of bilious green, pus yellow, and shit brown vapors moved in odd patterns amidst the grays and blacks. Lightning continued to arc back and forth, all the more strange for the complete lack of thunder.

Many of the fair-goers had taken shelter in booths, crowding together as if hiding from an invisible rain. A handful of people stood behind Christian, while the group he’d exhorted to kill John had overwhelmed him with sheer numbers and pinned him to the ground. One of them raised a large hunting knife and drove it down toward John’s chest. There was a scream, and Christian’s smile grew wider.

Then it faltered as the man who’d wielded the knife stood up, blood pouring from a gaping wound in his arm. Light exploded beneath the pile of bodies, and several people were thrown through the air. The rest hurriedly stepped back as John stood, his clothes dusty, his body unharmed.

“You mistake compassion for weakness,” John said, holding a clenched fist in front of him. He opened his hand and swung his arm around, casting a shimmering powder across the people who’d attacked him. Tiny bursts of light appeared, like a swarm of fireflies, and the people keeled over.

“But you
are
weak,
u'ya igawa'stï.
” Christian’s tone made an insult of the ancient Native American term for practitioners of white magic. “Your compassion won’t allow you to hurt the innocent, while I am free to do as I wish.”

His voice rising to a shout, Christian intoned, “People of Hastings Mills, listen to me. The time of the new beginning is upon us! The Old Ones call to you through me. They who have waited are eager to come forth, and they demand their due! They yearn for the blood of the unbelievers, the ones who stand in the way of the Dark Path. Let this be your sacrifice to the Gods!”

A wave of energy, dark as night and cold as death, struck John, sending him to his knees and pulling the air from his lungs. As he fought to breathe, the wave continued past him, spreading across the fair. By the time he struggled back to his feet, Christian’s magic had already taken effect.

Men, women, and children were turning on each other, teeth bared and faces twisted into masks of pure hatred. People struck each other with fists, bit at noses and ears, and clawed at eyes and genitals, instinctively going for soft, vital parts. Neighbors, friends, and relatives fought with animalistic frenzy, like primitive hominids waging an internecine war. Blood sprayed and clumps of flesh flew through the air. Combatants screamed in pain or howled their fury, until the cacophony grew so great John had to press his hands over his ears just to hear himself think.

“Now you see the power of Chaos!” Christian’s words boomed over the din like a cannon among gunshots.

John closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. The Trickster’s magic wasn’t complicated. It never was. He relied more on sheer power, harnessing the dark energies surrounding the town, than he did on building intricate spells. It was something John was grateful for, as he’d have been no match against a true wizard or mage. Instead, it came down to raw strength versus raw strength, will versus will, more than anything else. He’d known that going in, prepared as best he could. So it took him only seconds to determine the proper counterattack.

The problem lay in putting it to use.

From his pants pocket, John drew a Y-shaped branch no larger than his hand. The previous night he’d stripped off the bark and carved a series of runes into the wood. Now he pushed the stem into the ground and bowed before it, placing his hands flat on the earth to either side. Doing his best to block out the increasing pandemonium around him, including Christian’s manic laughter, he concentrated on triggering the runes.

One by one, the symbols began to glow, brighter and brighter, until the entire stick resembled red-hot metal. At the same time, a powerful thrumming pulsated through the ground and air. As the vibrations grew louder, people slowly ceased their fighting and stepped away from each other with bewildered looks on their faces. Some burst into tears. Others fell to the ground, moaning in pain.

John lifted his head and looked at Cyrus Christian. His muscles ached so bad he was afraid to stand up, lest his shaking legs show his enemy how weak he truly felt. He let no hint of how he felt show in his voice as he addressed his enemy.

“Come now, Old One. Surely you can do better than that?”

Across the empty space separating them, Christian let loose an inarticulate cry of anger. “You dare mock me? Let’s see how you feel when I sacrifice your new family to the Gods.”

Christian’s body underwent a series of changes, as if the wind was grinding away a disguise and revealing the true being beneath. His hair grew even longer, and faded to silvery-gray. His skin aged forty years in ten seconds, taking on the visage of an octogenarian mad scientist, covered in wrinkles and creases, loose flesh hanging from his neck and chin.

With one hand, he painted intricate symbols in the air, while with the other he pointed at the ground in front of him. A whirling cyclone of dust rose up, a hot tempest that swirled between the booths, turning tent flaps into enormous pterodactyl wings and forcing John to raise his hands against flying grit and debris. Then there was a thunderous explosion, and the tornado evaporated, leaving behind three forms. Wiping dirt from his eyes, John immediately recognized two of them.

Danni and Mitch.

It was the third form, however, that turned John’s blood cold.

The alligator demon stood well over eight feet tall. Although John had never seen one for real, he’d come across their pictures in magical texts often enough to recognize the mythical Gator Daddy of the Florida swamps. Half crocodilian and half man, the demon sported razor-sharp claws, a five-foot, muscular tail, and a long snout filled with arrowhead-shaped teeth. Its eyes glowed angry red and venomous saliva dripped from its jaws as it hissed at the two humans cowering before it.

God, no. I can’t let anything happen to them.
Sick from guilt and fear, John frantically searched his pockets for something he could use to thwart the demon’s attack. He’d never expected Christian to call up something so powerful, though, and he had nothing capable of driving the beast away.