The Witch's Demon

%%%

Eventually, they forced themselves out of bed and upstairs. Hilda wanted to leave her clothes in the basement, but Susanna convinced her otherwise. "Hildy, Momma said I had to wear clothes around the house. So do you. Your titties are awesome, but we can't have you showing them where someone can see." Hilda muttered vague threats about the unfairness of the world and started dialing the other members of the coven.

"Ellie? This is Hilda. Is Johnny with you? Good. Listen. We have a Level One emergency. Repeat. A Level One emergency. Get your bug-out bag and meet us at your mom's place." She hung up the phone and hit the speed-dial for her mother. Steve looked at Susanna.

"A Level One emergency?"

Susanna smiled sadly. "Like the Boy Scouts, we have to be prepared. A Level One means our lives are in danger. The Dark One. A mob. Torches and pitchforks. Stakes. That sort of thing.

"If that happens we're supposed to grab our emergency bag and meet at a rendezvous point. Which is here."

"What does the emergency bag have in it?"

"Everything we need for a month, and longer if we need it," said Hilda, who had finished her calls. "Clothes. Cash. Passport. ID. Back-up credit cards and bank account numbers. And the addresses of safe-houses in the US, UK, and New Zealand."

"Damn," said Steve, impressed.

John and Eleanor were the first to arrive, grim-faced and cranky. "This better not be a drill, Hildy," complained Eleanor. "We were just about to go out to eat. What's going on?"

"We're not going to explain it four times, Ellie," said Hilda. "Wait until our moms and Aggie get here."

Eleanor looked about ready to give an angry response, then took a long look at their faces. "Shit," she said. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Dead serious," said Susanna. "There's plenty of food in the fridge," she continued, waving a hand at the kitchen. "Make yourself a snack if you want."

John looked set to argue, but shut up once he saw his twin's expression. He sighed and sat on the couch, turning the TV to the evening news. A bouncy-bosomed forecaster appeared on the screen, wearing the frowny face that signified a plane crash or a rainy weekend.

Hilda stole the remote out of John's hand. "Why are you watching that bimbo? If you want to know what the weather's going to do, turn it to 'RNL."

"He was watching it because of the weather-lady's boobs," teased Susanna.

"I was not," said John. "I can see better breasts over here. Three sets, in fact, and it'll be six once Aggie and Mom and Aunt Sybil get here. Besides, you just want to watch 'RNL because you want to hump the weatherman."

"No, I don't," Hilda said, then paused. "At least, not right now."

The girls squealed as the news came back from commercial. A small, good-looking man appeared on the screen and started to talk about the forecast.

Eleanor hurried in from the kitchen to watch. "Has he mentioned the Snow Maid yet?"

"What?" asked Steve.

"Oh, it's such a sweet story," said Ellie. "Bill Carter," she said, nodding at the weatherman on the big-screen, "was on a research mission, somewhere way up in Russia. But his helicopter crashed and almost everyone on board was killed. The ones who survived tried to get back to a town, but they didn't have hardly any food and they were dying of cold and exposure. So Bill walked out of the tent early one morning in the middle of a snowstorm so his friends could live.

"They found some food and shelter and were rescued a few days later. But they couldn't find Bill. Or his body. Everyone assumed he was dead.

"Then he showed up six months later, with a gorgeous Russian woman. She had found him when he collapsed and nursed him back to health, and they fell in love and got married and moved back to America."

"So romantic," Susanna sighed, eyes gleaming. At her side, John made barfing noises until she hit him.

"They have the most beautiful little girl," put in Hilda. "I saw them when the station was sponsoring a charity five-k last fall. She looks just like her mama. Long blonde hair and blue eyes."

"So when there is going to be bad weather, especially in winter, he talks about what the Snow Maid told him the weather is going to be like. It's cute," finished Ellie.

As she finished, they heard the front door open. Claire entered the room, trailed by Agatha and Sybil, carrying travel bags.

"Okay, kids," she said, taking in Susanna, Hilda, and Steve with her glance. "Let's hear it."

Chapter 3

They told their story, Hilda mainly, with contributions from the other two. By the time they were done Claire's lips were parted happily and a bloodthirsty gleam had entered her eyes.

"At last," she breathed. "The Goddess has seen fit to set the enemy in our hand. We know whose body he inhabits. We know where that body is located. The body has even made threats against members of our household and has a history of violence.

"All we have to do is get him here, kill the vessel, and send his black soul into the void."

Unaware of the nervous glances of the children, she went into the chapel. When she emerged she had a mass of leather straps in one hand and a large wooden box in the other.

"Put these on," she said, handing items to each member of the coven. They proved to be leather belts with sheaths on the side, perfect for holding...

"Knives?" Agatha asked.

"Yes," Claire said, opening the box. "After John and Susanna had their little adventure earlier in the month, I commissioned more, based on Grannie Mabel's design. I want you to keep them on whenever possible. Iowa has fairly loose knife laws, so I think you should be okay as far as the police are concerned."

She handed each of them a long knife, double-edged, with a curious silvery sheen on the blade. The hafts were wrapped in back calfskin, and the pommels were etched with the pentagram of the coven.

"If we can't lure him here, he may be clever enough to attack us at work or in the street. If he does this will be enough to slow him down. Kill him if you possibly can. We've been waiting for this opportunity for decades.

"But it has to be quick. You have to put him down and put him down hard. If you give him a chance he will be able to pull free of Grant and the Goddess alone knows how long it will be until we have a chance like this again.

"I'm going to go to the county lock-up. I'll pose as a confused woman who doesn't understand why Reverend Grant has made these terrible threats against my children and boarder. I'll ask them to call us if he makes bail or escapes. That gives us another layer of cover. If they're dumb enough to let me, I'll ask to see him so I can goad him into attacking us once he gets loose." Agatha drew a breath in protest. Claire cocked an eyebrow at her. "He's an immortal being of hate, Aggie. If he wants to get loose, he will.

"Johnny, there's a bunch of five-gallon buckets in the utility room in the basement. Get them up here and into the reservoir in the back yard. You know what to do."

"Sure, Mom."

"Once you're done with that, indulge in a little recreational screwing, if you feel like it. The more positive energy we have coming from this part of town the more likely he is to attack us.

"Does anyone have any questions?"

"I do. Mother," said Eleanor, voice serious. "Tell me how what you're suggesting isn't murder."

Steve nodded. Claire's brutal practicality disturbed him. He had no love for Calvin Grant, who had made his life a misery for years. But to cold-bloodedly plan his entrapment and death was something he had never thought to be a part of.

"It's not a murder. It's an execution."

"Calvin..." Steve protested.

"Calvin Grant is gone, Steve," said Sybil. "We have documentation on the Dark One going back decades. Centuries. He has probably been influencing Grant for weeks, for him to have taken over his body so quickly this afternoon. People who have had that happen to them never recover. The best thing that could happen to Grant would be a quick death.

"If he can't or won't leave custody, he'll drive Grant to more and more terrible crimes, even in prison, until he is killed or committed to a hospital for the criminally insane. Or he'll rip himself free and destroy Grant's mind in the process.

"Either way, Calvin Grant is doomed. He can only hope his god will have mercy on his soul."

Steve set his jaw. "All right, then. I'm coming with you," he said to Claire.

Claire took a breath. "It is my right," he said, overriding her protest. "It was my presence at the mall that drove him over the edge today. If I had not gone there, the Dark One may have chosen another victim.

"And if we have to draw him out, who better to do it than the two of us? A man and woman; the woman whose coven he wishes to destroy, and the boy who his vessel could not break; both capable of creating life, there to taunt him."

Sybil raised her eyebrows. "I misjudged this boy, Sis. He may look like an attractive hunk of meat, but he has the soul of a poet."

"You misjudged this man, Mom," said Hilda, holding Steve's hand tight as he blushed.

Sybil looked at her older daughter, eyebrows raised. She gave an approving nod. "Well. It took you long enough."

%%%

"Claire, can ask you a question?" Steve asked, as they drove slowly through the late-evening dusk. He had changed into slacks and one of his new shirts for the trip to the jail.

John and Hilda had both wanted to go with them, but Claire and Sybil had shot down the requests, pointing out that they were the two physically strongest members of the coven, and that they would be needed if the Dark One somehow escaped before Claire had a chance to see him. When they left, John, Eleanor, and Hilda were hauling heavy buckets up from the basement and pouring the contents into a holding tank in the back yard, the purpose of which escaped him.

"Sure, honey."

"You...we have power. We were able to light candles with our minds last night. Can we do other things? Physical things?"

Claire looked at him, face grave. "Things like stopping a man's heart from a few feet away, you mean. Calvin Grant's, for example."

Steve looked at her, eyes steady. "Yes."

"Of course we can. But we won't."

"Why not?"

"Because it would destroy who we are. Our power was given to us. But it can be taken away just as easily. If we ever use it for the destruction of life, it will be gone. Ashes and dust and no bright spark of passion and love to make up for the loss.

"If we kill him. No. When we kill him, it must be done with our own hands."

"Fairly," Steve nodded.

Claire turned to him, face aghast. "Fair? Who said anything about fair? We're not going to fight fair with that bastard. We're going to hit him with every dirty trick in the book. And when he is gone I will dance on his grave."

%%%

"Grant! On your feet! You got a visitor."

The tall, gaunt shape did not move from his spot. Instead, a heavily muscled man, greasy hair in a rat-tail and amply decorated with biker tattoos, sidled along the edge of the cell, keeping a nervous eye on Grant.

"Sergeant, can I talk to you?"

"Suppertime is in an hour, Kowalski. You should know the routine in here well enough by now. What was it this time? Assault?"

"That punk disrespected my ride," Kowalski snarled. "He's lucky I didn't..." He stopped and shook his head, looking at the officer pleadingly.

"Listen, sarge," the biker said, his tattoos gleaming with nervous sweat. "You're a decent sort. You've always been straight with me. I'm gonna be straight with you. You've got to get that guy out of here." He jerked his head towards Grant.

"Or what, Kowalski?" the officer said, bored.

"Or someone's going to die," Kowalski said. "That guy's crazy. Serious crazy. Look at him. Look at them."

Grant was hunched on the bench, all alone. He raised his head, giggling softly as his mad eyes danced. The other men in the cell were as far away from him as the cramped space allowed.

"A man who's bad enough to make bad men scared is a bad, bad man," said Kowalski. "Sarge, if you're smart, you'll get that nutcase into isolation. There's something wrong with him."

Doyle paused. Kowalski was a stupid, violent thug, but he had been in and out of prison enough to know who was harmless, who could be dealt with, and who was truly dangerous.

He grimaced. "I can't do anything about it now, Kowalski. He has a visitor and prisoners have rights. But I'll pass your concerns along." He raised his voice again. "Grant! Either get up and get over here, or tell me that you don't want to see your visitor."

Grant rose to his feet, unfolding like a scaffold. His gentle smile was enough to make Doyle flinch as he passed his hands through the bars to be cuffed.

"Of course," he said serenely. "Am I not a man of God?"

%%%

The Dark One slouched in his chair as Claire and Steve entered the room. They were separated from him by a thick sheet of plexiglass, but a microphone caught his words and a speaker relayed them, dark with hate.

"Well, well," he sneered. "Look who's here. The matriarch of the Chamberlain Coven, and the last scion of the Anderson Coven."

Steve caught his breath in shock. Beside him, Claire grasped his hand.

Claire had played her hand well enough as they entered the jail, Steve thought. She had used her 'confused housewife' persona so well he had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing out loud as she extracted a promise that if Grant made bail or escaped they would be warned by the police.

But Grant's appearance revolted him. He had only glimpsed the transformation earlier in the day as the Dark One took over his body. But now, no one who had known him previously could ever confuse Calvin Grant with what sat in front of him now.

It's like the world's worst Tootsie Roll Pop, he thought, trying to keep his stomach from heaving. But what's inside the shell is a hell of a lot worse than candy.

The Dark One leaned forward, his breath fogging the barrier between them. "You didn't know, did you, boy? By the Master's name, that is funny. For me to kill your parents, and for you to be brought all the way here, so I can kill you just when you thought you were safe.

"Your parents," he mused, "That was a job well done. I got a commendation for that one. Call it a two-fer. Your oh-so-saintly father was about to go to the EPA. Had all the proof he needed of illegal dumping of chemical residue from the processing plant. Your bitch-priestess of a mother egged him on, of course.

"Didn't take much to burrow into the head of one of the mine foremen. Rammed them right off the road and into the ravine. They burned beautifully. And then I came back out and watched the sorry sack of shit kill himself with a bottle of pills. A thriving little dose of pollution and three lives destroyed in a couple of minutes. Four, if I count yours."

"One," said Steve flatly. Claire looked at him, surprised by the power in his voice.

"You killed my parents. You didn't destroy them. They live on in me. Every loving hour they spent with me, every embrace, every kind word. It's all still here. Even if I should die by your hand tomorrow, their memory lives on in every life they touched.

"You, on the other hand? You are going to end. Very soon." Claire clutched his hand in warning. He started, then nodded understanding.

Can't let him think we have a plan to kill him. Make him believe we are going to run.

"What are you going to do, little boy? Swear to kill me? Do you know how many have sworn that over the years, and died, screaming?"

"Swear to kill you? Why should I do that? I am going to do something far worse, for a creature like you.

"You know what I'm going to do?" Steve asked, voice sweet with honeyed malice. "I'm going to plant a tree. A tree for every year of my parents' lives that you stole. And children will play in those trees. And birds will nest in them. And they will give birth to other trees in the years to come. And they will breathe out clean air for generations yet unborn. That is my revenge on you, you obscenity. Not death. Life."

Grant's waxy face paled. "You wouldn't."

"I will."

Claire's heart sang within her. She smiled sweetly at the being who had seized Grant's body.

"Isn't he wonderful? I'm going to fuck him when we get home tonight. Maybe have a little orgy. I might include my son and daughter as well. You remember them, don't you? The two who you tried to suborn? And failed so miserably?

"I don't think you are going to get a commendation for this job, Dark One. Sure, you can spread murder and mayhem through the prison, until Grant's poor body gives out on you. Or you can pull yourself out of his mind and look for another host. But either way, by the time you're out we'll be long gone. We'll be on the road by tomorrow afternoon. How long did it take you to find us after Sybil and I moved away from Boulder? Nearly thirty years? And that was just a few hundred miles. Imagine. We have a whole country to choose from, a whole world, and you're going to either rot in here or have to start the whole futile search all over again. Or maybe you can go back to your dark master and finally admit defeat.

"Kill us? Kill Steve? Hah. You won't even be able to find us.

"And while you're searching, if you're brave enough to do it, you gutless coward, I've got two wonderful, powerful, virile men. And four lovely daughters and nieces. If we play our cards right, we can pump out three or four children a year.

"Can you picture it, you monstrosity? If you find us, say, twenty years from now, there could be twenty or thirty Chamberlain Witches waiting for you. If you are unlucky enough to find us, they will put you down like the mad dog you are."

Halfway through Claire's speech the Dark One began screaming; howling, foam-filled curses that had nothing human in them, clawing at the partition that separated them. As she finished, three prison guards came in and wrestled his thrashing, biting body out of the room.

%%%

Groaning with effort, John tipped the last bucket of water into the reservoir in the backyard, then hooked up the hose to the pump. He gave the sign to Eleanor, watching from inside.

Immediately, water spurted from multiple locations around the perimeter of the house, surging high before falling gently back to the ground. John made urgent hand-signals, and the flow quickly stopped.

"Impressive," noted Sybil from his side, "But do you think it's really going to work?"

"Can't hurt to try," he said shortly, stacking the buckets and carrying them inside. Sybil followed more slowly. "Legend says that evil things don't like to cross flowing water. And we have multiple cases where the Dark One has been driven back by sacred springs or holy water.

"The worst thing that can happen is nothing. Which means we are no worse off than we were before. Best case...the evil fucking bastard catches a jet in the face and melts like the Wicked Witch of the West."

He set the buckets to the side inside the kitchen. Sybil set her shoulders and took a deep breath.

"John, can I talk to you? Upstairs?"

John looked at her, face stiff with dislike. He nodded curtly. "Sure."

He led her upstairs and into his bedroom, rather than the ritual room where he had mated with his sisters and cousins. He leaned against his desk and waited, arms folded.

"John, I owe you an apology."

"Yeah, I think you do," he said, and her eyes widened.