Open Magazine Issue 0

Open Magazine Issue 0 Contents Visions of Darkness by Bill Freas ------ 2 Suburban Convergence by Ralph Greco ----- 34 Orb of Illusion by Charles Kyffhausen ----- 61

Open Magazine Copyright Š 2011 Published by Uninvited Press - www.uninvitedpress.com

Visions of D[rkn_ss \y Bill Fr_[s

“The ghastly dreams of our own minds become the horrid realities of our every days.�

The brisk air of late March blew through the quiet colonial shopping town of Trappeck Village in Connecticut. The bitter winter was beginning to fade as the birth of spring was not far. The busiest time for the shops of the village lingered with the arrival of the new season and its warmth and sun. However, at this cool dusk, few signs of the incoming seasonal comfort were to be found.

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In the heart of the village lied a decent piece of property that consisted of an old, colonial house at the front of the grounds and a number of quaint shops set behind it. This seemingly cozy, inviting setting had its own array of problems that plagued the hard-working owners of the individual shops on the property grounds. The Plumly Pastry Shoppe seemed to take the harshest blows of the pervasive stress.

Baron Plumly, the pleasant teenage son of the pastry shop’s owner, once again found himself sacrificing another potentially enjoyable Friday evening to lend a hand to his harried father. The family pastry shop was celebrating its tenth year serving delectable baked goods to tourists passing through as well as the Trappeck Village locals. However, each passing year brought more and more unnecessary grief to this alreadystruggling family enterprise.

A bead of sweat dripped down onto the rolling pin from Baron’s head as he wearily prepared some fresh dough for another batch of the Raspberry Hot Fritters, the Plumly family specialty and village favorite.

Just as another surge of discomfort ran through his tense wrist and forearm muscles, a comforting hand landed on his tired shoulders. He turned to find his father now by his side to help him with the workload.

Baron cracked a subtle smile, but could sense some immediate anxiety sinking into his father’s face once again. These unpleasant feelings were not uncommon to the Plumly’s these days. After the unexpected passing of Mrs. Plumly two years ago, sorrow moved in as the newest resident of their humble home outside of the village.

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“What’s the matter, Dad?” Before his father could muster a response, the door to the shop swung open, sounding a cheerful bell attached to its knob. The two men glanced up at their first customer of the evening. A peaceful grin swept across Mr. Plumly’s grim face at the sight of his old friend and fellow village shop owner Caleb Littlehorn. The tall, sturdy Native American frequented the modest pastry shop often to visit with the Plumly men and grab a break from his busy Native American artifacts and souvenir shop up the road on another nearby property. His visits seemed to be the only source of happiness that the Plumly’s were able to salvage lately from their tenure in Trappeck Village.

“How are my favorite bakers and their prized goodies?” Caleb asked as he approached the small workstation behind the enticing display case. The wise, older man exuded a level of contentment and peace that never failed to permeate the ambience of the shop and the Plumly men in particular.

“Caleb! Wonderful to see you, my friend,” Mr. Plumly greeted.

Baron wiped the baking powder off his hand using his rumpled apron and then shared a hearty handshake with Caleb.

“The makers of gingerbread dreams carry with them the sweetest of hearts.” The lighthearted comment from the Native American struck an unexpected melancholy chord with Mr. Plumly.

“Sadness has made an unwelcome nest in that sweet heart, Brother Plumly. I can see its haze through your eyes,” Caleb sensed.

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Unable to deny his friend’s revelation, Mr. Plumly nervously reached to his side with a shaky hand and retrieved a folded letter. He handed the nefarious letter to his friend and ran his calloused hand through his pastry crumb-sprinkled hair. The Native American unfolded the letter and began to read its formal, typed print. With each passing word, his face grew more serious and somber.

“Dad, what is it?” Baron inquired with concern. His father could no longer hide the latest blow by his perpetual business nemesis and saboteur.

“She’s raising the rent…again,” he answered.

Baron pushed for more information with irritation, “How much?”

“Three-hundred percent. This is it for us, kid. We’ll have to pack up by the end of the month,” the disappointed father informed.

Caleb lowered the letter and noticed Baron’s head drop with dejection and worry. His father was too embarrassed to look his son in the eye. The teen strolled toward the front window of the store and gazed out morosely at a revolting gathering of familiar foes across the way.

“She did it to us again. This time, she cut our throats just like she did to all the others. She doesn’t understand what it’s like to struggle. She just takes whatever she wants no matter who it hurts,” Baron solemnly emphasized. “What are we gonna do, Dad?” His father hesitated and then shook his head with uncertainty. The young man glanced back at the unwelcome gathering across the way.

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“I wish their lives would fall apart the way all of our lives did. I wish they’d feel the pain of everything they caused to people like us,” Baron confessed venomously as Caleb remained silent and took in the awkward moment.

Across the way from the shop, the gathering of foes carried on as if to mock the victims of their many heinous deeds. Disreputable property landlord Marlene Karsher engaged in her usual Friday evening ritual of enjoying a cigarette and lounging at her outdoor picnic table with her slovenly brute boyfriend Ken Teehagen. Joining them were Marlene’s dimwitted sister Cora Lynn, gruff, heavyset roommate Pauline Bohr, Cora Lynn’s scrawny, tomboyish female friend and loudmouth Brenna, and the short, balding electrician Greg Hull, who was as cocky and arrogant as they come.

It was not uncommon for this group of seedy, middle-aged social misfits to gather together frequently in an effort to mask the sorrow and emptiness of their pathetic existence. Stale tobacco, gritty coffee, and grease-laden fast food were the vices of choice for these seemingly impromptu sessions of leisure. The meetings were nothing more than attempts at departing from their typical ways of greed, selfishness, abuse, ignorance, manipulation, and the many other loathsome activities that dominated each day of their swiftly sinking lives.

Their psychotically complicated relationships with one another were fueled by a fire of self-absorption; the need to consistently take from each other to fulfill each of their own demented desires both internal and

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external. And it was this very dynamic of dysfunction that was the catalyst for the group’s misery; a misery that sadly spread beyond their own whirlwind and into the lives of the innocent others forced to exist within their world of mental and physical torment.

Caleb stepped out from the pastry shop and passed by the disgraceful clan on his way back to his own store. The quiet, mildmannered man was met by the usual ignorant and insensitive heckling from this loathsome bunch.

Greg Hull sat up and faced the man with sarcastic, stereotypical Native American body language. “Tonto eat not enough pastries. Wise man say not even brave Indian warrior can save stupid white man’s lousy pastry shop.”

His insensitive jeering was followed by cruel chuckles from the degenerate peanut gallery at the tattered picnic table. Caleb held a dominating stare towards the group before walking off without stooping to their level with a retort.

Marlene put out her smoke as the fading dusk sunset disappeared into the late winter cloud cover that dominated the sky as well as the glowing horizon. Silence then swept over the group of low-class locals as their gossip and heckling session was ending along with the day.

“When is this ESP broad coming?” Greg mockingly inquired.

“Any time now. She’s staying over for the weekend. She’ll be giving psychic readings for the public right out front here. Nice way to bring in some easy cash.” Marlene answered.

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Ken and Greg exchanged jeering glances at the situation, which were clearly apparent to Marlene and the other women.

“I know, I know. These guys don’t believe in that kind of stuff,” Marlene retorted.

“I believe in it. I hear she’s really good,” added Cora Lynn.

“Yeah, you guys should shut your faces and listen to what the woman’s got to say,” Brenna the brash loudmouth exclaimed.

The aggressive hick Ken replied, “You see, the thing of it is, these sorts of peoples make ya' think they got somethin’ extra-normal goin’ in their senses, but it ain’t really nothin’ but sheer foolin’ and fakin’ out of it.”

Much to their surprise, a raspy, deeper female voice resonated from behind them in a thick Romanian accent, “Many do not believe in the powers of the world beyond until they see the world beyond before their own eyes.”

The cool wind picked up noticeably as the group turned to see the source of those chilling words. Standing before them was an older woman with dark, shadowy features, dressed in black winter attire. A younger, serious man of tall stature, also dressed in black, stood by her side holding two old, leather cases.

“Guilda?” Marlene inquired passively.

“That is my name of birth and will be name in death. Beyond there, my name and my purpose will be unknown,” spoke the strange woman.

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Greg snickered quietly. Ken joined him in a smirk and light chuckle, but those were the only two that found humor in the very ominous moment.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Guilda,” Cora Lynn gulped as her words faded swiftly from the intimidation of the woman’s haunting aesthetics.

“We have a room ready for you. Let me take you up there. Can we help you with your bags?” Marlene offered patronizingly.

The woman spoke again, “Gustav will help me, but I must rest soon. My powers are easily weakened when I am not of full rest. Please, take me to my bed.”

Marlene escorted the woman and her aid Gustav up a wooden staircase by the patio that led to her apartment area above the shops on her property. The others still down at the picnic table on the patio sat speechless for a moment.

Greg broke the silence, “I don’t know about all of you, but I think the old bat is loony tunes. And did you see that guy? He looked like a long-lost member of the East German hockey team.”

Pauline snickered, “Or Count Orlock’s ugly nephew.”

“That’s just terrible,” Cora Lynn scolded, now somewhat humbled by the event.

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Ken became anxious and somewhat irritated as he glared at the wooden staircase. “I don’t like the looks of these idiots. I better get up there and make sure they don’t pull nothin’.”

As Ken staggered to the wooden stairs, Gustav exited from the apartment and made his way down the steps. Ken froze in his tracks and watched carefully as the tall, stern man approached him slowly. Gustav reached the bottom where Ken still stood gaping. His cold, dark eyes met Ken’s and sent a chill down his spine. With that, Gustav strolled away and around a shop where he was seen no more. Ken gathered himself and paced up the stairs and into the apartment.

Inside, Ken found the large kitchen and living areas empty and quiet. He hollered for Marlene, but received no response. Moving quickly through the rooms, he stumbled upon old Guilda in a back room putting a ceramic ornament in her purse.

“Aw! I knew it! I knew it! You blasted slag! Marlene! Marlene!” Ken boisterously yelled as Marlene soon made her way into the room.

“What is it, Ken?” She asked.

“I got her! I caught the old broad red-handed!” He announced.

Marlene attempted to calm the situation before it got any further out of control. “Calm down! Just wait a minute. What exactly did you see?”

“The stinkin’ hag was puttin’ your old fashion Victorian orphan child figure in her damn purse!” Ken accused.

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Fury began to crescendo within the old woman as she let out her first biting response to these harsh accusations of personal theft. “How dare you make such charges at me, you wicked man! I have done nothing wrong within your home!”

Ken fired right back at her. “Oh, yeah? The setup of it is, I saw the whole thing with my eyes, er...eye.” He rubbed his glass right eye, shifting it back in place.

“Ken, go outside and cool off,” Marlene recommended, but Ken did not wish to adhere to her request.

The belligerent oaf argued, “Are you listening to me or not, girlie?

You hear what I’m sayin’? This wrinkler’s takin’ stuff from us. Now you gonna do anything about it, or should I?” Guilda stepped closer to Ken and peered up menacingly into his eyes with a vision that pierced into his darkened soul. “I see you. You hit her. You are hurtful to others. These actions are cruel and will not go without punishment. The beasts will come for you and serve justice in the dark of night.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out the ceramic orphan ornament, setting it on a desk. “The only way to read one precisely is with a personal belonging, an item or token of their possession. I do not steal,” the old woman explained.

Marlene began an apology, “I’m really sorry, Guilda. Ken didn’t understand how you work.”

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“From what I have seen already, you are both in need of a just cleansing of your souls, minds, and bodies. You have built your worlds around sin and shame. Malevolence has swallowed the goodness in your lives. But you do not seem to care. You feed this very halo of negativity yourselves. But soon, you will all feel the wrath of the beasts,� Guilda spouted before gathering her bags and exiting the room.

She struggled to pull her leather cases out of the house as Ken and Marlene stared with trepidation. By the time the old woman reached the door, she was out of breath. However, she tilted her head toward them and let out some soft laughter. Opening the door, she continued her departure out of the apartment and down the wooden stairs outside. Ken and Marlene rushed to a window and witnessed the same occurrence exhibited earlier by Gustav. The old woman lugged her cases exhaustedly behind one of the shops, where she was not seen again.

The sky grew quite dark as midnight loomed over the village. The group on the patio was long gone, and Ken and Marlene were snug in bed and fast asleep after a long day that ended in an unexpected argument with their brief visitor Guilda. Marlene had fixed herself a plate of cooked turnips before retiring for the night. Accompanied by a hot cup of brown tea, this dish was a favorite of hers, especially spattered with some crushed pepper and vinegar.

The enjoyment of this late night snack was not without consequence as such foods tend to produce nonsensical and even

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unsettling dreams. Marlene quickly found her mind drifting to another time and place. Her dream world was evolving into a strange paradise, an island that sported beautiful trees of palm and sands of white. Sun was abundant and reflected gloriously off the pristine blue waters. A red seagull found its way into her vision. Fluttering vivaciously within her joyful sights, the bird seemed to develop a dastardly determination as if to spoil her fancies.

The red gull swooped and cawed. The paradise was quickly diminishing. Black storm clouds covered the bright sun. The blue waters stirred green with roughening waves, while wind blew strong and cold.

The once gorgeous tropical scene smeared and melted like wax on a hot sidewalk. All was now black. Marlene’s state of slumber was no longer of pleasant dreams.

The subsequent vision was a familiar one. Her sights were of her very own property and shop grounds. The view was spinning wildly in circles before moving at an exceptional speed throughout the property.

This racing vision sped her to an old, maroon barn that stood at the foot of a field in the extreme rear of the property. The barn doors burst open revealing, this time, a devil’s paradise. Hellfire churned about with flames licking to and fro. From out of these hellish, scornful depths emerged a hateful spirit. This robust, red devil reeked of death and decay, and appeared no less than grotesque by nature. Its stained, gray horns were stubby and seemed to lure one’s sights down to its wicked, black eyes.

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Fire ripped from its mouth, but seemed benign compared to the barrage of lashings issued by its chipped-blade broad ax. The size of the tool was awesome to those of the dark, but simply fearful to those of the light. This very tool was one of the atrocious elements that would be the demise of both Marlene’s land of dreams and her world of reality.

Marlene tossed and turned in bed as her nightmare was literally eating her from the inside out. The bed shook and woke Ken to the terror that had its hold on his fickle mate. He clutched her tightly by the arm, but the gesture was ineffective. Marlene’s body combusted, spewing blood, tissue, and chunks of organs about the room. Ken muttered in complete shock as he sat up in bed and deliriously attempted to wipe the blood from his skin with his bare hands.

The dim room lit up with a bright flash that cleared it of any remnants of Marlene’s physical destruction. Ken was stunned at yet another uncanny phenomenon. He checked his arms and clothes for blood as well, but like the rest of the room, they too were clean. Peering next to him in bed, he also discovered the absence of Marlene.

Suddenly, a clicking sound was heard outside of the closed bedroom door. The doorknob shook and rattled intermittently and then opened by itself in a sinister manner. Ken watched closely as the silence became as thick as a wall of tar. Each passing moment seemed to evolve into an intensity of unexpected danger. This omnipresent natural foreboding was abruptly fulfilled as a vicious entity made its presence known. A wicked, black demon manifested and floated at a highly rapid

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rate into the room. Letting out a demonic cry, the thin and very tall dark devil had long, sharp, curved horns that pierced into Ken’s torso. He let out a painful yelp as the demon frantically ripped him apart. The scene hastily grew gory as Ken’s body was swiftly reduced to a feast for this shadowy demon.

Directly outside of the village at the Plumly’s modest cabin-style home, Baron tended to the dwindling flames on the blackened wooden logs within the fireplace in the small den. Fast asleep in an exhausted slumber, his father lied on the couch. The soft, orange glow of the fire illuminated his tired face, giving him the most exuberant hue to reside upon his aging skin in many years. With a delicate hand, Baron covered his sleeping father with a dark brown and green handmade family quilt before stepping over to a nearby window. Staring out into the wooded nighttime ambience through the older, flawed window pane, Baron crossed his arms and let out a sigh as if to expel the stressing thoughts that plagued his mind. Even with a restless mind, however, his eyes began to grow heavy and for the first time all day, his muscles relaxed ever so slightly.

Suddenly, a whack to the window snapped the young man back to attention. His eyes whipped open widely and his muscles tensed up once more. As he attempted to bring his startled heart back to a reasonable rhythm, he peered out the slightly hazy window to investigate the possible cause of the rap to the glass before him. Outside, the wind intensified a bit

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and tossed around twigs, leaves, and other natural debris, which seemed a reasonable explanation for the skeptical teen. Straightening his collar and reassuming his stance, Baron scoffed at the late-hour faux fright with a fragile courage.

Once more, his eyes grew heavy and his muscles limp. Against the odds of his own reasoning, Baron gradually grew alert to another unusual sound melding into the white noise that accompanied his dozing awareness. As he pulled himself out of his delicate transitional consciousness, the sound became clearer to his ears. A faint whispering gently resonated from across the room. He carefully rotated his numbed head until he found the location of this very subtle audio phenomenon.

The whispering swelled mildly into multiple voices that seemed to bellow from the darkened hallway that led back to the two bedrooms. Butterflies churned in Baron’s stomach. He nervously swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke up.

“Who’s there?” To his amazement, the whispering voices diminished and were replaced by the short-lived cackles of an old woman.

These mysterious chuckles that mocked him softly faded away as fast they manifested.

With morbid curiosity, Baron paced carefully toward the uncanny hotspot. The dim light from the fireplace became fainter as he moved farther into the darkness of the small hallway leading back to the bedrooms. Immersed in an eerie silence that held him hostage to his own

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curiosity, the tenacious teenager navigated through the uncertain blackness and into his room.

Baron paced cautiously through the shadowy confines of his meager bedroom. His heart began to beat harder and his breathing grew fast and shallow. He had turned himself into a lone sitting duck within the space of his residential sanctuary, prey for the uncertain darkness that swiftly settled in to his previously calm abode. In an attempt to assess the situation and wait out any potential ambushes, Baron stood still in place and held his breath. The internal sound of his own pounding heart became increasingly drowned out by the bone-chilling sound of scratching coming from behind his closed closet door. The light, slow scraping sound resembled that of a deliberate hand dragging its nails menacingly along the inside of the thin, wooden door. Each passing moment of the experience dragged on with the young man’s fear levels reaching their peak. His mind battled itself over the decision to stay put, run off, or open the door. The three divisive options fought it out within the premises of his reasoning until a winner finally emerged. This victor would not be crowned, however.

Before the decision could be executed, Baron whipped his alert head around and caught sight of a glorious illumination glowing in the hallway. Enraptured by its radiant shine, the teenager stood with a defeated calmness that rendered him frozen by his surging residual adrenaline. The light anomaly reached the peak of its brightness just as it came upon the open doorway to Baron’s room. The darkness was cast away by this new light and all of the familiar surroundings could once 17

again be seen. A comforting warmth came over Baron as he witnessed the apparition of his beloved deceased mother floating within the spectacular light. Her beauty was never more stunning, even in life.

“Baron! Baron, my child!” She called out to him with a loving tone.

Baron went to her with complete trust and waning sorrow. The shining spirit led the teen out of his bedroom and into the hallway.

The escorted journey continued back out into the den. The ethereal light dominated the room as its apparitional source glided gracefully toward the front door. With wide eyes, Baron stood still and observed the astonishing event. The apparition gave him a warm, tender smile that sent a wistful tear rolling down his cheek. Before the young man could mutter another word or approach the familiar spirit, it floated backward and vanished into the wall, taking its stellar illumination with it.

Left with only his rattled emotions, Baron did his best to compose himself and take in the amazing occurrences. Ready to share the unbelievable anecdote, he looked to the couch for his father, but found an empty piece of furniture. He peered around the room with confusion before an unnatural huff sound occurred and the fire inexplicably went out in a quick flash within the fireplace as if a vacuum pocket of air had sucked it straight up the chimney.

“Dad?” Baron called out with brewing concern.

To his surprise, his father sprung up behind him like a violent jackin-the-box. Baron jumped away from his seemingly possessed father. Mr. Plumly’s eyes were rolled over white and his face was pale and laden with 18

ungodly cuts and sores that seeped pus and yellow blood. The young man fell back onto the floor in total shock as his father opened his nowmisshapen mouth cavity. From behind his shark-like teeth and snake tongue, the demon bellowed a deep, hellish roar that almost shook the walls.

Baron did not wait around to reason the situation out. With urgency, he rose to his feet and sprinted for the door. His attempt to escape was swiftly thwarted by the demon, who flew across the room and tackled the teen into the wall. He let out gasp as the wicked entity now inhabiting his father’s body took a bite out of his shoulder. The sharp pain surged through Baron’s arm and torso, but did not inhibit his instinct to survive the daunting scenario. He gave the beast a solid shove, freeing himself long enough to retrieve the poker from the set of fireplace tools across the room. The demon foamed slime at the mouth as it grunted and pursued the young man to make the kill. As Baron raised the poker in defense, the creature let out a chuckle of superiority.

Like a raging animal stalking its prey, the awful being leaped over the couch and closed in on Baron. Its arms reached out, prepared to rip into the frightened teenager. However, Baron ducked away smartly and took a hearty swing at the beast with the poker. The demon fired back with a brutal slam to the face of the young man, which sent him floundering backward. His fall took him against a chair where he smacked his head. Pain surged through his cranium for a moment. Through his slightly blurry vision, he observed the terrifying demon moving in toward him once more. It dove threateningly in his direction, but Baron reflexively 19

lifted the poker in an upward pointed direction. Before the beast could react, it landed directly onto the poker. The sharp iron tool pierced the demon’s chest cavity and went right out through its back. Its limp, impaled body crashed down onto Baron. The young man pushed it aside with a shiver of fright. Adrenaline coursing through his blood, the teenager snatched a nearby canoe oar and proceeded to beat the severely wounded creature harshly. Sweat poured down his flushed forehead as he raised the oar high in the air once more. His final blow was a brutal one directly to the demon’s ghastly head. The heavy impact immediately blew the head apart, causing thick, yellow blood to splatter all over Baron and the nearby contents of the room.

He took a moment to catch his breath and regain what little composure he could muster considering the tremendous circumstances.

An emotional tug-of-war swelled inside of him. Tears of grief and fear grappled with extreme ire and primitive instinct for survival. He backed away from the disgusting mess that now covered his once comfortable family sanctuary and tossed the slimy, yellow ooze-soaked oar aside.

After taking one final glance at his traumatized childhood home, Baron raced out the front door and did not look back.

Almost as if his feet had a mind of their own, the teen sprinted through the wooded paths that surrounded his house. The cool night air was drawn into overworked lungs like barbed wire with each stressed, gasping inhalation. The journey seemed to last forever and the rows and clusters of winter-beaten trees never ended. Suddenly, the teenager’s feet felt as if they were light as air. His panicked treading was no longer 20

necessary. He found himself floating along the ground. Feeling an unusual presence manifest abruptly around him, he looked to his sides and noticed four cloaked figures grasping his arms and carrying him along at an even swifter pace than the young man was previously running. Clad in brown monk robes with hoods that hid their faces, these figures carried Baron along relentlessly through the darkened forests. He found himself no longer resisting. His emotions had drained him and caused a feeling of resignation that would render him vulnerable to whatever lie ahead on the new path he traveled.

The moon disappeared behind the hazy nocturnal clouds, creating an even darker atmosphere as the true witching hour beckoned. The village was still, but for the gentle winds ushered in from the surrounding woods. From the main road of the town, a lone sound disturbed the ambiance of the night. The sound of a car engine hummed louder and louder as it approached the shopping village. From out of the shadows of the road emerged a work van. The silhouetted figure behind the wheel was the sarcastic Greg Hull. His caustic, flawed personality had a mortal enemy named loneliness. His trademark persona was of no use to him alone in these wee hours of the night. Drowning his repressed emotions in a flask of cheap Irish bourbon, his faculties were waning, which certainly made for a hazardous situation if mixed with driving.

Upon coasting into the parking lot of Marlene’s property, he parked his van and sat miserably, staring straight ahead, soaked with inebriation.

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“One for the lass.” He took a swig from the flask.

“Two for the lads.” He followed with two more swigs.

“One for the land.” Another good drink.

“One more for the lore.” He laughed and gulped the rest from the flask.

Cocking his head toward his window, he caught a glimpse of the tall, grim man Gustav seen earlier in the day. While standing at a distance in the shadows by one of the shops, Gustav’s figure deteriorated into a mist. Greg rubbed his eyes and tried to grab a better look, but the mirage had vanished.

Greg chuckled, “Looks like I should have ended that toast after the lads. Ha!” His laughter was squelched by an unusual gurgling sound that resonated from immediately outside of his van. Greg grew concerned and stepped out of his van to follow this strange cacophony. Upon rounding the vehicle, he discovered a large, green blob lurking in a heaping, slimy mound before him. This hideous, gelatinous mass had four slimy, white eyes with amoebic pupils.

“Ew, yuck!” Greg exclaimed.

Before he could escape back inside the van, an unseen force gave him a rugged shove that sent him forward into the bubbling, gelatinous creature. The disgusting mass proceeded to devour Greg wholly until there was nothing of the petty man remaining.

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Pauline stepped out of the apartment, which she shared with Ken and Marlene, and stood in her nightclothes on the landing at the top of the wooden stairs. After awakening to odd noises, she chose to arise and step outside to smoke a drag or two of her favorite thin cigarettes. After striking a match and lighting up her smoke in the cool night air, her eyes met the sight of Greg’s work van down below her in the small parking lot.

With the van’s appearance seeming peculiar, Pauline strolled down a few steps to investigate further. Her mild visual search resulted in no significant finds, but instead, her ears would engage her in an incredible discovery.

“Pauline...,” a haunting whisper called in the night.

Pauline glanced around herself only to find no visible source or explanation for the disturbing soft voice.

“Pauline...”

Chills rushed down her spine as the voice echoed once more.

Pauline grew frantic and moved hastily back up the wooden stairs toward the apartment door. She pushed the door open in a frightened fashion and was met by the eerie sight of a glowing, brown specter. Her eyes grew wide with utter horror as she witnessed the phantom swing a rusted saber toward her. The old blade swiftly severed her head, which rolled back down the wooden stairs and onto the cold, concrete walkway below. Her lifeless body spurted some blood from the neck stump before leaning back. The momentum sent the headless cadaver tumbling over the railing and falling down below to the foot of the parking lot.

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An exhausted aura settled in to the town as the night proceeded tirelessly. Silence once again prevailed except for within the confines of a small cottage down the street within the village. Inside, Cora Lynn and Brenna indulged in a prolonged late-night snack consisting of some choice illegal narcotics obtained from a rogue nurse friend with a similar lack of ethics and civility.

With the steady consumption of the strong taboo substances, the women’s morose mentality sunk like quicksand into a haze of cheap intoxication; just the medicine they needed to wipe away yet another disappointing day plagued with guilt and fear. But the tireless night would offer them the remedy they secretly desired, but could not bring themselves to face.

Brenna mumbled, “What was it?�

Her voyage of chemical ecstasy was interrupted by a moment of paranoia brought on by a noise from outside. This concern grew less important as a foreboding presence seemed to encompass the small, dilapidated village cottage. Surrounding them like a threatening fog, the presence diluted their high and brought them back to a reality far worse than they have ever endured.

Cora Lynn rose to her feet and approached the front door carefully. With a toasty fire crackling in the hearth, the winter night air overtook the calm warmth as she opened the door to investigate. With only the sound of nature before her, Cora Lynn removed her now sober

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defenses and stepped out of her cottage. This move would prove fatal as the neigh of a fiendish beast echoed from nearby.

A large spectral horse of purple color raced from out of the gardens and went up on its hind legs with a grunt. Before the fearfully frozen woman could react to the terrifying apparition, the horse came down thunderously on her. The sickening sound of her many bones crushing and crunching under the one harsh motion of the ghostly horse resonated back into the cottage for Brenna to hear.

In a state of sheer panic, Brenna dove through the glass of a nearby window and made her adrenaline-fueled getaway out into the backyard. Racing with a heightened pace and shallow, speedy breaths, she found herself negotiating the eerie environment of the forest kingdom that lied endlessly behind the cottage. The tall and menacing winter trees gazed down on her with heinous intentions steered by omnipotent control.

Brenna’s escape was growing fruitless with each wasteful stride in the never-ending land of winter evil. A stray, mossy log abruptly ended her desperate journey as the tree life turned demonic. With blackened eyes of bark, the trees creaked their branches toward her to acquire a sturdy grip.

The increasing participation of devil trees gave no chance for Brenna to redeem her life of immorality and disgrace. With one awful simultaneous tug by the gang of furiously animated trees, Brenna’s body was reduced to mere gruesome fractions. The branches creaked back to their stiffened natural positions and their blackened eyes faded into mere wood knots. A deliberate wind swiftly covered the victim’s scattered remains with a

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blanket of brown leaves left unscathed by the previous unforgiving season.

The mysterious hooded monk figures continued to haul Baron through the woods at a frantic pace. Just as the journey seemed to reach an unbearable and dangerous level of speed, Baron felt a sudden smash to the front of his body as if he had collided with a brick wall. His trip had abruptly ended and his enigmatic escorts vanished into thin air. This rapid stop launched the young man backward. He flopped down on his side with heavy impact against the hardened winter earth of the secluded forest floor. His eyes remained closed for a moment while he attempted to compose himself and recover from the throbbing pain of the harsh landing. Finally, he rose to his feet, delicately nursing his aching, battered body. After brushing some cool, wet leaves from his clothes, he peered up at his surroundings with glazed eyes.

Before him was a small clearing within the trees. The perimeter of the space was lined with moderate-sized stones and in the center burned a healthy campfire. Through the wispy, white smoke and waves of heat emanating from the flames, Caleb Littlehorn’s solemn face became clear to Baron. The sturdy Native American sat in front of the fire, facing the astonished teenager. “Come, young Baron. It is safe within the circle,� Caleb called out.

With trust in his good friend, Baron stepped over the rock border and into the spiritual sanctuary that the Native American had built.

26

Caleb expressed a chilling empathy, “She has found you also.”

Baron approached the fire with many fearful questions stacking up in his harried mind. “What’s happening, Caleb?”

“I’ve seen the old woman in my dreams. She bears the gift of the dark world. She is a product of our own cumulative ill desires and hateful wishes,” Caleb replied.

“I don’t understand,” Baron confessed.

The Native American explained, “We have all given in to our anger and wished this demise upon Marlene and her cohorts. You, me, everyone here within the village that has suffered at the hands of them; we have unconsciously called the old woman here to do our blood work.”

The teenager kneeled down beside the man at the foot of the raging flames. “Why is she trying to hurt us? We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“There is a great price to pay for revenge, young Baron. Evil will help you before it swallows you whole. Our lack of emotional discipline will be our escort into the belly of the beast.”

As the unsettling notion swept through Baron, the Native American reached into a soft, leather pouch at his side. From within the pouch, he removed seven Tarot-like cards. Each card bore a ghastly depiction of a familiar wicked entity. Caleb placed them in front of the young man one by one. The first card showed a robust, red devil. The second was of a thin, black demon. A green blob resided on the third card. The fourth card showed a saber-wielding brown specter. The fifth card bore a purple, 27

spectral horse. On the sixth card were ominous demonic trees. With a gesture of hesitation, Caleb placed the final card amongst the others. This particular card boasted the most elaborate images that included a massive, horizontal tornado composed of hellish lightning, plague winds, and an army of iron skeletons.

Baron inquired with a shaky voice, “What is it?”

“The Scourge of the Wicked. The old woman will complete her heinous mission by unleashing a final ungodly storm of fury upon the village that will devour it and those who live within its bounds,” Caleb expounded just as the brisk wind inexplicably picked up and an unusual thunder echoed subtly through the moon-soaked sky.

Side by side, Baron and Caleb marched up the vintage cobblestone sidewalk into the heart of the village. The wind blew with threatening gusts and the smell of death filled the air. The Native American reached into his pocket and carefully took out a dark blue gem amulet. This impressive jewel was positioned in the center of a handmade wooden structure intertwined with leather strips used for fastening. He clutched it tightly in his grip as they forged on against the unnatural winds.

Booming roars filled the sky like a deranged thunder and were accompanied by terrifying flashes of red lighting. Baron glanced up at the sky with his irritated eyes and witnessed the hazy moon flood over red.

After an eternity of battling the supernatural weather elements, the two finally reached Marlene’s property and took shelter by a large oak tree that swayed and creaked from the forceful wind. Caleb leaned against the

28

trunk and caught his breath. His age was no longer suitable for such a physically grueling experience. Once revived, he held out the amulet and began chanting. “Arra mato vi du su noto dente!� His tribal incantations, although boisterous, were swallowed up by the dominating air whipping around them. Each word emitted from his mouth was quickly engulfed by the conditions. Unable to continue, he fought for his labored breath.

Baron tended to the exhausted man for a moment until the streets were sieged by an apocalyptic phenomenon. A massive cyclone opened up before them. The winds of the paranormal storm were filthy and plagued with disease, spitting rotting debris and anomalous organisms from its core. Red lighting flashed violently within the swirling walls of the gigantic cyclonic structure. The putrid stench of decay and infection filled the atmosphere, causing Baron to vomit beside the tree. No matter where he turned, he could not escape the putrefying bacteria that took over the air. He gagged again before glancing at Caleb, who had now passed out.

The man lied unconscious and limp several feet from the tree. The teenager’s own sickness prevented him from providing any assistance to his friend.

The horizontal tornado became larger and more intense. From its bowels emerged the building sounds of strong and uniform marching. This intimidating strutting grew with each perfectly timed step. Once the noise reached a deafening climax, its source came into view. A colossal army of ghastly iron skeletons marched side by side in eerily perfect rows, armed

29

with long, curved swords and ornate shields with demonic symbols engraved in them. The citizens of the village rushed from their typically peaceful homes and tried to escape from the barrage of pure evil that came down hard on the locale. As quickly as they appeared in the streets, the citizens were immediately swept into the unearthly cyclone or reduced to pieces by the invading iron skeleton army.

Baron held back another gag sensation and rushed toward Caleb.

Before he had a chance to lend a hand, Caleb rose to his feet as if he were a marionette controlled by a greater power. Although still unconscious, the Native American was mysteriously propped up by an unseen force. The young man stood frozen with awe, unable to rationalize what was occurring. To his absolute dismay, Caleb suddenly exploded.

Chunks of his internal organs and tissue along with vibrant splashes of blood projected into the wind and were carried away with disrespect. The teenager shivered with shock, but had little time to mourn. The skeleton army broke off into smaller units, one of which marched sinisterly toward the property.

Gasping for oxygen amidst the hazy, airborne plague, Baron sprinted back toward his family pastry shop. He peered over his shoulder and observed the evil soldiers stomping in unison onto the foot of the property. As they made their trek up the driveway and into the parking lot, Baron yanked on the door to the shop, but it was locked tightly. He reached for anything he could find that could possibly break one of the windows, but each item he retrieved was only blown away by the powerful gusts of contaminated air. The marching became ominously louder. The 30

warriors of the dead were closing in and his fate was soon to be written.

Cautiously striding away from the shop, he caught sight of the open entrance to Marlene’s apartment. The door was left ajar earlier by Pauline, who met a dreadful demise at the hands of the brown specter. Seizing the unexpected opportunity, the teenager scurried up the wooden steps and sneaked inside the apartment.

He slammed the door closed and locked it tightly. The faint sounds of utter destruction and chaos could be heard from outside. The dim living quarters, previously the site of several grisly fates that evening, gave the young man a moment to recover and brainstorm his next move. He stepped away from the door and cleared his throat. Each breath was accompanied by a sickly wheeze that rendered him ill. Baron coughed raucously and brought up some thick, infected phlegm that he spit on the floor. The stench of death and disease radiated from his sweat-soaked attire. However, his attention was abruptly diverted from these issues as the foreboding skeletal marching intensified once more. The relentless combatants were uncannily keen to the whereabouts of their sly potential victim.

Heavy, uniform footsteps slammed up the wooden steps with threatening intentions. Baron backed away from the door, his heart pounding against the rhythm of the skeletal plodding. The militia reached the door and proceeded to slam it powerfully. The teenager covered his ears, unable to withstand the cacophonous torment of the impending attack. The grim silhouettes of the demonic, iron figures were now present through the windows that sandwiched the doorway as they continued to 31

bash their way inside. Baron fell to his knees and began weeping with extreme terror. “Please! Please! I never did hurt anyone! Why? Why me? Please!�

The young man cried out with desperation for his own life.

Strangely, the violent noise of the portending invasion was overridden by an even more unsettling cackling from nearby. Baron turned his head and witnessed Guilda standing in the corner of the room snickering at his fatal misfortune. Disbelief flushed over him and momentarily subdued his fright. He took in the sight with frustration for a few instants before the peculiar hooded monks appeared again. Hurrying into the room from all points within the apartment, the cloaked figures snatched up the young man and carried him unwillingly into the darkness of a back bedroom just as the iron soldiers crashed into the doorway to attack.

Suddenly, the darkness gave way to an unexpected destination.

Baron stood alone in the middle of the main street of the village. The whirlwind of devastation and disaster was no longer present and all was empty and quiet. The overcast daytime sky hung over the confused young man as he assessed his current condition. Only the occasional whistle of the gentle late March breeze and the caws of a playful crow in flight filled the atmosphere that just moments before played involuntary host to the treacherous carnage of the Scourge of the Wicked.

Allowing a rare serenity to settle into his bones, Baron closed his eyes and took a deep breath of clean air. He looked up at the grey clouds

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in the sky and gave a slight smile of gratitude for surviving the extraordinary ordeal. Gathering up his shaken confidence, he turned to walk back home. To his dismay, the nightmare had not ended. Guilda stood before him. Her nefarious features were ironically exacerbated by the open daylight. This time, the young man retaliated and took a swing at her. However, before he could connect any blow, she penetrated his abdomen with an unusual, zigzag-shaped dagger. He looked down and glared at the surprising perpetration with his muscles tensing in pain. His induced, biological malfunctions quickly overwhelmed his emotional fortitude and the courageous teenager dropped to the cool blacktop of the street. Blood drained from his wound while his eyes became fixed and still. His slayer vanished into oblivion, but her bone-chilling cackles softly resonated deep within the whistling winds that meandered through the hell-struck village.

At the words of the old woman, the beasts of wrath had issued their night of terror upon the village and its inhabitants. Wisdom would prevail in the advice that jest should not be made of Guilda’s unearthly senses and gifts. For the visions of darkness will quickly become the wrath of its spirits.

THE END

33

Suburban Convergence

by Ralph Greco

“Shit,” Emil shouted over the braying.

“Yeah…” Louis agreed, looking out his front screen with his younger brother. “…how the hell am I gonna get them off the lawn?”

Sauntering across Louis’s spacious, and up-until-then, all-green manicured grass, was a white molasses sea of sheep: a good hundred if the lanky attorney could make an informed guess (and he really couldn’t).

How many did an insomniac count when he counted?

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“And you’re sure you passed him?” Louis asked, turning away from the sheep-sea for a second.

“He was crossing Elm,” Emil replied. He put his right hand on his brother’s shoulder to assure as much as console. “Sorry, but it was him.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“No, Saint Christopher,” Emil replied, a vein attempt at levity. When Louis didn’t turn his head or chuckle, he continued with: “You got some heavy clients, bro.”

“Never this heavy,” Louis said, retreating from his big bay window.

“Well the sheep and the saint have pegged you for somethin',” Emil said, standing over his brother as Louis dropped onto the couch.

“Was a good day when I woke up this morning,” Louis complained, dropping his head to his knees and his face into his meaty interlocked fingers.

Indeed, for Louis Reinbaker the morning had looked bright. The thirtythree year-old attorney had just closed a huge deal between a multimillion dollar Hawaiian ‘smoothie’ company and a small chain of restaurants. How Louis had rendered the agreement, gained the prestige and know-how to do so in such a meteoritic career was the stuff of rumor, innuendo and envy in this quiet suburban community. Even Emil submerged slight sibling jealousy while his bubbly bachelor brother with the deep-set blue eyes and strong chin raged ever forward in his preposterously productive professional life. And up until just an hour before when the sheep had appeared on his lawn, the elder Reinbaker brother was rather happy with it all.

35

But through all the good times, Louis had forgotten about Angelo “Deano”, Jr.

“Deano!” Louis shouted shooting up off the couch so fast that Emil actually fell back onto it.

“Come on,” the bigger man added and Emil shot up to sprint after his brother.

“Lu, we can’t just...” Emil protested, following his older brother out the front door, scattering three sheep chewing a high bush off the front porch.

Up the walk St. Christopher came through the braying symphony, a thin smile plastered on his gristled face, the bottom of his threadbare robe chaffing his ankles as he stepped onto Louis’ gravel driveway.

“My sons...” the man began “Gotta go Saint Chris, sorry,” Louis said and he and Emil made their way into his Mercedes SUV. Emil jumped in the passenger side, of course not without a smile in St. Christopher’s direction. * “That’s years ago bro,” Emil said, as his brother steered the truck onto the busy Interstate.

“Yeah, in all the confusion I nearly forgot, but it’s got to be,” Louis explained to the windshield.

“Oh holy fu…!” he shouted and Emil looked out with his brother as a large cat fell onto the hood and rolled off to be squished with an “Areer” in 36

the oncoming traffic of the left lane. Just then a Collie fell to Emil’s side window as the two men drove in shocked horror and blaring cars horns through the sudden downpour of cats and dogs.

“This Deano guy loves his clichés and sayings huh?” Emil shouted above the noise of squishing fur, shocked drivers and screeching tires.

“Jeee-zisss!” Louis said steering the raining cats and dogs.

“He better have some answers,” Emil said clutching his side of the truck’s dash.

“He did then, he will now,” Louis agreed as he made his way, best as he could, through the falling small animals. * The tired brothers had made the small town of WalePoint by five-thirty a.m. The wild and furry storm they had encountered outside of BridgeNewsCommon had been brief but enough of a shock to most motorists that traffic had all but come to a stand still. Luckily Louis and Emil knew full well what to expect after the initial shock of the furry deluge, so they drove through it relatively unscathed, missing almost all of the cats and dogs who had fallen around them, making the exit for the outer suburban hub two hours later. Along the way Louis regaled his younger brother all he could about the strange friend of his roommates’ from college, Angelo “Deano” Dean, Jr. “He was one of those guys you kinda avoided, not for any real reason,” Louis had elaborated. “He had that smell of danger on ‘um. You know, the kind of thing the chicks kinda dig but you know you don’t want to get to close to.”

37

“But you got close?” Emil prodded as they passed.

“Not too...” Louis said, then turned to his brother and smiled slightly “… but I guess close enough.”

Once again during this long drive Louis turned back to the windshield.

Emil knew his brother well enough to layback to wait for a deeper explanation. Being only three years apart the boys had experienced plenty together after their parent’s untimely death. This was some weird caca, for sure, Emil knew you’d have to be a blind man not have noticed the heavy cosmic do-do being thrown in his brother’s direction, and to be honest, the younger man was still having a hard time even believing this was all happening. But as he always had and would continue, Emil was Louis closest confidant and best friend and he’d see this through with his big bro no matter the danger to either of them.

“The dude was just into some weird shit…” Louis continued. “…I’d think they’d call it ‘Goth’ or whatever they call it now, but he Deano was into all this stuff; crystals, healings, sketching pentagrams, even. He was always going on about these forces, alternate realities. I mean, I guess we were all into it somewhat, you know smoking dope and contemplating the universe and all, but this guy was really out there.”

“That’s quite a jump though, from some weirdo you know in college ten years ago to those sheep camping out on the front lawn.”

“Yeah, I…” Louis brought the car to a sudden, lurching stop. In front of the brothers, stretching from one end of the wide three-lane road to the other was a maze of bridges. Latticework steel plopped right off the road, rickety 38

covered ones turned upside down behind their car, there was even a rope bridge curled up mere inches from their wheels. Louis and Earl looked at the lonely blacktop in the weak morning sunlight knowing full well what they had come to.

“Well we’ve come to it, it seems,” Earl said.

“Yeah, but which one do we cross?” Louis asked.

Louis headed for the middle bridge; smack dab center of the blacktop.

Why not this one he thought, they all seemed to connect to the side of the road beyond. Taking this bridge wouldn’t detour them from their destination more then any other. To each side of the car they passed the cornucopia of bridges around them, structures covering a grassy field off to their left, two more bridges to the right of the car spanning a gravel pit and then a slow dip in the country-side. There were no chasms, nor watery depositories these new bridges had to span, they had just spun up as if someone had said, “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Gonna tell me why bro? Or do I have to guess,” Emil asked as the SUV across the raised metal surface.

“Jane,” Louis whispered negotiating the simple metal rise.

“With you, there’s always gotta be a chick in the middle of it,” Emil mused.

“Man, if he’s still holding that against me…” Louis said, his eyes on the bridge but his mind no doubt back in college and on this ‘Jane.’

“You both dug her, but you got her,” Emil said.

“Got it in one,” Louis said as the bridge came to an abrupt end and he eased the car down and off the metal single lane and back on to hard 39

concrete.

“But it was such a non issue,” Louis continued through a sigh now that they were off the bridge. “We hung-out mostly. I think I took her on maybe three dates.”

“But this Deano guy really wanted her?”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. “…well, yeah that’s what I guessed at the time.

You’d never know it the way he acted around her. But yeah, we all kinda wanted Jane.”

“And after all this time, he… “…cute kinda hippy-chick,” Louis began obviously off on some revere of this past. “You know long billowy skirts, kinda like a wanna-be Stevie Nicks. Great cans, I guess that was what really got my interest. Man she was …” “…bro, you wanna rein it in?” Emil said. If Louis wanted to psychologically beat-off to visions of his ex college sugarplum on any occasion that was cool with Emil, but right now was not the time for salacious reminiscences.

“And all the time this Deano guy wants her, you know it and you basically grab her then throw her away.”

“Little brother...” Louis said, as the made the exit Louis had been hoping for. “…it was a non issue, I am telling you. The girl hardly paid me any mind even when we were hanging.”

“Well it wasn’t ‘non’ issue to this Deano dude.”

“Apparently not,” Louis agreed but as he stopped his car at the first stop sign off the road he added: 40

“But we are gonna straighten this shit out right now.” * Of course a guy like Deano had to still be living with this folks; furthermore, he was home at 6am, as if Louis or Emil had any doubt. Add to this, the simple fact that Deano’s folks were shocked, yet slightly thrilled as well, to be woken by two bad smelling, evidently frazzled brothers, ‘friends’ of their usually friendless only child: It was a tense odd little reunion there in the tiny yet immaculate peach-and-vanilla colored kitchen.

“That’s a heavy story…” Deano agreed over his second cup of coffee.

His mom had brewed a nice strong pot and returned to bed with her ailing husband as the three men sat around the butcher-block kitchen table.

As Deano had rightly assumed, Louis had not come acallin’ at the wee hours to pay a social visit. Still even bleary-eyed he had to admit how unbelievable the brothers’ tale was. “…but it ain’t me.”

“Deano,” Louis said, reaching his heavy hand across the table and grabbing the wiry man’s wrist.

Deano spilled his coffee.

“Deano,” Emil tried.

“Louis…” the curly-haired man said, retracting his hand from Louis’s heavy, desperate grip. “...I don’t have the juice to do it, nor the balls.

Really. Besides why would I?” “Jane,” Emil said and Louis shot him a look, but then quieted. Hell, why beat around the bush here, dogs and cats were falling out the sky 41

and Louis just knew that the sheep had eaten all through his expensive landscaping.

“Jane…” Deano said. “…Janie Ellington?”

“I know you remember her,” Louis prodded.

“Yeah, so?”

“You and her, me and her, you not being with her?” Louis pushed.

“Remember?”

“You think I’m whisking up some mojo I am not even cable of whisking, from a decade-old jealousy?”

“Damn straight,” Emil spat.

“Jesus,” Deano said, sat back and took another sip of his coffee through a smile.

If Louis had had the strength he would have reached across the table and slugged the guy.

Emil knew that if Louis had had the strength he would have reached across the table and slugged the guy.

“How blind are you man…” Deano continued. “…I’m gay! Was in college, am now, always will be. What the hell did I ever, would I ever, could I ever want with Jane Ellington?”

“Are you freaking kidding me, you lusted after her!” Louis continued.

“I dug her clothes, maybe…” Deano said. “…she smelled pretty good, but I wasn’t after her; she’s got the wrong parts for me.”

“Then you were after my bros’,” Emil chimed in. He looked at Louis to consider his new theory.

“Jesus, where do you guys get your egos?” Deano asked. “I had a 42

boyfriend outside of school…and you're not my type….neither of you.

Whatever ‘deep strangeness’ I had, as you call it, was just me trying to hide I was gay.”

“But since the old guy had his stroke…” and Deano looked up to indicate his parents who retired to an upstairs bedroom. “…I don’t much care anymore who knows.”

“Are you f'in with me here, Deano?”

“Louis, Jesus!” he shouted then settled his voice.

“All that heavy magic, goth shit, come on man.”

“What’s a gay man to do in such a straight college, sing show tunes up and down the hall?” the smaller man said to them. “Put up Liza posters? All that dark mystical stuff was cool: I dug the clothes, the late hours. I mean, I've kept up with it a little, sure, a guys got to have his bubbles and beads, but nothing like what is comin’ down around your head now.”

“I…” Louis tried.

“Really guys, I am merely a novice, even to this day. The one who taught me is the one with the real juice.”

Emil and Louis looked at each other and shuttered as one even before Deano said the name.

“Boy you guys are dense…” he said. “…Jane was into all that spells and crystals shit years before I was.” *

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“I got to find her,” Louis pleaded into the late morning traffic. “She’s got to be still in town. Said she was going to take over the house when her mother died.”

“No, we need some sleep…” Emil said, laying back in the deep bucket seat. “…Jane will stay put for a few hours.”

“And how the hell would you know?” Louis asked. “She’s obviously throwing this my way deliberately, she knows where I am; the cats and bridges came up on us on the road. She’s gonna know I’m com…” “…and she’s gonna wait.”

“And I ask again, how the hell do you know?”

“Because…” and here Emil turned fully in his seat. “…and believe me I know women like this too well…we have been driving right into her clutches, she knows it and you know it. She knows you’d seek out Deano, you’re a bright guy. She knows that you’ll come for her after Deano spills it wasn’t him; a chick this nuts has got ego to spare. Everything she threw up was to annoy us, well you, just enough. Prod and poke you and me, again mainly you, to get our asses out here and find her. So far nothing really dangerous has come a’knockin’, no rivers of fire or poisoned locust, and she obviously has the abilities. She put this all into action because she wants you to come to her.”

Of course everything Emil was articulating was exact how Louis had felt all along. Damned if he wasn’t more interested in facing Janey then he had ever been facing any legal opponent in his life. The girl certainly had brought excitement into this staid, yet lucrative existence. “’Why ‘is the question then?” Louis managed.

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“Well we ain’t gonna find out this dog-ass tired, that’s for sure.”

“Unfortunately… I got to agree with you.”

“You must have screw-ed this girl over big time, that’s all I got to say.”

“I don’t know Em, I really don’t. Like I said we went out a few times, I think we were together, really together for like maybe a total of two weeks, if that? And there really were no fireworks, for either her or me.”

“Louis, this girl is holding a very particular grudge and letting you know it in a very particular way, actually a pretty creative way, if you ask me.

There had to be more to it then you’re remembering.”

“Could be,” Louis said, “At least she seems to think so, but really I don’t remember a thing beyond a few dates and her chest.”

“Who broke it off?”

“Em, come on. It wasn’t ever that serious. We kinda just stopped hanging out after we boinked a few times.”

“Well, she obviously thinks it was serious.”

“But why the hell now, that’s what I want to know. You hold a grudge this heavy, why not come for my ass years ago?”

“Maybe it really is like Deano said; you got to have the juice to pull it off. Maybe it takes a while to get it together enough to try a stunt like this. I mean it Louis, what the hell do you know about any of this? We are way out of our depth here.”

“You’re right, you're right.”

“Brother, I tell you, I’m dyin’ to know what she’s planning when you two meet face to face!”

45

“Shit, I’ve been thinking about not thinking about that since we left Deano’s.”

The brothers passed a brightly lit 7Eleven, on a plot of high land that seemed to actually be on the border of this town and pulled in for some coffee.

It was a quarter to one the next afternoon when Louis and Emil walked into the “Creamatorium Coffee Shop.” Showered shaved, even sporting a change of underwear they had picked-up between Deano’s house and the Kirton Holiday Inn, the brothers walked between the maze of tables to the only one occupied this quiet Thursday afternoon. Sitting with her elbows bordering the last “Harry Potter” opened under her bent head, was Jane Ellington, a steaming cup of latte at the table’s edge, her open black leather satchel at the other. She lifted then slowly flung her ponytail down her downy neck, lean back off her reading in a gesture of surrendered stretching and caught the two brother’s walking to her.

“As I live and breathe,” she said, smiling.

To Emil the girl was an alarming study in quiet, cute-ness. A line of freckles bridged Jane’s nose, her blue eyes held a quiet sadness and her chin quivered ever so lightly as she regarded only his bother and tried to spread her thin lips wider then she obviously wanted.

Jane didn’t look Louis’s age, not even his.

“Black right?” Emil asked and Louis nodded as Emil left them.

“My landlord can never keep his mouth shut,” Jane said as Louis sat across from her.

“And you didn’t want him to; you knew I was on my way.”

46

“Yeah, yeah,” H.P. under Jane closed without her touching it. “Still, I was surprised you came out so quick, being a big time lawyer and all.

Figured you’d hire someone to clean off the sheep shit. Maybe hire a private detective to find me. I am flattered.”

“You got style Jane, I got to give you that. Just enough road blocks along the way to hinder us, but not enough to turn me away.”

“On-Star and black magic have a lot in common; it’s easy to network one to the other.”

“Kinda makes me a little nervous knowing you keep such tabs on me.”

“You said he looked like you…” Jane said, looking over at Emil standing at the counter then, ordering coffees from the teenage girl barista. “…but his eyes were different.”

“Photographic memory?” Louis asked, scooting closer. “Nice. But you got to have better stuff to remember then what I said?”

“Every single piece,” the girl began and here she looked hard across the table, her smile disappearing, her chin still, her blue eyes cutting.

Louis sat back and instinctively looked over his shoulder for his bother.

“Every last literal snippet of every morsel that fell from your Judas mouth.”

“That was a long time ago,” Louis started, eyes back on the girl facing him. He could hear Emil making small talk behind him and wished he could be in his place right then.

“Really Jane, I wouldn’t take anything I said too seriously,” he added, keeping his voice calm. “We were freaking college sophomores.”

“It left a mark,” the girl said softening.

47

“Look, you got my attention,” Louis continued after ten seconds of silence. “I am impressed. But why not just telephone, email? We could have met for…” “…you would have blown me off just like you did back then.”

“Jane I’m sorry, but we were never…”

“NO!” the girl screamed.

The lights in the coffee shop went out.

“Ah…Jane?” Louis called. He was straining to see. He felt a cool wind hit his face as he felt his feet floating and his ass not on a seat anymore.

“Emil?” he asked the nothingness.

Suddenly he was back at the coffee shop, just where he had been.

“Neat trick,” he said.

“Sorry,” Jane said, bowing her head to her bulky bosom.

“Did I go somewhere?”

“No, they did,” she said, looking up once again and around her.

“That’s some heavy shit you can do girl,” he said as Emil walked to the table with two steaming cups of coffee.

“So, you guys catchin’ up on old times?” Emil said sitting down. He slid a coffee to Louis and sat back with his own in front of him.

“Yes,” Jane said, still not looking at the smaller darker man.

“So what do you want?” Louis said, lifting the cup to his lips, his eyes locked on Jane’s.

“A testicle. Maybe a pound of flesh?”

“How ‘bout I apologize and we say bye-bye,” Louis said, taking a sip.

“Not good enough,” the woman across from him said.

48

“It’s gonna have to be,” Emil chirped in.

Louis gripped the little round table top. Obviously his brother and the counter girl had not been aware of their recent pop from earthly existence.

“You go through so many years remembering, torturing yourself with memory…” Jane began, sitting back and looking at them both.

The woman was obviously suffering; telepathically the brothers decided to let her have her due. Maybe they’d get out of this ok, with Louis intact and with their suburban lives never again disturbed if they let Jane have her say. It was obvious she had had this speech ready for a very long time. “…then you come to face to face with the one person who has tormented your dreams for over a decade, and that person hardly registered your pain, didn’t even think once about the things he had said to you that were so important, words that have cut you for so long, you would almost miss them of the memory were erased. Words that mean so little to him he doesn’t even recall them.”

“I am sorry Jane,” Louis said and reached his hand across the table again. “I truly am, but we were kids, I was a bastard full of piss and vinegar at that age. What did you expect? I am not the same person now as I am sure yo…”

Even as the phrase left his mouth Louis knew it had been the very worst thing he could have said.

Once again existence winked out, or more precisely Jane put it someplace out of their reach. But this time in the blackness, on the slightly fetid breeze, came the unmistakable sounds of Emil crying. Louis turned as he floated, his head swimming, attempting to focus his eyes on where 49

it was his brother might be. He actually reached out his hand and began swimming in the void…at least it felt like swimming. All he could make out in the darkness was Jane floating not a foot from him, the white of her eyes as dancing evil luminescent as her thin smile revealed her teeth to be.

“I can make him remember what I am doing to him now…”

“Oh God!” Emil wailed somewhere in the utter blackness of oblivion.

“Or,” and with this they were all back safe and sound in the coffee shop, Emil sitting across from them still, a little red ring around his right eye and downcast green tinge to the corners of his mouth, but none the worse for wear.

“So, what’s gonna happen now?” Emil said, smiling at them both.

“Ok, so you’ve proven your powers,” Louis said, pushing his steaming cup away. He looked at his brother and Emil looked back with a ‘what’s up bro?’ grin.

Swallowing back his bile Louis took a deep breath, trying to hide his fear with faked disgust and slight boredom. Whatever it was that Jane wanted with him-and it evidently couldn’t be a testicle or a pound of flesh-he wasn’t about to allow this psycho bitch the satisfaction of knowing he was in deep water without a paddle.

“Jane you were, and I assume still are, a smart girl,” he began. “You’ve got to realize that no matter what you do I’m not going to give in to any demands. It’s not fair, first of all, and secondly, you don’t want me coming across by coercion.”

This really was Louis in his element, convincing another party they did not 50

feel the way the professed they felt. He had gained much legal ground this way, smiling, charming his ‘opponent’ that things were not the way they seemed to be, that everyone had a perspective and a point of view as valid as anyone else, that no matter the stakes, everything and everyone, was negotiable.

“I doubt you’ve lost your sense of fair play,” he continued. “No matter how deeply you feel I have wronged you.”

“As full of shit now as you were then,” Jane laughed and stood.

Emil and Louis followed suit.

“You guys need to look outside,” she said and turned to the café’s big windows. “No more cliches’, no more raining cats and dogs, I have taken us out of the game until we settle this.”

The brothers turned to a blackness outside the windows that was so deep it reflected ink back onto them. The lights in the coffee shop grew weaker in the sudden nothingness. The girl behind the counter even looked up from her worn copy of Season in Hell for a good two-second pause.

“I will let him feel that again,” Jane continued, looking then at Emil who was now frozen. Louis turned to his brother and instinctively put out his hand to touch the smaller man’s arm.

“He won’t wake until I wake him,” she continued. “But believe me I will leave him out there and it won’t be for a flicker of a second this time. I will have him float just right outside the front door so you can watch his torment as he looses his sanity to the knowledge of facing nothing for the rest of his days.”

“Stop with the threats,” Louis said and stepped to the girl. “I know you’re 51

serious. We got to be able to work this out like adults. This isn’t some college crush we’re talking about, you’re a grown woman.”

“I hadn’t thought you noticed,” Jane said and in a magnesium flash of a moment-in fact Louis was indeed blinded by a two second flash of white brilliance-the tall red head was standing there naked, white powdery and voluptuous, actually quite a bit hipp-er then he had last seen her this bare, yet possibly all that much more delicious.

“You look good,” Louis said looking to the girl snaking up next to him. He instinctively looked round the empty coffee shop and noticed the girl behind the counter frozen in her reading, motionless just like Emil.

“Is this what you wanted?” he continued. “Jesus, Jane, all you had to do was tell me you wanted one last roll in the hay to call it even.”

Jane was all snake-hips and luscious dewy rises as she warmed up against his thigh and wrapped her long arms around him, one down his back and one across his chest. She was pumping her pelvis against the side of his leg and Louis reached his hand around the girl cupping her warm ample right ass cheek in his right hand.

“Not one last time,” Jane sissed, folding around him even tighter. “One time that will lead to a lifetime.”

Louis wasn’t all that’s sure what the girl meant but as he felt himself all but pound out of his chinos he turned to face Jane fully, to eat in her smell, her warmth her breath…her flashing red eyes.

“Louis, step away,” he thought he heard a voice behind him say.

Louis was locked now, becoming one with Jane’s yielding cotton-candy side, her sad but full mouth, her musky warmth and dangerous desire. He 52

was turning fully into what he felt was an enveloping woman-ess, Jane’s decade-long ache, her heavy yet surprisingly still firm big breasts. He was lost in this woman who he couldn’t recall ever having but knew he wanted more right that instant then he had ever wanted any other woman in his life.

“Louis, step away!” the voice shouted this time and Louis finally registered it from the very last corner of the closed attic of reason that was his swimming mind.

He turned, literally plopping his attention and his thigh from Jane’s wet clutching openness and came face to face with Deano.

“Step away or you and Emil will be lost forever,” Deano said. The lanky guy had his arms outstretched in front of him and clasped tight between his pushed-together palms was a shaking turquoise crucifix.

It wasn’t the incredible sight (not to mention timing) of Deano appearing here in this coffee shop on the edge of oblivion, nor even Deano mentioning Emil’s name, but staring at that crucifix, so cliché in its positioning right here right now, that pulled Louis mind (and lusts) from Jane’s naked attentions enough that he did indeed take a step back.

“This is like a reunion,” Jane standing fully up off of Louis. She made no attempt to cover her wide naked white form.

“It’s time you cut the shit, Jane,” Deano said not moving an inch as Louis retreated another two steps. With his arms still outstretched and Jane’s attention on him now, the crucifix in Deano’s hands really stared to shake.

“You’ve seen too many movies Deano,” Jane said, smiling wide. Her pink 53

nipples actually poked out even further as both men (though they didn’t say so to each other) spied concentric circles of counter-clockwise rainbows of color begin to swirl round Jane’s areolas.

“You think that has any power against what I can throw,” she said, placing a hand on each hip.

The men were still transfixed by the carnival color wash circling round the girl’s big breasts, but when Jane placed her fingers on the downy rises on her wide feminine waist, each man felt a single filament strip of heat rise through their respective spines.

“Even a gay man can’t avoid my charms,” the woman before them said as Jane stared both men down, throwing her considerable estrogen-fueled musky magic across the coffee shop tile.

“We are going to leave,” Deano said in a voice that Louis felt was lacking some conviction (although he knew damn well, had he a voice at that moment, it would be breaking as well). Deano’s skinny arms were all but bouncing now as he tried with all his might to act the part of a modernday, slightly fey, Van Helsing.

“I’ll just take you with me,” Jane said and took one step towards the duo.

Funny the things you notice, but Louis looked down and realized that Jane hadn’t taken off her sneakers and white socks.

“Emil twisting in oblivion, Louis my prize procession stud and you attending me any way I choose…and hating every erection I coax out of you,” Jane listed taking another step closer. “This is going to end up better then I ever planned.”

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“Now come with me boys,” she continued, stopping inches from Deano’s shaking crucifix. “All Louis has to do is agree…”

Louis could feel his mind easing, as if he was falling asleep but at the same time moving heaven and Earth with his will. He ached to be with Jane…hold Jane…feel the warmth of Jane. He stepped from around Deano, watching that silly thin crucifix dip and sway in his peripheral vision as he came within inches of Jane’s soft body, her warmth pliant skin, her heavy wan breast, her lustrous eyes, her…

“Don’t Louis,” Deano cried. “You go to her we’re all lost.”

“That’s it, one more step,” Jane said, reaching up with one hand to take the crucifix from Deano and the other to clutch Louis’s bicep.

“Just give me that thing and we’ll…” Jane said.

As her right hand almost touched Louis’s arm her left closed over the crucifix.

There is silence and there is the cessation of sound.

There is darkness and then there is nothing.

The outside of the coffee shop became the inside, dark became light and up became down. At least this is the way it felt to Louis as he tried to grope for meaning and right himself in the mimosa of sensations he experienced the second Jane touched Deano’s gaudy cross. Trying to focus on any familiar sound or sight, his head spinning, Louis involuntarily bent in half, dry-heaving as his ears popped.

He might have been pissing himself as well.

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Then suddenly, blocking his line of vision like a freight train rushing into him as if he stood on a track facing it, was a whirling multi-colored 7Eleven “Slurpie®” machine.

“Here, Emil said you like cherry,” Deano said passing Louis a frosty cup and straw.

Sighing, standing fully and adjusting his eyes to the sudden barrage of garish neon, Louis turned his head to take in the entire store and his smiling brother to his right.

“Holy shit!” he spat then threw back a huge gulp of the Slurpie®.

An instant debilitating ‘brain freeze’ hit him, which did even more to right Louis to the here and now.

“You, my brother, live in interesting times,” Emil said, placing a hand to Louis’s forearm, both helping his brother to shake off the last of his mind cobwebs and confirm they were both still alive.

“Either of you Cheshire cats gonna tell me what just happened?”

“You can’t think you’re gonna take on a gay man and his bling,” Deano answered, smiling at Louis. “Jane had all that magic to spare but she never counted on that.”

“See…” and here Deano took a step to both brothers. A kid in baseball cap, jeans and a: God is Busy, take a number in hell T-shirt stepped inbetween them for a Slurpie® of his own. He gave the group of three a scowl, especially Deano, and moved on. “…she thought I was doing that crucifix thing, like warding off a vampire,” and here Deano stopped took a sip, let the kid pass between he and Emil, then swallowed to regard Louis again.

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“I know you were thinking that to, like ‘what-the-hell-is-this-son-ofa-bitch-doing-here-holding-a-crucifix of-all-things.”

Louis could only nod and sip again, slower this time to avoid the brain freeze.

“But I was trying to hold her off with magic, and to tell you the truth, if you would have gone to her, if you had stepped into her arms, accepted her as it was, we would have all been lost. I really don’t have the juice to compete with her magically, I told you that back at my parent’s house; not then, not now, not ever. Jane is definitely a powerful mage.

But I do have pride in my possessions and I thought, hoped, reasoneddamn, I was shittin’ my pants that’s for sure-but I figured when she touched my cross she’d get a whammy jammy really hard cause the last thing I wanted in this world was to give up any piece of my black pearl collection to that old hag!”

“As with all things, desire is the key,” Emil interjected.

The three men took another sip in unison and then as if of one mind sauntered up to the register where Emil paid for them all and the petite Pakinstani woman smiled at their disheveled appearance. They walked out into the brisk afternoon.

“You must have lighted out after us just as we left.”

“Not too long after, yeah,” Deano agreed to the elder brother. “I kinda knew you guys were walking into some shit. Her landlord is definitely a son-of-a-bitch, said if one more dudes came asking about Jane he'd shoot to maim but he told me where to find her…and you.”

“So now the million dollar question is,” Emil said and Louis experienced a 57

shiver up his spine the likes of which he had never felt.

“Wish I had an answer,” Deano said sipping again. "As far as I can tell we were all thrown from the coffee shop, in fact I’ll take a ride by when I leave today see if it’s still there. When the flash occurred I simply thought of this 7-Eleven, God knows why. I guess it was the first place I saw when I got into town, you guys too right?”

“Yeah,” the brothers chorused.

“So I guess whatever magic I possessed popped us all here. It might have seemed like you were floating a while but believe me by the time I realized where I was Emil was there and by the time we were cracking the Slurpies® you popped in. Where Jane went is anybody’s guess but I don’t think she’ll be riding in on our coat tails anytime soon.”

“So she’s still out there?”

“Yeah, no doubt, my cross wielding Bammo only held enough juice to get us clear, not to take her out, but I think we scared her,” and with this Deano patted his right pants legs pocket. Louis looked down to see the shape of the cross pushing through the man’s tight khakis.

“But I don’t have any power,” Louis said “And I bet she’s pissed more now then ever.”

“Could be, but all you got to do is call,” Deano said looking at Emil.

“We already exchanged cell numbers,” Emil said.

“So it really was a question of desire all the way around,” Emil chirped as they drove out of town-after passing an empty, seemingly none-theworse-for-visiting-oblivion “Creamatorium” Coffee shop.

“Jane’s desire to get you in her clutches after you not ‘desirin’ to be with 58

her and Deano stopping it all with a desire to not let that lady have his cross.”

Louis kept driving, silently staring out the window.

“You gonna talk about any of this?” Emil asked, turning to his brother fully.

Another minute of silence passed as Emil sighed through his brother’s continued silence and the XM’s choices.

“Really bro. Anytime you wanna like make with a little give-and-take here, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’m a little wigged out,” Louis replied.

“I know, but sooner or later you gotta talk about what went down,” Emil said. “If for nothing else, then to get past it.”

“I don’t know if I will,” Louis said and turned to look at Emil for the briefest of seconds.

“I’ll try Em, I will,” he said his face turned forward again, eyes on the middle misty midday road. “But man she went to a lot of trouble to get to me after all that time. Makes me think what I have done and said that’s hurt other people, shit I don’t ever think about it. Gives ya pause man, gives ya pause.”

“Didn’t Jane say she wanted to have an effect on you’re here and now?”

“Yeah,” Louis said.

“Well maybe she’ll be happy with the fact that she has,” Emil said. “I mean she’ll never know exactly how much all that got to you, but she’s gotta figure entertaining the mystical in your life, where there never was a hint of the mystical before, has broadened your world view, if nothing else.”

“And you think she’s gonna be content with that?” Louis asked, turning to 59

look at his younger brother again. “Didn’t she say something about taking a testicle, making me her slave for eternity?”

“Well I think I was kinda frozen most of the time,” Emil quipped. “But shit man, beggars can’t be choosers. I think in the end, maybe she got what she wanted. Maybe not exactly the way she wanted it, but she got you to notice her, to think about her and to never forget her.”

“That she did,” Louis agreed and he even allowed a slight smile.

Emil turned to the radio again, content that for now he had assuaged his big brother’s fear. Louis would remember Jane and that was a simple fact.

Maybe Louis would act with more caution and maybe indeed he’d consider now all the crap he did that he never thought about, maybe even Emil would to. Either way, Emil knew Louis would not soon forget Jane.

Louis smiled at the picture then floating through his mind. Far from a Jane built with caution and a little bit of worry, unlike even Emil’s view of what he thought Louis was feeling, Louis suddenly recalled how amazing Jane’s big body had looked and how good she had smelled.

And yeah, he’d hire some kid from the neighborhood to get that sheep crap off his lawn.

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Or\ of Illusion \y Ch[rl_s Kyffh[us_n

It's good to be God, Jorge Cortez thought while the Aztec priest drove his obsidian knife into the Drug Enforcement Agency officer's body. The man stopped screaming and struggling when the priest opened his chest cavity, thus causing his lungs to collapse.

"Do you wish to eat the heart, Feathered Serpent?" the High Priest asked while his assistant pulled the beating organ from the victim's quivering body.

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"No, you may give it to Huitzilopochtli." Cortez had taken the trouble to learn some native words, and the natives' religion provided an excellent way to get rid of evidence. The narc's skull would still be identifiable from dental records but there were thousands of skulls in the temple square.[1] "What I really want is the black orb that is supposed to be inside the Hungry Pyramid," he continued. "If no one volunteers to earn my favor by retrieving it, I want three more victims to be put inside next week." The drug lord had already forced twelve natives into the pyramid, and none had returned. *** The "Existential Secret" stamp on the 16th century manuscript meant the information in question could conceivably destroy the United States or even the entire world if it fell into the wrong hands. The English translation read, I don't know where Brother Tomas Torquemada found the orb whose blackness returns no earthly reflection, but now I think it found him. God allowed me to free myself from its influence, and I am appalled at what my brothers and I did in the Inquisition's name.

I stole that unholy black sphere from the Inquisition, but the hottest fire would not melt it nor would the sharpest chisel mark it. I therefore sought to carry it beyond the reach of all Christendom. As my ship left Spain further and further behind, I saw myself convert heathens to the True Faith in droves. Then all Christendom saw me as Jesus 62

returned, and people worshipped me as a god. That blasphemous image stopped me. I remembered the Book of Revelation, and I realized that I had seen the Antichrist in that polished black stone.

I therefore risked my life among the heathens, and I found a passage that led to the heart of one of the pyramids upon which they perform their unholy sacrificial rites. Only after I threw the orb down that passage did I wonder why I had not cast it into the sea's depths, and thus beyond all hope of retrieval. I realized that it had deceived me yet again, and that I had merely delayed the day of reckoning. I fear that the Orb's retrieval will portend the rise of the Antichrist, the Tribulations, and the Last Days.

"It sounds like this Jesuit regretted his involvement with the Inquisition, and he made up a story about that orb to excuse the worst of his guilt," the heiress of the Morgan Armory, the world's biggest defense contractor, told her two companions when they finished reading the translation. Wirerimmed glasses enhanced Diana Morgan's intellectual appearance but her vision was good enough to fly supersonic aircraft without them.

"I would normally agree, Diana, but there is something behind that story," Major General Donald Markham said while he laid a satellite photo on the conference table.

"How could an Aztec city have remained hidden in the twenty-first century?" Brian Graham asked when he saw the pyramids and chinampas, or Aztec floating gardens. The big man was officially an 63

Assistant Professor of Archeology but his real function was to investigate legends, relics, and artifacts that could affect national security.

"It couldn't unless some unknown force concealed it," the general explained. "The pilot of an airplane that flew over that place saw nothing but jungle. Perhaps the force can deceive a person but not a machine like a satellite. We think it has something to do with the item this Jesuit described."

"An army that could make its enemies see illusions would be invincible," Diana concluded immediately. "I see why this manuscript is an Existential Secret."

"We must retrieve that orb before somebody else does," the general concluded. "I want you two to fly to Mexico and go to this hotel. I will arrange clearance from the Mexican government to bring a squad of Special Forces for support, and I will contact you when we are ready to go into the jungle." *** "Who is that? It can't be," Brian said when he saw the jogger outside the Mexican hotel. Strong legs tapered gracefully from the tall brunette's track shorts to her running shoes, and muscles flowed with feline grace in her back and waist.

"Brian Graham, what are you doing here?" she demanded while she removed her sunglasses to reveal a pair of intense green eyes.

"I could ask you the same, Erin."

"Someone you know, Brian?" Diana asked with a raised eyebrow.

"This is my cousin, Erin Duncan. She's with—" 64

"Federal Bureau of Investigation," Erin completed the sentence. "Let me get showered and dressed, and we can talk."

"This is what Erin calls dressed," Brian told Diana with a grin when she returned.

"I worked hard for this body, and it's more than warm enough to show it off," Erin retorted. "That makes me very popular at this hotel's nightclub and volleyball court, and men will tell an American beach chick with too much time and money on her hands things they wouldn't tell their own relatives."

"I can imagine," Brian replied, and then he turned to Diana. "Erin thinks of herself as a Celtic warrior maiden, and I'm sure you noticed her at that costume party last year. She was the one whose outfit consisted primarily of blue body paint."

"Is that why all the guys wanted to dance with me?" Erin replied innocently. "So do all the men in the hotel's nightclub, and a few have offered me cocaine to go to their rooms with them. When that happens, I make a certain dance move," she twisted her hips to show it off, "and my partner photographs the man's face for comparison with the FBI's and DEA's image data bases. Then I get rid of the druggie as politely as possible by getting another man to cut in, which is never difficult."

"In retrospect," she continued, "the FBI should have paired me with a single partner. Manuel has to socialize with the women in the club to give him a reason to be there but he's too loyal to his wife to even pretend any serious interest in them. He and I are after Jorge Cortez: a very nasty drug dealer, gang lord, and overall louse. A few DEA agents vanished last 65

month, and Cortez may also be looting Aztec artifacts; we found Aztec gold and jade in the black market. We can't arrest Cortez outside the U.S. but the local police will do it if we can lead them to him. Now, Brian, what are you doing here with this blonde?"

"Diana and I have been seeing each other for the past several months, and you saw us together at that costume party."

"Brian was William Wallace, and I was the Welsh war goddess Agrona," Diana added.

"Yes, you two saved an airplane from crashing into the Sears Tower on 9/11, and now you show up in Mexico with a bunch of soldiers. That's a lousy cover story if that's what it was meant to be."

"What soldiers?"

"The snake-eaters whom Manuel and I saw at the airport: probably Rangers, Special Forces, or some other elite unit. We identified the middle-aged guy with them as Donald Markham: the West Point classmate and close friend of Richard Owen Morgan," Erin said while she looked pointedly at Diana.

"Don earned a Distinguished Service Cross in the same battle that got Dad his Medal of Honor," Diana replied. "Why shouldn't two Vietnam veterans who know they can rely on each other be close friends?"

"If I was in charge of some ultra-secret organization," Erin pressed, "I'd want easy access to the Morgan Armory's advanced technology. I heard that some Al Qaida got fried by something that sounds a lot like a charged particle beam. That weapon doesn't officially exist but your greatgrandfather spent a lot of time with Nikola Tesla."

66

"You are free to fantasize about whatever conspiracy theories or mysterious death rays you wish, Erin," Brian said, but his cousin's expression showed that she was not to be put off her trail.

"Brian, your plane ticket came up on our computer and some other things connected, so we came after you. Somebody is playing John Wayne, somebody could get hurt, and I don't want it to be you. Talk to me, cousin."

"If he talks to you, I'll have to kill you," Diana interjected with a grin.

"Diana and I are not involved with Cortez or with any law enforcement activity," Brian added. "I cannot tell you anything else."

"In other words, the Army has sworn you to secrecy."

"If that is true, Erin, you know better than to ask Brian for details," Diana answered sternly. "You and your partner are the Good Guys, though, so we'll put you in touch with General Markham tomorrow. It is up to him to decide what, if anything, you need to know."

"All right, my partner and I will see you tomorrow."

Brian and Diana walked back to their rental car to get their luggage, but they didn't see the van until it was too late. "Get in the van, please," a man said while others got out and surrounded them.

Brian's reply was a solid right hook that broke the kidnapper's jaw and knocked him unconscious, but wired darts leapt from the other assailants' weapons. The current from the Tasers dropped the two Americans instantly, and the men handcuffed them before they put them into the van.

The kidnappers took them to a field and put them into a helicopter, where they found Erin. "They jumped me on my way to my room," she explained 67

sullenly. "I know better than to go with kidnappers, your best chance is to fight or escape on the spot, but—" "A Taser is a compelling invitation," Brian said sympathetically.

"What were you two doing with this narc?" the kidnappers' leader then asked.

"Erin Jones is an American tourist whom we met at the hotel," Brian replied.

"Erin Duncan is FBI, DEA, or some other variety of narcotics agent," the thug replied. "The Cartel offered $100,000 for your capture, Ms. Duncan, and my boss will be very pleased to see you," he added while he brushed his hand across her cheek.

"I will be pleased to see Jorge Cortez in Hell," Erin replied.

"The distance between our destination and Hell is very short, Ms. Duncan, and you will scream like a damned soul during your journey." *** "I am Jorge Cortez, also known as Quetzalcoatl or Feathered Serpent," the drug lord told the three Americans when the helicopter delivered them.

"I am God to these Aztecs, and these eight men are my Conquistadors."

"I am sure you are familiar with stories like Heart of Darkness and Lord of the Flies in which humans are freed from the rule of law and indeed from all social controls," he continued. "That pretty much describes our situation here. If I want a native woman, I take her. If she gives me a hard time, I send her to her death on the altar. If a man looks at me the wrong way, I have his heart torn out and fed to the gods. Now that you know this,

68

Ms. Duncan, do you regret your role in sending one of my fellow Cartel bosses to Death Row?" "Your associate murdered two witnesses because they saw his pushers sell black tar heroin to recovering drug addicts. What did he expect the jury to do, make him Citizen of the Year?"

"Did you ever see so much cocaine in one place?" Cortez boasted while he pointed to large bags of white powder. "This is an excellent depot because an unknown force conceals this city from all observers; we have to talk our helicopters in because the pilots see only jungle. Now here is something else you should see."

The three Americans forced themselves to watch while priests dragged a man to the bloodstained altar in the square in front of the Hungry Pyramid.

"He dared to raise his hand to me when I sent for his sister," Cortez explained while the priests bared the struggling victim's chest, cut through his diaphragm with an obsidian knife, and pulled out his heart. One priest put the beating organ into the mouth of a nearby idol while the others began to flay and butcher the body.

"I'd better not tell anybody here that my heart goes out to him," Diana quipped despite the gruesome spectacle. "He might take me up on it."

"Cortez, you would have aced my last exam on Aztec religious practices without cracking a book," Brian added.

"You could become the subject of those practices, Professor Graham; they are a very convenient way to dispose of narcs and other inconvenient people. I have nothing against you and this blonde, though, so I will

69

probably just have you shot. The Cartel, however, wants Erin Duncan's final hours to be excruciating."

"Do you still pull wings off flies, Cortez, or have you graduated to torturing small animals?" Erin demanded despite the fear that chilled her blood and turned her stomach into lead.

"Speaking of small animals, I remember that cute little college student who was one of our customers before you got to her," Cortez said. "You got her off our drugs, helped her respect herself again, and turned her life around. You also got your bosses to give her a deal: they wouldn't prosecute her for possession if she ratted on her suppliers. That's why one of our best pushers is now doing twenty years but the Cartel doesn't like rats. Dario here," he indicated a man with a particularly cruel expression, "worked on her with a knife for the Cartel's entertainment. She called your name a few times before she died."

"That got to you, didn't it?" Dario added when he saw Erin's expression.

"She would still be alive and enjoying some good highs if you hadn't 'helped' her."

"You're on my list, Dario," Erin snarled with pure hatred.

"And you, Ms. Duncan, are on today's menu." *** "I'm sorry I got you into this," Erin told her companions after the priests and warriors took them to a chamber in one of the pyramids.

"We aren't dead yet," Brian reminded her. "Cortez has a potentially fatal weakness."

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"Brian, I appreciate your efforts to keep my spirits up but nobody knows where we are. I am frightened, and I wish your hands were free so you could kill me before Cortez can do whatever he has planned for me."

"I'd rather kill him. Rudyard Kipling's The Man Who Would be King is about two British adventurers who set themselves up as gods in Central Asia, just as Cortez has set himself up as one here. Everything went fine until one of them bled like an ordinary mortal, and Cortez will bleed if he gets close enough to me. A solid head butt to his nose will do the job."

"Erin, if you can get close enough to Cortez, you have to draw his blood," Diana added immediately. "Butt him, bite him, or do whatever you must, but make sure the Aztecs see him bleed. It may be our only chance but there are two other things he doesn't know. First, I can kill or disable him with a kick even with my hands tied, and I'll do that if I can get close enough. I also have a gift for linguistics, and I learned some basic Nahuatl to prepare for this mission. Cortez doesn't know I can talk to his subjects."

Diana then continued to the warriors who stood guard outside the chamber, "My companion won't carry your prayers to your gods because she doesn't believe in them, and Cortez is no more of a god than I am."

"Feathered Serpent struck five men dead with lighting and thunder when he first came here," an Eagle Warrior replied. "Die bravely and do not seek to save yourself with lies."

"If that's a challenge, I will meet four of your warriors in your ritual combat." The fights would be very unfair not because Diana would be given a padded war club with which to fight Eagle and Jaguar warriors

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who were armed with razor-sharp obsidian weapons, but because Mesoamericans had no knowledge of karate or even the basic fist.

"The ritual of the striping is long and agonizing, and you are truly brave to ask for it. When you are finally dead I, Cociyobi, will eat your flesh and drink your blood to acquire your virtues."

"You shouldn't eat meat because the fat clogs your arteries."

"You are very lean so you will not clog my arteries," the Eagle Warrior said while he pointed to Diana's slim waist.

"You might be unable to digest what you will have to swallow before you eat me," she elaborated. "If you think my words are mere bluster, you can be one of the warriors whose job is to cut me to pieces. Then I will have to kill you so perhaps you should think about what I said."

"You are clearly a brave warrior, and it would be no dishonor for me to die by your hand. I sense however that you would prefer not to kill me, so tell me why Feathered Serpent's weapon is not magic."

"Cortez's weapon propels a bullet similar to what you throw from a sling, and nothing more."

"Why can we not see this projectile?"

"Imagine a very powerful warrior with a blowpipe," Diana explained in terms she thought the Aztec would understand. "The dart would come out so quickly that you couldn't see it. Cortez's weapon contains a powder that burns very rapidly, and it's like that hypothetical blowpipe warrior. Tell the High Priest that we will prove that Cortez is no god, and don't let Cortez know I can speak your language."

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"Feathered Serpent ordered my sister to be sacrificed when she refused to share his bed, and I would kill him myself if I believed he could die. On the other hand, I do not see why we should believe you either."

"My companions and I don't claim to be gods, and we have no desire to lord it over you—" The arrival of Cortez, his men, and several priests ended the conversation.

Erin swallowed hard but she stood when the group walked over to her.

The High Priest stepped forward with a human skull, dipped his fingers into the blue pigment inside, and drew some marks on her face. "He marks you as a sacrifice to me," Cortez gloated. Then a priest offered her a foul-smelling concoction, and his gestures indicated that it was a sedative to dull her senses.

"No," she replied while she shook her head. "I won't go drugged like a zombie." The priest shrugged, and then he ordered his assistants to lead Erin from the room. *** The Mexican sun was hot overhead, and now dozens of drums pounded in the square in front of the Hungry Pyramid. Erin kept her back straight and her head erect while she walked between the files of priests and warriors, and the Aztecs nodded approvingly when they realized that she had refused the mind-numbing drug that allowed victims to endure the more elaborate sacrifices. She looked with disdain at the priests who were shucking ears of maize, thus symbolically skinning Xipe Totec the Flayed One.

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Erin's blood ran cold when she saw that what awaited her was not an altar but a bloodstained wooden frame whose upright posts supported human skulls. William Wallace and her ancestor the Marquis of Montrose had died bravely on the scaffold, and ancient Picts had suffered with equal fortitude on Roman crosses. She therefore allowed herself to display neither fear nor revulsion while Cortez's men tied her limbs to the frame.

One drug dealer had a video camera to record the proceedings for the Cartel's entertainment. Erin managed to turn her tethered wrists far enough to show the camera her middle fingers, and then she put her thumbs between her middle and index fingers to make equally obscene "figs of Spain" as well.

"It will be a long and hot day for you, Ms. Duncan," Cortez said, "and you shall have no water no matter how much you beg for it. My men are placing bets on how long you will last on that frame, and I think you are strong enough to make it to sunset. We won't let you lose consciousness, though; we want you to feel the knife when Dario here goes to work on you in earnest."

"I know how to die, Cortez, but you will cry like a baby and squeal like a pig when they strap you to a gurney for a lethal injection. I hope your father, whoever he is, didn't pay your mother too much to spread her legs.

He'd want his money back if he knew about you, you son of a two-dollar puta."[2] "You have reminded me about sex, and my men and I have had only native women for several months. The blonde here will therefore do what

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we want because, every time she resists, you or Professor Graham will suffer for it."

"Diana, tell him what he can do with himself," Brian snarled like a cornered wolf. "He is going to kill us anyway, and I'll be damned if he so much as touches you for my sake."

"I would rather suffer the worst you can do to me than see another woman raped," Erin added. "Do it and then show the video to your mother the puta; I am sure she will be proud of you."

"Neither you nor she gets a choice," Cortez said while two gang members gripped Diana's arms. A third leered while he reached for her shirt, whereupon she braced herself against the two other thugs to drive the ball of her foot under his sternum with enough force to break three pine boards.

"Pedro is dead, Jefe!" another gang member cried when the man went down and stopped moving.[3] "The blonde killed him!" He and his companion released Diana and got beyond the reach of her legs in time to avoid sharing Pedro's fate.

"Kill her and Graham," Cortez ordered, and his thugs cocked their machine pistols. "Get on your knees, both of you."

"I prefer to die standing," Diana replied. "I'm glad I made the world better by one less drug dealer first."

"Go to hell," Brian added while he glared at his executioners like an angry wolf at bay. "Diana, I suppose this is why we never became more than good friends."

"I know, big guy; neither of us ever counted on dying of old age."

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The thugs aimed their weapons but an angry yell interrupted them before they could fire. "They are not gods but men!" Cociyobi had shouted, and then the High Priest spoke with equal anger.

"How dare you?" Cortez demanded of the High Priest, although he dared not reach for his pistol with more than a dozen javelins and arrows aimed at his chest. "Six of my magical flying machines are on their way with the Cartel's entire army. My partners have more than sixty men, all of whom carry the magical thunder sticks that kill from a distance."

"The blonde outsider says they are no more magical than our slings and javelins, and the fact that she just killed your man without even using a weapon reinforces her words. Now the gods shall show us who is truthful and who speaks with the tongue of a serpent." He turned to the warriors and continued, "Disarm Cortez and his men. Then give Cortez and the blonde's companion maquahuitls."

The warriors handed Brian and the drug lord clubs with razor sharp blades of volcanic glass. "Two men shall now go into the Hungry Pyramid but only one shall come out," the High Priest commanded. "If either tries to leave by the door through which he enters, he dies on the spot as a coward and a blasphemer."

"Why go to all that trouble?" Diana demanded after she told her companions what the High Priest wanted. "I can kill Cortez here and now, with or without a weapon. I practice my combat skills against opponents who are better than Eagle Warriors," it was the best way to describe computerized adversaries to somebody who could not even imagine the

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Morgan Armory's virtual reality simulators, "and my reflexes border on superhuman."

"I need your knowledge of outsider weapons and your ability to speak my language. Do you not have confidence in this man's bravery or skill?"

"Let me do it," Erin interjected angrily. "I want to see how brave he is with me when my hands aren't tied."

"You're a law enforcement officer, Erin," Brian reminded her. "You have to bring him in alive if you can but I don't," he elaborated while he made sure Cortez heard every word. He turned to the High Priest and continued, "A holmgang with this cockroach suits me just fine."

"Brian means an ancient conflict resolution technique," Diana explained after she interpreted his words. "Two men with an irreconcilable quarrel go for a walk on a little island or holm, and only one comes back."

"Give me that blue stuff," Brian continued while he reached for the skull that held the pigment that the High Priest had used on Erin. He painted his face like Mel Gibson in Braveheart and continued, "Cortez, I saw what you did to my cousin and I heard what you planned to do Diana. You know what William Wallace did to the English nobleman who cut his wife's throat, and that is indeed how my ancestors handled matters of this nature. The fact that this place is outside U.S. jurisdiction means I can and will handle it the same way. You yourself said there is no law in this place and that it is like Lord of the Flies, and you are the pig whose head will soon be on a stake."

"The Cartel will deal with you all, and the streets will run red with the natives' blood," the drug lord threatened, but he could not keep the fear 77

out of his voice. The paint on Brian's face told him that the other man had temporarily renounced civilized norms in favor of those of his semibarbaric ancestors, including the savage Picts whom even the Romans could not conquer.

"The Cartel ends today, Cortez, and this is your Conquistadors' Noche Triste," Diana replied. She meant the Night of Sorrows during which the Aztecs of Tenochtitlan had almost wiped the Spaniards off the face of the earth. *** "I'm not into body piercing," Erin told Diana with relief after the priests released her from the frame. "I could get to enjoy this, however," she continued while two priestesses sponged the sweat from her body and then began to massage her shoulders, which ached from the strain to which the frame had subjected her.

"I am sure my brother Ted would be delighted to do that once you know each other well enough."

"Are you trying to set me up with your brother?" Erin demanded with a grin.

"You're smart and you're braver than anybody I have ever met except perhaps Don Markham, Dad, and Brian. That's what will count with Ted; the fact that you're also an athletic Celtic warrior chick is simply a bonus."

"Brian must think the same of you."

"I once thought that, had Brian offered me one of his family's ancestral rings on our third date, I would have said yes. After I landed the airplane we had taken away from the hijackers, though, we learned that four other 78

airplanes hadn't landed safely that morning. Brian and I realized that a husband would care too much about a wife, and vice versa, to do what we needed to do about that."

"I'm sure Brian can handle that two-bit drug lord but I don't know if there is a way to escape the Hungry Pyramid."

"The Aztecs will probably let us go in to look for him if we help them defeat Cortez's gang."

"Diana, these people can't fight automatic weapons with clubs and slingshots. The Aztecs took eight pistols and six submachine guns from Cortez and his men but they don't know how to use them."

"Erin, you faced that ordeal like the brave warrior maiden you are, but I am an engineer like Dad and John Rouse Merriott Chard. Chard beat thirty to one odds at Rorke's Drift, and I mean to wipe the Cartel off the face of the earth. Did you know, by the way, that the 24th Regiment of Foot consisted largely of Welshmen? It is therefore no surprise that Rorke's Drift produced eleven Victoria Crosses—" "There will be plenty of time to compare our glorious heritages later," Erin interjected. "How do we beat Cortez's men?"

"Slings and throwing sticks can do something that automatic rifles cannot, and that something is indirect fire. It means you can shoot from behind an obstacle at a high trajectory to hit the enemy while the enemy weapon's flat trajectory can't cross the obstacle to hit you."

"So your plan is in fact to stand behind the equivalent of a barricade of mealie bags and wait for the attack?"

"Whatever works."

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"Me muscle, you brains," Erin admitted. "Give me that blue stuff," she continued while she took the pigment skull from the High Priest.

"You take this Celtic warrior chick business seriously," Diana observed while Erin painted half her face blue and then began to draw Celtic knots on her exposed skin.

"My distant ancestors did this to terrify their enemies, and frightened enemies are easier to kill," Erin replied while she handed the skull to Diana. "Draw a zigzag or something on my back. Your ancestors also wore little more than blue paint into battle."

"We Welsh dressed in woad until we discovered clothing along with the longbow, whereupon we massacred our enemies at respectable distances like civilized people. Speaking of longbows, did I mention that one of my ancestors plucked a Fleur de Lis from the hand of a dying French standard bearer at Agincourt? My family still uses Welsh middle names; Ted's is Dafydd and mine is Gavina, which means White Falcon. I wish we had a boom box to play Men of Harlech the way the Welsh sang it in the movie Zulu; we really ought to kill the Cartel to proper music."

"The bagpipes are better, lassie, because they advertise the presence of Scottish warriors like Brian and warrior maidens like me," Erin retorted.

"I am ready to fight," Cociyobi interjected, "but many of the men still fear what they perceive as gods. It is hard to undo five years of terror."

"Assure the warriors that I won't ask them to do anything I won't do myself," Diana replied while she selected a pistol from those the Aztecs had taken from Cortez and his men. She would have preferred to add a sabre or an English smallsword but none was available. The maquahuitl 80

was almost useless for thrusting so she decided to rely on her martial arts skills for any close combat.

"There is a better way," Erin said, and then she turned to the Cartel prisoners. "Dario, would you still like to use a knife on me?" The thug looked at her without comprehension so she continued, "Does the fact that I am no longer tied to an execution frame make a difference? That's too bad for you because we have unfinished business."

"Diana, tell the Aztecs to untie him and give him his knife or whatever weapon he wants," she continued while she borrowed an obsidian knife from a nearby warrior.

"Don't take a chance with him, Erin," Diana admonished. "This isn't a time to be a swashbuckling warrior chick."

"It's the best way to end the Aztecs' fear of the 'great white gods.'"

"You're a cop and you have to take me in," Dario stammered when the Aztecs dragged him from the group of prisoners to face the tall woman who had turned herself into a painted half-naked savage.

"As Brian told your boss, we are outside U.S. jurisdiction. The only way for you to stay alive for even one more minute is therefore to stick that knife in me and put me down. Here, let me give you an incentive," she continued while she spat in his face.

"Please—" Dario began, only to have Erin cut him with the razor-sharp obsidian blade.

"Is that what Linda felt when you worked on her to entertain the Cartel?

You and your boss wanted Lord of the Flies, Dario, and now you've got it."

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"Life under those circumstances, as described by Thomas Hobbes' Leviathan, tends to be brutish, nasty, and short," Diana elaborated.

"You can fight or you can stand there while I slice you up a little bit at a time," Erin continued. "It makes no difference to me."

"Please stop her! I'm begging you!" Dario shouted to Diana.

"You people planned to torture Erin to death, rape me, and torture Brian if I resisted," Diana reminded him. "I also heard what you did to that girl whom Erin got off drugs, so Lord of the Flies works for me too. So does woad; give me that blue stuff." She took the pigment skull from the High Priest and drew some marks on her face that were similar to those worn by the Aztec warriors.

The thug screamed when Erin cut him again so Diana continued, "What's the matter, Dario? That couldn't have hurt a fraction as much as what you planned to do to Erin and maybe to Brian. A brave man like you should be able to take a few cuts without blubbering like a baby; sometimes you have to live with pain and play hurt. On second thought," she continued to Erin, "why don't you get out of the way and let me have him? You risk blood contact every time you cut him but I can rupture an internal organ or crush his windpipe without even breaking his skin."

The enraged and desperate thug lunged at Erin but she sidestepped and blocked easily, and then she threw him headlong into the temple's paving stones. Her foot was in the middle of his back before he could do anything else, and then her obsidian razor was against his throat. "Please, for the love of God," he begged. "I don't want to die!"

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"I didn't want to die either, Dario, and neither did Linda," Erin replied. "I have proven my point, though: you are a cowardly sadist who can't take a fraction of what you dish out to helpless prisoners. The quick death I could give you right now would be more merciful than the five or ten years you will spend on Death Row with a gurney and a needle waiting at the end of your appeals, so I will read you your rights even though no law here says I have to bring you in alive."

The Aztecs, however, had other ideas. The warriors who had until now been hesitant to touch any of Cortez's men dragged the screaming thug to the nearest altar where a priest split his chest open. "Would you like to eat the heart?" the High Priest asked while he offered Erin the beating organ in question.

"Erin, you are now a genuine sun goddess; the Aztecs are offering you a sacrifice," Diana quipped before she told the Aztecs, "My friend isn't into organ meats, and neither am I." "I didn't think he had a heart," Erin observed while she selected a maquahuitl to go with another captured pistol. *** There is a sure way to get out of any labyrinth, Brian thought when the priests closed the Hungry Pyramid's door behind him to engulf him in total blackness. If I keep my left hand on the outer wall at all times, I'll reach the other door sooner or later. So will Cortez if he does the same, and that makes it a question of luck as to who gets out first. Let's change the rules so I move counterclockwise instead. Brian could do this if he kept his left hand on the wall opposite the entrance, but he might then wander forever 83

in a central chamber that was totally isolated from the outer wall. Perhaps that was what had happened to the natives whom Cortez had forced into the pyramid. He therefore kept his right hand on the outer wall even though he couldn't use the war club as well with his left hand. That meant his best stroke would probably just split Cortez's head like a melon instead of cleaving him to his chest.

Brian planted his feet slowly and deliberately to avoid making noise, and he took controlled breaths to avoid giving away his presence. Fifty paces took him to the expected corner and left turn. It was not all that simple, though, because another twenty paces took him to another left turn. This was indeed a labyrinth, and the only way through was to stick with the plan and to keep going. All right, he told himself while he imagined an X-Y axis. Your current position is plus 50 and plus 20 paces. The Hungry Pyramid is about as long as a football field, and the doors are on opposite sides, so your exit is at zero and 100.

All the turns were right angles so Brian could in fact estimate his position while he worked his way through the pyramid's corridors. A few minutes later, something yielded under his foot. The stench from that something made him want to vomit but he forced himself to step over what he knew to be the corpse of a native whom Cortez had forced into the pyramid.

Brian had a pocket flashlight but he dared not use it because the smallest light would be like a beacon in the otherwise total blackness. The winner would be the man who knew exactly when the other was coming, so Brian continued to rely on his sense of touch while he listened for signs of Cortez's presence. You're the hunter, he reminded himself. You're 84

stronger and braver than that drug lord so he will want to get out of here without a fight. You, on the other hand, want to kill him. His ears strained for the slightest evidence of movement or breathing, and he readied himself to strike like a tiger. *** "Here they come," Diana told the Aztec leaders when the Cartel's helicopters landed. "Do the men remember what to do?" she added while she looked at the waiting slingers.

"I call out the distance in our language," Cociyobi replied. "The slingers throw to that range when the blonde outsider gives the command even though they can't see their targets."

"Remember that we aren't here to take sacrificial prisoners," Diana continued. "If the Aztecs of Tenochtitlan had fought to kill instead of capture the original Conquistadors, they would have won."

"These 'Conquistadors' are at 200 paces," Cociyobi announced from his observation post. "They are walking forward with their thunder sticks at the ready."

"A walk is about a pace and a half per second," Diana replied while she led the targets mentally. "First section, make ready! For 180 paces— throw!"

"The stones landed short by perhaps ten paces," Cociyobi reported. "The enemy is now at 170 paces," he continued while a barrage of return fire rippled against the wall behind which the slingers had concealed themselves.

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Many of the warriors flinched from the impact of what to them were supernatural weapons. "The enemy wants to frighten you with noise but he didn't think even one move ahead!" Diana shouted while she blocked the path of those who looked like they were about to run. "Shooting at somebody without effect is worse than not shooting at all, and the enemy has just proven to you that his purportedly magical weapons cannot reach you through this wall!" The sudden change in morale was palpable to everyone present, and the warriors who had been ready to flee a few seconds ago returned to the battle with renewed determination.

The slingers who had thrown were now placing fresh stones in their weapons, and Diana increased the relative range for the next volley.

"Second section, make ready! For 170 paces—throw!"

"We got a hit; a Conquistador is down!" Cociyobi exulted. "The enemy is now at 150 paces," he continued while a hail of bullets threw stone chips from the wall near his position.

"They saw you; move to your second spotting position before they get lucky," Diana reminded him.

"The enemy has stopped at 140 paces," the Eagle Knight reported from his new post. "They crouch or kneel while they use their thunder sticks."

"Only an idiot stops moving when his enemy has his range!" Diana exulted. "Both sections, fire for effect—I mean, throw to 140 paces as quickly as you can reload!"

"We're murdering them!" the Eagle Knight yelled despite the ineffectual hail of return fire from the drug cartel's automatic weapons. "We are slaying the gods!"

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"Steady!" Diana yelled to some warriors who looked like they were going to charge the drug dealers, and she blocked their path to reinforce her command. "We are killing them quite well from where we are so don't give them the chance to kill you back. You may yet get a chance to mop up any disorganized survivors."

Diana didn't know which had been worse: the bloody religion of the Aztecs or the cruel perversion of Christianity with which the Spaniards replaced it, but she knew that this was how it should have been done at Tenochtitlan.

"Tell Montezuma that Diana Morgan sends her regards," she whispered toward the dying Cartel enforcers, and then she turned to the High Priest.

"This will be a time of great change for you and your people," she explained, for he understood how this day would overturn the religion to which he had dedicated his life. "You will soon meet an outside world that will seem godlike and magical to you but its inhabitants are no more divine than Cortez and his people. Some will try to exchange beads and trinkets for your city's gold and jade, and you must beware of them as well."

"Now the Conquistadors are running for nearby streets and buildings," Cociyobi reported, "but they have lost a third of their number."

"That means house to house fighting, and their weapons give them no advantage at close quarters," Diana replied. "The man who sees and hits his enemy first wins, and you know these streets while they don't. Now we will hunt them down and serve them sharp obsidian for their last suppers." *** Minus thirty and sixty, Brian thought while he advanced cautiously through the pitch blackness, and then he heard a furtive rustling. Then a faint glow 87

appeared, and its flicker told Brian that the drug lord was using a cigarette lighter to find his way. Cortez, are you really afraid of the dark? he thought contemptuously while he backed around the corner he had just turned.

His enemy had not only given away his presence, he had verified that Brian was on the right path to his exit.

The big American tensed like a lion while the light got closer and closer, and he heard the drug lord's heavy breaths. He judged the distance to his opponent, and then he broke cover to swing his war club at Cortez's head.

Cortez screamed while Brian felt his weapon shear through flesh, and the lighter dropped from Cortez's hand.

"Enough!" the drug lord pleaded, for Brian's stroke had left his right arm hanging by a few shreds of flesh.

"Beg for your life," Brian demanded, and Cortez did.

"Tell me that your mother was a two-dollar puta," he continued, and the drug lord humiliated himself further.

"Good. Now you're going to Hell," Brian continued while he raised his war club.

"You promised to spare me if I begged!"

"I promised you nothing, and the High Priest said that only one of us can come out of this pyramid alive. Erin didn't plead for mercy on that torture frame but she said you would squeal like a pig when your time came. Now I can tell her that you did." Another blow from the obsidian-studded war club severed the drug lord's head, which would prove conclusively to the Aztecs that he was not a god. *** 88

"Scotland forever!" Erin screamed while she leapt from cover to split a Cartel enforcer's belly with a blow from her maquahuitl. Coils of intestine spilled onto the Lost City's tiles, and the dumbfounded gang member scrambled to try to put them back into his body. His companion turned with his AK-47 at the ready but the sight of the wild blue-painted apparition in front of him slowed his reflexes fatally. Erin shoved her captured pistol into his face and squeezed the trigger.

"Anybody else?" she screamed like a feral wildcat, and she had indeed gone as berserk as her wild warrior ancestors. Another gang member's eyes widened with terror while he struggled between the decision to use his weapon or throw it away in an attempt to surrender. Erin might have urged him to do the latter in her capacity as a law enforcement officer, but she was now a merciless predator whose prey had effectively turned its back. She pumped two bullets into his body and then, to her own amazement, split him from shoulder to chest with the maquahuitl.

Adrenaline is great stuff, she realized through the blood lust that made her feel more alive than ever.

Cociyobi also had downed a man from ambush but his neighbor turned on the Eagle Warrior with fire spitting from his machine pistol. Erin realized with horror that she could not intervene in time but she saw Diana extend her arm like a duelist. The old military firing position was not as fast as the Weaver stance but it was more accurate, and Erin saw puffs of blood fly from the thug's back while the bullets exited his body.

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"Cymru am byth!"[4] Diana shouted triumphantly to Erin once she was sure that no enemies remained. She turned to the High Priest and asked more seriously, "How many dead and wounded do we have?"

"We have lost not a single man," the High Priest replied with delight while the warriors yelled their approbation. "Only a war goddess could have given us victory over those superhuman weapons."

"I'm not a goddess but I am Colonel Morgan's daughter," Diana replied with a laugh. Then she looked at the slain cartel members as if to congratulate herself for a job well done, and Erin thought of John Rouse Merriott Chard of the Royal Engineers standing over the Zulu dead at Rorke's Drift. The Zulus, however, had had a lot more class than these drug dealers.

Erin looked at her own body to see the enemy blood that had intermingled with blue paint and sweat. She had learned a lot about herself during the past couple of hours; she had faced her impending execution bravely and she had just danced with Death in battle with no fear at all. I'm now a true Celtic warrior maiden with the fire of my ancestors in my heart, she thought, but Diana is the bird of prey that is her namesake: the White Falcon. She fights and kills like a machine because that is what she was born and bred to do, and she takes pride in using her intelligence and strength to do it. That, I suppose, makes us a good team.

"I recognize these men from the FBI's and DEA's Most Wanted lists," Erin continued after she examined four of the bodies. "We've been after them for years, Diana, but you killed the entire Cartel today. That will keep tons

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of hard drugs off our streets and out of the bodies of thousands of addicts."

The High Priest and Cociyobi escorted Diana and Erin to the Hungry Pyramid. The door opened when they approached it, and they readied their weapons in case it was Cortez.

"Brian! Thank God!" Erin shouted. "Did you run into Cortez?"

"Mistah Cortez, he dead," Brian paraphrased from Conrad's Heart of Darkness while he tossed the head to roll at Erin's feet.

"Thank you, Brian. I would have preferred to do him myself but I was otherwise occupied."

"Alas, poor Yorick," Diana added while she contemplated the drug lord's head. "Where be your jibes now, Jorge Cortez?"

"Erin, you look like you're literally dressed to kill," Brian then observed.

"I did," Erin confirmed. "Cartel dealers rarely take their own products intravenously, though, so the ones the Aztecs and I killed at close quarters shouldn't infect us with anything."

"If you're going to do ladies' night out with Erin and Diana, bring plenty of body bags for the leftovers," Brian observed. "You slaughtered the entire Cartel while I brought only one lousy head to adorn the staves of Morrigan." Brian meant the stakes on which Celts once placed their enemies' severed heads to the delight of their war goddess who often took the form of a raven.

"I suppose we both became a bit less civilized in the total absence of social controls," Erin admitted while she indicated her painted body, the blue dye on her cousin's face, and the head he had thrown to her. "The 91

best we can say in our favor is that we didn't put a pig's head on a stick and then dance around it. Cortez put us in touch with our inner savages, and Diana is the only one who didn't let his barbarism infect her."

"I wanted to prove I was as good a soldier as Lieutenant Chard or Dad," Diana admitted. "The men whose deaths I orchestrated were nothing more than ciphers in a challenging problem to be solved and overcome; nothing more than chess pieces or animated soldiers in a computerized war game. I suppose we all looked into the heart of darkness today."

"The Cartel was going to murder us all, and we know how it treated the natives," Erin reminded her.

"Don't get me wrong, Erin; I feel no remorse for those drug runners. They were scum as opposed to decent men whose only offense was to wear the wrong color uniform. It's not like I beat Cetshwayo's Zulus or General Giap's best, though."

"All right, Diana," Brian said with a grin, "maybe you aren't yet in the same league as your father or Lieutenant Chard, but you did a hell of a lot better than Montezuma. Cortez must have a radio somewhere, and we can use it to talk a helicopter in." *** "You must stay out here for security reasons, Agent Duncan," General Markham told her while he prepared to enter the Hungry Pyramid with Brian and Diana. He nodded toward the Special Forces squad with a grin and continued, "I'm sure the men will be happy to entertain you."

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"A Chippendales show would be in order from my perspective but I think they'd prefer shop talk about the relative merits of knives and Aztec war clubs at close quarters. See you later."

"This is impressive," Brian then said while his floodlight played across the Hungry Pyramid's corridors.

"There's a fortune in jade and gold here," the general agreed while they walked into the pyramid. "These Aztecs will be very rich when they meet the outside world."

They searched carefully, and they marked the corridors to make sure they would not get lost. The corpses they found in various degrees of decomposition reinforced the need for caution, and Brian remembered aloud the horror of Injun Joe's entombment in Tom Sawyer.

"The Green Berets will come in after us if we get lost," the general reassured him, "but I don't want anyone else to stumble across that orb if it's really down here. Existential Secret means exactly that."

"That looks like an Orb," Diana said when her floodlight found a black sphere about eight inches in diameter. "This is strange," she continued while she examined it more closely. "I see my reflection but it's not me; it's something else."

"It could be an optical illusion of some kind," the general said while he picked up the black sphere. "This is indeed strange," he continued while he stared into it. "I see shapes inside but I'll be damned if I can even comprehend what they are." His expression and Diana's changed suddenly, and Brian did not like what he saw.

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"Cortez's ambitions were far too small," Diana now observed while her lips peeled back to bare her teeth. "That pathetic drug lord couldn't imagine this object's limitless possibilities but I can."

"Possibilities?" Brian repeated with confusion. "Aren't we going to take this to our secure research laboratory?"

"No, Brian, we are not," Donald Markham continued suddenly. "I will be Emperor of the Earth, and you two will be my Duke and Duchess."

"You should be Emperor but we have to get Erin and those Green Berets to buy into the plan," Diana agreed immediately. "That means we have to figure out how to use the Orb to convince them, and we will need as many reliable people around us as we can get while we consolidate our power."

"The Orb says it will teach me how to use it," the general replied. "If I hold it long enough, it will form a permanent bond with my mind."

"What's going on?" Brian asked suddenly while he struggled against the tide of megalomania that now surged through his own mind.

"We can set everything right; we can fix the world's problems," Markham replied while his eyes blazed with fanaticism. "Christianity is not the only religion to predict a Savior who will return to make the world right, and I just had a divine revelation. I am Jesus, the Tenth Avatar of Vishnu, and Islam's Twelfth Imam. I am, in fact, God." "The Antichrist," Brian choked out while he struggled against the horror that now told him to wait for the right moment, draw the pistol he had taken from a gang member's body, gun down Diana and the general, and take the Orb for himself. He didn't only because he would have to explain

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to the Green Berets why he had returned alone, and he would have to master the Orb before he could persuade them.

"I may have to kill ten or twenty million people to save the world but it will be worth it," the general continued fervently. "If Mr. 666 shows up, I'll kill him too."

"I think he's already here," Brian replied while he struggled against the force that was trying to capture his mind and soul. "The Orb corrupted the Inquisition, it tried to get that Jesuit, and now it wants us!"

"What are you talking about, Brian? This artifact wants to serve me!"

"That's not what it is telling me, Donald. Diana, whom do you think that object wishes to 'serve?'"

"It says it wants to work for me," she said while her expression changed suddenly. "The Orb evokes the beast in our own souls. Get a grip on something, something that reminds you of your deepest values. Donald, remember your oath to the Constitution."

"Thank you, Brian and Diana. If it hadn't been for you, I'd have disgraced my uniform and everything it stands for," General Markham said while he dropped the Orb. "You too, Donald?" Diana asked with an ironic smile. "You heard what I said but what I thought was even worse; I planned to help you become Emperor only so I could murder you and rule the world myself. Brian, Erin, and I thought earlier that we had all looked into the heart of darkness, but only now have we really done so."

"I'd have murdered both of you if I had thought I could have used the Orb," Brian confessed in turn. "I don't believe literally in myths and legends but I 95

suppose I believe just enough to take them seriously. I don't know what that thing is but it's probably the most dangerous object on this planet."

"We will isolate it in our research laboratory, and we will allow only robots to so much as touch it," the general decided. "If it can't teach us anything useful, we will destroy it."

"How? The Jesuit priest couldn't even damage it."

"If the Morgan Armory has nothing that can cut or burn it, I will requisition a rocket and drop it into the Sun. That will be expensive but we can't take the slightest chance that it will ever do what it just tried to do." *** "It is my pleasure to announce Brian Graham's promotion to full Professor of Archaeology," his department head announced at the formal reception a few weeks later. Some of the Assistant and Associate professors did think it a bit unfair that Brian had not only earned tenure but skipped Associate Professor by talking to real Aztecs but they consoled themselves with the expectation that they would, unlike Brian, probably die of old age. The department head added, "The Aztecs of the Lost City have meanwhile made Professor Graham, Diana Morgan, and Erin Duncan Eagle Knights for destroying Jorge Cortez and his gang of false gods."

"Erin, the FBI ought to promote you for your role in taking down the Cartel," Brian then reminded his cousin.

"My superiors are very pleased but I have already gotten a bonus," Erin said while she slipped her hand into that of the big Army officer at her side. "I'm very single, and so is Theodore Daffyd Morgan."

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"My brother finished only third in his class at the U.S. Military Academy—" Diana began.

"Only third?" Erin interjected with a laugh. "—because he spent too much time practicing for Black Knights football."

"I don't think I want any more field trips with you and Brian," Erin concluded, "but getting to know your brother is an adventure I am going to enjoy."

[End]

[1] Narc = underworld pejorative for a narcotics agent [2] Puta = a prostitute [3] Jefe = Boss [4] "Wales forever!"

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