John Ringo: Princess of Wands

“I’m thinking that I’d like to talk to him but what I really should do is go back to New Orleans,” Kelly mused. “If he’s right, and there’s going to be a problem tonight, getting out of town is the right thing to do.”

“You are not leaving me here,” Barb said.

“No, of course not,” Kelly replied.

“And that ignores the question of if your car is going to work or not,” Barbara said, suddenly feeling a chill. “We haven’t been in sight of it most of the day.”

“You are just the most optimistic person,” Kelly said. “Let’s go check the car and then get your bottle.”

“You’re going to meet with him, then?” Barb asked.

“Yeah. I’m tired of working in the dark.”

The cop was talking to Chauvet,” Deputy Mondaine said.

The meeting was in the back of the old church where the sacristy had once been. The room had been fixed up to minimal standards and now served as the office of the cult. On the back wall, by the window, was a black flag with a shape like a weird green dragon. In one corner was a sculpture of the same creature, twisted and horribly deformed. Carlane Lancereau was standing behind the desk, looking out over the bayou with his hands folded behind his back.

“I told you we should have had him killed,” Mondaine said when there was no response. “Sacrifice him to the Master.”

“Such a soul would be of little use, worn and devoured as it is by time and life,” Carlane said. “And what is he going to say? That devils live in the swamps? That the whole town has succumbed to evil? That there are voices in his head? That should go over well. And after tonight, it won’t matter. The master will have fed and fed well. After tonight he shall be fully manifest upon the Earth. And then, we move. Be prepared.”

“I will, Your Unholiness,” Mondaine said, bowing.

“But bring Officer Lockhart and the woman to me,” Carlane said, turning to face the deputy, his eyes glowing a sickly green. “Lockhart’s soul is steeped in the evils of the street and worth little. But the woman glows with power. She will be fine food for the Master.”

“Wait,” Lockhart said as they approached the car. It was parked by the courthouse in one of the reserved parking spaces. He pulled his keys out and thumbed a control. There was no apparent response.

“Shit,” he muttered, thumbing the control again.

“What’s supposed to be happening?” Barbara said, lifting an eyebrow.

“It’s supposed to start,” Lockhart replied. “We had a rash of attacks on police during the drug wars. Now all the unmarked cars can be started remotely since starting was one way that was used to bomb them. It’s not starting.”

“Maybe the battery is out on your little controller thingy,” Barb said, quirking one cheek in a slight grin.

“Maybe,” Lockhart said. “Stay here.”

He walked over to the car and opened the door with the key, then attempted to start it.

“And, then again, maybe your car has broken down,” Barbara said, walking over.

“This is really annoying,” Lockhart replied. He slid out of the car and underneath, soiling his clothes on the dirty parking lot. After a certain amount of fumbling from under the car he slid back out.

“The ignition wiring harness has been cut,” he said, frowning. “And a section is missing. Since it goes to the computer as well as the solenoid, just hooking up another wire won’t work.”

“No car,” Barb said, frowning slightly.

“No car,” Lockhart agreed, nodding. “Which is stupid since I can just call New Orleans PD and have someone come out and pick me up. Us up.”

“So what now?” Barbara asked.

“You get your bag,” Lockhart said, going around to the back of the car. “We’ll go to the hotel and get a couple of rooms. Then I’ll get the bottle and head down to the Piggly Wiggly and give Lieutenant Chimot a call. You stay in the hotel.”

“Nuh, uh,” Barb said. “Horror movie time. What you just said is ‘let’s split up.’ ”

“Good point,” Lockhart said, grinning. “Okay, plan b. We both go to the phone. I call the PD. Then we get your bag, go back to the hotel and do the transfer. I’m not taking you with me to talk to the drunk. You stay at the hotel.”

“Let’s go,” Barb said, waving in the direction of the store. “But let’s get my bag first.”

She hoisted the backpack on her shoulder and followed the detective the two blocks to the store.

She watched his back as he pulled out his phone card and punched the number.

“What?” Lockhart said after a moment.

“What what?” Barbara asked.

“Listen,” Lockhart said, lifting the receiver.

“The number you have called is no longer in service, please check the number and dial again. Two-three-two. The number you have called is no longer…”

“What number did you dial?” Barb asked.

“The eight hundred number,” Kelly snapped, slamming the phone down and digging in his pocket for change.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just a scared old lady,” Barbara said. “But let me point out that it’s getting dark.”

“I know,” Kelly said, thumbing quarters in the phone. He dialed a number rapidly and then cursed. “Son of a bitch !”

Barbara could hear the same recording.

“Let me try,” she said. “Got any more change?”

Her home number wouldn’t work and neither would her father’s number in Denver. Neither did the operator pick up when she dialed zero.

“Okay,” Kelly said, shaking his head. “Somehow they , whoever they are, are fucking with the phone.”

“Watch your language,” Barbara snapped automatically. “Okay, I would say we are officially in Indian Country and cut off from reinforcements, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Kelly said, trying not to smile.

“In that case, our job is to survive and either wait for supports or get out if we can,” Barb said, nodding to herself. “The hotel isn’t great, but it’s the best we’re going to get. We go there, hunker down, and hope like hell when you don’t check in the lieutenant sends somebody out for you. Will he?”

“Probably,” Lockhart said. “I told him enough to have him worried. But I want to talk to the old man. Stick with plan b. You go get a room, I’ll pick up your bottle. I’ll get a room also, but we’ll hunker down in yours.”

“I assume I can trust you to be gentlemanly,” Barbara said, smiling, as they started to walk back to the hotel.

“Of course!” Kelly said. “I am nothing if not a gentleman.”

When Barbara got back to the hotel she considered her options. The fact was that she was scared. More scared than when she’d been attacked in college. Nearly as scared as when Allison had been struck by a car. She had come to the conclusion that something was very wrong in Thibideau, Louisiana, and that the wrongness was probably going to reach out for her. All day long she’d felt a strange uneasiness like being just a little sick. She knew she wasn’t; it was something else. Something weird.

“Dear Lord,” she said, sinking to her knees and clasping her hands, “I ask you to hear my prayer. I believe I am in the midst of evil and I ask only that your divine power comfort me in my trial. I will act on my own behalf if evil men come for me but, Lord, I sense a greater power of evil at work. Shelter me from that, I ask in Jesus’ name, and I’ll take care of the rest. For though I walk through the valley, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Watch over me as the shepherd watches his sheep and I will do my Christian best to stay alive. Amen.”