John Ringo: Princess of Wands

Three of the girls left the team rather than keep up the pace but Barbara and Cindy both kept their girls there, pulling them out of gymnastics and dance, respectively.

And the team continued to win. There had been more “team-building exercises” and Barb continued to worry about Allison, who had gotten less and less communicative about the “extra practices.” She was also bothered that she hadn’t heard anything from the Foundation. She’d had to turn down one assignment when Mark had thrown a fit about going out of town for another week. A call she’d gotten, from Julie Lamm, indicated that the investigation had turned out to be nothing but a “normal” serial killer with delusions of grandeur. Other than that, she hadn’t heard anything.

Late one Saturday, however, she had passed a stop sign near her house and seen a small Maltese cross sticker on it. She’d just dropped Allison off at a late “team-building” activity so she had more than enough time to stop by the Fast Mart.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Patek,” Barb said, picking up her usual stick of gum. She didn’t chew it and since she didn’t like the kids chewing, either, it was given to Mark or, more often, thrown away.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Everette,” the proprietor said. “I wish you well. I have the pamphlet on the similarities between Vishnu and Christ you asked for.”

“Why thank you,” Barbara said, taking the folded pamphlet with a cross and a picture of Vishnu sitting on a lotus on the cover. “That is very nice of you.”

“May the High Ones preserve you, Mrs. Everette,” the Hindu said, making change for her.

“And may the Lord bless, Mr. Patek.”

Barbara stopped in the Wal-Mart parking lot, comfortably close to the front of the store, and read the information printed on the inside of the pamphlet by the interior light.

Broad rumors of a Satanist cult associated with a girls’ softball team in the Mobile area were picked up by the FBI and Mobile police. Mobile police declined to investigate but local Special Circumstances personnel performed a cursory investigation. The leader was reported to be a Satanist High Priest named Robert Sherman who had struck a deal with Lower Powers for wins in softball, offering the young women of the team as acolytes and potential sacrifices, some certified to be virginal. One young woman of the team was reported missing, however no trace of her was ever found and her disappearance appeared to be unrelated to the rumored Satanist activity. There was a note left that indicated unhappiness with home-life and police treated it as a normal runaway. No trace of otherworld emanations were detected by the operatives in the area, but they were first level operatives with limited field experience.

The rumors came about after a championship softball game when some of the winning girls bragged about “making a deal with the Devil.” Questioning by teachers and school psychologists revealed that Sherman had done something involving “special team building” with the girls but none of them were willing to divulge the nature of the activities.

Robert Sherman may be a person using the pseudonym of Monereaus who was involved in a low-level Satanic cult in Central Florida. Reports indicate that he has background in Santeria and has a small tattoo of an angel, indicative of Santeria and Marielitos sympathies, on the web of his right thumb. The particular tattoo is indicative of a member of the Cuban underground with a specialty in entrapping young women for immoral purposes. This leads to the suspicion that Robert Sherman is an alias. The Central Florida LeMayean cult was not noted for Special activity and appeared to be purely mundane. There are no current reports on the whereabouts or activities of Robert Sherman.

“There are, now,” Barb muttered to herself, furiously. She ground her teeth and tried to control her temper. If that bastard had—

“The Lord is with me,” Barbara said, quietly, controlling her breathing. “I shall not descend into the abyss of hate and anger.” She used her Christian faith to control the temper that was bequeathed to her with the strawberry-blonde hair. Her mother called it “The Irish Side” but Barbara was pretty sure, after dealing with Janea, that it was more like the Viking side.

The question was what to do with the information. Technically, she should call the Foundation and report the “whereabouts and current activity” of one “Robert Sherman.”

The problem was that the report specifically stated that there was no hard evidence of Special Circumstances. If they were actually working on raising a Lower Power, the emanations would be detectable. And Barb hadn’t felt anything from Allison. Her gut told her that something very bad was happening, but that might just be a protective mother’s instinct.

Well, she was a Third Level Adept… darnit. She should be able to conduct her own investigation. As Daddy said, it was always easier to act first and ask permission later.

She pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the out-of-the-way ballpark.

Mark and the kids had never asked about the blue and yellow bag in the back of the expedition. It was the sort of bag that was used for work-out clothes and Barbara certainly had enough activities in that area. But the bag never left the back of the Expedition for the very simple reason that Barb never knew when she might need it. She’d been caught out once. Never again.

She slowed down the Expedition as she approached the park, looking for the road she’d noticed on previous trips. It was a service and supply road for the Welcome Center that avoided the main road into the park. She didn’t intend to even take it all the way to the Welcome Center for that matter.

She checked her watch as she pulled to a stop and nodded. More than enough time to do a penetration and reconnaissance before she was supposed to pick Allison up. If Mark wanted to know where she was, she’d just tell him she was having an affair. No, that was anger talking. He’d probably never notice she hadn’t come home as usual.

She got out of the Expedition after turning off the interior light, and went to the back.

The black-toned digicam coverall went on over her street clothes. The digicam had crosses subtly added to it, a mod that had cost the European branch a pretty penny but that had surprised the Hell out of more than one supernatural entity. The material was also flame proof, which occasionally came in handy, and had an attached hood and mask that could be pulled up if needed. Next to the folded garment were Eagle tac-boots which zipped up the side for easy on and off by the undercover operative.

Then the body armor came out. It was useless against the supernatural, but it sure came in handy if the perp had a weapon. The particular body armor was heavier than normal, for that matter, since it included a layer of mail plated with silver, courtesy of Hjalmar.

Then the tactical armament. The .45 in attached thigh holster, short-barreled shotgun with five rounds of 00 buck up the tube, holy water mixed with silver nitrate one-shot thrower, silver-plated knife, one-shot stake thrower. The one-shots were small and tucked into the back of her vest. She didn’t carry a bell, a book or a candle since nobody in Special Circumstances had ever found a use for any of the three. Last, a long “cold iron” custom knife the size of a short sword that hooked on the left side. The Murasaki blade was sitting in her bedroom closet at home. If she needed it for this mission she was going to be really sorry it was there.

“Lord bless me this night,” she said, looking into the dark woods. “Bless and keep my daughter as well and give me the strength, courage and knowledge to do Your work. Amen.”