Jon Merz - Vicarious

Not that Curran really wanted to see if it was effective.

I wonder what’s inside that vat, he thought. He looked down at the pentagram again and tried to remember anything he’d ever read about real magic.

There hadn’t been much.

Hell with it, he decided. I’ve come this far. Can’t turn back now because of what’s drawn on the floor of some guy’s cellar.

He stepped into the pentagram.

If Kwon had been trying his damnedest to keep control over his bladder, he just about lost it entirely when the door to Darius’ shop opened and the man himself came out and locked the front door.

Kwon sat up.

“Oh crap.”

He watched Darius walk around the store, down the small alleyway that ran adjacent to it. Kwon cracked the window. Over the din of street noise, he heard the engine turn over.

“Crap.”

He picked up the cell phone and punched in Curran’s number.

Darius’ silver Saab appeared at the top of the alleyway. He looked down both sides of the street, the pulled out into the street. A second later, he gunned the engine and shot down the street.

In Kwon’s ear, a female operator informed him that the cellular customer he was trying to reach was unavailable or out of range.

Kwon slammed the phone down, cranked his engine and shot out into the traffic behind Darius.

Nothing happened.

Curran breathed out, suddenly aware that he’d been holding his breath.

He almost grinned. What did you expect? A bolt of lightning?

The vat was close. Inviting, almost. Curran bent down and ran his hands over the outside of it. It felt warm to the touch and the texture seemed like some of the old earthenware pots he’d once examined at a museum. Raised writing covered the outside of the vat. Flecks of black and red paint came away on his hand.

I wonder what language that is, he thought. Certainly it was none he recognized.

He turned his attention to the top of the vat.

And frowned.

A very modern-looking lid seemed to seal the vat off like a vacuum seal used to keep food or other perishable products from spoiling when exposed to the air.

Curran chewed his lip again. This time he found a small flap of skin and bit down, tasting a sudden draw of blood.

What was the lid keeping from spoiling?

Kwon pounded his hands on the steering wheel. Traffic was insane. Cars and trucks jostled each other in the bumper-to-bumper traffic jams.

But ahead of him, Darius’ Saab seemed to have no trouble negotiating the slipstream.

That’s not fair, thought Kwon. After all, the guy’s a demon.

He watched in horror as Darius pulled ahead and made a yellow light a second before it changed to red and trapped Kwon behind a minivan.

Kwon grabbed the cell phone and hit redial.

“Come on!”

Curran unclasped one side of the lid.

It came off with a sharp hissing sound.

Escaping air?

He frowned.

Sniffed.

Wha —?

He unclasped the other side.

A softer hiss of escaping air.

And then, Curran took the lid in both hands, surprised at how heavy it actually felt.

He lifted the lid off the vat.

Kwon could see him up ahead. He’d just made the entrance to route 9 down by Brookline Village. At this point, he’d reach Chestnut Hill in maybe ten minutes.

Not a lot of time.

I’ve got to do something, he thought.

Images of him slamming into Darius’ car filled his head. But what good would that do? Slow him down?

Maybe.

But if he recognized Kwon.

If he suspected anything.

He might kill me.

In his ear, the same female operator came on again.

Where the hell was Curran?

The smell slammed into him like a tidal wave.

Curran stumbled back.

He clamped down on his jaw reflexively to keep from puking his guts out.

Oh my God, he thought. What in heaven’s name is that?

He fell back against the wall.

It stunk like nothing he’d ever had the misfortune of smelling before. As if all the vomit and crap and piss and rotting corpses in the world had commingled together inside this earthen jar, aging and fermenting into one horrid putrid mass of the most foul-smelling goop on the planet.

Curran felt his gorge rising in the back of his throat.

I’ve got to get out of here, he thought.

Past the reservoir on their left-hand side, Darius and Kwon streaked down route 9. At this part of the road, it was almost flat out. Darius’ Saab drew out the distance between them even further.

Kwon jumped lanes, narrowly missing a Toyota with a very pissed off looking driver. Kwon shoved the gas pedal to the floor and felt the engine complain.

“Come on bitch!”

The car eased forward, slowly gnawing down the distance.

If he could just reach Darius’ car.

He had to try!

It was harder getting the lid back into place.

Curran had to take tiny breaths and each time he did, he felt like gagging, puking, and passing out.

He got the lid on.

Clasped one side of it.

Then the other.

He took another breath.

Gagged.

Fought back the rising tide of vomit.

Turned toward the cellar stairs and headed back up, careful to switch off the light first as he did so.

At the top of the stairs, he left the kitchen and headed back toward the door he’d come in through.

He stepped outside and into the cooler air.

He stumbled across the street, finally puking once into the gutter by his car, leaning there for a second, gulping air as sweat poured down his face.

He looked back at the house.

What had he just seen?

Lauren — she must be right, he thought finally.

Everything was true.

It had to be!

Numbly, he reached for his car door, slid inside and started the engine.

Kwon peeled off route 9.

He was just three cars away from Darius.

He tried the cell phone again.

Curran grabbed the phone. His head swam in disgust.

“Yeah?”

“Jesus Christ, where the hell are you?”

Kwon. He sounded terrified. “What’s the matter?”

“Where are you?”

“In my car. Outside Darius’ house.”

“Well shrink down because he just turned onto the street!”

Curran dove for the floor of his car. A second later he heard the Saab roll past, its engine still revving at high speed.

“What the hell happened?” Curran noticed he’d actually whispered.

“He came out and closed up the store. I tried to call you for the past twenty minutes. I kept getting that damned ‘out of range’ message. Where the hell were you?”

Curran sighed. “In his basement.”

“Figures. Signal must not have been able to penetrate.”

“Guess I got out of there just in time, huh?”

Kwon’s voice sounded strained. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I like this aspect of police work very much.”

“But what was it?”

Curran frowned, the memory of heaving his guts out still tasted fresh. “I don’t know. All I do know is that it smelled like all the sewers of earth had run together and sat in that jar for years. I mean, it stunk like nothing I’ve ever smelled before.”

Lauren folded her hands. “We know that the Soul Eater’s purpose is to resurrect Satan. And he’s apparently been killing evil people for the last five years. Each of his victims has had no obvious sign of death. No physical things have been taken from them.”

“Nothing physical aside from green brains,” said Curran. “But what about something else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose Darius is living up to his namesake. Suppose he really is eating the souls of his victims.”

“And then doing what with them?”