Tom Piccirilli - Clown in the Moonlight

"I think I'll want her the whole night for five hundred," I say. "I'll tally up with Mercy, right?"

I hammer him across the jaw and let him fall away into weeds, slipping back into darkness.

The ritual is almost over. Most of the coven members were just bored twenty-somethings looking for a way to kill part of the evening before hitting Grimm's top shelf. The White Queen speaks a final blessing, with Mercy still praying at the tree in the center of the clearing. The others begin to split up, walking back to the house. I heft the flashlight and Kip comes towards me.

"Quite a performance," I say.

He takes affront. "This was the real thing. We were calling down power. We were fueling our own destinies. Taking matters into our own hands."

"Is that right?"

His teeth are tiny, sharp, and yellow. "Jenks tell you how much we wanted?"

"He did," I say. "So, if you're really into witchcraft shit then how do you split your focus between calling down Three-Together-in-the-Blind-Eye and Hildegrance while playing the pimp?"

"Hey, you don't have to go for it. It's your choice. But it'll be a waste, I can tell you that. You've never had anyone like Mercy before."

"Yeah?"

"I know."

"You know?"

"I know."

I turn and look at her speaking words I can't catch. I hear Ricky's name, but I always hear Ricky's name. The White Queen stands near, the dagger in her hand. The lunatics in Pioneer State are smoking good weed and putting out the roaches in one of their handmade ashtrays. Laughing at us, so ludicrous down here. Tomorrow when they roam the grounds of the hospital there will be even more toxic blood coursing through the veins of the earth.

"Where's Jenks?" Kip asks.

"Right at your feet."

He swings his flashlight down and spots his friend there, his fellow pimp, mumbling in an agonized semi-consciousness, his face completely red, his bright skull in view, having taken matters into his own hands, fueling his destiny, and receiving his reward.

In one fluid move I slide my hand into Kip's jacket, dig deep until I find the slit to his secret pocket, and get my fingers around his butterfly blade. I whirl it open but don't withdraw it. I get my left arm around his throat and turn into him with the knife, slashing upwards. He screams beneath my palm and I tighten my hold even more. I angle the blade between his ribs and prod it about an inch into his lung. I can practically hear it deflate.

Kip begins sucking air through his teeth, hardly able to breathe, wheezing in mockery to the blowing wind. I leave the knife in him and dump him beside his buddy in the brush.

I walk to the coven tree.

The White Queen sees me coming and the athame spins her rotund body about, the point aimed at my face this time, as she recites spells of protection. She draws a six-pointed star in the air, the moon flashing off the edge of the knife and leaving an after-image behind it. "Come no farther, Black Shuck. I stand at the right hand of Michael, he who is Machen, and Gabriel, he who is Shamain, and Cameol, he who is Machon."

"You point that at me one more time, fatso," I say, "and I'm going to have to stick it in your eye."

Mercy tries to get to her feet but was having a hard time of it, still tapped out from the delirious dancing, a confused expression on her face.

With a sickly war cry, the White Queen rears and lunges at me. She has a lot of horsepower behind her and nearly bowls me over. The athame slashes again leaving a silver moonlit trail behind in my eyes as I feel a sting in my chest. She's nicked me.

She lashes out again and I punch her in the stomach. My fist sinks in six inches. She lets out a sickly, "Ooof!" and drops onto her face. I snatch up the dagger and kick her in her fat ass. The rage is more powerful than the tide, washing over me, drowning me, commanding me.

"Go on back home, lady. You can start looking for new members tomorrow."

She turns over and glares at me. "The spirits dwell inside you."

"If your husband shows up with any of his guns, I'm going to have to kill him. You understand that?"

"Satanus infernus, you're an empty shell animated with disease and malfeasance. Black Shuck. Black Shuck. Do you even realize it? You're inhabited. You're possessed. You're dead. You're long dead."

I've been dead so many times I can't count them anymore. I was killed by my father over and over when I was a boy. On the ward they murdered us by inches with electricity and water. My first night in prison I pulled a seven man train and was left deader than hell. Of course I am as dead as Gary, as dead as Ricky, as dead as Linda. Isn't everybody?

"You're getting on my nerves, lady."

I draw my arm back and smack her in the forehead with the pommel of the blade. It makes a sickening thud but I don't feel her skull fracture beneath the blow. She would probably live.

Then I am finally alone with Mercy.

The grin is still there on her pouty lips, murdering me. It is as much a part of her as anything else. The raven glowers. I want to catch its neck in my teeth.

"How are you feeling?" I ask her.

"Starting to come down a little."

"That's too bad."

"What's happened?" She stares at the White Queen. "What's happening?"

"Just a little mischief."

Her eyes unfocus again, that harlequin smile beginning to flatten out some. I shake her hard and she looks at me, and a subtle snake of fear begins to slither into her expression.

"Only five hundred, huh?" I ask. "You sure you're not selling yourself short?" I open my wallet and toss bills at her. Tens, twenties, singles. I snap my credit cards against her face. "Visa okay?"

"Don't, please-"

Don't, please. I beg the rage to release me. I call for my mother to find the strength to help form beyond the veil. I feel Baphomet at my left hand, Ricky at my right. I call on Gary Lowers to aid me in this time of need, and he refuses. He asks why I never buried him. He asks why I didn't call the police. He asks for his mother as I ask for mine.

I put a hand to the pulse in her neck and say, "Your heart's racing."

"I'm scared. You…you…"

"Don't be afraid, Mercy."

I reach into her wild curls and get my hands around the razor wire. My fingers begin to bleed immediately. I unwind the wreath of barbs and pull it free. She squeals in pain and a pulse of blood arcs against my cheek.

"What are you?" she asks. "Are you…are you Nephilim? Askiel, Uthrick…?

"…Pommerance, Tico-Tico…Bathal, Bathei, Winter's Leg…"

"Are you abomination?"

"You really want to find out?" I ask.

She nods, but tears well and she sniffles and whimpers, "Oh God-"

"I'm mischief. I'm corruption. Maybe I'm salvation. Whatever you desire, Mercy…remember, it costs."

"No, you're-" She falls into my arms one more time and I force my mouth against hers and let my teeth slide down across the raven. I bite hard and she screams. "Please-give me…no…!"

"I'm just a man, baby," I say, alive in rage, alive in death, alive with my black life, pressing her back against the coven tree and then drawing her down beside me in the field. Something breaks inside my chest that might be a laugh or might be my heart. Venom fills my mouth. I kiss her and she struggles. I twist the razor wire around her throat, tug gently, and she lets out an erotic moan. She tries to pull away and her throat spurts. I'd watched her closely. All I had to do was tighten my draw a little more, saw back and forth, and her head would come off.

Her eyes are black and full of terror, awe, and desire, the same as mine. "I'm everything you need," I tell her, and I am.

Ricky's shadow follows me down through the years. I put my violent tendencies to work and become a narc. They say you can't be a police officer if you've got a felony jacket but narcotics and vice play by their own set of rules. My partners are gung ho and staunch men of justice when they're not robbing dealers or acting as couriers for the mob. The Teflon Don keeps us all busy, whether we're trying to bring him in or keep him out of jail. Old-timers on the force all have definitive lines between right and wrong, and cross them freely without conscience.