Dark Arts: Rising Read online

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh no little girl, you don’t get that kind of information without paying for it. I’m only here to see the one who we can’t take. There’s something special about you and it makes you the perfect messenger.”

  Angela turned away from the mirror and started for the door. There was something intrusive, imposing about the being in the mirror. In five strides she managed to make it to the door.

  “Look at me!” thundered the image, shaking a fluorescent bulb loose and speaking with a thousand voices.

  The door slammed shut and she was pressed against the wall by an unseen force. Angela squeezed her eyes shut only to find them pried open by rough invisible fingers.

  Her false reflection was cast in shadow, severe and cross in its disposition. There were countless shadows behind her, so many that the bathroom’s reflection was entirely gone. “There’s only one safe haven in this building, you know where it is. I’ll make sure you make it there and in return you tell them that the covenant of death has been broken. The right people will understand. Now go, and make sure to pass these words on before you die. You don’t have long.”

  Part IV: Books and Blessings

  “I don’t know! it just says; ‘to ward off the evil eye,’” replied a dark haired, dog collared teen. He stood in front of a long bank of shelves laden with dozens of jars. Within the thick one liter jars were dried herbs, sands, wood fragments, and other reagents. The scrawled note in the youth’s hand looked like it had spent at least a day crammed in the pocket of his too tight jeans.

  “Okay, so what’s the evil eye?” asked his counterpart. Clad in a long Misfits T-shirt and sporting a short Mohawk he looked like he had just come from a metal concert.

  “I think it has to do with witches or something.”

  A young man wearing a long black trench coat and glasses with a dog eared notebook under his arm stepped up behind them. “Oh,” was all he said after glancing at the note the collared youth was holding.

  “What?” he turned on him irritably.

  The black clad intruder hesitated a moment, looking to both of the younger high schoolers. “Is that supposed to be a love charm?”

  “Mind your own fuckin’ business,” the collared one muttered, flushing with embarrassment.

  The trench coated fellow tapped his glasses up with his finger and shrugged as he pulled two jars from the shelf and brought them to the sorting table. That end of the store was tidy, with hundreds of jars and a wet counter with essential oils and other, more expensive ingredients under lock and key. The sorting table in the middle was stainless steel, adorned with boxes of bags, twist ties and a scale.

  The Mohawk followed quietly and tapped him on the arm. “Sorry man, this isn’t really our thing. I’m Jeremy.”

  “Michael,” replied the trench coat clad youth, offering his hand.

  “How did you know what we were looking for?”

  “I saw the ingredients. You’re trying to get things together for a spell. You’re making it too complicated.”

  “Yeah, my friend’s cousin set him up to help him with his bad luck.”

  “With girls,” Michael said quietly as he scooped out a healthy amount of dehydrated green leaves from one jar and half filled a medium bag. The stuff smelled light and minty.

  “Are you big into this stuff?”

  “If he wants to make a good charm he should buy one tonka bean, a yarrow blossom and one of the small black charm bags at the front. When he’s putting it all together he should concentrate really hard on what he wants, make sure it’s only one thing. Then wear it under his shirt. If he gets a rash he should toss the whole thing.”

  “Why? Because he didn’t do it right or there’s some kind of bad mojo or something?”

  “No, because it means he’s allergic to the tonka bean.”

  Jeremy chuckled and nodded. “Makes sense.” He looked at the herbs Michael was pouring into a smaller bag, dried white flowers. “What are you making?”

  “A tea to help me sleep,” Michael answered flatly.

  “Oh.” He stood there a moment, watching him seal the second bag, looking at the silver pentacle ring on his right hand. There was a silver ram’s head on a ring on the opposite. “Thanks, I’ll pass that on,” he said as he rejoined his friend.

  Michael was just making sure the dried herb jars were sealed when a voice startled him from behind. “Good advice, that. Old school charm. The store’ll make a pretty on the charm bag too.”

  He turned to look at the speaker who was just shaking water off his stetson hat and pulling his long, bushy black Fu Manchu straight. “Thanks. It’s nothing special. Smells good and he might have a self fulfilling prophecy if he tricks himself into thinking it’s working.”

  “Not a believer?” asked the newcomer with a raised eyebrow. His thick British accent wasn’t that of a scholar or family of high station.

  Michael shrugged, picked up both jars and walked back to the shelves. “I believe in a lot of things.” He made sure the jars were placed properly on the shelf with the labels facing outward and turned to leave the herbal section of the store.

  “Well, I’ve business with the shop keep, good making your acquaintance,” said the rain soaked stranger as he nodded and walked on.

  “Good meeting you too,” Michael muttered as he collected his bags from the sorting table. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen him before as he walked towards the center of the store. The main store consisted of two rows of glass cases in the center with prisms, crystals, jewelry, bones, daggers, a few swords and many other objects locked inside.

  Every wall was covered in bookshelves, their many colored, myriad style spines competed for attention but received none form Michael. His main interest lay in the second level of the shop, where stairs took only frequent, known buyers up to the rarer books and less flashy objects. The staircase followed the rear wall. A wrought iron railing lined the edge of the second floor overlooking the main octagonally shaped section of the store. The rear entrance was right under the railing, causing a moisture problem on rainy days that irritated anyone who enjoyed the books in the upper stacks.

  Michael stopped half way up the stairs and watched the stranger approach Bernie, the store owner. Bernie’s white, ten inch goatee added to the novelty when an average layperson wandered inside from the mall entrance. He couldn’t help noticing the stranger was about the same age, and momentarily wished he could listen in on their conversation. Michael was polite by nature, however, and decided he’d rather go about his business.

  “Maxwell! Got caught in the rain I see,” Bernie greeted enthusiastically.

  “Glad to see you’re still here, old goat,” the other reciprocated as he stopped in front of the counter. He dropped his weather worn stetson atop the glass. “Got my message?”

  “Yup, couldn’t believe it when I heard. I’m surprised you didn’t just send me a map to Megiddo.” Bernie put the book he was reading down, making sure the tassel book mark was in place. He kept whatever he was reading covered with an old leather cozy, mostly because he enjoyed cowboy and romance novels, not exactly perfect for the public image of an Occult shop owner.

  “No need to stand at the edge of Armageddon just yet.” Max said as he pulled his leather gloves off.

  “How was the trip?”

  “Had to take coach. Made me wish everyone still traveled by boat. There was a lot more space back then.”

  Bernie produced a bottle of whiskey, two glasses and an ashtray from behind the counter. “And you wonder why I never visited you in Liverpool.”

  “With a nice shop like this I’d think you could afford better than coach.” He watched Bernie half fill his glass and motioned for more. “C’mon, don’t be a stinge,” he urged.

  He filled the glass near to brimming. “I see you’ve met our Michael.”

  “Seems a lot like me when I was about thirty. He can’t be more than twenty one,” Max nodded.

 
“Kids grow up faster these days.”

  “Bloody shame. I had other things on my mind at his age, tearing it up and trying to be a punker. Took me a few years but I finally realized I couldn’t sing and I had no right torturing people with my guitar. You couldn’t imagine my disappointment when I went to the crossroads to peddle my soul for a life in Rock n’ Roll only to have the devil not show.”

  “Heart breaker. Michael’s in a band, plays bass from what I hear.”

  “He should get out before he meets his Yoko. I’m guessing you’re pointing him out for a reason.”

  “Do I have to say it?”

  Max half turned and looked up to the railed second story shelves where the young man was leafing through a black bound book he’d written; Change and The Ways. “Can’t say I approve of his tastes in reading. When someone hands me a copy of that damn thing I’m half between burning it and signing it. Spit into the middle of one once. Daft cow nearly passed out she was so happy. Thought it was leagues better than a signature.”

  “Don’t put yourself down, it’s a good book. There’s good advice on the whole user beware concept we all live with. Maybe you could sign or spit in a few copies here, I could charge a little more.”

  “It soft peddles. I should have simply said; ‘all ye who consort with spirits and seek to improve their lot with magic will find damnation;’ like the old puritan pamphlets.” The serpent tattoo around his neck was clearly visible as he remained turned in his seat, looking Michael over. There was something beyond the physical he couldn’t see clearly. It bothered him. Aside from that there was something very solid about the young man. He was taller, dressed from head to toe in black, and had a steadiness in his bearing. Max turned away and picked up his drink as Michael became aware of eyes on him. “Cheers.” He held up his glass and waited for Bernie to clink it before gulping the four ounces of whiskey.

  Bernie sipped his. “So? What do you think Max?”

  Max poured himself another glass, nodding as he watched the amber liquid flow. “I’d have never thought you’d find anyone like him in this town. Fewer than two hundred thousand people in this overgrown crater and you manage to find someone so grounded I want to check his pockets for anvils. He’s been marked by a few dark things, probably thanks to things he conjured up himself.” He finished pouring, put down the bottle and started fishing inside his long brown coat. “Anyone else?”

  “Two others. They all know each other.”

  “That’s lucky,” Max said in mild surprise as he produced a silver ring and dropped it onto the counter.

  “Seal of Solomon, how old?” asked Bernie as he picked it up for a closer look.

  “About seventy years. Blessed twice, from the Order’s last priest, it should do the trick.”

  “I’ll say.” Bernie carefully put it down on the counter and stared at it. It was such a simple piece of jewelry, a silver replication of a medieval version. In itself it was just another piece of jewelry, worn for protection like a cross for some, and to control luck or even demonic forces for other, deeper believers. He’d never seen a demon, in fact he’d never met anyone who had. “So this is really happening, Zachary is actually here.”

  “I missed him in Brighton, killed one of his hosts in Athabasca but the bugger managed to jump to another body before I could cast him down. Nathan says I’m too late. It’s really happening.”

  “There’s got to be something we can do,” Bernie whispered. He took a larger drink from his glass.

  “All we can do is wait for signs. I’m here because it’s as safe as a church. You’ve got more consecration under one roof than most of them.”

  “That’s because I’ve managed to keep this place clean. It hasn’t been easy. For every worshiper of the light or open minded Catholic who come to me for candles there’s some devil raiser or Allister Crowley wannabe.”

  Max looked around, taking in the whole of the counter and the closed cases behind it at a glance. Most of the case was steel banded cedar, rustic looking but more importantly difficult to break through. “Who cares about the dark dwellers, this is a proper sanctuary in disguise you’ve made here.. I wish the old crowd were here to see it. Gabby especially would be well chuffed. She’d have a cot in the back for sure.”

  “Miss her some days. I’m glad she’s not here to see this. What kind of proof do you have that Zachary has gotten back into his own skin?”

  Max pulled his pager out of his pocket and dropped it onto the counter. It buzzed, vibrating and jostling itself atop the glass surface.

  Bernie picked it up and checked the message. BEST OF LUCK OLD MATE. It said. He smiled mildly and put it down gently, noticing as if for the first time how old his hands looked. He couln’t help but chuckle. “A pager this time, pretty smart.”

  “Beats me looking at a pocket calculator every couple of hours, and certainly beats a ouija board or crystal ball,” Max thumbed towards the mall entrance, where a display table was heavily laden with crystal balls of all sizes.

  “Noticed them, huh? Can’t sell one to save my life. Ever see one work?”

  “Not like they did in the old movies. Anyway, this makes three of us together. You, me and Nathan. Bloody reunion,” Max raised his glass briefly before downing the contents and sliding it onto the glass counter.

  “What kind of signs do you think-” the sounds of glass shattering and an inhuman, high screech sounded in the mall concourse, drifting into the tranquility of the store.

  “Looks like we’re about to find out.” Max stood and crossed to the the mall entrance.

  Bernie was a step behind and together they drew the steel curtain across the walkway and locked it. “I never wanted to see this you know.”

  “I didn’t want to chase Zachary across the globe as he shat on people’s lives and stole into temples, churches, graves and museums either. He did what a possessing soul was never able to do before, never figured out how. Thought I caught him at least seven times now. Wish he was the only trouble I was chasing. Would have made things easier. Even ran into one of old Nacht’s messes a few years back.” They walked side by side to the back of the store.

  “That must have been something.” When they arrived they locked the double deadbolts on the thick steel door. “I mean Galt Nacht, one of the last real conjurers and the leader of three societies at one point in time. Iconic way before we came on the scene.”

  “Big mess. Three spirits trapped in a consecrated circle for over fifty years put there by one of the nastiest buggers in Germany. Those souls weren’t good folk in the first place and rather pissed at that.”

  “I would be too,” said a cheery voice from the back room. A diminutive figure with a shock of blond and purple hair opened the door and sized Maxwell up. “Wow,” was her only comment.

  Max caught sight of the pentacle dangling over her turtleneck, the collection of Egyptian and Greek style rings and the silver studded belt holding up her black jeans and immediately liked her. She was short, barely came up to his shoulder and Max himself wasn’t a tall man. The energy spinning around the bright eyed young woman was infectious. It was as if she were about to start doing cartwheels, backflips or break into song any minute and barely contained the spunk that made her who she was. “I’m called Maxwell, mostly go by Max though. Pleasure to meet you.” He smiled, taking her slim hand and kissing the back briefly.

  She blushed at the tease and over dramatized the whole scene to the astonishment of the collared and Mohawked customers waiting to speak to anyone in charge. “Be still my little heart,” she said in a feigned sigh as she pressed the back of her free hand to her forehead.

  “Where do I pay for this?” asked the collared customer to no one in particular, holding up a charm bag, a tonka bean and a small package of dried yellow yarrow buds.

  Bernie unlocked the back door and waved them through. “Pay for it next time, closing for a private party.”

  The pair hesitated a moment, looking confused.

  “Go on.�
�� Bernie encouraged.

  “Bernie, I’m going to go see if Angie is still at the Cuppa. I was supposed to meet her an hour ago.” The young woman said as she picked up her backpack. It was decorated with sew on patches from several different countries mixed in with a couple of peace signs and a Pinch me if you’re a passionate Pagan! patch in the center.

  “She’s probably on her way here. Knowing Scott he’ll close up early. The mall’s dead,” Bernie said.

  “Hi Christie,” said a voice from the library section above only loudly enough for them to hear.

  Christie looked up and squealed with delight. “Michael!” she squeaked as she ran across the store and up the stairs. She leapt into his arms and squeezed him.

  Michael seemed to take it in stride, smiling mildly and laughing. “Glad to see you too.”

  “Ever worry she’ll wreck the place?” Max asked in a whisper.

  Bernie smiled and shook his head, closing the work room door. The smells of vanilla, sandalwood, patchouli and beeswax wafted through the stirred air. “Nope. She’s a careful one, believe it or not.”

  “Story between those two?”

  “I think she fancies him, he fancies her best friend Angela and if I’m not mistaken Angela likes girls. Classic High Schooler story with a twist. All good mates, core of a larger group.”

  “Reminds me of Dundas street. Good days.”

  “Long time ago.” The pair started walking back to the counter closest to the mall entrance.

  “Michael has a few things following him.”

  “That obvious, is it?” Bernie whispered, nodding. “He still can’t sleep. Doesn’t say anything about it but makes some pretty heavy remedies for it from what I’ve seen him buy.”

  “Think he’s done with toying with the dark?”

  Bernie produced a stool from behind the counter for himself and Max before sitting down at the cash register. “He came into a lot of money a few months back, didn’t spend much though, I just heard about him winning on a few long shot tickets.”