November
Small town in California
Ecks and Trinity sat in the small front room of their boss�s home. It was made up as a Victorian parlor. It was a small crowded room with red velvet backed chairs and a paisley rug with a small fireplace with a gas fire in it. A round table dominated the room with a crystal ball actually mounted in the middle of the inlaid wood. Trinity was dressed in black stretch pants and high boots with a black lace top. She was playing solitaire on the table. Ecks was lying down on an uncomfortable couch with a book about demonology resting on his chest. His feet were crossed on the back of the couch and twitched occasionally with pent-up energy.
�So, Becky is going to meet him because she knew him before?� Ecks asked.
�Yes,� Trinity said with out looking up from her cards.
�So she is driving up to San Francisco and then coming back here?� he asked.
�Yes.�
�And we aren�t meeting him why?� he asked her.
She still didn�t look up. �Becky and Stan have a lot to catch up on.�
�Like?� Ecks asked.
�It�s none of your business,� she said. �You focus on finding out who Clint is serving and why he wants Davies dead.�
�I don�t know about this shit,� Ecks said.
�That�s why you are reading about it,� she said.
�But this is all just guesses. I haven�t even found anything about what Clint was,� Ecks said.
�Yes well, there are more things in Heaven and Earth then are Dreamt of in your philosophy.�
�Thank you,� he answered sarcastically. He flipped the book closed and sat up. �What the hell are we supposed to do when he comes back?�
�We just need to be able to stop him again. That�s why we�re here.�
�What the hell is he doing down there,� Ecks asked gesturing towards the bookshelf.
�He�s consulting with some one in Europe, he�ll be back here in a bit.�
The bookshelf swung outward and a man in his middle years with wire rimmed glasses emerged. He had a box under his arm. �Well, they are at a loss as well. They think it might be some sort of sprit possession, possibly voluntary. There are some spirits that alter their hosts, dark sprits. I�ll have to consult with some experts on the Loa. His dark lord could be technically a Dark God, not a demon. But there is no way to be certain.�
�Any ideas why they would want you dead?� Trinity asked?
�I don�t know, love. I�m certainly the best-informed occultist in the area. Other then that, who knows? Could be some sort of grudge involving Eugene. Eugene was making extraordinary strides in the occult. He was surpassing me on the Path even before he was seventeen. That�s a lot of talent, Ryan. Trinity here is only beginning to approach his level of competence. Before he was killed Eugene was contacted by some sort of dark power, but with my help was able to deny it. That was just before the attack on the school in which he was killed. The explosion in the Principle�s office I believe. Perhaps this is why. Or there could be other reasons. Maybe there is something I am going to do. Spirits exist in a world apart from our own. Past and future run together for them, so it might be upset about something I can�t even imagine. Spirits are like that; they give very opaque commands to their minions so that they can�t understand what the spirit really wants. The texts are filled with such things that are merely a test of loyalty, or else appear to be a test of loyalty but turn out to be part of some larger web.�
Ecks stared at him eyes half glazed over. �So, how do we kill it?�
Mr. Davies laughed his high nasally laugh. �Ryan, spirits are immortal, you can�t kill them. Sometimes they can be temporarily banished. Another solution is to trap them in some corporal object or prison. But that takes truly powerful wizards and there are no records of anyone with that level of power for many hundreds of years. No, we can�t kill a dark spirit.� He smiled and set the wooden case on the table and unhooked the latch. He raised it and inside was four pistols. They were very ornate and appeared to have carved ivory and gold and silver on their handles. The hammers were even ornate silver and gold. There were some spots of tarnish on the silver, but it seemed to be well cared for. "We can�t kill the spirit, but we can rob it of its minions.
Ecks looked with his second sight, there had to be more to the weapons. They indeed looked wrong. Like something had been done to them. What it was he couldn�t be sure. Beyond their wrongness he could learn no more from them. The shots, which were lined up along the front of the case, small silver balls with symbols on them. The symbols writhed upon their curved surfaces like maggots, and he felt the same sort of revulsion. Mundanely, many of the silver balls were also scorched, but still potent.
�Ryan, are you all right?� Davies asked.
�The pistol shots are nasty,� Ecks said looking for a way to describe them.
�They were created three hundred years ago to use against spirit warriors here in America by a colonial wizard. They are reputed to do quite a bit of damage to the spiritual connection that such minions have. You two should be able to use them productively until I get back.�
�Where are you going?� Trinity asked.
�Haiti, probably. I may have to go to West Africa after that, I can�t be sure. Banishment is a difficult art, and there are a lot of charlatans out there as well as real witch doctors. My colleagues have given me some reliable names. Normally they wouldn�t tell even me, but as my own life is in danger they made an exception. They are usually flexible about that. If it weren�t so bent on having me killed I�d want to learn more about it. Oh well, can�t be helped. We must take these things very seriously. Spirits can be remarkably single-minded. What we humans call rationality, is not high on their list of traits. Let me show you how to use these pistols.�
The clock on the mantel began to chime midnight.
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KSED switched over to its late night DJ, Midnight Larry. Most of the day the station was top forty. The Station itself was owned by a Trust company that had bought it as an investment and subscribed to a national music service. But after midnight the towns live DJ came on with his own selection. It was a mix of music, often with some sort of rant by the DJ going on about how dark the world was, and depressing, and sad. It was very popular among the Goths, as well as most of the town�s youth. Forbidden subjects were often the topics of monologues. Many people sat up listening with rapt attention.
At the hospital a figure in a dark coat walked down the hall to the morgue. The lights in the hall were switched to every other bank of lights for the night shift. It was an old practice to encourage quiet. A pointed chin caught the light from time to time under the hood. He came to the door of the morgue. It was locked when he pushed on the double doors. There was a flash as his hand waved through the top and bottoms of the door severing the bolts that held it closed. Then he pulled the door open. Inside it was dark. He moved easily not caring about the dark. He walked over to the rack of refrigerators and pulled it open. He slid out the bloated body of a fat man with a short goatee. He then slid the drawer out next to that to reveal the damaged body of a bald man with silver teeth. The figure bent down over his face and opened his mouth. There was a choking sound, followed by the unmistakable sound of some one vomiting. A dark oily fluid came out of the hooded figure's mouth and splattered onto the face. The figure turned and did the same to the other. The fluid on the first body seemed to be flowing into the mouth and nose. The eyes opened, they were filled with black fluid. And the body sat up. The figure stepped back and watched as the second body did the same.
�Even in death, you serve my master. That is the deal you made.�
�We do. It was.� They rasped in unison.
�Come,� he ordered turning and walking away. Unclothed, pale with obvious bullet wounds, the two followed, their bare feet padding on the tile floor. The hooded figure grinned as he heard their padding footsteps. �No rest for the wicked,� he said to himself.
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