Blood And Stone: A Novel in The Atalante Chronicles Read online

  “Thought I could handle it. What’s inside him?”

  The symbol from the charm ring appeared in my mind. “An incubus. And it didn’t get here by chance. The boy summoned it.”

  Malcolm’s jaw dropped. “How?”

  “How old is James?”

  “Fifteen. His birthday was three months ago in July.”

  I breathed deep and exhaled slowly. “Sounds right. He’s coming into his power. Probably dabbled a bit, thought he was conjuring something simple from Sideways.”

  “Coming into his power?” Malcolm stared at me with a quizzical expression then turned his attention to James. “He’s a wizard?”

  I nodded.

  “He didn’t pull a small spirit, did he?” Malcolm said. Concern furrowed the pastor’s brow as he crossed his arms and held his chin in his hand.

  “He summoned something from the wrong neighborhood.”

  “Hell?”

  “Not quite that far,” I said. “Unless James has a lot of untapped power.” I could hear cars starting up and driving off. “We’re taking this outside. Go get the circles prepared for me. Flat earth, no bumps or dips. You remember the marks I showed you?”

  Malcolm nodded. He left just as Patricia and Terry returned.

  “Once I’ve got the containment spell in place, you two will need to unstrap him. Terry, can you carry him?”

  The big man nodded curtly. Patricia looked worried. “Containment spell?” she asked.

  “Some spirits can jump bodies through touch,” I said. “I need to keep it in James until we can get him outside. Then I can get the bastard out of your son.”

  Both of them looked to each other. Apparently resolved, they readied themselves to unbind James. Since there were no more electronics to worry about frying, I siphoned off the remaining energy in the room from the demon’s outburst. It felt like I was touching rancid meat. My cane blared to life, casting verdant light in every direction.

  My mind focused on weaving a net around the demon-possessed teenager. With that image in my brain, I channeled the energy and spoke.

  “Contineo,” I intoned.

  The demon reacted instantly, shoving its power against the closing net. My spell held against the assault, which died away almost as quickly as it started. James’ eyes never left me. A malevolent smile crossed his lips.

  Terry carried the James’ limp form in his arms as we walked across the lawn behind the house. Evening had advanced while we were in the house. Shadows covered the copse of trees right next to the house. There were a few lonely palm trees interspersed across the yard. Malcolm stood in the center of a field fifty or sixty feet north of the barn. Once we were closer, I could see he was wiping off a utility knife.

  My spell remained in place. The incubus had made no attempt to fight me since the initial outburst. “Terry, put James in the center circle.” My focus remained on the spell, but I had a feeling the incubus was not going to fight me anymore. That realization sent a sharp chill down my spine.

  Grumbling the whole way, Terry did as I instructed. His pace was slow as he left the circle, taking time to examine the concentric rings and patterns Malcolm had carved into the ground. Once Terry was outside the circle, I entered it.

  Malcolm directed Patricia and Terry to a spot ten feet away. I walked a quick circuit through the designs, scanning each of the symbols. Malcolm’s memory was exceptional and he’d managed to get the details completely right. My circuit brought me face to face with James’ family.

  “Under no circumstances should anyone cross this line,” I said, pointing to the outer ring that formed the main circle.

  “Will this hurt my son?” asked Patricia, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

  I wanted to lie to her, but that wouldn’t help matters. “It’s going to hurt,” I said. “Can’t do much to stop that.” Looking to Terry, I raised my cane and pointed the knotted handle at him while indicating the circle with my free hand. “Do. Not. Cross. This. Line.”

  Turning away from them, I focused on the ambient magical energy of the farm. This place was a happy one, filled with laughter. It was also filled with hard work, frustration, and some pain. I tapped into the natural flow of energy in the earth and pulled some of it away, using it to activate the circle. The symbols and lines began glowing red. With the containment ward in place, I walked to the center, where James’ supine body waited.

  I shifted my attention from the ward to the immobilizing spell I’d crafted a bit earlier. Waving my cane, I said, “Solvo.”

  The spell on James’ body vanished. The demon had been waiting for it. James was upright instantly, staring at me with a vicious smile.

  “Hello cutie,” I said. My smile matched the demon’s. “I’m speaking to the entity inside of James Masters. You will release him. Exorcizo.” I poured magic into my final word, a powerful command to the spirit of lust. The psychic pushback I received was strong enough almost to bring me to one knee.

  Behind the assault I could hear self-assured laughter. Demons are creatures of will and magic. They tend to focus on overwhelming offense.

  “By my power, you will release him. Exorcizo,” I said again. My words were more strained this time. I channeled more power into my command, using some of the energy my own body generates. That brought the irritating sensation of fatigue creeping into my body. My vision shifted, showing me the outline of the demon grasping James’ body. It seemed to be struggling to remain in control of the teenager.

  “I was invited in,” a voice said. It sounded wrong coming from James’ mouth. The voice was sultry, masculine but teasing in a way a fifteen-year-old boy should know nothing about. “I will have this body.”

  The incubus pushed back with its power. This time I did fall to one knee. My cane kept me upright, but just barely. I could feel the incubus probing the edges of my mind, trying to find a way in. It felt like mucus-covered tentacles brushing against my brain.

  “On second thought,” I heard the incubus say, “you would make a magnificent host. So many passions, so much more on which to feed.”

  I placed a hand on the ground to steady myself. The feeling of warm grass and dirt centered me. Drawing on the latent power of the earth, I used it to bolster my defenses. The tentacles were smashed as my mental fortress was reinforced. Through my magical vision I could see the satisfied smirk disappear from the incubus’ face.

  “You will not have him!” I shouted. “By my power, Exorcizo!” I pushed as much as I could into those words, leaving just enough behind for what I would need next.

  A caterwauling scream erupted from James’ body. The teenager began contorting violently. In the distance I could hear gasps, but I didn’t feel the energy of the circle break from intrusion.

  A figure now stood over James’ body. It was a naked man. Dark hair fell to his shoulders. He had piercing, coal-black eyes.

  I reached out and pulled James close to me. The demon stood in his nude glory, immaculate, and not bothering to object. I made James was clear of the circle’s center.

  “Foolish mortal,” said the incubus. Freed of James’ body, it had a free-flowing swagger. “You’ve exhausted your power exorcising me. Can your circle now hold me? I thought wizards were smarter than that.”

  I smiled and said, “We are. Malcolm!”

  The principle behind any geometric design in magic is to contain a great deal of energy in a single space. This makes it easier for a wizard or practitioner to focus that energy into an effect. When Malcolm’s foot crossed the threshold of the outer circle, it released all the energy I used to expel the demon from James’ body. The runes in the center circle, where James had been a moment before, pulsed with light.

  Latching onto the energy released from the outer circle, I channeled one final spell. I announced, “Depello.”

  The pent-up energy entered the inner circle, cutting off the incubus’ connection to the physical world. The banishment spell disintegrated the demon’s form. Gurgles of frustrated rage
escaped the incubus’ mouth before the creature dissolved into black ectoplasm.

  I plopped down on my ass, breathing heavily. Fatigue threatened to envelope me. When I turned my head to look, Patricia was already cradling her son’s head in her lap. Both were crying softly. A small smile crept over my face. Malcolm appeared next to me, offering a hand up. I took it.

  Half an hour later, Patricia was on the porch thanking me profusely. She handed me a thick envelope. I tipped my head and took it.

  Malcolm waited next to his car. He waved to Patricia, promising to check in on James in a day or two. I shambled over to his silver sedan.

  “Mind giving me a lift?” I asked. “Taxi would take at least an hour to get here.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Put your gear in the trunk. I don’t want to replace the speakers again.”

  “One time,” I muttered. “That happened one time.” I did as he asked. Malcolm’s good people. So were Patricia and her son. I’d done a good thing tonight. And with the money from Patricia, I’d have my car out of the shop in the morning.

  Chapter 2

  I drive a 1952 Willy’s pick-up Jeep that has seen better days. It still has the original Army-green paint job. The paint’s started thinning out around the hood and the roof of the cab. My mechanic keeps her running smoothly, despite my complete lack of knowledge about cars. My mechanic is, in other words, a saint. She even added a cover to the bed of the Jeep so I could transport cargo without worrying about them getting wet.

  My home is in the Drew Park neighborhood of Tampa. The property was once a commercial business, a body shop of some kind. The rumors of malfunctioning equipment and repeated accidents had nothing to do with me, though.

  Well, mostly nothing.

  The business moved to new premises and the property’s owners struggled for a couple of years to find a new tenant. By the time I rolled in with an offer to buy it, they were amenable to my asking price.

  A sign outside the fence reads, Atalante Occult Services, Inc.

  The building is two stories tall and painted an earthy beige. It is not a pretty building. It’s more like a Lego block house. The windows on the first floor all have bars on them. I installed a fence around the front of the property. The original chain-link fence installed by the previous owners covered the left side of the building and extended out to cover the entrance to the warehouse/body shop. My neighbors to the right have a meticulously white picket fence separating their property from mine along the driveway I enter. I installed a larger wooden fence for privacy around the back yard. Two gravel driveways lead to bays at the rear side of the warehouse.

  Despite the fact that enchanted equipment causes most electronics to short circuit, my home has working electricity in most of the building. The second floor is taken up by a full bathroom, a spare bedroom, and the master bedroom. There’s not much in either bedroom except some dressers, a nightstand or two, and a queen-sized bed in each room.

  After closing the gate behind me, I parked my Jeep behind my building. The door I entered led directly into my office. I should mention that the door to my office is solid steel. The door frame on the inside and the frame leading to the rest of the house are covered in runic symbols.

  The office is wall to wall book shelves, cabinets, and display cases. Hanging over the desk is a stuffed alligator about 3 feet long. There are no lamps or electronics in this room, not even an outlet. Candelabras sit all about, some with well-used candles.

  I placed my coat on a rack on the wall and my cane in the umbrella stand. I placed a bag of food on the desk in the center of the room, thought better of it, and picked it up again.

  Perched on my desk was a sleeping crow the size of a well-fed cat.

  I walked past my office, making as little noise as possible. The living room takes up the majority of the space. Beyond that is a kitchen and a staircase leading upstairs. All the furniture is secondhand. A long couch, a love seat, and a large manual recliner take up the space. There is a flat screen TV, but I hadn’t managed to get cable hooked up.

  Settling into the recliner, I opened my bag and pulled out the chicken tenders I’d picked up after getting my Jeep. From the kitchen I heard a soft mewling sound. A small bundle of black fur came ambling out a moment later. The black kitten, a male, made his way over to me. He was still a little tentative. Each step was a hesitant consideration, as if the hard wood floor were hiding landmines.

  Twitch had been wandering around my property 4 months ago, barely two months old and just off weaning. His mother and litter-mates were nowhere to be found. He’d had a massive burn on his chest.

  I’d treated his burn and kept him. Back then, he’d fit into my palm easily. Now he was the length of my arm and still growing. The vet told me his unnatural gait was probably due to permanent nerve damage. Twitch sat at my feet, eyeing my bag of food, meowing softly.

  “Only because you’re cute,” I said, tearing off a piece of chicken. I tossed it to him. He sniffed it a few times before scarfing it down. When he meowed again, I gave him another piece.

  Between the two of us, we finished off the chicken strips in no time. As I finished off the fries, my phone rang. I managed to get to it before the third ring.

  “Hello,” I said, swallowing the last piece of fried potato.

  A deep voice said, “Nico. You free?”

  Fuck.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Got a scene for you to look at. Grab a pen.”

  I always keep a pen and pad of paper near the phone. I jotted down the address. After ripping the sheet off the pad, I went to my office and pulled out a road map of Tampa and the surrounding areas. Once I plotted my course, I went back to the living room and grabbed my drink. Twitch had commandeered my recliner, stretching out in that adorable way kittens have. I scratched his stomach and left.

  Putting a few things I would need in my satchel, I grabbed my cane and coat and headed out. The trip was relatively straight-forward, although weekday morning traffic on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard is nightmarish.

  Once you get past the Interstate 4 and Interstate 75 overpasses, MLK becomes more tolerable. The landscape shifts as well. In Tampa, you’ll get a mix of suburban sprawls with small businesses, mini-malls, and single floor office campuses. Out past I-75 you find large company offices, freight warehouses, and side streets leading to deed-restricted housing developments.

  Late October can be chilly, the first hint of what little winter we actually get in Central Florida. People were out and about sporting windbreakers while wearing shorts. Traffic cleared up considerably once MLK became a two-lane highway. Still, it took the better part of an hour to reach my destination outside the “city” of Dover.

  Dover’s one of the small, unincorporated towns in Hillsborough County. It has barely five thousand people living in the whole area. Most live out here in quiet retirement or commute to jobs in Plant City, Seffner, and Tampa. The rest are migrant workers, here for the winter strawberry season. I passed more than few of those fields. The workers were out in the fields, making sure the county’s largest cash crop came through for one more season.

  I couldn’t miss my destination if I tried. Hillsborough County Sheriff vehicles lined both sides of the road, parked alongside unmarked cars that I guessed belonged to another branch of cops.

  I parked my Jeep under the shade of some trees between two drain outlets. The area across from me was cordoned off and lined with sheriff’s deputies. Another group huddled together around a lone mail box facing the road. I grabbed my satchel, my cane, and got out.

  Before I could cross the road, a female deputy moved to block my path. She was an athletic brunette, roughly my height. From her build, I could see she worked out regularly, which made the crisp white dress shirt and green slacks hug her body. It wasn’t normally a flattering uniform, but she made it work. Her tanned skin was largely unblemished, save for some freckles around the corners of her eyes. These were a shade darker than her skin tone. She had a cu
te button of a nose. Her walnut brown eyes were all business. I made sure to look at her name tag when she crossed her arms over her sizable chest.

  It’s been awhile. Sue me.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice crisp with authority.

  “Good morning, Deputy Blackwell,” I said, reaching for a card in one of my coat pockets. I handed her the card. She took a moment to read it over and glared at me. “Before we get into a pissing contest, know I respect you as an officer. Sergeant Marks called for me. Please let him know I’m here. I’ll be happy to wait.” I placed both hands on the knot of my cane and did my best to look like I had all the time in the world.

  She stared at the card, opened her mouth to speak, and apparently decided against it. She left me standing on my side of MLK and went over to the group around the mailbox. From what I could make out, Marks was arguing with some plain-clothes officers. Deputy Blackwell waited patiently for a moment or two before butting-in. The sergeant excused himself and made his way over to me.

  Lester Marks was a slim man, just over six feet tall. He was bald but made it look good. Lester’s dark complexion stood in sharp contrast next to Blackwell’s more earthy skin tone. His angular features gave him a serious demeanor but I’d had seen him drunk on a few occasions. He had a smile that could lighten the heart and make any woman quiver. He seemed huffy and thankful for the excuse to leave the other officers in the huddle.

  “Nico,” he said. In person his voice was a cascading bass drum. He extended his hand to me, which I gladly accepted. It was a firm but friendly grip. “How long’s it been?”

  “Since Erin’s birthday party back in June. How’s the family?”

  “Good. Kids start middle school soon.”

  I cast a glance at Deputy Blackwell. She looked completely puzzled. “You didn’t explain to her how we know each other.”

  He shook his head. “Only that you’re a consultant.”

  Blackwell chimed in. “This card says Atalante Occult Services: Protection Against the Dark Arts. Is he serious?”