Hartwell called me the next day at 11:30. “Mr. Jurgen? Sam Hartwell.” He sounded irritated. “Look, I need to explain something.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m sorry about Bryan Furier, you know? And I understand his wife is—I don’t know. But that has nothing to do with me, all right? I’m just running a business. Trying to help this community. It’s a big responsibility. It’s a lot of work. It takes—some sacrifice. Always has, even since the days of William Hartwell and the printing press in his basement.”
I wondered how he knew about Jayne, but that didn’t matter. I was more interested in the word sacrifice. “So what is this book club all about? The book you’re reading is by a 19th-century Russian mystic who died in an insane asylum—”
“We’re reading a different book this week,” he interrupted. “Why don’t you come out tonight? Join us. See what it’s all about.”
I wasn’t going to mention Laurie’s call. “Sure, I’d like to come. Can I bring my wife? She’s curious about all this.”
“Of course. We start at seven. Come around to the back, we’ll have a fire going. See you tonight!” He hung up.
Rachel was working at home. I swiveled in my chair. “That was Hartwell. I got you in.”
“Great. Now I have to find something to wear. What’s appropriate for summoning a soul-sucking demon?”
“Something sexy,” I said. “How about that short skirt with the—"
She threw a pen at me. “Ouch,” I said.
Somehow we got through the day, although I had trouble concentrating and Rachel was bitchy anytime I tried to make a joke to lighten the tension. We ate sandwiches for dinner—a few bites, at least—and set off for Hartwell House at six o’clock.
Milan was waiting for us at the coffee shop in town. Two people were there too, a man with a short black beard and a woman in a down vest and jeans.
“Hartwell invited us to the book club,” I said sitting down. “Maybe to make sure we get eaten first, but don’t bet against Rachel in a fight. She fights dirty.”
“Is this all your friends who are coming?” Rachel looked at the pair. “Hi, I’m Rachel. This is my husband Tom. He’s a detective. Don’t worry, he’s tougher than he looks.”
“I’m Steve,” the guy answered. “This is Flora.” Flora glared at us. Mostly at Rachel. “There’s more of us coming,” Steve said.
“Right, right.” Milan counted on her fingers, muttering names under her breath. “Ten. Well, eight, since you’re not going to be with us.”
“Is that going to be enough?” I looked at the two friends.
“We should be okay,” Milan said. “If you’re right, the people Hartwell is using don’t know what they’re doing. We do. Plus, we’re pure of heart.” She grinned.
“Mostly,” Flora said.
“Are you guys okay with this?” Rachel asked. “It could be dangerous. I mean, we eat danger for breakfast, right Tom? But I’ve seen pictures of this demon—”
“That’s why I’m here,” Flora said. “I want to see a demon for myself. With my own eyes.”
“I know the feeling,” I said. Rachel kicked my ankle.
“She helps me with research,” Milan said quickly. “She knows more about demons like Rhahar than most people know about sharks and grizzly bears. And Steve is—well, he’s pretty tough too.” They reached across the table to pat Steve’s hand. He smiled.
“Okay, I guess.” This felt a little too much like a high-school production of Dracula for my taste, but we didn’t have time to recruit a squad of hard-bitten mercenaries. Rachel wasn’t objecting, which made me feel a little better. “We’re going to be behind the house, outside. He said there’s be a fire. I don’t know if that means a barbecue or marshmallows or a funeral pyre. You probably can’t park on the street by the house—I had a cop knock on my window last week when I was sitting there.”
“I checked out the house before I came,” Steve said. “We can fit everyone in two cars and just park along with everyone else in the driveway.”
I nodded. “Okay. We may not be able to use our phones to let you know when the reading starts—”
“I’ll know,” Flora said. “I have some—tools.” She lifted a backpack from behind her chair. “I can pick up demonic energy from half a mile away.”
I looked at Milan. “Okay, I’m impressed. You have cool friends.”
They grinned and patted Flora’s hand. “I know. Let’s go.”
I pulled into the gravel drive at 6:57 and parked next to a big Toyota Tacoma. Rachel unbuckled her belt and opened her door. Then she turned to look at me.
“What?” I asked, nervous. “Are you having a vision? Do I have bad hair?”
“I can feel it.” She cocked her head, closing her eyes. “Something bad. Close.”
Great. “You can stay here, you know. Help Milan and her friends—”
Rachel shook her head. “No.” She punched my arm. “Let’s do this.”
“Tally-ho.” We got out of the car.
The curving driveway had seven cars parked on its gravel, fewer than last week. Maybe not everyone in Hartwell’s group was eager to meet a real live demon—if they even knew what Hartwell had planned.
We walked on the grass around the house. We could already smell smoke, but no barbecue aroma, damn it. When we came around to the back yard we saw flames rising from a six foot pit dug out of the lawn. A big tree stood to one side, leaves withering in the smoke, a stack of wood leaning against its trunk. A circle of folding chairs surrounded the pit, half of them filled with people watching the fire crackle and glow.
Hartwell stood by the door to the back porch, a wide welcoming smile on his face. “Tom! I’m so glad you made it! And this is Mrs. Jurgen?” He smiled at Rachel.
“Rachel. Just Rachel.” She usually gets icy when this happens, but she forced a smile and extended her hand.
“Of course. My apologies.” They shook, and Hartwell pointed toward an ice chest. “There’s water, beer, fruit juice, whatever you want. We’ll have some snacks later. Take what you like and have a seat.” He turned as a woman came around the side of the house. “Excuse me. Hello? I’m Sam Hartwell.”
Jayne Furier stopped, staring at him. She wore a suede jacket and tan slacks, and her eyes were dark and red. She gazed at the fire for a moment, then stepped forward. “I’m Jayne Furier. Bryan’s wife? I thought I’d take his place tonight.”
Hartwell flicked a glance in our direction, but he nodded. “Of course. Help yourself. Take a seat. We’ll start in a few minutes.”
She took a bottle of apple juice, ignoring us, and took a chair next to a heavyset man in a windbreaker and a necktie.
Rachel and I sat. I patted the pocket of my jacket. I had my phone on, with Milan listening in from her car. I didn’t know how well she’d be able to hear us, but it was the best I could manage.
I also had a Taser in the other pocket. I own a handgun, but I’d left it at home. It probably wouldn’t stop Rhahar, or even seriously piss it off. And I wasn’t going to shoot Hartwell or anyone else.
But the Taser would definitely shut Hartwell up if necessary, or if anyone else tried to stop us.
Each chair had a book waiting. Not Unleash the Power Beneath, but a small book with a green cover. Title: Summon the Spirit. No author. I opened to the first page.
Call forth the spirit deep inside, the soul that yearns to break free and inhale the breath of the world.
“Sounds promising,” Rachel murmured.
“Feel anything?”
She placed a hand on the cover of her book. “Oh yeah.” She pulled her hand back, as if it was burning.
“New book,” I said, for the benefit of Milan and her friends. I hoped she could hear me.
A few more people showed up, and finally Hartwell took charge. “Good evening!” He raised a hand. “Thank you all for coming. I think we’re going to have a very interesting evening.”
The sun was low over the horizon, and shadows from the big tree shrouded us in the circle as the fire sparked and crackled.
“We have a new book tonight.” Hartwell smiled. “A classic. As we read, you’ll feel the power from its pages. You’ll feel it drawing in around you. Take it in. Let it fill you with its strength. Let’s begin.”
He led the others in reading the first quote aloud. Rachel and I moved our lips but didn’t speak out loud. I shot a look at Jayne, who did the same thing.
The fire glowed and grew, brighter and hotter. I saw mosquitoes buzzing around it, drawn to their death in the flames.
After a minute of silence, Hartwell turned the page, and the group started on the next quote. This one was longer, a poem, and the voices rose louder. Hartwell hadn’t noticed that Rachel and I, and Jayne, weren’t reading. His eyes were focused on the page, his body taut. His fingers were tense as he clutched his copy of the book.
After finishing, another moment of silence settled over the yard. Hartwell turned to the next page and took a deep breath, his chest expanding as he began to speak.
The fire popped, and sparks flew toward the edge of the pit. The flames shot higher, reaching for the sky as if they were straining to escape from the pit.
Rachel poked me in the ribs. “Now,” she whispered, and she pulled a sheet of paper from a pocket of her denim jacket.
I nodded, glanced at Jayne, and leaned over to read next to her. I bit my lip, nervous. I’m not psychic like Rachel, but I could feel something moving in the pit, and I could see restless shadows slithering in the darkness.
When Hartwell started the next page, Rachel and I stood up. After a second Jayne did too. Hartwell blinked at us and continued reading, but I could see his face shifting from confusion to irritation to anger as we read our piece.
I didn’t know what we were saying. I just hoped we had to the pronunciation right. Hartwell glared. The fire surged upward.
More voices joined us from behind us. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Milan and their friends walking around the side of the house, holding their own books and chanting in whatever language was in them.
Hartwell looked at them, his voice faltering. Rachel and I stood up and joined Milan’s group. Jayne followed us after a moment, glaring at Hartwell as she walked.
Hartwell scowled and raised his voice, flipping to the next page. But his own followers were looking at us, puzzled, and some stopped reading. A woman leaned over to ask the man next to her something. He shook his head, then bent his head down to keep reading along with Hartwell.
The fire suddenly erupted, stretching higher up into the darkening sky. With a roar from the pit it expanded into a ball, swirling around, throwing off sparks that hit some of the readers. Some yelped and scooted their chairs back. Others jumped up, dropping their books, and looked toward Hartwell. “What’s going on?” a man asked.
Hartwell laughed. He was reading by himself now, shouting at the sky, ignoring the rest of us.
Rachel and I crowded together with Milan and her group, reading from our own text, and now that Hartwell’s people were giving up and moving away, our voices carried as loud as his. But the fire kept rising, spinning, the heat searing my face as it grew thicker and more menacing.
I glanced at Milan. Was it working? But I didn’t want to interrupt our chant to ask. I leaned next to Rachel and kept reading, wishing I hadn’t brought her here. Wishing I’d stayed home, for that matter.
Then Hartwell stepped back and dropped his book. He raised his arms, gazing up at the flames, and shouted, “Rhahar! Rhahar!”
“Keep going,” Milan said, pausing before we started again. “They stopped, so it’s only us now. Keep going.”
Jayne stared at Hartwell, but continued chanting as if she were cursing at him.
Rachel took a quick swig of water. I held her hand for a moment, holding the page for both of us, and we went on.
Hartwell screamed Rhahar’s name again. His own people were now running back to their cars. Hartwell looked over at us, his lips spreading in a wide, arrogant snarl. “Rhahar!”
The ball of fire suddenly went black, like a star collapsing into a black hole, and then sank down into the pit. For a moment the night was silent, as if the darkness had sucked all the sound down into its core.
Then Rhahar’s head emerged from the pit.
The braids on its bony scalp were uncoiling like Medusa’s snakes. Three of its eyes glowed like angry fire. The other two were black as midnight. A clawed hoof gripped the edge of the pit, and then a second one. They pulled the demon’s body up until it stood on the lawn on all six legs.
Milan kept reciting the words. I stepped forward, raising my voice to encourage everyone else. Hoping this worked.
Hartwell laughed, leaning back, his arms wide. “Rhahar!”
The thing looked at him. It swung its head to look at us, all five of its eyes burning now. Then it went back to Hartwell.
“Come!” Hartwell shouted. “The world is ours! Take your pleasure on the unbelievers! We will rule and—”
Rhahar’s head surged forward like an eel, its jaws wide, yellow teeth dripping with demon spit. Hartwell stared at it, his face freezing, and then he tried to jump back—
But the demon clamped its jagged teeth on his shoulder, biting into Hartwell like a rabid wolf. Hartwell’s shouts turned into screams, and he pounded a fist at Rhahar’s face as blood spurted over his arm. “No! No—”
The creature lifted him off the ground, grunting, and flung him back into the pit. Hartwell’s blood dripped from its lips.
Then it turned its face toward us.
Milan was still chanting, faster and louder, with their friends behind them. I’d stopped, staring at the demon, but Rachel jabbed me with her elbow and I joined in again, glancing up every other second in case Rhahar decided to come at us.
But it didn’t. Rhahar looked at us, breathing slowly. Its five eyes blinked, all at the same time, and drool slid down its chin.
Hartwell’s arm came up from the pit, as if he was trying to crawl out. One of Rhahar’s six legs stomped on it and kicked him back, and he fell with a scream, disappearing down the hole.
Rhahar’s eyes, watching us, started to flicker. Its tongue—long, red as blood, forked like a snake—slid across its lower jaw, licking up Hartwell’s blood.
Our voices drifted through the darkness, and I could hear Jayne pausing for a quick gulp of water. But Rhahar stayed on the edge of the pit, its body still as stone.
After one last lick, Rhahar stretched, its gray hide tightening and loosening as it breathed. Was it getting ready to strike out at us? I wondered if I could run fast enough to get away from the thing, or if I’d have to throw myself in front of Rachel to keep it from eating her. Or if she’d try to do the same to save me.
Then its mouth opened wide, displaying rows of jagged teeth. A foul stench flowed from its lips.
A yawn.
Finally Rhahar closed his jaws again, and let its head droop. Its rear legs slipped down into the pit, and then the rest of its body slowly slid back down into the darkness, until just its head stuck out. One by one, its eyes closed, their glow fading away, and then the head dropped from sight, down into the pit.
Milan stopped. I looked at Rachel. She groaned and grabbed her water bottle, gulping down half of what was left. I turned to Milan. “Do you think—”
Then the ground rumbled under our feet. Rachel dropped her bottle. Jayne shrieked. Milan’s friends started backing away as the earth rose and fell like an earthquake was hitting us.
The ground rose, then dropped. I fell. Rachel grabbed for my arms as I tumbled forward. The earth was tilting downward, toward the pit. I kicked my heels into the dirt to slow myself down, and Rachel yanked me to my feet. “Come on,” she snapped, and we ran, following Milan’s group toward the house.
The earth shuddered one more time, and then went quiet. I leaned against the side of the house, catching my breath. “You all right?”
“Fine.” Rachel patted my arm. “That was—wait, what?”
I turned. Dirt was rising from the pit, falling over the edges to make a sort of crater, but a moment later it fell back, and the ground shook again. Jayne stumbled to her knees. I managed to stay upright, wondering if we’d opened a rip in the world that would destroy the house, the town, and everything else.
But when I looked through the darkness I realized that the pit was closing up. The dirt slid back, dropping into the hole, until only a mound of earth stood where the fire had burned a few minutes before.
I helped Jayne up. Milan checked on their followers to make sure everyone was okay. Then we turned and stared at the mound.
“Is it gone?” Jayne asked.
“For now,” Milan said. “Just for now.”
“It won’t come back soon, will it?” That was me.
They smiled. “Not unless someone calls it.”
“And Hartwell—” Jayne shook her head. “He got my husband killed, but still. . .” She shuddered.
“You okay to drive?” I asked.
She nodded. “I—I think so. I made it here.” She looked again at the mound. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell Pam.”
We shook hands. “Send me, uh, your bill, I guess.” She shrugged. “Thanks for everything.”
“I’m sorry about Bryan.” It sounded lame, but she nodded, then headed for her car.
Rachel was talking to Milan. I wanted one of Hartwell’s beers, but I didn’t know how quickly the sheriff would show up. Someone down the road could have called 911. “Maybe we should get out of here,” I told them.
“Yeah.” Milan waved at arm to the group. “Let’s go, amigos! Time to vamoose!” They smiled at Rachel. “I’ll call you.”
We headed for the front of the house. “What was Milan talking about?” I asked.
“Nothing.” She punched my arm. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”
We stopped for Thai food on the way home. Back home, Rachel got into sweats and curled up in front of the TV for the new episode of Lust Atoll. I sat next to her and filched some of her pad thai until she yanked it away from me. “You’ve got your own noodles.”
Halfway through the show my phone buzzed. I was ready to let it go to voice mail when I saw the name. “Milan.”
“Let me talk to them.” She paused the show.
“Tom! Did the two of you get home okay?” Milan asked.
“Yeah, we managed.” I could hear music in the background, and people talking. “Are all your friends safe?”
“Yes. I brought Flora and Cassie—I don’t think you met her—home to relax and decompress. That was quite an experience.”
“We’re recovering here with Thai food and reality TV,” I told.
Milan laughed. “Is Rachel there?”
“Hi, Milan,” Rachel said, leaning over my phone. “Do you have that book?”
“Right here. Why don’t you come out on Sunday? I have a sort of reading group you might like. It’s for women. And people like me, I guess. Don’t take it personally, Tom.”
“I can’t stop her from doing anything she wants,” I said.
“Damn right,” Rachel said.
“Great! See you Sunday,” Milan hung up.
I looked at Rachel. “What book?”
She smirked. “How to Murder Your Husband and Get Away with It. Just in case.”
“Planning is good.” I edged away from her.
She punched me. “It’s called Women, Demons, and Power. I read about it in college years ago but I could never track down a copy. I thought Milan might have one, but I forgot to ask before. And a reading group might be fun.” She picked up the remote.
“As long as you don’t summon any more monsters.”
“I think the idea is to summon up some mimosas.” She grinned.
“Sounds good. I can catch up on Resident Alien. Thanks for coming tonight, by the way.”
Rachel shrugged “I think confronting demons was part of our wedding vows.”
“It was implied, anyway.”
She kissed me. I smiled and picked up my chopsticks, and we went back to watching the show.
# # #
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