InDescent Read online

  “I saw the strangest thing last night,” she said breathlessly. “I was going to call and tell you about it when I got home, but it’s just been eating at me. Are you sitting down?”

  “Better than that. I’m lying down.” Jackson absently rubbed his forehead. What she’d said wasn’t something he wanted to hear.

  “I was at Baer’s house last night, on the lakefront—”

  “Wait. Is that the geeky, smart guy or the handsome, rich guy or the politician?”

  “The second,” Angelina said, “although I think they’re all attractive. Anyway, we were just sitting there beneath the full moon, holding hands and talking, and I started wondering how that esbat celebration of yours was going. Then, and I’m dead serious about this, someone or something rose from the water. At first I thought it was just a wisp of fog.”

  “But it wasn’t.” This was beginning to sound all too familiar.

  “No, it wasn’t. It was a girl. Or young woman. She just floated over to the gazebo and circled around it. I guess I must’ve gasped, because Baer asked me what was wrong. I just said I thought there was something out there. And there was…only he didn’t see it.” Angelina took a breath. The mundane chorus of sounds continued around her. “Jackson, I swear, she had deathly white skin, as if she’d been spun from the moonlight. Her eyes had no pupils; they were just these pale, glowing orbs. Her hair looked green. And wet, sopping wet, plastered against her back.”

  Sitting up, Jackson leaned against the wall. “So what did she do? Anything?”

  “She was staring at Baer,” Angelina said, ever more agitated, “like she was eyeing him up. There was the most malevolent expression on her face. I could’ve sworn I heard her muttering something, to him, but I didn’t understand what she was saying.”

  “Didn’t understand because her voice was too quiet,” Jackson asked, “or because she spoke a foreign language?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe both. So I thought as forcefully as possible, Get away from us. Her face took on this sad, defeated look, and she just sort of wafted up into a willow tree. At least I think so. I thought I heard her singing. Good God. I was trying so hard to act normal, because Baer obviously hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

  “And that was it?” Jackson realized he still had his boots on. Crude. Applying toe to heel, he forced each one off.

  “Not yet,” Angelina said. “After a couple of minutes, this thing floated onto the dock. She sat there, singing softly and combing her hair. That’s what the movement looked like. After maybe another five minutes or so, she slipped off the dock and back into the lake like a dead fish.”

  Jackson waited for the story to continue, but it had obviously reached its conclusion. At least he wasn’t the only person who’d been seeing things. “’Fraid I can’t offer any insights,” he said. “Why don’t you call me back once you get home? I’ve got some stuff to tell you, too, but right now I need to make a call.”

  “Okay, sure. Damn, Jackson, I know I’ve seen worse when I’ve been around you, but that was just so…unexpected and eerie. I get goosebumps just thinking about going near the lakefront after dark.”

  “Then you might want to stay away from the county parks, too.”

  Before he had a chance to explain, the signal started breaking up. No matter. She’d be calling back later.

  Jackson stared at the phone still cupped in his hand. He wondered if Kosciuszko Park, or any natural space within the city, would indeed be more supernaturally active at night. Curiosity made him consider driving to a park and hanging out after sunset, but the exercise seemed rather pointless. What would he do if his suspicions were confirmed? Nothing. Unless and until he could figure out what was going on, he had no foundation for any action.

  Well, it wasn’t his responsibility anyway. Who’d made him the Guardian Angel of Milwaukee? So let a host of storybook witches and ethereal exhibitionists haunt the city. As long as they only appeared to a select few people, for whatever reason, they weren’t doing any harm.

  Of course, he couldn’t entirely ignore the situation. Not with everything else that had been happening.

  That in mind, he got off the bed and parted two slats of the blinds at his bedroom window. It was on the side of the building, facing yet another duplex across a cracked walkway flanked by strips of mashed grass. Because he lived in a basement or “Polish” flat, the window was only about a foot above ground level. Jackson didn’t know what he expected to see.

  Outside, the light was waning.

  He still had a phone call to make.

  Letting the slats fall back into place and drawing the curtains that covered the blinds, Jackson went back to his bed. He’d no sooner reached it than a stealthy rustle sounded just outside the window. Cocking his head and stilling his breathing, he listened. Yes, there was a faint, brushing noise coming from the panes of glass. It could just be a piece of trash that had been drawn into the weak wind-tunnel between the buildings. Plastic shopping bags and bits of paper occasionally got hung up on his window frames.

  The explanation didn’t satisfy him.

  Scowling, Jackson again rose and went to the window. He tilted an ear toward the curtains. The rustling became more tentative, then abruptly stopped. Yanking aside one panel and simultaneously pulling up the blinds, Jackson yelped, “Fuck!” and stumbled backward.

  The creature staring back at him flashed a grin and darted out of sight down the walk.

  It hadn’t even been as high as the top edge of the window, that hair-covered, gnomish thing with stumpy horns and tail. What was even more terrifying, it bore a fleeting resemblance to Jackson himself when it smiled.

  “What the shit?” he gasped, hand to head, as he faltered back to the bed.

  After all the beings he’d summoned and banished, all the demons he’d confronted, all the elementals that had harried him, he should have taken these materializations in stride. That’s what he told himself. But he’d anticipated those other things. He’d been prepared for them and knew how to handle them. Today, though, he was being blindsided at every turn.

  “Ivan,” he whispered, falling back on an earlier theory. Kurtz must somehow be using the Prism to send out these visions. If Jackson could determine that with certainty, he could start countering the attacks.

  Hands still trembling slightly, he again found the phone number he’d earlier been intending to reach.

  “Sophia?” he asked when he heard the answering female voice.

  “Yes.” She paused. “Jackson? Jackson Spey?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?” He heard a man’s voice in the background. Had to be Harrison Brock, esquire. Jackson smiled.

  “The hair on my arms all stood up at once,” Sophie said. “How are you?”

  “Good. How about yourself?”

  “Pregnant.” The word issued from her like a sunbeam.

  “No kidding? Wow, that’s great. You and Sonny must be thrilled. Hey, put the punk on the phone.”

  Sophie did so. “Can’t have her now, Spey,” Sonny said with a smile in his voice.

  “Brock, you son of a bitch, you have viable sperm!”

  “Fuck you, Jackson.”

  “You too. With congratulations.”

  “Thanks, man. I might even marry this lady. If you show up at the wedding, just keep your eyes one color and your hands to yourself.”

  “On my honor.”

  “Got a girlfriend yet?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Sonny said with real sympathy. Tough guy though he was, he’d always been a sentimentalist. And a genuinely decent man.

  “Don’t be,” Jackson said. He thought of Adin. In this context of girlfriends and romance, babies and impending weddings and domestic bliss, the thought made him distinctly uncomfortable.

  Sophie came back on the line. “So, what can I do for you? Need a consultation?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Sophie Alanca, soon to be Sophie Brock, w
as one of the most gifted psychic mediums Jackson had ever encountered. He’d helped her out of a very threatening, even dire situation within the past couple of years. In the process, he’d also played a role in cementing her and Sonny’s relationship.

  More than anything else, it was situations like theirs that made being an Adept worthwhile.

  “I’ll do anything and everything I can to be of service,” Sophie said, her sincerity matching Sonny’s.

  At the risk of being pushy, Jackson told her, “The sooner the better.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “Could be. I don’t know yet. That’s why I need you and Esme.” Esme, a very wise old soul, was Sophie’s spirit guide. “Can you fit me in tomorrow?”

  “I’ll make a point of it,” Sophie said. “If you’re thinking of bringing Angelina, please do so. I’d love to see her again.”

  Jackson chuckled. “You read my mind.”

  * * * *

  Ivan knew he was snug in his bed—a suitably mammoth bed awash in black satin sheets and comforters. Still, he grumbled in his half-sleep. Then he floated out of his dark apartment.

  Ah, astral projection. Heh-heh. Spey isn't the only one…

  Night was deepening in Milwaukee County. Woods and waterways, fields and flowerbeds quivered to life in the silver-blue spill of moonlight. But what exactly caused the quivering?

  Ivan struggled to stretch his eyelids. He couldn't see clearly enough to discern the shapes that skated over rivers and slunk through vegetation, but he was aware of them. He knew most people were not.

  That's because I know magic, he thought with a smile. His superiority pleased him.

  He also knew all this hidden life would become more apparent as it became more active and abundant. And it surely would. That particular realization was more alarming than gratifying, although he couldn't determine why.

  Moonlight stippled the low waves on Lake Michigan, which wasn’t far from his residence. Ivan was suddenly bobbing above the inland sea. He didn't like being there. It made him intensely uneasy. The lake was troubled. Bubbles churned from a portion of its surface, a patch of water darker than the highest reaches of midnight sky.

  Soon, a bagiennik shot from that patch and over the streetlights and into the high building that housed Ivan's apartment. And Ivan was there, too, reclining once more in the enveloping darkness of his room.

  Wearing a curious look, the bagiennik hovered over his bed. Two viscous strings oozed from two nostrils in the middle of its forehead. Thick droplets fell on Ivan’s skin, burning it like the hot tips of recently blown-out matches.

  He flinched. And flinched again. “Leave me alone, Spey,” he mumbled. “Leave me alone.”

  Why, he wondered foggily, did he say that? And what the hell was a bagiennik?

  Whatever manner of nightmare creature it was, the ugly fuck didn’t seem to understand him. And Ivan couldn't seem to move out of its way.

  Chapter Seven

  Another early start, even earlier than yesterday’s. Jackson dragged himself out of the sack at five a.m. First order of business was to suck down two cups of coffee. Once he was primed by caffeine, he changed the bedding, picked up dirty clothes, cleaned the bathroom, scrubbed the kitchen sink, and wiped down the countertops. He’d vacuumed within the past week. That was good enough. And fuck the rest of the mess. It had become part of the décor.

  After breakfasting at George Webb’s and putting in another four hours at the shop, he came home, shaved, showered, and donned clean clothing. Angelina arrived before his hair was even dry. It made sense she come to his place. For her, it was on the way to Sophie’s house. They could drive there together.

  Last night on the phone, they’d filled each other in on recent developments. Angelina, too, suspected Ivan Kurtz was at the bottom of it all, since Ivan hated them both.

  “Looks like you’ve been run ragged already,” she said, “and the day’s barely begun.”

  Jackson dragged a brush through his hair. “Yeah, well, I had a lot to do. And I’ve gotta get back here by four.”

  “Why?”

  After tossing his brush on the coffee table, Jackson reconsidered. Leaving it there would be tacky. He picked it up to carry it back to his dresser. Angelina’s question still hung in the air.

  “Do you have an appointment,” she asked, “or a date?”

  He didn’t want to look at her. She’d see his self-consciousness. “Neither. I have company coming.”

  “For dinner? Or for the evening?”

  “Neither. Out-of-town company.” Jackson scanned his living space for other stuff he should, for the sake of good taste, put away. He picked a stray hair off the coffee table and returned his brush to the bedroom dresser. The hair got lost en route.

  “Who is it?” Angelina asked when he came back.

  Now he noticed the dust. Not just on the coffee table but on every surface. It wasn’t thick, but it did allow for trails.

  Jesus, let it go already!

  “Uh…Adin Swift,” he murmured, grabbing his jacket off the back of a dining chair and slipping it on.

  Angelina watched him. “Oh. That’s nice. I’m glad the two of you have been seeing more of each other. You’re so much alike.”

  Jackson glanced at her, just to read her expression. Angelina didn’t know—not officially, anyway—just why Adin and he had been seeing more of each other. But he had a feeling she suspected.

  He pulled his hair out from under his collar and grabbed his car keys.

  Angelina stepped forward. “I’ll drive,” she said. “You seem a little distracted.”

  *

  It was a happy reunion between three people who truly liked, trusted and respected one another. Sonny wasn’t there—he was at the university, which disappointed Jackson a bit because Harrison Brock was a good shit—but Sophie was as lovely and warm as ever. The extra pounds resulting from her pregnancy were quite flattering.

  The room behind curtained French doors, where Sophie conducted her readings, was essentially the same. As clean and unpretentious as the rest of the house, it looked more like a rather old-fashioned personal library than a spiritualist’s séance den. Its feel perfectly reflected Sophie. The furthest thing from a grandstanding charlatan, this former nun was a modest straight-shooter intent on helping others through her gift.

  First Jackson and then Angelina told her of their recent experiences. Jackson’s, of course, came bundled with hefty concerns. Sophie listened attentively, one hand curled over the small dome of her belly. She had no weird sightings to report. This might have been because she and Sonny lived in a rural area in a different county, south of the city. But why that should matter, none of them knew.

  “So there’s nobody in particular you need to contact?” she asked. “You’re just looking for answers?”

  “That’s about it,” Jackson said. “I have no idea where to start. I guess that’s where Esme comes in.”

  Thoughtfully, Sophie nodded. “I know she’ll do everything in her power to help. She has tremendous regard for you. Angelina, haven’t you picked up on anything? You’re normally a very sensitive receiver.”

  “Nothing’s come to me. I was able to psychically ‘eavesdrop’ on Ivan Kurtz on one occasion. I’m not sure what makes the circumstances so different now, but they obviously are different.”

  “Well,” Sophie said on a sigh, “I’ll give it a go.”

  They were sitting at a round oak pedestal table, an antique. Sophie had already drawn the room’s curtains. She didn’t do it for atmosphere, she explained, but to enhance her concentration. The one burning candle was symbolic of enlightenment. It also helped draw Esme, Sophie’s spirit guide, who was fond of a fire’s warmth and glow and reverential of its importance in pagan rituals.

  Sophie slid a piece of paper and a pen with purple ink toward Jackson. “That enemy you spoke of,” she said, “print his name in block letters on this paper. When we get started, I’ll hold the paper under one hand. You
and Angelina must visualize him. The more detail, the better. Think about what he looks and smells like, the sound of his voice, how he moves and acts, where he lives. The sharper the images, the easier it will be for me to access him.”

  “Why purple ink?” Jackson asked, carefully writing Ivan’s name.

  Sophie smiled. “Because I like purple.”

  “You’re such a girl.” He slid the paper over to her.

  Carefully, Sophie flattened her palm over the sheet. She reached for Jackson’s hand. Angelina curled her fingers over Sophie’s wrist. Once they were all connected, the medium closed her eyes. The room seemed bloated with silence. In the center of the table, the candle’s small flame looked as frozen and remote as a comet’s tail. Sophie’s hand flexed delicately over the paper bearing Ivan’s name. She took a breath. Words began to stream from her mouth.

  “Mr. Kurtz has concocted a scheme. It’s fueled by a desire for vengeance. He feels he’s been wronged by Jackson Spey. I get the impression he invited whatever fate befell him. He knows this but doesn’t want to admit it. He’s been aided by someone named Bothu.” Pausing, Sophie winced. Her eyes remained closed. “When we went to Fog Cliff Cemetery to root out the source of my problem, Angelina detected this man’s recent presence in James Newman’s mausoleum.”

  “Yes, I did,” Angelina whispered.

  Sophie’s wince crept toward a grimace. “Bothu is a necromancer, yes?”

  “A soiled one.”

  Sophie nodded. “Nevertheless, he wants nothing to do with an attack against the wizard. He merely profited from a transaction with Mr. Kurtz, who holds the grudge.” She lapsed into receptive stillness. Jackson felt her squeeze his hand. “Do you mind if I say something that might embarrass you?”

  “Not much embarrasses me.” Still, he braced himself.

  “Mr. Kurtz believes you can be sexually enticed into some…place or situation that will ultimately destroy you as an Adept. So he’s been testing you and baiting you.”