Contemptable Wrest - (Ch. 6) Part 2: Warrant for Witchery

That was probably the liquor talking--no excuse in my book. You’ll stop at nothing to reassure me you are the scum of the earth.

Pheonix roared, “You fictitious fuck! Who are you calling a witch?”

I thought she was going to vault clean over that ornamental table and finally get to use that blade.

“There’s proof.” he swore with obvious gratification. “Why do you think Ruby lives in a ramshackle old house across the road from that haunted barber shop?”

Pheonix demanded, “That’s your reasoning? Rumors based off rumors?”

He scoffed, “That’s just the beginning. The cemetery damn near qualifies as her backyard. She lives there all alone, no mom, no dad. Not that anyone has ever seen. They say it all began when her parents refused to buy her a new car for her sixteenth birthday.” His eyes were enlarged. “She searched the pawn shop for something powerful, determined to make them rue the day. Archie as my witness,” another of his cohorts, “she was seen leaving the place with haste, clutched to her chest, a mysterious book marked with runes. When he attempted to follow her, she saw him and took off through the woods. As you know, he’s a track star, nobody in town holds a candle to him. But that day, she gassed him. By the time he got to the edge of the treeline there was no sign of her. Out of nowhere he heard squawking and a rush of wings as a flock of crows swirled down upon him. That was the last thing he remembered before waking up in bed.”

“That’s a biased witness.” professed Pheonix, and scanned around. Judging from the spellbound visages, his story held some kind of water. “C’mon people, you honestly accept this as truth?” Those around the room began to find their lap the most appealing thing for miles. I absently traced an old scar on my forearm.She tossed in, “It was probably just some wacked out dream.”

“Then how do you explain what happened a few days later when Archie boldly went to investigate?” he piped up again. “He set out walking his dog, acting as a passerby so he might unassumingly check his suspicions. He had hoped he’d be wrong.” I’ll give him this: Dallas was a grand storyteller. “And was relieved to happen upon Ruby and her two sisters sitting on the ground, innocently fooling around. Until he glimpsed the same ancient book, pages of dark arts unfolding to the sky! Until he was saw what lay helpless at the center enduring such evildoing!” Even a tingle sliced through my spine as he reached the crescendo. “They had it splayed out upon exotic shapes depicted in the dirt, bound by rope. A small deer with a busted leg, chest heaving, stared up in alarm as the merciless killers raked at it with an array of needles, vessels, and thin, alien tools."

With sincerity Matt blew, “All they need are the pointy hats and a bubbling pot.”

“Exactly.” Teeth flashed. “Need I say more?”

“No.” Malibu said, breaking the trance. “It seems we’ve gotten off track.”

Vinny lashed out against his bean bag, pitched it behind us somewhere on the middle of the bed, jumped into a crouch and growled, “Rigorous case. When she gets here, why don’t we burn her alive with the very Bazooka she’s bringing? That’ll be sure to solve all our troubles.”

I swore in my mind. I had wanted to announce what that girl was bringing. If I had known her name it would have been a flawless set up and score. Now we wasted time considering the inane topic of whether or not Ruby practices witchcraft. Shallow and stupid. Well, pretty sure there’s no truth to it.

Rocky was impressed. “Woah. Where did she get one of those bad boys?”

“Tweak the wording of a spell,” Dallas suggested. “And Presto! Helluva weapon.”

“Funny. No.” started Vinny. “It was a present from Saul.” I could see the grief seep into his face with mention of the name. “Who is also journeying out here, mostly to guard his precious contraption.”

Now I knew what had him going all snarls: a double-whammy. If Kelly wasn't already a potential malady, he could detract this from his inheritance. Saul wasn’t blood to Vinny. His surname was Paisley,not Rain. He was half-blood.

“There’s multiple shells.” said Dallas. “We can save one for her.”

Gutterson stamped his foot and flailed his arms, “Would you shut up about that already! We’re in a real mess here!” He was beyond disgruntled, nevertheless harumphed and added, “Pardon me.”

The snob was finally shocked. Grab a piece of that humble pie. Matter of fact have the whole shebang.

“So,” I wanted to round things up. “Witty witches aside, what we have is a small, but privileged second force with whopping potential. By the way, who are ignorant of how high the stakes have climbed.” Next I laid out frankly what all present knew. “And a royal artillery.”

I thought it might brighten the mood a touch. Then I recounted what I just said and realized little had changed about the predicament since we first stumbled through the doors. Our options were wait and hope our redeeming army would reach us before the beast did, or brandish the firepower currently available in an unbridled showdown.

Hopefully I asked, “Those rounds pretty penetrate-y?”

Gut sufficed, “I don’t have snipers, but some can put a hole through a gator at 500 yards. Others can topple a rhino. Well maybe with two well-placed shots and at closer range.”

Shit. That’s what I thought. Goodenough to drop humans like flies not for things that go bump in the night.

“Lovely,” was my reply.

The life of the room once more regressed to morose. Vinny was pacing around,every so often crossing in front of me. Matt was done being a spider and started to clamber out of the Pouch. Dallas was being a schizophrenic and uttering mumbo jumbo. Malibu slumped, weary.

Rocky begged, “Anything else?”

Matt jumped down and peeled off his footwear and gloves, each slicing through the stillness with deafening rips.

Nothing like a plush bed to fall back on, so I did, and stared this way and that trying to focus on something trifle. The posters weren’t fulfilling, to my disappointment, and as if remaining unconsoled wasn’t bad enough, my vision struck poison.

Arranged in a triangle there were three pictures of a lady. The picture on top showed a fair woman with laughing eyes and an infectious smile. There was richness to her skin and brunette hair, unlike the ones below that did not cultivate such radiance. The triangle’s base contained aging versions.

The hair was still long in the next, but not the vibrant, billowing sea that once shimmered, and below straining eyes, a well-disguised smile taxed by the regret and corruption it had encountered along the way.

The last resigned from hiding. Wrinkles stood out against the greasy skin. Her miniscule smile was betrothed to the snapshot itself and caused her glassy eyes to appear they held back a wall of water; dying eyes no longer framed by swirls of coffee, but a mat so dumpy, it may well have been a wig. They were all the same. Each was Gutterson’s wife.

“So what is our plan?” Gutterson said after a while. “Wait for a ‘good time’ to manifest, or go ahead with guns blazing? Seems the same to me.”

I watched Vinny pacing, unable to swallow the sight of the widower.

Vinny halted his patrol and concluded, “Postpone, can’t perform at a top notch level on an empty stomach. Last meal anyone?”

“You pessimist.” I mumbled with a slight smile.