The Things I Do (Section 3)

Story continued from parts one and two

The Things I Do

The Things I Do (Section 2)

We drove through the night. The sun had just come up over the horizon when we pulled into the small town of Graston. We stopped at a gas station so Patrick could fill up his truck, and we all filed out of the car.

A balding man in his forties stepped out of the store and Gerard shook his hand.

“Louie, how’re you doing?” he said casually.

The man beamed. “Good, good. And how are you?”

“Not too bad,” he said.

“Just get back from another hunting trip, eh? Did you get anything?” he asked. “It’s deer season now, isn’t it?”

I had to stop myself from grinning.

To avoid suspicion, this was the lie that we told everyone: we were big hunters.

I suppose it isn’t really a lie, but we definitely lie about our game. We tell everyone we’re hunters, and they just naturally assume that what we’re hunting is deer, or pheasants, or whatever else normal American families hunt.

Gerard shook his head. “We didn’t see a damn thing. Usually we’re pretty lucky, but I guess not this time.”

Louie saw me for a split second his smile faded. I guess my face didn’t look too good. He quickly recovered, saying, “Maverick, I haven’t seen you in a while. You keeping busy?”

I nodded.

Patrick finished filling up the tank and slinked over to us. He had pulled a ballcap on over his head, but ginger red curls still managed to poke their way through.

Patrick and Louie exchanged hellos quickly before Gerard started in on a new conversation.

For some reason, people are naturally curious about me. Maybe being a Wick changes something inside them that draws them in, I don’t know, but they can be as oblivious to the Wick world as Louie and somehow still feel a strange connection to me, even before they meet me.

The Guthries believe--and me, too, I suppose--that knowledge of the Wick world is dangerous, so we lie and keep our distance from anyone who isn’t a hunter. When people like Louie ask me about myself, I avoid conversation. Because I’m nearly always around my family, they’ve gotten pretty good at inconspicuously drawing attention away from me.

When I was in grade school, it was nearly impossible to keep the other kids from asking about me, or talking to me. It was fine for a while, but every now and then a parent would see something that just didn’t quite fit about our family. You wouldn’t believe how many times parents or teachers accused Gerard of abusing me. It was never true, of course, but it always drew attention to me and my family. We would always end up leaving.

So when I was fourteen we moved to Graston. It was a little drive-through town out in the country. I never really made any friends here, either. I missed a lot of school, too, because that was the year Gerard allowed me to come with on our “hunting” trips. I ended up going to summer school. In the fall, when I turned fifteen, I decided to drop out, and I got my GED. No one really pokes around us too much anymore: Everyone I went to school with graduated and moved away.

I slowly made my way back to the truck. We’d be home soon, and I knew my warm bed was waiting. It’s a tough life, but it’s worth it.

I climbed back into August’s truck where he waited patiently in the front seat. He had a cigarette lit between his teeth, but quickly put it out. I raised my eyebrows.

“Sorry, Rick,” he said. “Still addicted to the damn things.”

I gave him a soft smile. “You know, those things can kill you.”

He looked into the rear view mirror and met my eyes. “They’re not the only things that can.”

He twisted around in his seat. When he faced me, his expression turned serious.

“Maverick, what happened tonight?”

I swallowed, not meeting his eyes.

“If there’s something you want to talk about…” I looked back up at him. “I’m here for you. I’m the oldest in our group, which means I keep my father’s and grandfather’s records. I’ve read the Book of Shadows.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. August was usually more of an introvert, and I was surprised that he wanted to talk, let alone about the Book of Shadows. “Is there something I should know?”

August withdrew a little, as though he was fighting some kind of internal battle with himself. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly recoiled when Gerard opened the door and slid into the truck.

August looked back at me.

“We’ll speak later, yeah?”

I nodded, somewhat thrown off. We got back on the road, Patrick and Two-Bit following behind. Something was clearly eating away at August, and it had something to do with the Book of Shadows.

Years ago, a distant Guthrie relative, a Wick hunter, stole the Book of Shadows from the Odins. It’s said that the book holds all the secrets of Wick magic, even dark spells and rites. Because the information the book holds is so dangerous, the Guthries swore to guard it even at the cost of their own lives, so that no Wick should ever use it for dark magic. It was also agreed that the book be passed down to the oldest living Guthrie, and that only that hunter should ever read its contents. Only one person should ever know the secrets and the book’s location in case it should be stolen or destroyed.

And whatever was in the Book of Shadows had something to do with me.

What an eerie thought. A shiver went down my spine and I leaned my forehead against the cold window.

It wasn’t long before we were bouncing down my gravel driveway. Our house was surrounded by a cornfield, the stalks just about as tall as me. As we pulled in, the front door on the porch swung open. August’s dog, a big German shepherd named Bear, bounded out to meet us, followed closely by my foster sister, Bethany.

Patrick had only just got out of his truck when Bethany threw her arms around his neck, holding him close. He dropped the bag he was holding and pulled her in close.

“It’s okay,” he said softly into her long brown hair. “We’re home--we’re safe. I love you, Beth.”

She slowly unwound herself from his body.

“See?” Patrick smiled. “I’m fine.”

He gave her a soft kiss.

“I was so worried,” she said. “Where’s my dad?”

Bethany looked around and spotted him. She gave him a hug, too, clinging to him like she would never let him go.

I grabbed the tool box from the truck and helped Two-Bit and August carry it out to the shed. Bear danced around us, his tail wagging ferociously.

“It’s good to be home,” Two-Bit said, grinning. We set the tool box down while August unlocked the padlock. I shifted uncomfortably and he gave me a side glance.

“Are you forgetting something?” he asked.

I felt my face turn pink.

He grinned and tossed his head toward the barn. “Get out of here.”

“Thanks,” I said before dashing to the faded barn.

I lifted the board that kept it closed and slid inside.

I shouldn’t have said that I remembered nothing from my life with the Odins. There was one thing that I just couldn’t shake--my religion.

Now bear with me because this is going to get a little strange. Whereas humans have God, Wicks have Uriah. Think of it this way: God created everything on Earth, but to a Wick, Uriah created God.

I crossed the dim barn and picked up a wooden chest. It was just big enough to be awkward to carry, but not necessarily heavy. I put it on the ground in the center of the barn.

Out of habit, I let my fingertips run over the worn wood of the chest, before they found the silver clasps and flipped it open. There were only three things inside, but all of them were very important. First was a goblet, with small symbols carved into the sides and an intricate design of vines and leaves that trailed along the lip. Second was a small silk pouch made of blue-black material. And lastly, a ceremonial dagger.

I ignored the dagger and goblet and took out the pouch. I emptied its contents into my hand. They made an almost magical sound when they slipped out of the pouch and clinked together in my hand. I looked down and counted eight stones of solid black obsidian.

I lay the stones out in a circle and kneeled in the center. The silk pouch was placed back inside the chest and I closed the lid.

I shut my eyes and began to pray.

Although Wicks don’t technically die, something happens to you when you tear a soul away from its body. It starts something inside you--something black and evil. If left alone, that evil will slowly take you over. It’s how demons are born. My religion, confessing to Uriah, frees me from that darkness.

The Guthries have other ways to rid themselves of the darkness, but for some reason it affects me more than them. Had I not confessed, by tomorrow morning I would have become physically ill, with a fever and shaking hands--the whole nine yards.

I finished my prayer and slowly picked up each stone, turning them over in my hand before slipping them back into the bag.

When I left the barn, Bear was waiting for me. I had kept the door open, but the dog was smart enough to know not to bother me. I pat him on the head and he licked my palm. Everyone else was already inside.

Bear raced up the stairs to the porch door, whining to be let in.

“Maverick? Is that you?” Bethany called. I opened the door with my hip and slid inside. “Take your boots off! I don’t want you tracking mud all through the house like Dad did.”

I sat down in the entryway and untied my boots. In the kitchen, behind me, I could hear water running and pots clanging together.

“You’d better get an ice pack ready,” August said.

“Why?” Bethany asked, surprised.

I got up and walked into the kitchen. August just nodded his head in my direction, and Bethany followed his gaze.

“Oh, goodness!” she said. She rushed over to me, and I know my face must’ve looked even worse than it felt.

I tugged at a smile, and threw up my hands to avoid my sister’s fussing. “I’m fine! Really, I’m fine.”

“Mav, what’d you get yourself into this time?” Her hands lingered near my face, and I winced when her fingers brushed my bruised cheekbone.

“It’s nothing.” My tone was serious now, darker. She stopped and I held her hands in mine.

She looked deeply into my eyes, searching for something, I don’t know what. Bethany pursed her lips together before she finally accepted that what she was searching for she wouldn’t find there. She nodded, and I dropped her hands.

“August, want to hand me that dishrag?” Bethany asked, turning away from me. I heard her sniffle, but when she faced me again, icepack in hand, I saw no tears. When she spoke, her voice was tight. “Patrick’s making breakfast. Why don’t you go lie down for a bit?”

I let my eyes drift casually across the kitchen and met August’s gaze. I tried to tell him that I needed to talk without saying anything, but he only received me with a blank look. I gave up, and said, “August, could I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah,” he said, folding his newspaper and placing it on the table. He looked up at me, not moving from his chair.

I gave him a thin smile. “Alone?”

His face creased into a frown. He knew what i wanted to talk about. August rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin and sighed heavily before standing up. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Let’s talk in the barn.”

I raised my eyebrows, but said nothing. Usually everyone kept out of the barn expect for me. I looked back at Bethany. Her eyebrows were raised as well, but she frowned when she saw me looking at her. I knew that as soon as August and I were out of the house she would be asking Gerard if he knew anything about what we were doing.

I followed August back to the barn, waiting behind him as he opened the door with a shove. He stepped inside and placed his hands on his waist before looking up at me. There was something in his expression that I had never seen before. It looked like he was in pain.

“Maverick,” he began slowly, as if he didn’t know the right words.

“What did the book say?” I asked.

He sighed, then shook his head. “You’re an Odin, and that makes you different from other Wicks. Half of them are Wicks because they choose to be, but some are born with Wick in their blood. Odins are one of these Wicks.” August paused, kicking some dirt up with his shoe. “I read in the book that Odins have power that come from inside themselves--it isn’t just some spell that they whipped up. This is why they are so powerful.

“You’re nearing your nineteenth birthday, Maverick. And soon, sometime before then, your powers will begin to show up. It’s a good thing they never showed up before, because I don’t know what the hell we would have done. And I still don’t.

“These powers--we don’t know what they are going to be. You’re not going to be able to control them, and you’re going to be very, very dangerous.”

I let his words sink in. At first, they meant nothing. And then I understood what he was trying to tell me. “Do you think I will hurt one of you?”

He shook his head. “Maverick, there’s no knowing--”

“No. Tell me. Do you think I could hurt one of you?” I knew what he was thinking, but I had to hear him say it out loud. “If I ever hurt any one of you I--I don’t know what...” I swallowed hard. I was physically shaking, and I couldn’t finish what I had wanted to say.

August nodded. “I know. If anything happened to any one of you while we were on a hunt, it would be unbearable. I have to protect them, Maverick. I don’t know exactly how, but I think first we should tell the others, and see what they think.”

I slowly nodded, but in the back of my mind I could feel doubt forming. As we walked back inside, I had half a mind made up to leave that night. August had said that he needed to protect everyone. Well, that’s what I needed to do. The way I saw it, I was the threat and as long as I was no where near them when I got my powers, then I couldn’t hurt them.

Everyone was sitting down for breakfast. August faked a smile and sat down next to Two-Bit, but I couldn’t lie so easily. I lingered in the doorway, just watching them talk and laugh. For some reason, I had the feeling that this moment was important. I tried to memorize it--the looks on their faces, the smell of eggs and bacon in the air--all of it seemed like it could disappear with just the blink of an eye.

“Maverick,” Two-Bit called. He raised his eyebrows. “Are ye okay?”

I looked around the room once more at all their faces.

“No,” I said. Everyone stopped talking and looked at me. I looked to August, but kept talking. “The Book of Odin says that I will have some kind of Wick power. I won’t be able to control it. None of you will be safe.”

August stood up. “We don’t know that.” He glanced around the room. “Maverick will get these powers sometime before he turns nineteen. We still have time, but I don’t know how much. Maverick, your powers can be virtually undetectable. But they could be devastating. The truth is we don’t really know, and we won’t know until they show up.”

“So what are ye asking?” Two-Bit said.

“Well, I guess,” started August, “what do we do when his powers do show up?”

Everyone sat in stumped silence.

“I don’t want to hurt any of you,” I said quietly. “But if I can’t control it, there’s no knowing what might happen. And I can’t take that chance.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bethany. “It sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

“Maverick’s not going anywhere,” Gerard said. It was the first time he had spoken, and his tone was final. He stared down at his hands in his lap. “Not until his powers come, and not after. We’ll figure something out, but until then…”

August sat back down, and the tension slowly left the room. I took my seat and we began eating.

For a while, it seemed like everything was going to be okay. There was an impending sense of doom that liked to follow me around, but I think I was the only one who felt it. But honestly, things we almost normal.

And then they weren’t.

Patrick spread out a map on the table, then looked up at us. “I think I’ve got a lead.”

I leaned in closer and watched him point out a spot on the map.

“There’s a house here that was sold three years ago to a guy named Clyde Wilkins. Apparently, he’s some kind of big shot who buys up a lot of property around the country. The place has been empty since he bought it.”

“So?” Gerard asked. “Get to the point.”

Patrick gave him a snug smile as though he had been waiting for him to say that. “I’m getting there. Mr. Wilkins died two weeks ago.” He pulled out a piece of paper and put it on the table. It was a picture taken from a surveillance footage. “And this is Mr. Wilkins walking into a convenience store. Look at the time stamp.”

Bethany snatched up the photo. “This was taken four days ago.”

August took the picture from her. “How is that possible?” He looked at Patrick. “Are we talking crossroads demon? I haven’t heard of one that can possess someone after death, though.”

“No,” I said. The picture fell to the table and I shivered. “This is much, much worse.”

August looked up at me. “What’s worse than a crossroads demon?”

I took a deep breath before saying, “Cruore Occisorum.”

Bethany sucked in a sharp breath. No one spoke, but the unanswered questions still lingered in the air.

“The Blood of the Dead ritual,” I quickly explained, “can only be performed every few hundred years. Look here,” I pointed to a spot in the picture that was just barely noticeable, “you can see a mark on his neck. It’s a Wick symbol--they use it in their rituals. If this is really what I think it is, then the Wick world is getting ready for something big.”

“Like what?” Bethany asked.

I shook my head. “I’m not sure. But I can feel it in the air. It’s like a kind of electricity.” I jabbed my finger at the man in the picture. “We should check this guy out. I think we’ll find that Wilkins was into something a little darker.”

“Okay,” Gerard said. Everyone stood up and I began to walk away. “Maverick,” he called. I turned back to him. “Normally I’d want you here, where it’s safe, but we may need you.”

I nodded. A knot of fear began growing in the pit of my stomach. If Gerard was worried, then I was scared to death. I made my way out to the shed, a tingle going up my spine and making the hair on my neck rise. My hands shook when I tried to unlock the door of the shed.

A hand fell on my shoulder, and I swear I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned to see Patrick looking at me with a concerned expression on his face. “It’s just me, Mav,” he said. “Is everything alright?”

I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck, trying to get the hairs to lie down. “This doesn’t feel right. Something’s wrong, Patrick.”

“What is it?”

Suddenly I felt like there were eyes on me. I turned in the direction it came from, by the barn At first I could’ve sworn I saw something, but I blinked and it was gone.

“Maverick?” Patrick asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you should go lie down for a little while,” he started. He took my hand and gently pried my fingers off the keys. I continued to stare at the barn, where I could’ve sworn I saw something…

“Patrick,” I said, my voice tight. “Unlock the door.”

“What?” He paused and looked at me, but I kept my eyes on the barn.

“Just do it. Now.”

Something in the tone of my voice made him turn away and jam the key into the lock. He opened the door and scrambled for a gun and a clip. I held out a hand behind my back and felt him press a sheathed blade into my palm. I closed my hand around the knife and slipped it into the waistband of my jeans.

“We need to go now,” I said through gritted teeth. “Go up to the house, tell Gerard and the others that we have company.”

“What about you?” Patrick asked.

I didn’t answer, but instead gently pushed the back of his shoulder, shoving him toward the house. He scrambled up and headed toward the door. I waited a second before walking in the other direction, toward the barn. I gently lifted the bolt on the door and slid inside.

The barn was dark, but a few faint rays of sun managed to filter in through the rafters above me. I took a few steps inside and stopped in the center of the barn to listen. From where I stood, I could see shadows gathering in the corners of the barn. I didn't like that I couldn't see; it made me uneasy.

A board creaked in the barn loft, and a shadow flickered across the wall. My hand went down to my waist and found the hilt of my knife. I breathed heavily.

"I know you're there," I said, barely louder than a whisper. "Come on."