How To Recognize A Demon Has Become Your Friend (Necon Modern Horror Book 9) (10 page)

(inspired
by my story Whispers During Still Moments

from
the
Dark Thirst
anthology)

Adina hums as she digs in the earth

moonlight spilling over her hands,

like her name in African:

She-Has-Saved,

someone waits under the dirt.

She was a First, ancient and
beautiful,

he was Remade by her desire

to play for a while

before returning to dust.

The endless Earth

is her oldest companion,

all humans, sweet food.

But on occasion

before their final breath,

she trickled her blood

into one, planted them deep.

She smiles as the

earth gives way to her

latest crop.

Ashes to ashes

dust to dust,

she does her part

to recycle.

He slammed his head against the
brick wall in the dark alley. Thick black fluid leaked from his shredded left
ear. He moaned, not from pain, because his kind couldn’t feel physical pain
anymore. Slumping to the ground, his hungry body ached, his heart, which hasn’t
beat in weeks, ached.

Love – it wasn’t supposed
to happen to the undead, but love he did, in his brain. Memories of the man’s
face wouldn’t leave. He had stuffed his pockets with plastic flowers from a
nearby store. Why? His body wanted to consume the man’s flesh. His brain wanted
to love him.

How could this happen without a
heart?

Others shuffled in the street at
the end of the alley under flickering streetlights reflecting their graying
flesh, inarticulate sounds falling randomly from their mouths. Distant
screaming echoed in the cavern of the city buildings, the cry of living humans
being consumed. Every now and then an undead would look in his direction,
realize he was one of them and move on. Not fresh meat.

He wasn’t supposed to stop, like
his brethren, he should be looking for food, not sitting alone in the alley,
hungry. Desire burned in his body, in his mind. For flesh, for the man.

He knew where the man lived,
hidden behind a wall of brick, with other humans. Alone, he would never get
over the wall but with others they could evidently get over the wall. With
enough of them, they’ve always broken through walls. But he didn’t want to
share the man.

He pounded his fist against his
forehead.

Brain. His brain wasn’t working
right. He wanted the heart of the man. His body wanted to eat it, his brain
wanted to love it. The thought of his warm flesh made him moan again.

His hands and feet twitched. His
left ear fell off. Burning hunger almost made him eat his own ear. His brain
might be dying. Maybe that would end the love. Then he could be normal, like
the others and just want to eat the man. The beautiful man.

He shuffled out of the alley into
the daylight. This was a bad thing to do. The sunlight and heat quickened
decomposition.

He knew where there was fresh
meat, beautiful fresh man meat. He lurched down the street in the direction of
the fortified building.

There was shuffling behind him as
another followed him. He stopped when he was in sight of the building.

He.

Wanted.

The.

Man.

To.

Himself.

Holding a lamppost he slid to the
ground, legs sprawled out in front, back against the pole. The one following
him stopped, her head flopped back and forth on her partially severed neck then
she wandered off to the left, down another street.

He slowly looked up and down the
street to make sure no others were nearby. Pulling himself up, he staggered to
the back of the building. The brick wall was topped with razor wire; the only
entrance was a metal door.

He went to the spot in the wall
where he had first seen the man, and pulled out the loose brick. The man was
digging in the garden. His long curly brown hair covered half of his face and
he thrust the shovel into the ground. Sweat shined on his bare chest, streaks
of dirt painted his brown muscular back. The smell of life in the man made his
body throb with hunger. Tall stalks of corn moved lazily in the light wind.

The man looked up and saw the
small opening in the wall.

As the man walked to the wall, he
took the plastic flowers out of his pocket, shoved it through the hole to the
man and placed the brick back in.

“What the hell?” the man asked.

A woman’s voice asked from on top
of the wall, “What’s going on, Michael?”

“Wait, Eileen, I’m coming up,”
Michael said.

Above, Michael stood next to her
looking through the wire.

He tried to say the man’s name,
but his tongue wouldn’t work. He couldn’t remember how to make air push through
a mouth that didn’t need to breathe. His lips pursed in and out trying to say
‘Michael’.

“It’s one of them,” she said.

“I think he just pushed these
through a hole in the wall,” Michael said showing her the flowers.

“Why?” Eileen aimed at his head
with a rifle.

“Wait,” Michael said, pushing the
rifle aside and dropping the flowers to the ground in front of the dead man.

He leaned over, picked them up
and reached up to Michael.

“See — he’s trying to give
them to me. I think he’s trying to say my name,” Michael said. “Maybe he’s not
totally gone.”

“There’s no halfway with these
things. Once infected, it’s over. I don’t know why it’s doing this but we need
to stop it before more come.” Eileen aimed again and shot him in the forehead
before Michael could stop her.

There was no pain but he knew he
was dying. He went to his knees and began to crawl away from the building. If
others came, he didn’t want them to get Michael. Michael was his, forever and
ever. As he crawled red blood dripped from his forehead. They never had red
blood inside; only red blood he had seen was on their hands and mouth when they
fed. There was something wrong with his brain and now it would torture him no
more.

Two blocks away, he fell to the
ground. He could hear others shuffling to him, drawn by his fresh blood. There
was a crunching sound as one broke open the back of his head. The last thought
he had as they ripped his brain from his skull was “love Michael”.

Michael heard sounds outside the
brick wall. He climbed the ladder and looked through the razor wire. On the
ground two of the undead were standing, they looked up, and made sounds as if
they were trying to talk. Each one had something in their hands that they held
over their heads as an offering. A bottle of wine, the rotting body of a cat.

He gripped the edge of the
ladder, shaking. It sounded like they were saying ‘love Michael’.

Angels shouldn’t dance with demons

for fear of total deconstruction,

the scent of evil will burn their
wings,

all souls saved could escape.

Demons shouldn’t dance with angels

for fear of redemption,

the scent of good will make them
gag,

all souls gathered could escape.

Angels and demons shouldn’t dance

for fear of fulfilling End of Days prophecy,

turning off all light in the known
universe,

all souls reverting to non-existence.

Demons and angels shouldn’t dance,

they could discover they are half of a

mirror image, the point of their job
an after

thought to give them something to do.

My name is Tony. I’m six years
old. I like to draw and pretend I’m a fireman. I’m big for my age. Some of the
kids at school call me names, but Mommy says they just wish they were big like
me. It takes me a little longer to understand things but I know right from
wrong. Like those boys at school that ate mean to me. I wouldn’t do those
things to them because I know it’s wrong. Mommy taught me to be nice to other
kids.

I told my mommy about them and
she says it’s the devil in them that make them act bad. I asked her if the
devil could get into me and make me do mean things. She said no because I’m a
good boy. I think the devil in those bad kids tries to get into me but I know
if I turn my back to the devil that it can’t get me. That’s what Grandmom told
me.

Last month one of those boys
pushed me down the stairs in the schoolyard. I hurt my ankle so bad I had to
stay out of school for a lot of days. I couldn’t tell the teacher which one
pushed me because I had turned my back to them when they started throwing trash
at me. I know the devil was in them because that was a very bad thing to do.

I went back to school yesterday
but my ankle still hurts a little and makes me walk funny. I opened my desk at
school and somebody had poured milk all over my papers. That made me sad
because they messed up the pictures of pumpkins I drew for Halloween.

My mommy won’t let me go out for
Halloween because she says it’s the devil’s time. She has to go to work
tonight. Grandmom is playing church music but she promised to make cookies
later for me if I play quiet in the basement. I hear scary sounds in the
street. I’m afraid to look out the window. I go back upstairs. Grandmom is
asleep in the living room with the music still playing. I peek out the window.
There are strange lights on the street and scary shadows. The devil has gotten
into a lot of kids and made them run up and down the street. I’m glad Mommy
didn’t want me to go out. I wouldn’t want the devil to get into me and change
me into a monster.

I think they saw me peeking out
the window because they’re looking this way and one of them pointed at me. I
try to wake Grandmom up, but she won’t wake up. I can hear them throwing things
at the front door. I can’t let them get in. I run upstairs and push a chair
inside Mommy’s closet. It wobbles a little when I stand on it. I reach to the
back of the top of the closet to take out the wood box. The box is not locked.
Mommy doesn’t know that I know it’s back there, but I’ve peeked in the room
when she took it out of the box to clean it. It’s not heavy, so I stick it in
my belt to climb down.

I slide the chair back into the
corner because Mommy doesn’t like things out of place. I go downstairs and
check Grandmom to make sure she’s all right. She looks like she always does
when she’s asleep, so the devil must not have gotten into the house yet. When I
put my ear to the door I can hear them in the street. I put my coat on and put
the gun in my coat pocket. They won’t be able to see me in the bushes in front
of the house.

I go outside and sneak around to
the back of the house to make sure they aren’t trying to get into the yard. No
one is in the yard but I hear someone in the alley. The moon is all round and
makes it easy to see. Two small shapes turn towards me. One is a white ghost
with blood dripping out its eyes and the other is a witch with a pointed hat
and green skin.

The ghost points at me and says,
“It’s that sissy kid.”

The voice sounds like a kid from
my school, but the devil can’t fool me. I take the gun out and point it…

What is behind the empty windows,

the maze of identical paths, mirrors

reflecting deserted rooms,

hallways shiny with gilded ivy?

You disagree with my posture, I want

to give you everything, but you put

your finger to my lips, holding the
question

inside, I can no longer dance.

I have all the time, it waits in my
arms,

newborn, forgotten, silent, there is
no

way to break the frozen moment,

today or tomorrow or all the days to
come.

We dance on cold marble floors, the
music echoes,

a slow beat, a waltz. I want to win
every game

for you, bring the music into your
soul,

cut out the names of those who hurt
you.

I watch you in the mirror,

it is impossible for you to smile,

we walk together and stop. The story
is

coming to an end, we stand still.

And then I am alone.

Angelique leaned against the bar
and watched Sara, the club owner, and a man she didn’t know, place the upright
acoustic piano next to the slim black case housing her protoplasmic synthesizer.
The Funky Piranha club looked forlorn with its empty tables, and strings of
tiny red and green lights blinking on the ceiling. The slight scent of beer
wafted into the air from the wood floor. Later that night the club would be
filled with people who were in New Orleans for the music festival.

She tapped the small silver derm
phone disk attached behind her right earlobe. “Phone on. Dial Brenda.”

Her cousin’s phone rang. “Damn,”
Angelique said as the message played. “Brenda, it’s me again. I’ve been calling
for days. Where are you? I just got in town and planning to stay at your place.
If you’re holed up there with Flynn let me know so I don’t embarrass myself
interrupting your playtime. I can find another place to stay. Either way, call
me.”

 
She tapped the derm phone off, frowning.
“Careful, don’t lift it too quickly,” she said to Sara. “Just place it at right
angles. I’ll adjust it.”

They set the piano down gently.
The man walked behind the bar to setup for tonight.

Sara’s cream-colored dread locks
were sprinkled with tiny purple lights that flickered as she moved. She rolled
her violet eyes. “Angelique, after five years I think I know how to handle your
equipment. I see you’re still using the acoustic. I would have thought Milez
would be enough.” She gently patted the interface grid on top of the black
protoplasmic container.

A soft gold light came on in the
bottom of the tank. A tube of blue protoplasm snaked its way through clear
liquid to the top, became a shape resembling a hand and splashed the inside of
the grid, broke into round drops and folded back into the liquid. A deep, smoky
male voice said, “It’s all good. There’s plenty of room for me and the wood.”

Sara jumped. “Damn, I’ve never
heard it talk like that.”

“Brenda bio-engineered a personal
upgrade for me. It took longer to train to speak everyday language, but I
prefer that over ‘system is functional’.” Angelique changed the angle of the
protoplas to the acoustic piano so she could comfortably reach the protoplas
interface grid and the keyboard.

“How’s that cousin of yours?
Still doing hush-hush cutting edge research over at Biolution?” Sara asked,
standing next to Angelique.

Angelique nodded.

Sara wrapped her arm around
Angelique’s waist and whispered in her ear, “No one plays neo-bop like Tempus
Fugit. Some folks were here last night asking if your group would be
performing. I can’t wait to hear you play tonight. Want to come upstairs for
dinner and a little distraction before the show?”

Angelique gave her a quick hug.
“I’m a little worried about Brenda.” She smiled. “Maybe we can get together
after the set tonight. I need to go to her place and find out why she hasn’t
answered my calls for the last couple of weeks.”

“You know how that girl gets
caught up in things. She’s probably just working on some new project.” Sara ran
her fingers through Angelique’s long braids. “I’d go with you to see her but my
skin’s not too fond of afternoon sun. If there’s any problem with a place to
stay you can always crash here.”

“Thanks.” Angelique said. She
gently patted Milez’ interface grid. “See you soon.”

“You know it, baby,” Milez said.

Angelique picked up her suitcase
and walked out of the cool air of the club into New Orleans’ humid, sunny
streets. The corner vendors were setting up their food and drink booths. The
iron wrought balconies were elaborately decorated with flowers and streamers.
It was easy to catch a taxi, since most people were at the Race Track for the
afternoon concerts. Tonight the streets would be so full of people no taxi would
come near the French Quarter.

The taxi dropped Angelique in
front of Brenda’s apartment building. She walked to the second floor and put
her thumb on the lock pad. The panel asked for a retina scan as a secondary
security check. She sighed. Brenda only used that lock when she was out of
town. The apartment door slid open.

Angelique walked in and pushed
through an invisible membrane, the threshold of a strong protective spell. She
frowned. A spell this intense had to be coming from someone nearby. She put the
suitcase down.

“Brenda?”

The living room window shutters
were closed, making the room night dark on a sunny afternoon. Angelique turned
on the light. The room was in more disarray than usual for her cousin, with
plates of half-eaten food and stained cups on the coffee table and mantle
piece. The plants near the windows were wilted, and the kitchen, dining area
and guest bedroom empty. She opened the door to the main bedroom at the back of
the apartment and turned the light on.

Her cousin lay in the center of
the bed as if asleep, her mocha brown skin washed out, almost gray.

Angelique rushed over.

“Brenda, wake up.”

She shook her cousin. Brenda
radiated the protection spell, but didn’t wake. Angelique checked her breathing
and pulse.

“Damn it,” Angelique said,
sitting down on the bed. “What kind of trouble are you in this time?” She
didn’t like using magic, but there was only one way to get through to Brenda
while she was in this state.

Angelique lay down next to her
cousin and held her hand. After taking three slow breaths, Angelique chanted:

“We two

both light and dark

I the shadow

You my kin

Let me in

Let me in.”

Angelique closed her eyes and
matched her breathing and heart beat to her cousin, within minutes she entered
Brenda’s dream state.

They stood back to back, looking
out on hills covered in warm mist. Shadows moved in the mist. Still
back-to-back, they grasped each other’s hands. Suddenly a cold wind whipped
through the air, taking their breath, sending a chill through them. They had to
clasp hands tightly not to be separated.

“Who are you?” a mechanical voice
asked.

Resisting the strong pull to say
her name, Angelique let Brenda answer, submitting her will to Brenda’s.

Brenda became rigid against
Angelique.

“I am Brenda Wilson.”

“nosliw adnerb,” the voice said
Brenda’s name backwards.

They lay in a container no bigger
than their body. They couldn’t move. There was a murmur of voices in the
background, people chanting, their words indistinguishable.

Pins and needles pinched at their
hands. Coldness spread slowly from the top of their head towards their feet.
Angelique felt life draining from their body. She melted into the numbing
stupor.

“Show me what you found,” the
voice commanded.

Images swirled around them
chaotically, moving faster and faster until Angelique was so dizzy she thought
she would black out.

A booming crashed in the air.
Brenda’s voice screamed a protective spell over and over.

They stood back to back, looking
out on hills covered in warm mist. Shadows moved in the mist. Still
back-to-back they grasped each other’s hands. Suddenly a cold wind whipped
through the air, taking their breath, sending a chill through them. They had to
clasp hands tightly to not be separated.

“Who are you?” a mechanical voice
asked.

Each time Brenda screamed the
protective spell, the dream repeated.

Each iteration dragged Angelique
further from her own will. She pushed all her attention to the in and out
movement of air through her lungs. Refusing to pay attention to the physical
sensations in their dream bodies, she concentrated on her breath.

When the dream began again,
Angelique turned to face Brenda. The voice that Brenda was fighting asked, “You
are not her, who are you?” She screamed, “No,” stretched her arms into a
blanket shape around Brenda and in a gasp dragged both of them to
consciousness.

Shadows in the bedroom seemed to
compress and expand, as if taking a deep breath. One blink and everything
looked normal.

Brenda moaned, opened her eyes,
sat up and looked around the room. “Angelique?” Brenda grabbed her hands,
sending sparkling energy back and forth. “It’s you, not the dream, you’re
really here?”

“It’s me.” The luminosity from
her cousin burned her fingertips.

Brenda switched on the nightstand
light, touched Angelique’s face and braids and started crying.

Angelique held her, letting her
cry for a few moments before pulling away gently. “What’s going on here,
Brenda? I had to go into the dream or nightmare or whatever that was to wake
you.”

Brenda sat back against the
pillows. “They’re after me, but now that you’re here it’s going to be all
right.”

“What was all that?”

“You were in the dream?” Brenda
asked.

Angelique nodded.

“I thought I was imagining you,”
Brenda rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “Did you see them?”

Angelique shook her head. “I’m
not sure what I saw. It was jumbled. Voices and images I couldn’t make out.
They said your name backwards with such power.”

Brenda ran her fingers through
her short-cropped curls. “I wanted to call you before now but I was afraid they
would go after you. This attack came while I was asleep. If you hadn’t come in,
I don’t know how much longer I could have held out.” She took a gulp of water
from a bottle at the nightstand. “Remember how we combined our power when we
were kids and saved Grandmom from that ghost?”

Angelique rubbed the tension out
of the back of her neck. “That didn’t feel like a ghost. It felt like a living
person with a lot of power. Does this involve the Order?”

Brenda nodded. “I think it’s
someone in the Order. You and Grandmom were right. Magic and groups of humans
don’t go together. Too much ego involved. I left them.”

“What about Flynn?” Angelique
asked.

Brenda closed her eyes. “We’re
over.”

Angelique breathed through the
intense, tingling light coming from her cousin. “I’m sorry. You two were so
good together.”

Brenda shook her head. “Well,
it’s better this way. He’ll be safer without me.”

 
She slumped back against the pillows.
“While I was in the Order I met wonderful people. It was great being able to
talk openly about magic with others. We had an influx of new members in the
last six months and there was a subtle change in the group’s dynamics, some
underlying negative power.

“Flynn and I talked about it, and
he brought it to the attention of the executive board of the Order. There was
an investigation. They found no evidence of magic being used in a dark manner.”
She stopped and rubbed her forehead.

“Are you all right?” Angelique
asked.

“No-no. It’s hard talking about
the Order, even to you. When I left I had to accept a silence spell to keep
certain facts about the Order secret. We’re so close the spell doesn’t detect
you as a separate person. It’s as though I was talking to myself, but even with
that it’s hard.” She took another drink of water and chanted in a whisper:

“My mind is one

I am alone

The binding holds

The binding holds.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t — “
Angelique started to say.

“No, I’ll be okay.

“So, the executive board didn’t
find anything wrong, but I was having strange dreams of being controlled and
held. The more I slept the more tired I became. My work began to suffer. I
couldn’t concentrate. I decided to leave the Order. Flynn and I argued. It was
terrible. He kept saying it was Gray Magic.”

“Your magic turned negative back
to you?” Angelique asked.

“Right, as if I haven’t taken
into account the repercussions of magic I’ve done. I may seem reckless, but not
with magic. I’d know the difference anyway.”

Brenda pulled her knees up and
wrapped her arms around them.

“Anyway, the dreams became worse
after I left the Order. I started losing the line between waking and sleeping.
Even when I was awake I felt like someone else was looking through my eyes. I
began making mistakes at work. My latest project was suffering, so I took time
off. I’d hoped to find out more about who was involved, but they’re hiding too
well.” She shook her head. “I can feel them when I wake. Shadows, like birds
flapping in my mind. They’re very strong.”

“Do you have any idea who it is?”
Angelique asked.

Brenda closed her eyes and took a
deep breath. “I suspect a couple of people. I’ve looked all over for some sign
of something placed inside my apartment, some kind of charm used to link them
to me, but I haven’t found anything. Did you pick up anything when you came
in?”

“Just your protective spell,”
Angelique said. “Although, when I woke just now, I thought I saw something move
in the shadows.”

Brenda grabbed Angelique’s her
hands. “What did you see?”

“Nothing I could describe. You
know how we used to dream when we were younger and could shape the shadows. I
don’t think it was someone else. There wasn’t anyone else in here except me and
echoes of you.”

“Are you sure you didn’t feel
anything else in the apartment?”

Angelique held Brenda’s hands in
hers. “Nothing else.”

“What are they after?” Angelique
asked.

Brenda looked away and then back
at Angelique. “I don’t want to say too much. It’s better you don’t know.”

“Better how? They probably know
I’m here since I had to break you out of that dream. You might as well tell
me.”

Brenda fingered a bracelet of
charms on her right wrist. “It’s about my work. I’ve been doing genetic
research, working on gene therapy.”