Harbinger

   

 

 

   

Also by John Passarella Novels Wither (Bram Stoker Award-Winning First Novel co-authored under the pseudonym “J.G. Passarella”)

Wither’s Rain: A Wendy Ward Novel Wither’s Legacy: A Wendy Ward Novel Kindred Spirit Shimmer

Media Tie-In Novels Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Ghoul Trouble Angel: Avatar Angel: Monolith

Wendy Ward Stories “Forces of Nature” (eNovelette) “Breathless” (eNovelette) “Harbinger” (eStory) “Blood Alone”* (Novelette) *Forthcoming in The Stories In Between Fantasist Enterprises, NOV/DEC 2009

   

“Harbinger” A Wendy Ward Story

JOHN PASSARELLA

Virtuous Circle Press Swedesboro, New Jersey    

 

    Copyright © 2009 by John Passarella Cover design by John Passarella This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this novelette may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, with the exception of brief quotes used in reviews.

For more information: Virtuous Circle Press P.O. Box 381 Swedesboro, NJ 08085 Email: [email protected] Web site: www.passarella.com

   

Harbinger “I’m amazed you found me,” Wendy Ward said to the old woman sitting across from her at one of the outdoor tables at Café Windale. “Can’t believe you came all this way to meet me.” Alethea Brynn Cavendish smiled and took a sip from her unsweetened iced tea with a sprig of mint. She was slender, but not frail, had gray hair in a short, stylish cut, and penetrating green eyes. She wore a beige linen blouse with matching slacks, and accessorized with a necklace made from small, dark wooden beads in various shapes along with matching earrings. “The power of midsummer helped me locate you,” she said. “As for distance, I would have circled the globe if necessary.” She sighed. “My only regret is that I waited so long.” The old woman had traveled across the country from Oak Glen, Washington—a small town near Seattle—all the way to Windale, Massachusetts. One flight to Philadelphia, where she had to regain her “bearings” before taking a second flight to Logan International in Boston, followed by a rental car to Windale, after a false stop in Salem. “Better late than never,” Wendy said. “My dear, at my age it’s considered inadvisable to purchase green bananas.” Wendy chuckled. “You don’t look a day over seventy.” While they were still in The Crystal Path—four blocks away on Theurgy Avenue—she’d told Wendy she was born in August of 1900. In two months, Alethea would turn 108 years old. She’d brought documentation to prove her age and identity, said she’d sensed she would need to convince Wendy. “I had no idea your situation was so dire.” Wendy took a sip from her tall glass of orange juice. “How could you?” Alethea glanced cautiously left to right, but most of the al fresco dining area had cleared out halfway through the second hour of their extended lunch. “Oh, I sensed that there was evil directed to this area. On more than one occasion. But each time the foulness dissipated and I convinced myself the danger had passed.” “Tell me about it,” Wendy said grimly. She had hoped each time was the last, but Wither’s curse continued to haunt her, summoning creatures of chaos out of the woodwork to Wendy’s doorstep on kill-or-be-killed missions. “Usually, by the time I’m starting to feel safe again, the Crone warns me more trouble is on the way.” ~1~  

   

“Your relationship with this ‘Crone’ of yours is fascinating,” Alethea said. “Most fortuitous.” “True.” Wither’s coven was responsible for future-Hannah’s unusual relationship with the passage of time. That ability was intended to benefit Rebecca Cole when she took over Hannah’s body, just as Sarah Hutchins had wanted the shape-shifting power she engendered in Abby. “But it’s not foolproof. She has blind spots in her memories of her past—my future,” Wendy said. “Even so, her warnings have been invaluable.” “I’m glad you have not been alone.” “Only in the magic,” Wendy said. “Hannah gives me clues about what I will learn in my future, but usually her information relates solely to the problem at hand.” “Hmm. Trial by fire. With a mentor by proxy.” “Aside from Morgan of Faerie,” Wendy said, changing topics because she wanted to learn more about the mysterious Alethea. “I never expected to meet someone like me. Feels good to know I’m not a freak of nature.” “Oh, no, my dear,” Alethea said and smiled broadly. “You are a wonder of nature. And there are others. Scattered around the world. A few dozen with natural gifts. But none more powerful than you.” “Or you?” “I’m the exception,” Alethea said. “But I’ve had a hundred years to hone my craft.” Alethea reached out to Wendy’s left wrist and ran her fingers across the multi-bead bracelet. “You won’t always need this.” “I know,” Wendy said a bit sheepishly. “I’ve worked without it on occasion, but it helps me focus, especially when paired with my crystal necklace.” The mid-afternoon sun slipped out from behind puffy clouds and cast shadows along the cobblestone patio. The umbrella over their table partially shielded Wendy from the sun’s glare. Alethea, seated beyond the protection of the umbrella, basked in the warm light. Wendy, wanting to avoid burning her fair skin, shifted her chair to take full advantage of the umbrella’s shade. As she moved, her elbow collided with her glass of orange juice and too late she saw it falling off the edge of the round table. She gasped in amazement— The tall glass hung suspended in the air, tilted at a forty-five degree angle two feet off the ground. Wendy stared at the glass then tracked beyond it—to Alethea’s pointing index finger. “What? How?” Alethea raised her finger slowly and moved it toward the table. The tilted glass mirrored the movement of the old woman’s finger, hovering over the table. Alethea rotated her wrist and the glass returned to its upright position. Then she lowered her palm toward the table in a gentle motion, and the glass returned to its original position over a ring of condensation. Wendy looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the display of magic, then leaned toward Alethea and said, “What was that? Telekinesis?” Alethea grinned indulgently. “Merely a refinement of the offensive techniques you employ with your protective shield.” ~2~  

   

“But mine—it’s a blunt instrument,” Wendy said. “A psychic club or battering ram. Yours… it’s like a precision instrument.” “Given time, this too, is something you will learn.” “Time could be a problem,” Wendy said. “Unless I find a way to break this curse.” Alethea nodded gravely. “As I said earlier, I’ve come to help you. To try to help. I can’t promise more than that. But I need to know everything. So, please, continue with your story.” Wendy sighed. “Let’s see,” she said. “After Yuki-Onna in January of 2005, I had nine months of peace before Black Annis came to Windale in October…” The one-eyed, blue-faced hag had jagged yellow teeth, iron claws for hands and feet, and an appetite for human flesh. Although the hideous creature preferred the taste of children, she had been pressed into supernatural service by Wither’s curse to find and kill Wendy. Bobby McKay, Windale’s Chief of Police—and Kayla’s significant other— heard about three attacks on children through official police channels. The sequence and locations of those attacks was like an arrow pointing toward Windale. One of the few people in Windale who knew about Wither’s curse, Bobby understood the significance of that trajectory and informed Wendy. Hannah Glazer’s future-self—the “Crone”—appeared in spectral form and warned Wendy that the approaching threat was Black Annis from English folklore. With that information, Kayla, Abby and Wendy slipped into research mode and devised a battle plan to trap and defeat her. Using Wendy as bait, they lured Black Annis into an old, dilapidated barn. With numerous missing slats and a peaked roof that had collapsed into the hayloft on one side, the barn made for a lousy cage. Fortunately, its primary role in their plan was not confinement. At least not in the traditional sense. Seated in the lotus position, Wendy waited inside the dark barn. Within a few hours, Black Annis, a preternaturally quiet predator, slipped through a gap in the crooked, hanging doors. When she spied Wendy sitting alone in the middle of the barn, her single eye opened wide and she hissed in delight. She sprang toward Wendy, clawed hands extended— But Wendy lifted a handbell from her lap and rang it with a quick snap of her wrist. Black Annis howled in pain and fell to her knees. She could not tolerate the sound of a church bell. As the clear musical note faded, Black Annis climbed to her feet and growled. Before she could resume her attack or attempt to flee, the others—called from their hiding places in the woods by Wendy’s signal and now positioned outside the barn—began to ring their own hand bells. Kayla had persuaded her mother, a member of her church’s handbell choir, to “borrow” the whole set. Abby, Hannah, Bobby, Kayla and Alex—Wendy’s boyfriend since her first encounter with Wither—each armed with two handbells of various sizes, rang ~3~  

   

them, left hand, right hand, as they slowly circled the barn. The disparate and discordant notes, produced by unpracticed hands, played no song ever enjoyed by a devoted congregation, but the prolonged peal of the bells was music to Wendy’s ears—and paralyzing agony to Black Annis. She darted to and fro, moaning in unrelenting discomfort, but soon realized she had no safe passage from the barn, no escape from the ringing of the bells that seemed to be everywhere at the same time. She fell to the ground, and clawed at the earthen floor, as if she might tunnel her way to freedom, before finally curling into a fetal position, those same claws gouging her own flesh as she attempted to clamp her palms over her misshapen ears. Wendy’s ringers continued their aural assault until dawn, when the first rays of light sliced through the gaps and holes in the barn’s east-facing walls. Sensing a new threat, Black Annis staggered to her feet but that action only hastened her demise. As the beams of golden sunlight fell across her hideous face, her body transformed into fissured stone. She fell forward and crumbled across the dirt floor of the barn. Her misshapen head rolled forward and came to a stop at Wendy’s feet. A moment later, a ring of green light flashed outward: Wither’s curse in search of its next supernaturally conscripted assassin… Wendy took a sip of orange juice. “That was a long night,” “You and your friends are quite resourceful.” “I owe them my life,” Wendy admitted. “But I’ve put theirs in jeopardy too many times.” “They don’t blame you…?” “Of course not,” Wendy said. “Abby and Hannah share this dark history with me. Alex has a personal grudge against Wither ever since she tried to crush him under the old Danfield bleachers. And Kayla and Bobby have been caught in the magical blast zone. It’s as if it doesn’t end for any of us until it ends for all of us.” “Wither’s curse seems to have backfired,” Alethea said with an amused glint in her eyes. “How so?” “The single-minded nature of the attack she forces on these creatures leaves them vulnerable to counterattacks by others. She assumed you would be alone and no match for the monstrosities you would face.” “Good thing she didn’t have a lot of time to formulate the curse,” Wendy said. “It was a ‘dying breath’ kind of thing. Lashing out at me.” “And these creatures are selected at random?” Wendy nodded. “Whichever one the curse encounters first gets the baton and keeps it until it completes the attack or dies trying. The wendigo was nailed by the curse during its hibernation period and laid dormant until winter before coming after me.” “I see,” Alethea said. “So tell me what happened after you defeated Black Annis.” “Ten months of normalcy,” Wendy said. “And then, in August 2006, the Ho’ok demon came to Windale…” ~4~  

   

It resembled a woman with animal claws for hands and feet. Since it had a known vulnerability to fire, Wendy planned to cast a fireball at it. But the demon caught her off-guard one night, leaping from a balcony and knocking Wendy to the ground. Fortunately, the demon whacked its head against a Dumpster in the attack and its momentary confusion allowed Wendy to scramble clear. Alex, who had refused to leave her side once they learned of the threat, had formed his own backup plan. Fearing Wendy might fail to conjure a fireball at a stressed moment’s notice in the heat of battle, Alex had prepared a six-pack of Molotov cocktails. He missed his target with the first one, but the second bottle shattered at the Ho’ok’s feet, splashing burning alcohol across her legs. The flames spread quickly and within two minutes all that was left of the demon was a pile of charred ash. Again, the green ring of light flashed outward. “Did Alex have reason to believe you couldn’t conjure a fireball under pressure?” “He worries about me,” Wendy said. “I’ve performed magic under pressure before, but this time I failed because of the Ho’ok’s ambush. It could have been worse. If I hadn’t gotten clear…” Wendy shuddered. “Much worse.” “‘Chance favors the prepared mind.’” “I’m sure you can conjure fireballs at a moment’s notice.” “I am well-versed in elemental magic, yes,” Alethea said. She took a sip of her iced tea and smiled at their server—Colin, a thin guy, early twenties with a wild mop of curly red hair—indicating she’d like a refill. “Elemental?” Wendy said. “As in earth, water, air and fire.” When Alethea nodded, Wendy frowned in concentration. “I’ve worked with rain. When Wither was in Gina Thorne’s body, she had tremendous control over thunderstorms…” Thoughts of Gina’s devastating storm brought to mind Wendy’s parents and her voice caught as she was overcome by emotion. “I’m sorry, dear,” Alethea said, placing her palm over Wendy’s hand. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the elements.” “No, no,” Wendy said with a fierce shake of her head. “I brought it up. I need to know these things. So many things.” “There is always more to learn. Thankfully.” “That’s a constant theme for me, isn’t it? The need to learn.” “I worry that you lack the joy of it,” Alethea said. “Acquiring new talents should be a wonderful adventure of discovery and exploration, not a desperate race for survival.” “Who said life is fair?” “When this curse is broken, you will understand.” “Oh, I don’t doubt you,” Wendy said. “But pragmatism has been forced upon me. I’m partial to the whole survival thing.” Alethea smiled again, and paused as the server set down her refilled glass and gave a bob of his curly mop of red hair before retreating. “Please continue with your story.” “Let’s see… After the Ho’ok, I had ten—no, eleven curse-free months before…” ~5~  

   

The Lamia came for Wendy in May 2007. Half woman, half white snake, the lamia worked its way through the woods at night, moving ever closer to Wendy’s cottage. Abby, patrolling in wolf-form during the days leading up to the lamia’s arrival, located the scent. “It smells unlike anything I’ve ever tracked in the woods,” she told Wendy. “Part human, part snake, part rot.” In daylight, they trekked through the woods to the lamia’s temporary lair, beneath the V created by the crossing of two fallen tree trunks. The Lamia removed its ever-watchful eyes during the day so that it could sleep. Wendy and Abby came upon the snake-woman in its morning stupor. The eyes saw them approach, but were helpless. With the wooden mallet she had brought along for the task, Wendy struck twice and pulverized both eyes. Its eyes destroyed, the lamia’s sleep became eternal. Wendy beheaded the snake-woman, and they buried the two pieces of the body in separate, shallow graves near the lair. Long before they finished, the ring of green light flashed outward, rippling across the underbrush like a foul wind. Wendy shuddered at the memory of burying the lamia. “Not something I ever want to repeat,” she said, speaking softly. “The lamia’s body lost cohesion soon after the decapitation. Before we could get it into the ground, it started turning into a gloppy mess, like rancid pudding.” “I can only imagine,” Alethea said. “But I’d rather not.” “Fortunately, there’s only one incident left to tell.” “Dare I ask?” “Six months after the lamia,” Wendy said, “we fought a ghoul.” In November 2007, the Crone informed Wendy that a shape-shifting ghoul was headed her way. It slipped through their defenses twice, evading traps they set outside of town, where they had hoped to destroy it without attracting unwanted attention. Even Abby, in wolf form, was fooled by the ghoul’s shape-shifting. She could track its scent up to a point, but kept losing it when she neared her target. Soon Wendy concluded that the ghoul wasn’t actually changing its shape. Instead, it projected a glamour that encompassed sight and scent. The others would see a child running with a balloon, a grizzled old man reading a newspaper on a park bench, or a harmless old lady pushing a shopping cart, and never realize they had been within a few yards of the ghoul. Because Wendy, with her improved border vision, could see through a supernatural glamour, she became the point person. The ghoul’s human camouflage would have no power over her. Or so they assumed. Eventually, Wendy’s group split up, communicating and coordinating through two-way radios. Wendy, Kayla and Hannah, who was visiting from the west coast, scouted the town on foot. Overhead, Abby rode the thermals in her red-tailed hawk form. Bobby worked a grid of Windale’s business district in his police chief’s cruiser, and Alex drove Wendy’s Pathfinder along the outlying sections of town. While the others were on alert for any unusual activity or outright attacks on the clueless citizens of Windale, Wendy once again, by virtue of her ability and Wither’s curse, was the bait. Sooner or later, the ghoul ~6~  

   

would find her. That knowledge wasn’t lost on Alex, who never drove more than a few blocks from her position, for fear of losing radio contact. After a long frustrating day, Wendy stepped into the intersection of Willow Drive and Invocation Street. A young girl in a Catholic school uniform entered the intersection opposite her. Wendy smiled. As the girl neared, she told Wendy she couldn’t find her mother. About to volunteer her help, Wendy remembered it was Saturday—and the girl was in her school uniform. Wendy switched to border vision and her heart skipped a beat. While the creature seemed to walk toward her gradually, in a non-threatening manner, she could now see behind the magical veil: the ghoul’s vicious claws were raised, twitching as it neared her, and its mouth had spread wide, exposing jagged, yellow teeth in the middle of its mottled gray face. At that moment, a block away, Alex turned onto Willow Drive in the forest green Pathfinder. Wendy raised the radio to her mouth and squeezed the talk button. “Alex, run it down. Now!” “The little girl?” he squawked back. “She looks lost.” “She’s not little or lost,” Wendy said urgently, “but she looks hungry!” “Oh—Right!” The engine roared and Alex closed the gap in seconds. Wendy raised her protective shield with a moment to spare. Startled that its ruse had failed, the ghoul whipped its gaze toward the racing SUV. A moment before impact, its glamour vanished. The ghoul’s gnarled body—with its excess of claws and teeth—tumbled over the hood of the Pathfinder, shattering the windshield, before rolling along the roof rack and dropping in a stunned heap to the asphalt. The Pathfinder’s brakes squealed in sudden protest. Alex raced from the car and helped Wendy to her feet. The SUV had struck a glancing blow to Wendy’s protective shield and sent her careening into a telephone pole. She was dazed but otherwise unharmed. “Hurry,” Alex urged. She nodded and ran toward the fallen creature. No matter how brutal, a hard impact would only momentarily incapacitate the ghoul. They needed to kill it while it was vulnerable. Wendy raised her arms and conjured twin fireballs. The incandescent orbs spun through several wobbly rotations before striking the ghoul across its head and shoulders. It writhed as it burned, unable to extinguish the magical flames. Responding to Alex’s radio call, Chief McKay arrived minutes later to block the intersection with his cruiser and wave off vehicular and foot traffic. Alex and Wendy watched mesmerized as the burning ghoul briefly cycled through its false personas of the newspaper man, balloon boy, shopping woman and young schoolgirl. Wendy guessed it was a misfiring defense mechanism, designed to elicit sympathy from any onlookers who might then be moved to douse the flames. But the frantic procession of identities would have frightened away anyone close enough to play the Good Samaritan. Eventually only black ashes remained. The ring of green light flashed away from them, down Willow Drive and Invocation Street as far as they could see, trailing a swirl of bitter ashes. ~7~  

   

*** Alethea frowned. “You weren’t hurt by the impact of the car?” “Well, bumps and bruises. Fortunately, it was just a glancing blow,” Wendy said. “And that was a little over seven months ago.” “So, naturally, you thought I might be the next in line.” “The thought crossed my mind,” Wendy said, finishing her orange juice. “But then I remembered Morgan. Originally, I thought he was one of Wither’s posthumous minions. Had I known then what I know now, I wonder if I would have taken him up on his offer.” “Wendy, Faerie is a wonderful place to visit or to live out the rest of your life, but you should go because you want to, not out of fear of what you leave behind.” “Wait—you’ve been to Faerie?” “Twice,” Alethea said, looking away from Wendy’s intense gaze. “During each World War. I’m not proud of those choices, but I… I couldn’t bear it here. The madness…” “But you came back.” She nodded. “Regrets. Both times. I left for the wrong reasons. My experience was tainted. If I return, it has to be on my terms.” “What was it like?” “Magical,” she said. “Literally. Magic flows so effortlessly there. You and I and those few like us are welcomed there, by Faerie itself, with open arms. In comparison, the sun and the sky and the air here all seem… lacking.” “Sounds like a great vacation spot.” “Be warned, Wendy,” Alethea said. “From what I’ve been told, traveling between the realms has become much harder in the last hundred years. Most who cross never find their way back. The first time I crossed, I spent three years learning how to come back. And time passes inconsistently between this side and Faerie. A year spent in Faerie might equal ten years here, one day here might equal sixty there! There is no guarantee your loved ones will be alive to welcome your return. The second time I crossed, I thought I might never come back. And when I decided to return home, I couldn’t find the way for two years.” “Hadn’t you figured that out the first time…?” “You would think so! But when I tried to call upon that knowledge, the memories were gone. Faerie does not surrender kindred spirits easily.” “Sounds dangerous.” “Not physically,” Alethea said. “But if you ever decide to enter Faerie, do so with the knowledge that your trip may be one way. The best time to cross, in either direction, is midsummer’s day.” “I’m curious. Do you remember now?” “Remember what?” “How to return from Faerie?” Alethea paused, glanced away for a moment, then chuckled and shook her head in disbelief. “It’s gone again. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The ~8~  

   

memory is like a will-o’-the-wisp. Feels like it’s right there, until you try to grasp it. Then poof!” “I’ll keep that in mind,” Wendy said. “Well, I’ve told you everything that’s happened to me. Any words of wisdom? Tips on how to end the curse?” “Give me your hands.” Alethea extended her hands, palms up. Wendy reached forward and placed hers palms down. The old woman clasped Wendy’s hands in a cool but firm grip and closed her eyes. Soon her head began to sway slowly, side to side. Wendy glanced around at the post-lunch crowd and was grateful most of the tables were empty. Despite her acceptance of magic in her life, she couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious at that moment. “Close your eyes, Wendy,” Alethea said. “Empty your mind of outside thoughts.” With a sign of calm resignation, Wendy surrendered to the moment and closed her eyes. Using her crystal pendant as a focus, she tuned out the rush of cars, the bustle of foot traffic, and the susurrus of muted conversations at nearby tables. Darkness and silence enveloped her in a warm, relaxed embrace. She was aware of Alethea’s cool hands and the connection between them, but nothing more. After long minutes, Alethea heaved a sigh and said, “As I feared.” Startled, Wendy’s eyes blinked open. “Feared? That doesn’t sound good.” “I thought by hearing of your encounters and by connecting with you physically, I might find something to… pry away from you, to remove the curse.” “No luck?” “Each time, the mechanism of the curse is the same,” Alethea said. “Yes, the intervals vary, and the ‘creature of chaos’ it calls changes each time, but the mechanics of it are frightfully—and frustratingly—consistent.” “I sense a ‘but’ coming?” “You.” “What?” “You are the wildcard in this,” Alethea said. “Before she died in Gina Thorne’s body, Wither planted the curse inside you. You were complicit in its activation in Winnipeg.” “That was an accident.” “She placed you inside a powder keg and you—” “Lit the match.” “She probably knew her curse would need your power to fuel it after her death.” “Well, she was a devious bitch.” “If the curse were hers alone,” Alethea said. “I might be able to break its hold. But now it is a part of you and your own power.” “So I’m screwed?” “Not at all,” Alethea said. “It means that the answer lies within you. When you achieve mastery over your magic, you will have the power to disentangle Wither’s curse from your life.” ~9~  

   

“Can you teach me?” “There are many things I could teach you,” Alethea said. “And you have so much to learn. Ultimately, I believe you will find your own answers.” “That sounded like a ‘no’.” “I won’t live forever, Wendy,” Alethea said. “I’m afraid my time grows short.” “You look spry,” Wendy said. “And not just for a one-hundred-and-sevenyear-old.” “Kind of you to say, dear.” Colin, their server, returned to their table and asked if they’d care for anything else. When they declined, he placed the check, in its padded holder, on the table between them and backed away. As Alethea reached for her purse, Wendy snatched up the check and insisted on paying. “You came all this way. Least I can do is pay for lunch.” “Thank you,” Alethea said softly. Wendy sensed that her mood had changed and thought perhaps the old woman blamed herself for her inability to break Wither’s curse. She has come a long way, Wendy thought. Maybe she feels she has nothing to show for all her travel. Wendy placed enough cash in the check holder to cover the bill and a twenty-percent tip, and handed it to Colin as she and Alethea stepped out of the al fresco seating area. They walked together in silence toward the traffic light at the intersection of Wand Way and Charmed Lane. Above the Harrison Savings Bank on the corner, a protruding LED sign cycled from temperature to time, informing her that it was 3:13. “Thanks again for coming all the way from Seattle to meet me,” Wendy said, hoping to put the woman at ease. “I’m so glad to have met you.” “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” They stood at the intersection, waiting for the light to change. “Do you have any immediate plans?” Wendy asked. “Nothing beyond today, my dear.” The sun slipped behind a long thin line of clouds. Light and energy seemed to drain from the day, absorbed into the brick walls and asphalt road, as if hours had been stolen from them in the blink of an eye. A chill ran down Wendy’s spine. “Stay with me at the cottage,” Wendy offered. “As long as you want. I promise not to pester you about the whole mentor thing.” “That would have been lovely.” Across the street, the traffic light facing them turned green. The walking man symbol gleamed white. Wendy stepped off the curb and backed into the crosswalk. “At least think about it.” As Alethea stepped down from the curb, a pigeon took flight. The old woman’s head whipped to the left. “Now.” Wendy stepped toward her. “What—?” Then she saw it. A midnight blue Ford F-150 pickup truck, barreling down Charm Lane at least two times the twenty-five miles per hour speed limit, ~ 10 ~  

   

heedless of the red light. No squeal of brakes, no attempt to slow down—if anything, the pickup was accelerating. A shocked thought froze her mind: He’s trying to kill— Her brow furrowed in concentration, Alethea raised her left arm, index finger pointing toward the truck, and flipped it to her left. The pickup swerved in the direction of her moving finger, rocketed over the curb and slammed into the brick wall of the Harrison Savings Bank, shattering bricks and pulverizing mortar in a billowing cloud of dust. Alethea staggered, as if she might fall into the street. Wendy had raised her protective shield around both of them the same instant the truck jumped the curb. Chunks and shards of brick pelted the shield and scattered around them in the street. Wendy wrapped her arm around Alethea to support her. “You okay?” “I—I’m fine,” she said. “Take me to the truck. Not much time.” “Was he trying to kill me?” “No,” Alethea said. “He’s dying.” Stunned, Wendy dropped her shield. Alethea hurried to the crumpled wreck. The driver’s side door was impersonating an accordion. Hydraulic assistance might open it, but not much else. The window glass had shattered. Through the mangled window frame, Wendy saw that the air bag had deployed. The driver was in his late fifties, groggy and moaning. He grimaced, his face ruddy and scratched. Alethea reached inside and placed her right hand over the man’s chest. After a few moments, his face relaxed, and he fell back against the headrest, breathing easily. “Heart attack,” Alethea explained. “He’ll be okay now.” Most of the brick wall facing Charm Lane had been pulverized or collapsed. Wendy saw people scrambling around in the bank lobby. Everyone shocked and scared, but no apparent injuries. When Alethea staggered again, Wendy was there to support her. They backed away from the building and the wrecked truck, still hissing and smoking. She helped the old woman cross to the other side of Charm Lane. Wordlessly, they waited. Within two minutes, emergency vehicles arrived on the scene, sirens wailing. “Everything’s okay now,” Wendy said to the woman, who had become so pale her skin appeared translucent. “You knew.” “Yes,” Alethea said softly. “I’m not much of a seer. Occasional visions.” “That’s why you came?” “Why I could no longer afford not to come,” Alethea said, breathing shallowly. “I saw you here, without me. Lunch alone. You waited for the green light, stepped into the intersection, distracted, talking on a cell phone. The pigeon caught your eye. You looked up, but too late.” “After surviving Wither’s demonic creatures, I get killed by a speeding pickup truck?” “Not anymore.” “Thanks to you.” “I knew the day, but not the time,” she said. “Needed to be with you.” “Look at you,” Wendy said. “You’re wiped out. You should have told me.” ~ 11 ~  

   

“Couldn’t risk you thinking I was crazy. Dismissing me. Besides…” “What?” “When I arrived here,” she said. “The vision changed. I saw this outcome. You safe. Driver healed. No injuries. Best outcome.” The Café Windale patrons had gathered outside to watch the paramedics and police take control of the accident scene. Passersby stopped and stared at the crushed truck, the ruined bank wall, the debris in the street. Traffic began to slow and stack up along Charm Lane and Wand Way. “Let’s get back to the store,” Wendy said. “You can rest there.” Alethea shook her head. “I told you my time grows short.” “Wait. No! No, you can’t mean… Not now.” “I’m afraid so,” Alethea said. “I wish I could have ended the curse for you. I wanted to give you that gift, to make up for not having come sooner. Showing you the way.” “You saved my life! That’s plenty.” Alethea squeezed her hands, kissed her cheek and hugged her fiercely. “Remember, Wendy. The answer lies within you. Only you can end the curse. Find a way.” The old woman took a step back from Wendy and for the first time she looked her age, one hundred and seven years old. Her energy was gone, and exhaustion hung on her like a heavy cloak. She had expended herself, everything she had left, to deflect the pickup truck. In saving Wendy, she had sacrificed any time she might have had left on earth. As Alethea backed away, Wendy started to follow her. Alethea stopped and held up her palm. “It’s my time.” “This isn’t fair,” Wendy said bitterly. “I have no complaints,” Alethea said. “And few regrets.” Heartsick, Wendy watched as Alethea turned away, turned her back to Wendy and walked along Charmed Way alone. After taking less than a dozen weary steps, Alethea began to fade, like an old photograph left in the sun. Her skin became truly translucent, then transparent, and finally she was gone. For a long time, Wendy stared after her, refusing to move from her sundappled spot on the sidewalk. Finally, she wiped away the tears brimming in her eyes and whispered, “Thank you.” A warm breeze ruffled the leaves in the trees overhead. Even in her passing, Alethea remained a wonderful mystery to Wendy. One she hoped to someday understand. Turn the page for a sneak peek at “Blood Alone” A Wendy Ward Novelette forthcoming in The Stories In Between (NOV/DEC 2009) from Fantasist Enterprises.

~ 12 ~  

   

And now, a sneak peek at…

“Blood Alone” A Wendy Ward Novelette After an exhausting three days, the New England Fantasy Worlds Convention withdrew from Windale—taking with it the crowds of tourists dressed as medieval wenches, witches, wizards and elves—much to Kayla’s relief. Wendy appreciated all the extra business that had flowed through the Crystal Path on Friday, Saturday and Sunday, but Kayla had never before welcomed a Monday with such intense gratitude. Simply tolerating Mondays was her usual limit, and never with any grace or good cheer. But this Monday was different. Her bruised ribs were safe from the army of elbows, her throbbing toes from the procession of boots. She could talk without yelling to be heard. And she could breathe again—which was why she volunteered to pick up supplies for the Crystal Path’s break room. The new Stop-N-Go mini mart was three blocks from the Crystal Path and Kayla thought the crisp February air would be refreshing. She walked up and down the aisles of the store, a red plastic shopping basket dangling from her left arm. She grabbed snack-sized bags of chips and pretzels, candy bars, along with coffee and tea supplies and individual bottles of water and soda until the basket overflowed. With her attention on the shelves, she almost didn’t notice the middle-aged woman in a red wool coat walking toward her, a vacant look on her pale face. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Shanley!” Kayla said. “We got in that foil-embossed tarot deck you asked us to order. Stop by and pick it up on your way…” Kayla’s voice trailed off as Millicent Shanley walked by her without pausing. “Whoa! Mrs. Shanley, are you okay?” Kayla hurried after her, caught her shoulder and moved in front of her again. “Is something wrong?” The woman fussed with the collar of her coat, as if the button had recently fallen off. Her vacant gaze drifted toward Kayla’s face, but Kayla saw no hint of recognition in her eyes. She spoke softly, in a monotone. “Forgotten why I came here.” “Happens to me all the time,” Kayla said. “Usually when—” “Excuse me.” Again the woman walked past her. “Don’t forget the tarot deck!” Kayla called after her. Shaking her head, Kayla dumped her brimming basket onto the counter. The bored sales clerk—a guy with more facial piercings than Kayla and an Egyptian hieroglyphic tattoo on the side of his neck—waved a bar code scanner over the items, eliciting a series of beeps, and dropped them in a succession of flimsy plastic bags. “What’s up with her?” Kayla asked the guy. “Drugs. Dementia.” He shrugged. “Could give a fuck.”

 

   

“Great attitude,” Kayla said as she pulled two crumpled twenties out of her jeans to pay the bill. “You’ll go far.” “Minimum wage shithole,” he said, repeating his shrug. “Can’t get out of here soon enough.” The cash register told him how much change she was due. He counted it out methodically and slid the singles and coins across the counter. He dropped her receipt on top and muttered, “Thanks. Come again.” “Right,” Kayla said and rolled her eyes. As she pocketed her change and the receipt, she glanced toward the back of the store. Millicent Shanley was staring at a wire rack stuffed with maps. She appeared to be talking to herself. The clerk lounged on a stool, flipping through a skin magazine, oblivious to his surroundings. Must be new in town, Kayla thought. Apathy was unsustainable in Windale. When you live where monsters roam, you learn to be vigilant. Or else… Look for “Blood Alone” A Wendy Ward Novelette in The Stories In Between (NOV/DEC 2009) from Fantasist Enterprises.

About the Author John Passarella is the Bram Stoker Award-Winning co-author of Wither, chosen by the Horror Writers Association as the best first novel of 1999. Columbia Pictures purchased the film rights to Wither in a preemptive bid, but the studio has yet to make a feature film version of the story. Passarella followed Wither with two standalone sequels (Wither’s Rain & Wither’s Legacy) featuring Wendy Ward as a series character. His other novels are the paranormal thriller Kindred Spirit, Shimmer, and the original media tiein novels, Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Ghoul Trouble, Angel: Avatar and Angel: Monolith. In his spare time, Passarella designs and maintains Web sites for New York Times bestselling authors Harlan Coben, Nicholas Sparks, Michael Palmer and many other clients. For more information, visit www.authorpromo.com. Passarella’s official author site is www.passarella.com. He answers reader e-mail sent to [email protected]. Currently, he resides in Logan Township, New Jersey with his wife and three children.