While revising my novel, I found out I 1) needed add more words and 2) I didn’t tell the story I wanted. So the novel isn’t quite done yet…
I stepped out of the warm car into the cold air. It was freezing out here. There was white snow on the ground, not the slushy brown and white crap on the streets in Salem.
I looked up at the log cabin, a real honest-to-God house made of logs. I would later find out it was a pre-fabber, built almost fifty years ago, and those logs, although made of wood, were mere decoration.
“C’mon,” Quintin said, shutting and locking the door. I followed him up to the rustic porch, and Quintin rang the triangle that hung there. The sound of it echoed throughout the woods and back.
“We summoning someone for dinner?”
“This is his doorbell,” he snapped. The large, roughly-hewn door opened, and a man with a wheelchair peered out at us. “Hey, Q, come on in.” He wheeled back as Quintin walked in, and I followed.
“This the kid?”
“Yes,” he said. “Mike, meet Walking Turtle.”
I raised an eyebrow to that, considering the man was in a wheelchair. Walking Turtle had thick black hair and dark eyes, was a little a lot more darker skinned than I was, not quite black, though. He was built up top – probably from hauling himself around and had one empty pant leg, the other one full, but not moving. Then I realized where “Walking Turtle” came from.
“Welcome,” he said, and held out his hand. I offered mine, and he held it firmly, not shaking my hand, just holding it. He blinked and looked at my hand, then let go. “He’s not what he seems.”
“You saw it too?”
“Just a flash of it.”
“Jose saw it. He called it a loa.”
“Nope, not a loa.”
I looked at each of them. “Guys? I’m in the room.”
“Yeah, well, come on in.” Walking Turtle’s smile had disappeared and he had a serious look on his face. I shut the door as Quintin started following him. “Quintin, get a coffee.”
“Think you can do what you need to do today?”
“Don’t be in such a damn hurry,” Turtle said with a light chuckle.
“I need to get back home.”
“Then leave him here.”
“Dottie – “
“Stay with her, why don’t you? What’re you afraid of?” He whirled the chair around after stopping in a large living room. An older TV set was on the entertainment center, but it didn’t look like it had been used. Turtle had his back to it. “I’ll do it, Jesus Christ.”
He waved his hand at me. “Stand in front of me, boy.”
I felt offended, but I did what he told me. Turtle wheeled up to me, his foot touching my shins. He looked up at me, and I looked down at him. He was trying to take my measure. Instead, I unbuckled my belt. I don’t know what made me do it, but the next thing I knew was that I could see out of the corner of my eye that my hand was black.
He pulled his head back and regarded me differently. “She owns your ass, doesn’t she?”
“You know – how do you know –“
“I can see her. Think only those Rosicrucians know how to work magic?” He wheeled away from me. “I’m guessing you want an exorcism.”
“What? NO!” I hugged myself. To be denied my daemon? Hell, no. I’d fight that tooth and nail.
“Good, because I ain’t doin’ it.”
Quintin asked, “Is he – is she – dangerous?”
“I don’t even know who she is,” said Turtle, then looked directly at me. “I think you should stay here for a little while.”
“But Ritter—“
“Whozzat?”
“He’s a knight of the Rosicrucians. He’ll come after me and try to bring me back.” Or kill me.
Turtle snorted. “Rosy Knights aren’t welcome here. They know better.”
I didn’t look convinced. “Do you trust me?” Quintin asked.
“No,” I said, looking right at Quintin.
Turtle laughed. “At least the boy’s honest! But right now, boy, you don’t have much of a choice. Cuz Quintin here, he’s got a lady to lay an’ he’s runnin’ out of excuses.”
Quintin’s eyes narrowed. Again Turtle laughed. “At least you can, Q, at least you can!” He turned to me. “Stay the weekend, anyway.”
“What’re you going to do to me?”
“Gonna find out about your…daemon.”
I looked at Quintin. “I don’t like this idea.”
“I’m not going to teach you, otherwise.”
Turtle blurted, “Teach him? What for?”
“Isn’t that what we do?”
Turtle bit his lip.
“Those who know, teach. I want to know if he’s worthy of learning.”
Turtle looked at me askance. “What do you think, boy?”
“I want to learn.”
Quintin said, “You want the easy way.”
“Aye, he does,” Turtle said. “It’s why he’s got this daemon riding him.”
“I…”
“If you stay, I’ll make barbecued ribs.”
Barbeque was my favorite. How did he know? I looked at Quintin, then at Turtle. Quintin was going through all this trouble for some reason. Even though I thought the guy was a dick, it would be rude of me.
“Yeah. I’ll stay the weekend.”
“Great. I’ll get the ribs.” He wheeled by Quintin. “You, git home.”
Quintin said nothing more, glancing at me. “Be nice to him.”
“My mother taught me right, mister,” I snapped.
“Not only that, but he’ll give you nightmares if you don’t.”
Quintin went back to Turtle, grasped his shoulders for a moment, and then left the house. I heard the car drive away, and I went over to see if Turtle needed help.
“Now, boy, let’s call a spade a spade.”