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Entry tags:
"Love That Graveyard"
"Love That Graveyard"
A Trom Girl Mystery
10/29/2004
I.
"Too bad it's not Halloween for two days yet," Archie said as they pulled over by the side of the road. Ahead were two squat stone pillars topped with white crosses and bronze plaques that read COLLIER CEMETERY, with an added wooden sign, NO ADMITTANCE. Despite that, there was no barrier across the gravel road that led up to four acres of graves dating back to Colonial times.
"Why do you say that?" asked Megan Salenger. She sounded genuinely puzzled. Behind the wheel of her cherry red Jeep Wrangler, the Trom Girl was dressed rather formally in Navy blue slacks, a white silk button-front blouse and a beige topcoat. Her shock of thick black hair was neatly brushed and not in its usual tousled state. "I don't see why you wish it to be Halloween."
Sitting beside her, Archie smiled without mockery. "Ah, it's just a perfect night. The moon is bright, it's windy and sprinkling a little. All the trees have bare branches, it just LOOKS like Halloween, you know?"
"I think so," she said. "Tonight's weather matches your mental image of what the holiday should be. Much the same way as people express a desire for snow on Christmas?"
Archie McAllister said, "You got it," and peered through the windshield at the old house up on the hill. "Man. Even the dark old building with one light showing in a window! It's perfect." He was a few years older than her twenty-five, almost a foot taller than her five foot three. He did have shaggy black hair much like hers, but his eyes were a startling and rather lovely pale blue that stood out oddly in his bearded face.
The Trom Girl watched him affectionately. Her unusual upbringing had been intended to leave her a nearly emotionless genius but nature had asserted itself. She was healthy and normal, no matter what the Trom councils had intended. "I'm glad you could accompany me on this investigation," she said as she put the Jeep back in gear and headed up the gravel road.
"Yeah, I got a three day weekend but Monday morning I better show up at the shop. There's a vintage Indian that needs body work and the boss wants me on it."
"That should present no problem," she said as she slowly drove past rows of worn tombstones and an occasional crypt. The grounds were tended, but the grass looked sparse and lifeless, the cemetery as a whole had a forlorn and discouraged feeling.
"I looked this place up when you first told me about it," Archie said. "It's closed. No new graves. The State of Massachusets is going to maintain it as an historical site but already some developers are talking about bulldozing it to put up a mall. That'd be a shame."
She did not respond. He was used to that by now, as Megan had many odd habits. After a moment, as they neared the old dark house, she asked, "Did you find any information on Hollis Webber?"
"Nothing much. Nothing I don't think you wouldn't already know. Weird old duck."
As she brought the Jeep to a halt in front of the three story Victorian building, Megan made a faint snorting noise. "He is not a duck! I enjoy your figures of speech, Archie, they are so unexpected." From the back seat, she took a package neatly wrapped in brown paper and hefted it. "Let us meet him."
Archie hopped out on the passenger side, grinning despite himself at the rundown structure that loomed up in the darkness in front of them. On the top floor, one small window glowed with an amber light but that was the only sign of habitation. The building itself was in need of repair, a fresh coat of paint would have done wonders and a few shutters hanging sadly on one hinge would not have taken long to fix.
There was a white doorbell and Megan pressed it steadily. A few seconds later, a wrought iron lamp hung over the door sprang into brilliance. They both blinked and the massive oaken door swung inward to reveal a huge man barely restraining his obvious rage.
"No visitors. Go away! Go now," he growled in a heavily accented voice. The man was wrapped in a heavy parka and had woolen gloves on. His wide face looked as if it had never been presentable, even before either years of drinking or brawling or both.
"We're here to see Mr Webber," Megan told him as calmly as if the brute was not glowering furiously at him. "I tried phoning him earlier."
"I told you to get lost!" repeated the man in a louder voice.
Angered at his tone and protective of Megan, Archie clenched his fists and took a breath but she forestalled him by handing over the package she held. "Take this for a second, hon," she said.
As the angry man glared at her, Megan Salenger drew a small dull grey metal device from her coat pocket. It fit easily in her palm. She held it up so the round bulb set on one end faced the hulk. "Here. Do you see this?" She pressed a contact patch and, although the device made no flash or sound, the big man sighed and dropped senseless to the floor with his face down in the doorway itself.
Megan took the package back. "Archie, could you get him in a seated position at least, so we can close the door?"
As he grabbed the unconscious brute and dragged him back into the foyer to prop him up against the wall, she did indeed close the door behind him. "He seemed unreasonable," she said.
"That's the neural shock cartridge, right? Aren't you worried about scrambling somebody's nervous system with that thing so they get epilepsy or amnesia or something?"
"No," she answered and left it at that. They stood in a foyer with a bench and a single straigh tbacked chair, a lamp high on the wall and a coatrack that held a long oilcloth coat, with a scarf wrapped around it. On the wall were framed prints of the town of Collier, Massachussets as it had been two hundred years earlier. Megan opened the inner door and froze. Standing in its opening was an emaciated old white-haired man pointing a big Army .45 automatic with both hands right at her face.
II.
"I've brought your manuscript," the Trom Girl told him with remarkable calmness under the circumstances. It was a simple statement that may have been the only thing she might have said which would defuse the situation. "You ARE Hollis Webber, I assume?"
"Yes. Yes, I am." The elderly man lowered the heavy pistol a few inches and peered through watery blue eyes at his visitors. "My... manuscript? But who are you two? What have you done to Montrose?"
"Your man is unharmed," she said. "He will wake up refreshed in fifteen to twenty minutes. Mr Webber, I am from the Kenneth Dred Foundation in Manhattan. My name is Megan Salenger." As she spoke, the Trom Girl casually reached over to take the package from Archie's hands and held it up in front of her.
This simple action led to Hollis Webber placing the gun in a pocket of his heavy maroon bathrobe and straightening up. Even so, he stood not much taller than Megan did. Webber seemed to be in his early seventies and not in the best physical condition. The wispy white hair stood up from his head in all directions over a wrinkled face that centered around a beaklike nose. His robe was quilted and thick, the dark pajamas were of fine silk and even the slippers were handmade to fit gnarled feet exactly.
"The Dred Foundation? Well, that's different. Of course I want to speak with you. I knew Kenneth Dred slightly, although that was many years ago. Tell me, how did you get hold of my manuscript?"
Megan gestured with the package. "May we come in? It was a long drive from 38th Street and I would like to sit if we're going to discuss business." Seeing Webber checking out Archie with suspicion, she said, "This is my friend and associate, Archie McAllister."
"Eh, very well. But what about Montrose? I can't just leave him lying there." As he spoke, the hulking man on the floor began to snore through a nose which had been broken at some time. "Oh, very well. He seems to be all right. Montrose is a durable lad. Come this way."
Motioning them to follow, Hollis Webber entered a high-ceilinged room with overstuffed chairs facing a marble fireplace. He flipped a switch and an overhead chandelier flared up into subdued light which still left the room dim. The air was chilly and damp. Webber gestured for them to seat themselves, and Megan and Archie dropped down gratefully into easy chairs which were soft and comfy.
"This building is my residence now, but for generations it served as the funeral home, chapel and crematory for the town," announced the old man as he followed them. "So, young lady, about my manuscript...?"
As Webber gingerly lowered himself into a chair facing her, Megan said, "It was forwarded to us by a friend at Wessex House Publishing. She said she found the book fascinating and convincing but her boss would not consider it because of its lack of documentation."
Webber grunted. "I've heard that before, from other publishers."
"Some of your books on the occult have sold quite well," Megan said. "SECRET BELIEFS OF EARLY NEW ENGLAND went into a third printing. But this, WHALING AND THE WITCH CULT... you don't supply any references. You list no sources." She kept the package in her lap, with one hand resting on it as if concerned he might try to snatch it up. "The Kenneth Dred Foundation has of course published several books which were not expected to make a profit. The point is, your manuscript mentions many people from the late 19th Century whose families today might object to the way you link them with black magic societies. Your lack of documentation leaves you open to legal action for slander."
"You can't slander the dead," Webber chuckled. He pointed out the picture window where the cemetery stretched in all directions. "Those folks there are beyond caring what the living think." He laughed unpleasantly at the thought. "What a well of wisdom is out there. I love that graveyard."
At this point, the bulky form of Montrose filled the doorway, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, boss. I must have passed out or something. I don't know what could have happened."
Webber waved a hand dismissingly. "Maybe you are just tired out. You started at dawn. Make yourself something to eat and turn in early."
"You sure you won't be needing me?" the giant insisted, giving both Megan and Archie a venomous stare.
"Quite. I know these visitors. They are no trouble. Take it easy for an evening, Montrose. But wait. Before you go, would you get the fireplace going?"
"Sure thing. Thanks, Mr Webber." The big man crouched over the logs with a long metal starter, fiddled a bit with some tinder and soon had quite a cheery blaze underway. As he straightened up, he gave Megan and Archie another hateful glance before mumbling something and closing the door behind him.
Webber sighed and held out his bony hands toward the fire. "I know Montrose is lacking in charm. He is sullen at best. But at my age, I find I need strength and stamina in an assistant more than social grace."
"Quite all right," the Trom Girl said. "I wanted to ask you about the chapters in your book on Red Sect."
"Ah yes. A very dangerous cult. Red Sect were no pretenders, no dabblers playing at black magick. They were the real thing. Necromancers! The Lundborg brothers held the area around Collier in a grip of total fear for years."
"Yes." Megan was frowning, and her voice had an uncertain note to it that was uncharacteristic. "Red Sect still exists. It has been smashed several times and yet warlocks always establish it again." She glanced over at Archie. "Does it feel stuffy in here suddenly?"
"Damn right," Archie answered as his head dropped forward and he seemed to fall asleep. Seeing this, becoming aware of her own constricted breathing, Megan Salenger leaped to her feet, spun toward the door and fell directly on her face into the thick carpeting.
Seeing her sprawled in front of him, Hollis Webber cackled in a low tone. "You could not smell the Alchemical serum soaked in those logs, eh? Not so clever as you think you are, missy!" The ancient warlock peered over where Archie McAllister slumped senseless in the easy chair opposite him. He pressed a button set on the mantel of the fireplace to summon Montrose back. "Well, there is much more you will learn before this night is over, my young friends!"
III.
For once, Megan awoke slowly, struggling up through a fog of confusion. She was so used to just snapping fully awake that it took her a while to realize what the problem was. She had been drugged. The smoke from the fireplace...
The Trom Girl took in her situation. She was lying on her back, on a rough wooden table in a dimly lit room. She was still fully dressed. Her right hand was held up in the air by a handcuff around its wrist, the other cuff being fastened to a metal pipe that ran along the wall near her. Her other hand and her legs were free. It was hot and stuffy wherever she was.
Sitting up, resting on her free elbow, Megan saw she was within reach of a brick structure with a square metal door that had two rectangular panes of glass which glowed with a dark amber light. Heat radiated from this structure even with the door tightly fastened, worse than any oven, and she realized she was looking at the cemetery's crematory.
Where was Webber? Even more urgent, where was Archie? For once, the Trom Girl wished that her tutors had succeeded in damping out all emotion in her because she could feel her heartbeat race dangerously fast. He had to be safe. She had resisted forming attachments to people all her life and now that she had finally given in and let herself fall in love, to lose him so soon would be unbearable. Megan had never had to deal with the idea of such loss.
The Trom Girl sat up further, examined the pipe to which her right wrist was handcuffed and made a few calculations. She could not break the pipe loose nor snap the handcuff links. She did not have the physical strength. With her free hand, she quickly determined that all her pockets were empty. Like her captain Jeremy Bane, she habitually carried a number of tiny gadgets concealed in her clothing. In a slit in the top of her boots, for example, was a single-edged razor blade useful for cutting bonds but not practical on a handcuff. The other small devices hidden in her pants cuff or inside her belt were not of any use in this situation either.
Why was the crematory flaring up so hotly? Where was Archie? Had Webber already put Archie inside the crematory, reducing him even now to ashes? Megan realized she was breathing in quick shallow gasps and she made a conscious effort to calm herself. Tel Shai technique, Trom discipline. Breathe in slowly, hold it for an equal count, then let it out just as evenly. Her mind cleared. A terrible cold anger surged up in her.
A door closed behind her and she twisted her head around to see the old man hobble in, leaning on a carved wooden cane. Hollis Webber laughed out loud at the rage in her face. He was carrying an ordinary carpenter's hammer in his free hand, which he placed on a bench to one side.
"Ah, I will learn much from your ashes, my dear. There were some informative minds buried out there. I found lots of forgotten history, details of how people lived, long-forgotten scandals and skirmishes. But you! I understand you were reared from childhood by the Trom. You know their secrets. And you are also a knight of Tel Shai. The Order's knowledge goes back thirty thousand years! My remaining days will be devoted to nothing but listening to your ashes." He came around to gaze down at her happily, careful to remain just out of reach.
"You ARE a member of Red Sect," she said with deadly calm. "This is a variation on the Preincarnation spell, then. Somehow you can draw information from Human remains."
"Oh yes. Ashes work best. No one knows why, not even Leopold Vidimar who first developed the Preincarnation spell." Webber leaned a little closer, raising one bony forefinger to point at her. "I have been busy these past eight years. There are so many interesting people buried out there. I love that graveyard. Choosing carefully which native of Collier to disinter in the dark of the night, whose crumbling skeleton to place in the flames. And then, hour after hour of listening to the whispers from the ashes, telling me their secrets..."
"Where is my friend?" Megan demanded slowly. She gripped her handcuffed right hand with her left and adjusted her mind to ignore the pain that she would be causing herself. She knew now why the old warlock had brought that hammer. He intended to hit her in the head from behind to kill or incapacitate her while he put her in the furnace.
"That oaf? He was of no importance." Hollis Webber struggled a bit with the crematory. The door did not swing outward but slid to one side. Inside were steel rollers leading into a chamber kept hot enough to reduce a human body to ash within an hour. As he drew back the bolts and tugged the door open, a surge of searing heat swept over that chamber. "Your concern should be over your own imminent demise."
"That is the wrong answer!" she yelled as she broke her own thumb with a snap and yanked the mutilated hand out of the cuff. Hollis Webber was taken completely off-guard, he barely had time to raise his palms and say, "Wait..!" before she had killed him with a single open-hand strike that broke his neck. She struck harder than she had intended, but she did not regret it. The Trom Girl wrestled the old man's body up into the mouth of the crematory, slid it in and fastened the door shut tightly. A vile stench came from the chamber, even with internal fans wafting it away.
Megan staggered back and almost fell, then sat down heavily on the table where she had been lying. She was so surprised at herself for snapping like that. Her Tel Shai training in Kumundu and her detailed knowledge of the human body's construction made her a dangerous opponent but she had always fought with detached self-control. With all the combat she had seen as a KDF member, she had never given in to anger that way before.
She had no idea how long she sat on that rough, unfinished table and blankly watched the flames flickering through the windows in the crematory door. The throbbing in her hand finally got her attention and she gruffly reset the bone in her thumb. Its swelling was dramatic, but she knew her enhanced healing factor would kick in shortly. Within a day or two, that hand would be usable again. If the bone did not heal crooked, she might not even need surgery. Megan tried to make a fist but the hand was too swollen already.
After some time passed, her thoughts sorted themselves out. That man Montrose was still unaccounted for. Webber's accomplice. He would have to be dealt with. And how should she report poor Archie's death? Call the local police or contact her captain back in New York and have him bring in the FBI's Department 21 Black to clean everything up? What was she going to tell Archie's family? His boss at work when he would not be coming in Monday morning? His friends who had welcomed her into their circle? A heavy weight seemed to be pressing her down. Archie had loved traveling with her to investigate paranormal sightings, the "Trom Girl Mysteries" as he called them.
Standing up and taking a deep breath, Megan Salenger got hold of herself. She was still in possible danger herself, from Montrose. She had to be alert. With a steady hand, she opened the door from the crematorium and headed into a hallway that led to the old dark house itself, determined to end this.
IV.
As she crept down the dim corridors, opening doors to musty rooms where furniture was covered by sheets, Megan was still furious but calmer. Poor Archie. Maybe the Trom councils were right when they had advised her to avoid forming relationships with Humans. She had her mission, to investigate the Midnight War and then report on it to her superiors. Maybe that was all she should need in life. Megan paused and almost sobbed. But she had been so happy with Archie, the joy between them had been so unexpected...
Light showed under a door at the end of the hallway and she could smell coffee. Montrose. Megan stopped as she spotted a row of familiar objects laid out on a lamp stand in the hall, her possessions had been arranged neatly as if for her. Some of her items were commonplace enough, such as the keys on their ring, and her communications Link looked enough like a cell phone that Webber had not given it a second thought. But the flat oblong of the beam projector, with the neural shock cartridge still in place, would puzzle even an electronics technician. Webber would have had no idea what it was or how to use it. The Trom Girl stowed the items in her pockets and held the beam projector in her good hand. With her right hand so swollen and useless, she had not been confident about unarmed combat with a big brute like Montrose. She would have relied on speed and technique against size.
Still thinking of Archie, Megan turned the neural shock cartridge up into fatal range. With that, she grasped the doorknob and twisted it, yanking the door open and stepping inside.
It was a small kitchenette, with a gas range and sink and a round table in one corner. As she entered, the man called Montrose jumped up, kicking over the chair behind him and raising the Colt 45 that Webber had first threatened them with what seemed like ages ago. Pointing that gun was his last mistake. The invisible neural shock played over him and he was dead before he even stood fully upright. His body fell straight down, tumbling over the overturned chair, face hitting the floor with a thud.
It was only then that she saw Archie tied to a chair in the other corner. He was bound with heavy ropes and gagged with a towel in his mouth but his eyes were alert and watching her. Megan froze in shock, then squealed "Archie!" in a high piercing tone and rushed over to him. Tears were pouring down her face but she didn't notice. In an instant, she got the gag out of his mouth and he took a deep gulping breath.
"I thought they had killed you! I thought you were dead!" She got behind him and easily undid the knots in the clothesline binding him. "Oh, Archie! You're all right."
"Yeah, when I woke up, that thug over there was just putting the gag in. I guess there was a drug in the fireplace? What happened to you, honey?"
But the Trom Girl could not talk. As Archie stood up, she was embracing him fiercely and kissing his face all over. She could not stop crying. "Oh, Archie. I don't know what I was going to do with you gone!"
The big guy squeezed her firmly, picking her half off the floor and swinging her from side to side. "Meg, I'm fine. Not even a headache. Take it easy, we're both okay."
"This... this is the last time I will ever take you on a Midnight War investigation," she managed to say. "I thought I had lost you."
"Nah, I love these 'Trom Girl Mysteries.' I'm going on the next one too." he reached down and gently raised her right arm. "Never mind me, look at your hand! Did you punch a wall or something?"
"Oh. Yes, I am slightly injured. But you know I have a healing factor. Let me take a breath. Very well. Listen to me, Archie, we must arrange things here and leave this place." Megan finally disengaged herself and wiped her face with the back of her good hand.
"Sounds good to me. That old goat didn't try to fool around with you, did he? I'll break his neck if he touched you!"
"No, no, nothing of that nature," she said. Tersely, she explained about Webber's Necromancy, communicating with the ashes of the dead and how he had intended to kill her and learn her secrets that way.
"So he's dead, huh? Tossed in his own furnace. I guess it serves him right." Archie tucked one finger under her chin and raised her head as she smiled up at him. "He sure picked the wrong victim, I'll say that."
"That one there is dead as well," she told him, pointing at Montrose. "You saw him point that gun at me. It was clear self-defense but none of this is going to court in any case."
"All right, what's your plan then?"
"No one knows we came here except my captain and Jeremy will simply mark the case as closed," she said. "Can you carry Montrose down the hallway for me? I don't know if you will mind touching a corpse."
"Oh, I've been through a few experiences during my tour of duty as a teenager," Archie said. In his matter of fact way, he bent and hauled the limp Montrose over one shoulder and followed Megan as she made her way back to the crematory. The fires still blazed inside the brick furnace. She directed him to place the corpse down on the wooden table where she herself had been tied up.
"I can not predict what the fire department will conclude after they investigate," she said as she removed the neural shock cartridge from her beam projector. She took a different one from her belt and clicked it into place. Watching her, Archie wondered how she could tell them apart, the cartridges were not marked in any way he could see.
Megan made some adjustments on the beam projector. "Archie, I want you to walk quickly to the Jeep and get in. I will be right behind you." She triggered the projector and a thin needle of intense red light shone out. Where it touched, the wooden table immediately burst into flame. An instant later, the cadaver also caught fire with the stink of burning flesh.
The crematory was built of brick, but it had wooden ceiling beams and she got them ablaze as well before stepping out in the hallway. As she followed Archie briskly toward the front of old house, Megan moved the thermal beam back and forth and it started intense fires wherever it touched. By the time they reached the front door and were outside in the chilly October night, the building had flames coming out of windows in every direction.
Standing by the driver's side of the Jeep Wrangler, the Trom Girl snapped off the beam projector and pocketed it with an expression of satisfaction. "That should leave no evidence of criminal action," she said. "No accelerants were used. There is no typical pattern of arson. The deaths of those two Necromancers should go unsolved forever."
As she started up the engine and back up to make a U-turn up the gravel road, the Trom Girl told Archie, "The nearest house we saw was more than a mile in that direction. By the time anyone reports the fire, that old unsafe building will be beyond saving. All the forbidden knowledge Webber had collected will be destroyed with him."
In the passenger seat, Archie McAllister gazed back at the inferno. By now, a black pillar of smoke was rising up with sparks dancing within it. "That was quite a hobby old man Webber had," he said at last. "He really intended to cremate you and ask questions of your ashes...? What a nut."
"Stranger magic has happened," Megan answered as she sped down the backroads outside of the town of Collier. "You just have not seen it yet."
Archie was silent for a few minutes. Then, he sighed and said, "You know what bugs me? They had no intention of burning me to ask my ashes anything! I guess they figured I didn't know anything important."
Feeling immense relief after all she had been through, Megan leaned over and gave Archie a loud wet kiss on the cheek. "They didn't know you like I do, hon." She turned off the backroad at an intersection that led to the Massachusets Turnpike and cut down her speed a little.
1/5/2016
A Trom Girl Mystery
10/29/2004
I.
"Too bad it's not Halloween for two days yet," Archie said as they pulled over by the side of the road. Ahead were two squat stone pillars topped with white crosses and bronze plaques that read COLLIER CEMETERY, with an added wooden sign, NO ADMITTANCE. Despite that, there was no barrier across the gravel road that led up to four acres of graves dating back to Colonial times.
"Why do you say that?" asked Megan Salenger. She sounded genuinely puzzled. Behind the wheel of her cherry red Jeep Wrangler, the Trom Girl was dressed rather formally in Navy blue slacks, a white silk button-front blouse and a beige topcoat. Her shock of thick black hair was neatly brushed and not in its usual tousled state. "I don't see why you wish it to be Halloween."
Sitting beside her, Archie smiled without mockery. "Ah, it's just a perfect night. The moon is bright, it's windy and sprinkling a little. All the trees have bare branches, it just LOOKS like Halloween, you know?"
"I think so," she said. "Tonight's weather matches your mental image of what the holiday should be. Much the same way as people express a desire for snow on Christmas?"
Archie McAllister said, "You got it," and peered through the windshield at the old house up on the hill. "Man. Even the dark old building with one light showing in a window! It's perfect." He was a few years older than her twenty-five, almost a foot taller than her five foot three. He did have shaggy black hair much like hers, but his eyes were a startling and rather lovely pale blue that stood out oddly in his bearded face.
The Trom Girl watched him affectionately. Her unusual upbringing had been intended to leave her a nearly emotionless genius but nature had asserted itself. She was healthy and normal, no matter what the Trom councils had intended. "I'm glad you could accompany me on this investigation," she said as she put the Jeep back in gear and headed up the gravel road.
"Yeah, I got a three day weekend but Monday morning I better show up at the shop. There's a vintage Indian that needs body work and the boss wants me on it."
"That should present no problem," she said as she slowly drove past rows of worn tombstones and an occasional crypt. The grounds were tended, but the grass looked sparse and lifeless, the cemetery as a whole had a forlorn and discouraged feeling.
"I looked this place up when you first told me about it," Archie said. "It's closed. No new graves. The State of Massachusets is going to maintain it as an historical site but already some developers are talking about bulldozing it to put up a mall. That'd be a shame."
She did not respond. He was used to that by now, as Megan had many odd habits. After a moment, as they neared the old dark house, she asked, "Did you find any information on Hollis Webber?"
"Nothing much. Nothing I don't think you wouldn't already know. Weird old duck."
As she brought the Jeep to a halt in front of the three story Victorian building, Megan made a faint snorting noise. "He is not a duck! I enjoy your figures of speech, Archie, they are so unexpected." From the back seat, she took a package neatly wrapped in brown paper and hefted it. "Let us meet him."
Archie hopped out on the passenger side, grinning despite himself at the rundown structure that loomed up in the darkness in front of them. On the top floor, one small window glowed with an amber light but that was the only sign of habitation. The building itself was in need of repair, a fresh coat of paint would have done wonders and a few shutters hanging sadly on one hinge would not have taken long to fix.
There was a white doorbell and Megan pressed it steadily. A few seconds later, a wrought iron lamp hung over the door sprang into brilliance. They both blinked and the massive oaken door swung inward to reveal a huge man barely restraining his obvious rage.
"No visitors. Go away! Go now," he growled in a heavily accented voice. The man was wrapped in a heavy parka and had woolen gloves on. His wide face looked as if it had never been presentable, even before either years of drinking or brawling or both.
"We're here to see Mr Webber," Megan told him as calmly as if the brute was not glowering furiously at him. "I tried phoning him earlier."
"I told you to get lost!" repeated the man in a louder voice.
Angered at his tone and protective of Megan, Archie clenched his fists and took a breath but she forestalled him by handing over the package she held. "Take this for a second, hon," she said.
As the angry man glared at her, Megan Salenger drew a small dull grey metal device from her coat pocket. It fit easily in her palm. She held it up so the round bulb set on one end faced the hulk. "Here. Do you see this?" She pressed a contact patch and, although the device made no flash or sound, the big man sighed and dropped senseless to the floor with his face down in the doorway itself.
Megan took the package back. "Archie, could you get him in a seated position at least, so we can close the door?"
As he grabbed the unconscious brute and dragged him back into the foyer to prop him up against the wall, she did indeed close the door behind him. "He seemed unreasonable," she said.
"That's the neural shock cartridge, right? Aren't you worried about scrambling somebody's nervous system with that thing so they get epilepsy or amnesia or something?"
"No," she answered and left it at that. They stood in a foyer with a bench and a single straigh tbacked chair, a lamp high on the wall and a coatrack that held a long oilcloth coat, with a scarf wrapped around it. On the wall were framed prints of the town of Collier, Massachussets as it had been two hundred years earlier. Megan opened the inner door and froze. Standing in its opening was an emaciated old white-haired man pointing a big Army .45 automatic with both hands right at her face.
II.
"I've brought your manuscript," the Trom Girl told him with remarkable calmness under the circumstances. It was a simple statement that may have been the only thing she might have said which would defuse the situation. "You ARE Hollis Webber, I assume?"
"Yes. Yes, I am." The elderly man lowered the heavy pistol a few inches and peered through watery blue eyes at his visitors. "My... manuscript? But who are you two? What have you done to Montrose?"
"Your man is unharmed," she said. "He will wake up refreshed in fifteen to twenty minutes. Mr Webber, I am from the Kenneth Dred Foundation in Manhattan. My name is Megan Salenger." As she spoke, the Trom Girl casually reached over to take the package from Archie's hands and held it up in front of her.
This simple action led to Hollis Webber placing the gun in a pocket of his heavy maroon bathrobe and straightening up. Even so, he stood not much taller than Megan did. Webber seemed to be in his early seventies and not in the best physical condition. The wispy white hair stood up from his head in all directions over a wrinkled face that centered around a beaklike nose. His robe was quilted and thick, the dark pajamas were of fine silk and even the slippers were handmade to fit gnarled feet exactly.
"The Dred Foundation? Well, that's different. Of course I want to speak with you. I knew Kenneth Dred slightly, although that was many years ago. Tell me, how did you get hold of my manuscript?"
Megan gestured with the package. "May we come in? It was a long drive from 38th Street and I would like to sit if we're going to discuss business." Seeing Webber checking out Archie with suspicion, she said, "This is my friend and associate, Archie McAllister."
"Eh, very well. But what about Montrose? I can't just leave him lying there." As he spoke, the hulking man on the floor began to snore through a nose which had been broken at some time. "Oh, very well. He seems to be all right. Montrose is a durable lad. Come this way."
Motioning them to follow, Hollis Webber entered a high-ceilinged room with overstuffed chairs facing a marble fireplace. He flipped a switch and an overhead chandelier flared up into subdued light which still left the room dim. The air was chilly and damp. Webber gestured for them to seat themselves, and Megan and Archie dropped down gratefully into easy chairs which were soft and comfy.
"This building is my residence now, but for generations it served as the funeral home, chapel and crematory for the town," announced the old man as he followed them. "So, young lady, about my manuscript...?"
As Webber gingerly lowered himself into a chair facing her, Megan said, "It was forwarded to us by a friend at Wessex House Publishing. She said she found the book fascinating and convincing but her boss would not consider it because of its lack of documentation."
Webber grunted. "I've heard that before, from other publishers."
"Some of your books on the occult have sold quite well," Megan said. "SECRET BELIEFS OF EARLY NEW ENGLAND went into a third printing. But this, WHALING AND THE WITCH CULT... you don't supply any references. You list no sources." She kept the package in her lap, with one hand resting on it as if concerned he might try to snatch it up. "The Kenneth Dred Foundation has of course published several books which were not expected to make a profit. The point is, your manuscript mentions many people from the late 19th Century whose families today might object to the way you link them with black magic societies. Your lack of documentation leaves you open to legal action for slander."
"You can't slander the dead," Webber chuckled. He pointed out the picture window where the cemetery stretched in all directions. "Those folks there are beyond caring what the living think." He laughed unpleasantly at the thought. "What a well of wisdom is out there. I love that graveyard."
At this point, the bulky form of Montrose filled the doorway, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, boss. I must have passed out or something. I don't know what could have happened."
Webber waved a hand dismissingly. "Maybe you are just tired out. You started at dawn. Make yourself something to eat and turn in early."
"You sure you won't be needing me?" the giant insisted, giving both Megan and Archie a venomous stare.
"Quite. I know these visitors. They are no trouble. Take it easy for an evening, Montrose. But wait. Before you go, would you get the fireplace going?"
"Sure thing. Thanks, Mr Webber." The big man crouched over the logs with a long metal starter, fiddled a bit with some tinder and soon had quite a cheery blaze underway. As he straightened up, he gave Megan and Archie another hateful glance before mumbling something and closing the door behind him.
Webber sighed and held out his bony hands toward the fire. "I know Montrose is lacking in charm. He is sullen at best. But at my age, I find I need strength and stamina in an assistant more than social grace."
"Quite all right," the Trom Girl said. "I wanted to ask you about the chapters in your book on Red Sect."
"Ah yes. A very dangerous cult. Red Sect were no pretenders, no dabblers playing at black magick. They were the real thing. Necromancers! The Lundborg brothers held the area around Collier in a grip of total fear for years."
"Yes." Megan was frowning, and her voice had an uncertain note to it that was uncharacteristic. "Red Sect still exists. It has been smashed several times and yet warlocks always establish it again." She glanced over at Archie. "Does it feel stuffy in here suddenly?"
"Damn right," Archie answered as his head dropped forward and he seemed to fall asleep. Seeing this, becoming aware of her own constricted breathing, Megan Salenger leaped to her feet, spun toward the door and fell directly on her face into the thick carpeting.
Seeing her sprawled in front of him, Hollis Webber cackled in a low tone. "You could not smell the Alchemical serum soaked in those logs, eh? Not so clever as you think you are, missy!" The ancient warlock peered over where Archie McAllister slumped senseless in the easy chair opposite him. He pressed a button set on the mantel of the fireplace to summon Montrose back. "Well, there is much more you will learn before this night is over, my young friends!"
III.
For once, Megan awoke slowly, struggling up through a fog of confusion. She was so used to just snapping fully awake that it took her a while to realize what the problem was. She had been drugged. The smoke from the fireplace...
The Trom Girl took in her situation. She was lying on her back, on a rough wooden table in a dimly lit room. She was still fully dressed. Her right hand was held up in the air by a handcuff around its wrist, the other cuff being fastened to a metal pipe that ran along the wall near her. Her other hand and her legs were free. It was hot and stuffy wherever she was.
Sitting up, resting on her free elbow, Megan saw she was within reach of a brick structure with a square metal door that had two rectangular panes of glass which glowed with a dark amber light. Heat radiated from this structure even with the door tightly fastened, worse than any oven, and she realized she was looking at the cemetery's crematory.
Where was Webber? Even more urgent, where was Archie? For once, the Trom Girl wished that her tutors had succeeded in damping out all emotion in her because she could feel her heartbeat race dangerously fast. He had to be safe. She had resisted forming attachments to people all her life and now that she had finally given in and let herself fall in love, to lose him so soon would be unbearable. Megan had never had to deal with the idea of such loss.
The Trom Girl sat up further, examined the pipe to which her right wrist was handcuffed and made a few calculations. She could not break the pipe loose nor snap the handcuff links. She did not have the physical strength. With her free hand, she quickly determined that all her pockets were empty. Like her captain Jeremy Bane, she habitually carried a number of tiny gadgets concealed in her clothing. In a slit in the top of her boots, for example, was a single-edged razor blade useful for cutting bonds but not practical on a handcuff. The other small devices hidden in her pants cuff or inside her belt were not of any use in this situation either.
Why was the crematory flaring up so hotly? Where was Archie? Had Webber already put Archie inside the crematory, reducing him even now to ashes? Megan realized she was breathing in quick shallow gasps and she made a conscious effort to calm herself. Tel Shai technique, Trom discipline. Breathe in slowly, hold it for an equal count, then let it out just as evenly. Her mind cleared. A terrible cold anger surged up in her.
A door closed behind her and she twisted her head around to see the old man hobble in, leaning on a carved wooden cane. Hollis Webber laughed out loud at the rage in her face. He was carrying an ordinary carpenter's hammer in his free hand, which he placed on a bench to one side.
"Ah, I will learn much from your ashes, my dear. There were some informative minds buried out there. I found lots of forgotten history, details of how people lived, long-forgotten scandals and skirmishes. But you! I understand you were reared from childhood by the Trom. You know their secrets. And you are also a knight of Tel Shai. The Order's knowledge goes back thirty thousand years! My remaining days will be devoted to nothing but listening to your ashes." He came around to gaze down at her happily, careful to remain just out of reach.
"You ARE a member of Red Sect," she said with deadly calm. "This is a variation on the Preincarnation spell, then. Somehow you can draw information from Human remains."
"Oh yes. Ashes work best. No one knows why, not even Leopold Vidimar who first developed the Preincarnation spell." Webber leaned a little closer, raising one bony forefinger to point at her. "I have been busy these past eight years. There are so many interesting people buried out there. I love that graveyard. Choosing carefully which native of Collier to disinter in the dark of the night, whose crumbling skeleton to place in the flames. And then, hour after hour of listening to the whispers from the ashes, telling me their secrets..."
"Where is my friend?" Megan demanded slowly. She gripped her handcuffed right hand with her left and adjusted her mind to ignore the pain that she would be causing herself. She knew now why the old warlock had brought that hammer. He intended to hit her in the head from behind to kill or incapacitate her while he put her in the furnace.
"That oaf? He was of no importance." Hollis Webber struggled a bit with the crematory. The door did not swing outward but slid to one side. Inside were steel rollers leading into a chamber kept hot enough to reduce a human body to ash within an hour. As he drew back the bolts and tugged the door open, a surge of searing heat swept over that chamber. "Your concern should be over your own imminent demise."
"That is the wrong answer!" she yelled as she broke her own thumb with a snap and yanked the mutilated hand out of the cuff. Hollis Webber was taken completely off-guard, he barely had time to raise his palms and say, "Wait..!" before she had killed him with a single open-hand strike that broke his neck. She struck harder than she had intended, but she did not regret it. The Trom Girl wrestled the old man's body up into the mouth of the crematory, slid it in and fastened the door shut tightly. A vile stench came from the chamber, even with internal fans wafting it away.
Megan staggered back and almost fell, then sat down heavily on the table where she had been lying. She was so surprised at herself for snapping like that. Her Tel Shai training in Kumundu and her detailed knowledge of the human body's construction made her a dangerous opponent but she had always fought with detached self-control. With all the combat she had seen as a KDF member, she had never given in to anger that way before.
She had no idea how long she sat on that rough, unfinished table and blankly watched the flames flickering through the windows in the crematory door. The throbbing in her hand finally got her attention and she gruffly reset the bone in her thumb. Its swelling was dramatic, but she knew her enhanced healing factor would kick in shortly. Within a day or two, that hand would be usable again. If the bone did not heal crooked, she might not even need surgery. Megan tried to make a fist but the hand was too swollen already.
After some time passed, her thoughts sorted themselves out. That man Montrose was still unaccounted for. Webber's accomplice. He would have to be dealt with. And how should she report poor Archie's death? Call the local police or contact her captain back in New York and have him bring in the FBI's Department 21 Black to clean everything up? What was she going to tell Archie's family? His boss at work when he would not be coming in Monday morning? His friends who had welcomed her into their circle? A heavy weight seemed to be pressing her down. Archie had loved traveling with her to investigate paranormal sightings, the "Trom Girl Mysteries" as he called them.
Standing up and taking a deep breath, Megan Salenger got hold of herself. She was still in possible danger herself, from Montrose. She had to be alert. With a steady hand, she opened the door from the crematorium and headed into a hallway that led to the old dark house itself, determined to end this.
IV.
As she crept down the dim corridors, opening doors to musty rooms where furniture was covered by sheets, Megan was still furious but calmer. Poor Archie. Maybe the Trom councils were right when they had advised her to avoid forming relationships with Humans. She had her mission, to investigate the Midnight War and then report on it to her superiors. Maybe that was all she should need in life. Megan paused and almost sobbed. But she had been so happy with Archie, the joy between them had been so unexpected...
Light showed under a door at the end of the hallway and she could smell coffee. Montrose. Megan stopped as she spotted a row of familiar objects laid out on a lamp stand in the hall, her possessions had been arranged neatly as if for her. Some of her items were commonplace enough, such as the keys on their ring, and her communications Link looked enough like a cell phone that Webber had not given it a second thought. But the flat oblong of the beam projector, with the neural shock cartridge still in place, would puzzle even an electronics technician. Webber would have had no idea what it was or how to use it. The Trom Girl stowed the items in her pockets and held the beam projector in her good hand. With her right hand so swollen and useless, she had not been confident about unarmed combat with a big brute like Montrose. She would have relied on speed and technique against size.
Still thinking of Archie, Megan turned the neural shock cartridge up into fatal range. With that, she grasped the doorknob and twisted it, yanking the door open and stepping inside.
It was a small kitchenette, with a gas range and sink and a round table in one corner. As she entered, the man called Montrose jumped up, kicking over the chair behind him and raising the Colt 45 that Webber had first threatened them with what seemed like ages ago. Pointing that gun was his last mistake. The invisible neural shock played over him and he was dead before he even stood fully upright. His body fell straight down, tumbling over the overturned chair, face hitting the floor with a thud.
It was only then that she saw Archie tied to a chair in the other corner. He was bound with heavy ropes and gagged with a towel in his mouth but his eyes were alert and watching her. Megan froze in shock, then squealed "Archie!" in a high piercing tone and rushed over to him. Tears were pouring down her face but she didn't notice. In an instant, she got the gag out of his mouth and he took a deep gulping breath.
"I thought they had killed you! I thought you were dead!" She got behind him and easily undid the knots in the clothesline binding him. "Oh, Archie! You're all right."
"Yeah, when I woke up, that thug over there was just putting the gag in. I guess there was a drug in the fireplace? What happened to you, honey?"
But the Trom Girl could not talk. As Archie stood up, she was embracing him fiercely and kissing his face all over. She could not stop crying. "Oh, Archie. I don't know what I was going to do with you gone!"
The big guy squeezed her firmly, picking her half off the floor and swinging her from side to side. "Meg, I'm fine. Not even a headache. Take it easy, we're both okay."
"This... this is the last time I will ever take you on a Midnight War investigation," she managed to say. "I thought I had lost you."
"Nah, I love these 'Trom Girl Mysteries.' I'm going on the next one too." he reached down and gently raised her right arm. "Never mind me, look at your hand! Did you punch a wall or something?"
"Oh. Yes, I am slightly injured. But you know I have a healing factor. Let me take a breath. Very well. Listen to me, Archie, we must arrange things here and leave this place." Megan finally disengaged herself and wiped her face with the back of her good hand.
"Sounds good to me. That old goat didn't try to fool around with you, did he? I'll break his neck if he touched you!"
"No, no, nothing of that nature," she said. Tersely, she explained about Webber's Necromancy, communicating with the ashes of the dead and how he had intended to kill her and learn her secrets that way.
"So he's dead, huh? Tossed in his own furnace. I guess it serves him right." Archie tucked one finger under her chin and raised her head as she smiled up at him. "He sure picked the wrong victim, I'll say that."
"That one there is dead as well," she told him, pointing at Montrose. "You saw him point that gun at me. It was clear self-defense but none of this is going to court in any case."
"All right, what's your plan then?"
"No one knows we came here except my captain and Jeremy will simply mark the case as closed," she said. "Can you carry Montrose down the hallway for me? I don't know if you will mind touching a corpse."
"Oh, I've been through a few experiences during my tour of duty as a teenager," Archie said. In his matter of fact way, he bent and hauled the limp Montrose over one shoulder and followed Megan as she made her way back to the crematory. The fires still blazed inside the brick furnace. She directed him to place the corpse down on the wooden table where she herself had been tied up.
"I can not predict what the fire department will conclude after they investigate," she said as she removed the neural shock cartridge from her beam projector. She took a different one from her belt and clicked it into place. Watching her, Archie wondered how she could tell them apart, the cartridges were not marked in any way he could see.
Megan made some adjustments on the beam projector. "Archie, I want you to walk quickly to the Jeep and get in. I will be right behind you." She triggered the projector and a thin needle of intense red light shone out. Where it touched, the wooden table immediately burst into flame. An instant later, the cadaver also caught fire with the stink of burning flesh.
The crematory was built of brick, but it had wooden ceiling beams and she got them ablaze as well before stepping out in the hallway. As she followed Archie briskly toward the front of old house, Megan moved the thermal beam back and forth and it started intense fires wherever it touched. By the time they reached the front door and were outside in the chilly October night, the building had flames coming out of windows in every direction.
Standing by the driver's side of the Jeep Wrangler, the Trom Girl snapped off the beam projector and pocketed it with an expression of satisfaction. "That should leave no evidence of criminal action," she said. "No accelerants were used. There is no typical pattern of arson. The deaths of those two Necromancers should go unsolved forever."
As she started up the engine and back up to make a U-turn up the gravel road, the Trom Girl told Archie, "The nearest house we saw was more than a mile in that direction. By the time anyone reports the fire, that old unsafe building will be beyond saving. All the forbidden knowledge Webber had collected will be destroyed with him."
In the passenger seat, Archie McAllister gazed back at the inferno. By now, a black pillar of smoke was rising up with sparks dancing within it. "That was quite a hobby old man Webber had," he said at last. "He really intended to cremate you and ask questions of your ashes...? What a nut."
"Stranger magic has happened," Megan answered as she sped down the backroads outside of the town of Collier. "You just have not seen it yet."
Archie was silent for a few minutes. Then, he sighed and said, "You know what bugs me? They had no intention of burning me to ask my ashes anything! I guess they figured I didn't know anything important."
Feeling immense relief after all she had been through, Megan leaned over and gave Archie a loud wet kiss on the cheek. "They didn't know you like I do, hon." She turned off the backroad at an intersection that led to the Massachusets Turnpike and cut down her speed a little.
1/5/2016