“You’re telling me.”
Levi fell silent and cocked his head, as if listening. “You hear something?” Donny whispered after a moment.
“No, I was just making sure the coast was clear, and it is. Let’s go inside.”
“I reckon the door is locked. Brinkley Springs may be a small town, but folks still tend to lock their doors when they leave.”
“That’s okay. I have a key.”
“Myrtle gave you her keys?”
Levi shook his head. Then he grasped the doorknob with his right hand and closed his eyes. As Donny watched, he took a deep breath, held it for ten seconds or so, and then exhaled. Levi opened his eyes as the latch clicked. He turned the knob and the door swung open.
“How the hell did you do that?”
Levi winked. “How do you think? Come on.”
They went inside, Levi first, with Donny following close behind him. Myrtle’s house was a dusty, spider webbed monument to clutter. Every inch of available shelf space or tabletop was piled high with a bewildering array of items—stacks of magazines and paperback books, vials of scented oil, votive candles, potpourri, incense burners, crystals, beads, pewter fantasy figurines, tarot cards, ceramic unicorns and dolphins, assorted knickknacks and more. One bookshelf was stuffed with Myrtle’s self-published books, and next to the shelf were six open cardboard boxes filled with more. A large angel figurine perched precariously atop the television. Donny didn’t like it. Rather than being comforting, the angel seemed somehow sinister, as if it were watching them reproachfully. The air in the house was thick with the competing smells of various incense that made him half-nauseous.
“Crap,” he muttered.
“Yes,” Levi said, eyeing a shard of quartz that was lying on the coffee table. “A lot of it is. Most of it, in fact. But hopefully she has a few things here that are worthwhile.”
“So what are we looking for, anyway?”
“Two things. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and find us some salt. Doesn’t matter what kind. Table salt. Sea salt. Iodized salt. They’re all fine. Get all the salt she has—as much as you can carry.”
“Salt?” If not for the seriousness of their situation, Donny might have thought that Levi was fucking with him. “What do we need salt for?”
“It’s a weapon. You heard what Randy said. The thing that killed his parents had an aversion to salt.
Many supernatural entities do, at least when they’re in corporeal form. Salt is always a good magical failsafe.”
“And here I just thought it made food taste better.”
“It does that, too. Now, go on. I’ll poke around in here and see if I can’t find us some sage.”
“Sage?”
“Yes. I have a small quantity with me, here in my vest pocket. But we’ll need a lot more.”
“Personally, I’d be more comfortable with an M16.”
“But we already know such a weapon would be useless against our foe. Salt and sage are what we need.”
“If you say so.”
Levi nodded, his attention focused on the clutter. Shaking his head, Donny went into the kitchen and poked around in the dark. He found a salt shaker on the table and slipped it into his pocket. Then he opened the pantry door and found a large canister of salt on the top shelf. When he returned to the living room, Levi wasn’t there.
“Levi?”
“I’m upstairs,” he called. His voice was faint. “I’ll be down in a second.”
Donny waited. He sat the salt canister down on the table and flipped through a towering stack of magazines that leaned against the wall in one corner of the room. The titles were ones he’d never heard of before—Fate, the Fortean Times, Angels, the Coming Changes, Conscious Creation, Lightworker Monthly and others. Levi bustled around above him. Donny heard footsteps creak across the ceiling, followed by the sound of a drawer opening. He picked up an issue of the Fortean Times and flipped through it. There was a lengthy feature article about mermaids, including a report of a supposed mermaid sighting off the coast of Haifa, Israel the previous year. Most of the other articles seemed to be culled or clipped from various newspapers and magazines from around the world. All of them focused on the odd or paranormal— ghosts in London’s Highgate Cemetery, a man in Beijing falling seventeen stories and living, sightings of everything from Bigfoot to panthers in Manhattan, a rain of fish in a small French town, a Vietnamese man who had grown horns from his head and more. Each story was stranger than the previous, and all of them were supposedly true. Although Donny had never heard of the magazine, he certainly recognized some of the credited sources for the reports— the Associated Press, the Times of London, the Washington Post and others.
Donny suddenly felt lightheaded. The room began to spin. His pulse throbbed in his ears. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. It was all so bizarre. Most of the time, he felt like a young old man. He’d seen things—done things—that the rest of his former friends in Brinkley Springs would never do or understand, but even after seeing as much of the world as he had, he was faced now with the realization that he knew nothing and had seen nothing. There was an entire other world that existed in the shadows of the real world, a world populated by people like Levi and creatures like the ones outside. Skimming the articles in the magazine had just made the realization more concrete.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, breathless. “Jesus fucking Christ…”
He heard footsteps on the stairs. Donny composed himself. Seconds later, Levi appeared, carrying a small bundle of what looked like dried-up hay. He waved it as he approached.
“I found some. I just knew she’d have some on hand. Even an amateur knows about the properties of sage. Now we’re ready.” His gaze darted down to the magazine still in Donny’s hands. “Oh, the Fortean Times. That’s one of my favorite magazines.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. I read it every month.”
“I should have figured you would.”
Levi feigned offense. “I’ll have you know that I also read everything from National Geographic to Soldier of Fortune.”
“How about Penthouse?”
“Only for the articles.” Grinning, Levi pointed to the magazine in Donny’s hand. “That’s an old issue. If I remember correctly, there’s an interesting article about Namibian bloodsuckers in it. Very thought provoking, since the classic chupacabra legends originated in South America.”
“I don’t know about that.” Donny’s mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. “I didn’t read anything about bloodsuckers. I saw a big piece on mermaids.”
“Ah, mermaids.” Levi nodded. “Leviathan’s handmaidens. Beautiful and utterly evil. They’re vampiric, as well, though not in a sense that you’d probably understand. Nasty creatures, to be sure, but not nearly as bad as what we’re facing tonight.”
“Are… are the crows vampires?”
Levi frowned. “No, I don’t believe so. They’ve given no indication of such. Something similar to vampires, perhaps, given that they seem to feed on the souls of living things, but I’m not sure yet.”
Donny didn’t respond. With one trembling hand, he put the magazine back on top of the pile.
“What’s wrong?” Levi asked. “You’re sweating.”
“Levi… how long have you been involved in this?”
“In what?”
“This.” Donny made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “All of this fucked-up occult stuff.”
Levi lowered his head and stared at the floor. When he looked up again, his voice was softer and his air of self-assuredness was gone. He looked and sounded tired.