Chapter 24

The next morning dawned clear and bright. Dashiell would have preferred rain. Anything to damp down the fire and keep the cauldron from boiling. And, water does nasty things to decomposing flesh. He reflected that, in many ways, water was more dangerous than fire to some zombies. Movies liked to show flame, but decomposing flesh actually wasn’t that flammable.

He spent the day preparing, making phone calls to old contacts. He didn’t expect anyone to join him out at Arlington. He just wanted to activate the phone tree. It was a program the Director had set up before they were shut down. No one currently in the government could publicly lend aid. But there were quiet ways they could prepare the city for a coming disaster.

Finally, he prepared himself, grabbing as many charms as he had in the house. In addition to his usual good luck charms, he hung both a cross and a Star of David around his neck. He didn’t have a crescent in the house, since Muslim spirits weren’t that common in this part of the world. He debated taking a feather, a universal symbol of good luck, but decided against it, since it symbolized the spirit moving from one world to the next. First of all, he didn’t want his spirit traveling anywhere. And secondly, the crossroads were Hecate’s domain. Best not to give her any aid he didn’t have to.

Next, he took out his key chain and headed to a small locked door under the stairs. He unlocked the door, revealing another set of steps heading down to the basement. He walked down the rickety wooden stairs, pausing for a moment at the bottom. His eyes scanned the room and came to rest on the old wooden chest. He walked over to it, looking down on it for a while. He sighed, dropping to one knee, unlocking the padlock that held the latch closed.

He opened the trunk and took out the dark rosewood case there. He opened it, looking down at his service weapon, a black Glock 9 mm. He hadn’t carried it in a while. But today was a special case. He took the underarm holster from the case and put it on. Then he loaded the clip, sliding it into the handle with a satisfying sound. He cocked the weapon, checked the safety, then slid it into its holster. The weight was odd after all these years.

Underneath the rosewood case, neatly folded, was a large black jacket. He took it out, looking it over. It was standard Bureau issue, with a variety of pockets and special additions, designed to hold a variety of tools and charms. The jacket itself was ensorcelled by the best witches and warlocks who worked for the Bureau. It was basically a walking circle of protection.

He looked through the trunk. He didn’t need the silver bullets. Regular would do. He grabbed three vials of holy water, setting them to the side. He considered grabbing the Bible he stored there, but he wasn’t truly going up against demonic forces. At least, not as the witches saw it. Therefore, the Bible might not work. Of course, he reflected, that means the holy water might not work. He’d bring it anyway. He tucked the vials into the inside of the jacket, in one of the pockets there.

Satisfied that he didn’t need anything else in the trunk, he closed and locked it. Then he went back upstairs and locked the door to the basement. He stopped in the kitchen and grabbed a large box of salt that he had picked up the night before.

He heard a car horn and headed for the front door. Regina was here to pick him up. He gazed to the west, noting the sun sinking below the horizon. It was going to be a busy night.

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