[MH] (Caribbean by Night) Driving Miss Piggy

[Icelander]

The cassette had reached the end and only sounds of the powerful engine broke up the silence in the car. Wojciechowski ejected the cassette, flipped it over, and pressed play again. Cohen’s grating voice told them ‘I finally broke into the prison, I found my place in the chain…’

“It didn’t take Izzy year to figure out that Cahokia might hold some answers. It took him year to put together evidence and argument enough to convince Old Man Kessler, Mr. Alexandre and Dante Villareal to authorize team travel to St. Louis, with magician more powerful than Izzy. That meeting I attended, on Penemue, near the Windward Islands."

Wojciechowski took a sip of water. “What we have to understand is that Old Man Kessler isn’t looking to right every wrong. He believes that Vile Vortices represent weak areas in veil of reality, where the wrong ritual or incursion might tear open hole that won’t close, occult energies streaming through, feeding supernatural beings that then violate natural laws, resulting in an ever larger rip in reality.

"Exponential ultraterrestial event. Preventing that is our mission. And because we are few and world is large, we focus on one Vile Vortex, the one in Caribbean. ’Bermuda Triangle’, although it is not centered on Bermuda and doesn’t seem to be triangle. So, really, Kessler can’t worry too much about anything that happens outside that Vortex, or, at least, outside network of ley lines that connect to it and might presage extension of it.”

Laying in the back seat, still holding bloody napkins to his nose, Kit asked, “Ley lines like the ones that reach to Galveston?”

“Not just Galveston, żabko,” Wojciechowski said grimly. “There are many places on North American coastline connected to Vortex with metaphysical conduits. Some in Florida and Atlantic Coast, but also on Gulf Coast. Or so Kessler says. It is his arcane model that governs our actions and nobody else understands distinctions. Galveston and coastal Places of Power are important nexus to protect against Caribbean Vortex, okay. But ley lines that radiate out from old Mississippian sites are not important, he says. Minuscule chance of EUE in near future. Tertiary threats at most, he says. Not priority.”

Softly, Kit asked, “And you think he’s wrong?”

“No, boychik,” Wojciechowski said in a gentle voice as old as mountains. “I’m afraid that he’s right.” Tapping his fingers on the wheel, he continued, “Night Riders study occult, but we are mostly not gifted. I’ve met maybe six magicians who are sane enough to help Night Riders. I know about maybe six more who are not working with us; but might have similar goals. That number includes people like Izzy, who know minor tricks, but could not find murderer across states or pin-point him enough to get him. For that, I know three. In entire world.”

Kit started to ask a question, but the other man cut him off. “You want to know why we need worry about cultists finding us with divination, żabko?”
“Yeah,” said Kit. “If you only know three people in the world who could do it at all, doesn’t it seem a bit unlikely that one of them might be with these cultists and ready to do it on command right now?”

“Because, żabko, magicians aren’t as rare as we might wish. It’s sane magicians who are in short supply. Those who study magic like science and who also happen to be born with very rare natural talent to shape occult forces. And who have good sense to avoid easy shortcuts. Like finding demons to worship, spirits to appease or lost gods to accept sacrifice. I’m not born with any talent for magic, żabko, but I’ve learned enough so that given right item, place or reconstructed ritual, I could probably summon up eldritch entity to make me able to wield any power I want. For price.”

Leonard Cohen sang ‘I cried, "Oh, Lady Midnight, I fear that you grow old; The stars eat your body and the wind makes you cold…"’ and Kit shivered despite the central heating.

Wojciechowski continued his tale. “Against dozen mostly sane magicians I know about, there are thousands like our cultist friends or Sons of the Bird. Their motivations are many-fold, but at end of day, forces they serve want to eat. Sanity or sacrifices, all same to them. So. Those who are both magician and sane cannot afford time or risk to oppose every bad thing done for occult reasons. So, Izzy was wrong. I told him he was wrong. I backed Dante Villareal, my team lead at time, arguing we were over-extended already and had no infrastructure, support or contacts to operate in Midwest.”

“If Izzy was anyone else, it probably would have ended there. He might have tried to get police involved, convince them of his theory about serial killer obsessed with Mississippian culture, leave out supernatural elements, see if they could find him anyway.” Wojciechowski sighed. “But Izzy was one of les filleuls and in line for command of Penemue team next.”

Kit frowned, “Les filleuls?”

“Godsons, boychik. Before Old Man Kessler was billionaire, he fought in WWII and Indochina as Legionnaire. Many of his most trusted men afterward were his frères d'armes, fellow veterans from Legion, whom he employed in his casino, oil companies or other ventures. It was lifetime ago, so most of them are dead now, but their sons and grandsons are around. And whether they are literal godsons or not, they are aristocracy of Old Man’s feudal court. Dr. Lapointe, both Villareals, Joders, Guillermo Wagner, Izzy and others. Most Night Rider team leads have been les filleuls.”

“Just godsons?” Kit asked indignantly, “What about goddaughters?”

Wojciechowski chuckled drily, “You should meet Magda Garcia. She would love you. No, there are goddaughters also, but none as Night Riders. It is not rule, but Kessler was born in 1918. You think I am archaic dinosaur of outdated social values? Kessler was getting on in years when I was born. In some things, his attitudes are from bygone world, and he is even more protective of family than he is of ladies in general. For anyone but Magda, not a chance. For her, well, as long as she doesn’t throw it in his face.”

“Real progressive,” Kit grumbled.

“Take it up with all your lady SEAL friends, boychik.” Wojciechowski spoke without malice or even his usual sardonic edge. “It is like I said, we’re not here to right every wrong. Enjoy what wins we can get, żabko, don’t lament what we can’t change. And unless you want kid sister following in your footsteps, to Afghanistan or worse, maybe don’t judge old men too harshly for feeling protective of fairer sex sometimes.”

The tape had reached the end again. With practiced one-handed motions, Wojciechowski removed it and inserted another. Then he continued his tale to the haunting refrain of Cohen’s ‘Suzanne’.

“Izzy made good points. As did Dr. Lapointe, who had already done divination on his behalf with the remains found where girls disappeared or near their bodies. They argued it was obvious that St. Louis, like many other cities, had home-grown occult scene. There, as well as elsewhere, occultists tended to draw power from local myths, legends, Places of Power. That meant many of those studying occult around Mississippi river were going to deal with artifacts, myths and spirits of older civilization.

"Okay, good. Not our problem what occultists get up to; as long as world not likely to end. But evidence Izzy had found pointed at just one man. Maybe with some help; followers or some kind of bonded demon patron or spirit riding him. But same man. Maybe that man belonged to organized group of occultists up in St. Louis, in fact, Izzy thought he did, but it was same man who had kidnapped and killed little girls for at least four years around sites of archaeological interest.

"Izzy called him ‘The Birdman’. And Birdman was getting better at his craft. Earlier, he chose unwise victims, was seen by babysitters or mothers, bodies were found, he left fingerprints behind or otherwise did something to cause hue and cry. Now, hardly anyone noticed disappearances. Little girls just fell through cracks. Chosen with uncanny insight, legion of the lost without any powerful protectors. And no bodies were found anymore. But Izzy and Dr. Lapointe said that they could link fifty dead to Birdman for sure, half of those in last eight months. Occult or not, everyone who watches movies knows it’s never good when serial killers speed up pace.”

“Fifty little girls?” Kit asked in horror.

“Fifty for sure,” Wojciechowski said quietly. “Another fifty probables. And that argued for amounts of occult energy that could not be ignored. There was no telling what Birdman was after, but it was potentially dangerous enough to justify our time, even if it had not turned up in Old Man Kessler’s occult calculus yet. Or so Izzy argued. Because he and Dr. Lapointe spoke eloquently and persuasively, also because of who their fathers were, fact-finding mission to St. Louis was finally approved. Dr. Lapointe for his divination and mixed team of Night Riders from New Orleans and Penemue to protect him. Dante Villareal as lead and Izzy as his second.”

“And you,” Kit guessed.
“And me, żabko,” Wojciechowski confirmed. “At that time, I was not yet proud Texan and could not as easily move among people of United States as fish through sea. But I was at least trusted to be security for Dr. Lapointe, because age and treachery beat youth and skill every time. So, I went to Rome of the West. And there I met Sons of the Bird.”