Darkborn (6 page)

Whenever Will spoke to Scott he thought: We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

“But that’s just it, Whalen, my man. He passed out. Flat out in his living room, muttering garbage about William Blake and poetic realism and throwing the cup at the altar.”

“Oh, no. Not
that
shit!” Tim said, laughing. He dug out another cigarette. Tim was loving this. This kind of event — people completely out of it — was Tim’s element.

Except — except .
 
.
 
. Will didn’t remember Tim ever being out of control.

“What shit?” Kiff said.

“Scott has this thing,” Tim said. “The Church’s teaching on yanking the crank —”

“Beating the meat,” Whalen added, grinning.

Kiff looked lost.

“You see, Scott says that the Church is out to lunch, because it compares the onanistic act of spilling one’s seed with dumping a chalice of consecrated blood onto the ground. Drives him nuts.”

“I never heard him say that,” Narrio said.

Tim shook his head. “Last year, Mikey. You were out of class that day. It must have been National Pizza Day.”

Everyone, including Narrio, laughed.

“Yeah, well,” Kiff said, trying to regain the floor. “He was out, gone. So I decided to nose around a bit.”

“You what?” Will said.

Kiff turned to him and Will smelled Kiff’s foul breath. The guy needed a refresher course on human hygiene. Coke, fries, the occasional Devil Dog. But was there any toothbrush action in the guy’s routine? Will doubted it.

“I looked around his house. Why not? It’s filled with books, papers, all sorts of neat stuff. A really great wine cellar.”

“Jeez, you spied on him!” Whalen said.

“Right!” Kiff grinned. “And guess what I found’”

For a second, no one said anything. Because, Will figured, nobody had an idea.

“I got it,” Tim said. “You found his mother, in a wheelchair. All dried up .
 
.
 
. Norman,” he added, laughing. “Norman, put me down’”

Will laughed, but he saw that Kiff wasn’t enjoying this. His story wasn’t getting him the respect he felt it deserved.

Kiff made a fist. “No, Tim. That’s not what I found. I found a closet. And then, behind the closet, a fucking secret door’!”

Tim raised his eyebrows.

And Will saw Whalen look up.

Narrio looked at his watch — quickly — then back to Kiff. He had their interest now.

“Go on,” Tim said.

“Yeah, a secret door right behind his little wine cellar. It looked ajar — as if he had just been there and had the door open, and was too fucking drunk to close it. I opened it. But I couldn’t see too well. There was no light. But I reached in, and then I felt what was there.”

Kiff waited, letting everyone hang there, blowing in the breeze.

Will thought he heard a rumble outside. Damn storm is coming, he thought. And I’ve got no raincoat, no umbrella .
 
.
 
. nothing.

The song on the jukebox changed. The Rolling Stones jumped in with “Get off My Cloud.”

Seemed appropriate.

“My eyes got used to the dark. It smelled like hell in there. And I could just about make out that there were books, shelves of them .
 
.
 
.”

“And?” Tim said, licking his lips, smoke whispering out of his nostrils like a sleeping dragon.

“Tim, it was fucking unreal.” Kiff looked to the others.

“I pulled a few of the books out. And damn, he had something called
The Book of Enoch
. The fuckin’
Book of Enoch
. Do you know what the hell that is?”

Will expected everyone to shake their head no.

But Whalen nodded.

“Yeah? So? Big deal,” Whalen said.

Kiff reared back. “What, Whalen?
The Book of Enoch
. How many copies are there in the whole world? Three, four?”

“So? He’s a book collector,” Whalen said.

Will couldn’t wait anymore. “Would someone mind telling me what
The Book of Enoch
is?”

Kiff turned to Will, grabbed his arm. “Just one of the most ancient books of alchemy and occultism ever, Will, my boy. It’s called the fucking Black Bible. Shit, it’s still on the Vatican’s top ten proscribed list.”

“But can you dance to it?” Tim said.

No one laughed.

“And what else?” Will said.

“There was a lot of books. Some of the spines felt as if they’d crumble away in my hands. But I saw two more titles that I knew. Two more major books in the world of the occult — A-number-one tracts for the old dark forces.”

“Shit,” Tim said, “you sound like Father Williamson having one of his visionary attacks in the middle of mass.”

“Don’t laugh, Tim. These are
incredible
books.” Kiff licked his lips. And Will — for the first time-was scared of Kiff.

He looked
gone
.
 
.
 
.

And where Kiff was, Will didn’t want to follow.

“So what’s the big deal?” Will asked, knowing just how unconvincing he sounded.

Mr. Kokovinis started over to their table.

Kiff — with eyes in the back of his head, apparently — shook his head to Will and started slurping at what was now an empty glass of soda.

“You-a boys want some more?” Koko said none too pleasantly. They always overstayed their welcome for the one soda they bought.

Kiff popped up. “Another round, barkeep,” he said. Koko shook his head and walked away.

“Hey, I gotta go,” Narrio said.

Kiff shot out a hand and imprisoned Narrio.

And Kiff — crazy, wild — told him to wait. It sounded like an order. An order to them all to wait.

At least until he heard Kiff’s plan.

And Will listened, thinking, What the hell does this have to do with me?

Not knowing that the answer to that question was
everything
.

* * *

5

Nobody had any Coca-Cola left by the time Kiff wrapped up his pitch. And Will watched Kiff sit back, just like a carnival huckster, to wait for the suckers to take the bait.

Kiff made his plan simple, so simple that it was hard to find a reason to say no. Mr. Scott has these books, he explained. And these books have ceremonies, rites, for doing things.

Cool stuff.

“So let’s get one and try it,” Kiff said.

The jukebox went quiet.

“How?” Tim said, dropping his cigarette butt into the dregs of the Coke.

Narrio leaned over to Will. “I gotta go. I should have left —”

Kiff’s voice cut in, loud, pushing away Narrio’s nervous squeaks.

“That’s the great part,” Kiff said, looking around as if Mr. Kokovinis might actually be interested in this nonsense.

And that’s what it was, Will knew. Nonsense. The occult, the spirit world, black magic.

Cue
Twilight Zone
music, or maybe the even eerier wail that opened
One Step Beyond
.

Just bullshit, stuff to talk about on hot summer nights, hanging out on the corner. Looking at a yellow moon, UFOs. King Tut’s curse. And is John Dillinger’s prick really in the Smithsonian? Bullshit. That’s all it was .
 
.
 
.

“Scott’s rehearsing Hamlet. And” — Kiff fairly sputtered in excitement —”it will be a long rehearsal, until six, at least.”

“Oh, Christ. I know where this is leading,” Whalen groaned.

“What we do, guys, is go over there and” — Kiff took a breath —”break into Scott’s apartment. I know how to do it and —”

Tim laughed. “Right. Breaking and entering. Just what I need on my records before I apply to Princeton. Right, Kiff. You got a
real
chance.”

“No. Tim, Will —
guys
. It’s no big deal. Scott’s basement apartment has a back door. I saw the lock. It’s a piece of cake.”

“You notice those things, do you?” Whalen said.

“One of us can watch while another gets in. We won’t even take the fucking book. We’ll just copy down the instructions —”

“Yeah,” Tim howled. “How to summon a demon. God!”

“I gotta go,” Narrio said. And this time he pushed hard against Will.

Will stood up.

Maybe it
was
time to go.

“Wait a second,” Kiff said. “We can
do
this. Test the forces of darkness,” he said, grinning. Kiff slapped a fist into his hand. “Hell, we can do it this Friday, instead of going to the stupid dance.”

That Friday was St. Jerry’s monthly dance, and they usually all went, even though only Tim ever had a date, his steady. If he was to be believed, he was getting it regularly.

“Not go to the dance?” Will said. “And do what?”

Kiff stood up, his shabby trench coat flying around his body like a cape.

“We’ll do the fucking ceremony. We’ll try to summon a spirit.” Kiff paused. “Or are you guys too punk?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tim said. “I’m
terrified
. Absolutely frozen with fear, Kiff. Why the hell don’t you — ?”

“Then do it, Tim. You always have the big mouth, the big ideas. So let’s do this.”

Tim shook his head. Will thought he was going to say something. But he didn’t.

There was a rumble outside. Then another. Will heard the tiny specks of rain hit the glass.

Kiff waited. Whalen lit another cigarette. Narrio picked up his book bag — the only one of them to actually use an official St. Jerome’s book bag. Bags were strictly for douchy freshmen.