Kill the Dead

She was nude. The flesh from her breasts, her belly, and her legs had been eaten away. Most of her face was gone, but Grandfather recognized her and went to her. She gouged out his eyes and devoured him in the main room of our little house, under the crucifix her mother had given them at their wedding.” “You didn’t have to kill them yourself, did you?” “This happened six hundred years ago, so no, I didn’t, but we still remember.” “So your people decided to go after the ghost soldiers.” “The bravest, boldest men went after them that night. They all were eaten or turned into revenants themselves. Other men were able to capture a few of the beasts and, over time, we learned how to destroy them. After that, my family were no longer farmers. We were killers. Like you. And like you, we do whatever we have to do to live and continue our work.” “You don’t have to justify anything to me.” “I know. That’s why I’ll tell you this. Normal people, Simon’s sort of people, wouldn’t understand.” “You definitely win the deep-dark-secrets competition. I never hid anything that good.” “What about your magic? You must have kept that secret.” “I didn’t know any better when I was a kid, and by the time I figured it out, it was too late.” “Poor Jimmy. Full of magic and happy to use it. Doomed to beat the boys at all their games and do tricks for the girls to make them kiss you.” “I didn’t have a car. I had to do something.” “I’ll light a candle for you.” “Don’t waste the wax. They don’t take my calls anymore.” I get Brigitte to hold the wheel while I tap out a cigarette, light up, and take a big puff. Instantly, I’m Doc Holliday trying to cough up a lung. “God. They’re menthols.” I toss the rest of the pack, including the one I’m smoking, out the window. I’m doing the Lexus owner a favor ditching those nerve-gas sticks. He’ll whine when he realizes they’re gone, but sometimes tough love is the only answer. The street across from the vacant lot on East Sixth is empty. I kill the engine and the lights and we sit for a minute watching the place. In the moonlight the Springheels’ hovel looks like a cardboard cutout left out in the rain. I don’t see anyone standing guard. Brigitte leans across me and looks out the window. “That’s the house of an important family?” “The most important once upon a time.” “I think you Sub Rosa have a different sense of beauty than other people.” “You get used to it. Like herpes or a missing leg.” “I want to see inside.” “Not yet. I need to do something first.” I grab a bag from the backseat, get out of the Lexus, and go around to the passenger side. Brigitte watches as I dump a pile of powders, plants, and the piece of lead I use for certain kinds of circles. “Lovely. I get to see magic?” “You get to see magic. I hope these ingredients are still good. They’re Kasabian’s. My roomie’s. He hasn’t done this kind of hoodoo in a long time.”