Issue Fifteen

By Travis Hiltz

"Bell, Book and Candle - Part 2"

The quartet of occult investigators, known as the Trenchcoat Brigade, are in New York investigating a break-in at an occult bookstore, believed to have been the work of the Cult of the Cursed.

Four of the world’s foremost experts on the supernatural stood on the curb, trying to flag down a taxi.
“I want to take a peek at Rook’s place,” John Constantine said, lighting a fresh cigarette. “What bout you lot?”
“I may have a lead to the Bell,” Dr. Occult replied, thoughtfully.
“Till we know the measure of our opponent,” The Phantom Stranger added. “I suggest we not pursue our inquires alone. I will accompany John Constantine.”
“Then E can come with us,” Dr. Occult said. He was not speaking in the royal plural, but of his partner in crime, Rose Psychic, a young woman he was mystically bonded to
“I will not work with that harlot,” The clad all in white, Mister E muttered.
“Really? Rose only has nice things to say about you.” Dr. Occult said, dryly. “I’ll be your guide on this little quest. Rose is... otherwise occupied.”
“Be sure and protect E from any evil girls that might tempt him off the straight and narrow,” Constantine smirked.
“His virtue is safe with me,” Occult replied, as he and the scowling Mister E walked away.
“Let us be away,” The Stranger said, stepping out into the street. He raised a white-gloved hand and a taxi screeched to a halt.
“Nice trick,” Constantine said. “What kind of spell is that?”
“Practical magic,” The Stranger replied, and for a brief instant it looked as though one of the corner’s of his mouth went up. Constantine shook his head and sank back into the seat of the cab.

Dr. Occult watched the cab drive off, as they walked.
“How far do we need to go?” E asked, his cane tapping on the sidewalk.
“Not very,” his companion replied, absently. Dr. Occult reached into his coat pocket and removed a palm sized disk. It was no more than a half inch thick and had the appearance of being made of polished wood. It was divided into segments, like a pie, cut to feed seven guests. The ‘slices’ alternated between black and red. Dr. Occult peered at the disk, intently, then ran a thumb across its smooth, warm to the touch surface.
“Down that alley, past the light,”
The duo walked down the narrow alleyway, E looking increasingly annoyed, Occult appeared to be counting steps, walking heel to toe. He stopped at a manhole, peered up at the skies, then nodded to himself.
“Help me open this,” Occult said, kneeling down and running his fingers along the edge of the metal cover.
“Are you sure of this?” E asked, skeptically, as he aided his companion to lift the cover up and set it aside.
“E, we four work well together,” Doctor Occult explained, as he stood up and brushed his hands together. “because each of us walks a special path. You travel the unseen paths of time, the Stranger knows the twisting ways that are strung between Heaven and Hell. John Constantine is adept at following the trails of urban magic.’” He adjusted his overcoat and began to climb down into the sewer tunnel. “Rose and I walk through the places of magic that dwell just at the edges of the ‘so-called’ real world. The faire realms that mankind has banished into old books and stories. Coming?”
Mister E frowned, and followed.
Within moments, the two occult investigators stood on a concrete ledge, in the tunnel beneath the city. A river of foul, brownish-gray water flowed sluggishly by. The tunnel was dimly lit, the few maintenance lights set in the tunnel wall were weak and several cracked and dark.
“Charming,” E sniffed.
“Could be worse,” Occult said, as he began to stroll along the edge. “Rose and I were down here last year, when the Rat King got a hold of the Black Dragon’s Heart. An albino alligator bit our secretary clean in half. Not one of my more successful cases.”
“Be that as it may,” Mister E replied. “What do you hope to accomplish down here?”
“I have some ... associates that should be able to give us a line on the Bell, if not allow us to get our hands on it, this very eve.”
“Well,” E said, with a stern nod. “we should be on our way then, don’t you think?”
Unsure if Mister E had just made an attempt at humor, Doctor Occult merely nodded and began walking down the grimey ledge. The blind occult investigator followed.
Fifteen minutes of strolling brought the pair to a fork in the tunnel. The left was modern and filthy, the right, almost medieval. The stone work was rougher, and the maintenance lights were replaced by torches in iron brackets.
“Which way?” E asked.
Occult peered at the two, mismatched tunnels then back at his companion.
“There is none so blind...,” he muttered. “The right.”
The air grew smokey from the torches, and the light even dimmer. Occult’s disk glowed faintly in the gloom and Mister E merely strolled along at his side.
When asked how a blind man, such as himself managed to get around so well, Mister E had two answers, depending on the asker.
“The hand of the Almighty guides me along a golden path in this dark world.” or “The rest of the world knows enough to stay out of my way.”
The tunnel began to widen and brighten.
“Almost there,” Occult said. “Once we find my contact, let Rose and I do the talking. If you are offered something, refuse it politely and above all, try not kill anybody without good reason.”
“If their soul is wicked...,” E began.
“Yes, well, a better reason then that,” Occult interrupted. “Down here, wicked is the rule and mortals are a barely tolerated minority.”
As the duo walked, the tunnel widened and became even more medeival looking, eventually arriving at a vast open chamber.
Smells of cooking fires mixed with that of farm animals. The air was filled with the sounds of music, merriment and commerce.
“The great Dwarf Market,” Occult muttered. “Home to some of the craftiest procurers and swindlers in the seven realms, as well as the Norihem Horde. If the Bell is anywhere, it’s here.”
The two mystics strolled along, past stalls selling all things imaginable and a few that weren’t. Little shops and stands run by brutish dwarfs, pale, disdainful elves and a few creatures not readily identifiable.
Richard Occult exchanged greetings with several and stopped for a moment to barter with a skeletal old hag over a small book bound in what might have been human skin.
They came to a vast clearing, surrounded by a variety of stalls selling food and drink. Occult indulged in some clear water and a thin elven cookie that left him smiling and glassy eyed for several moments.
“This is proving to be fruitless,” Mister E muttered. He’d suffered through four attempts to pick his pockets, several tauntings from sellers when he’d ignored their sales pitches and now was being hounded by a wandering minstrel who was determined to sing romantic ballads untill someone gave him some coins to stop.
A figure separated from the crowd and approached the two occult investigators.
“Rich-ard!” It bellowed, arms open wide.
E reached into his coat, in case the creature proved treacherous.
The new arrival only came up to Dr. Occult’s collar bone. His head was bald and shown in the torch light. He more than made up for the lack of hair on his head by a mammoth, bristling beard that grew down to his waist. It was tucked into his wide leather belt, along with his tunic. The bearded creature wrapped two thick muscular arms around Dr. Occult, till Mister E was convinced he could hear the sound of bones cracking. The blind mystic was nearly convinced it was some form of attack and ready to spring to his associate’s rescue when the burly dwarf released Occult and stepped back, grinning broadly.
“Wotan’s eye! Bin an age since I saw you last! Wot kin o’ trouble are ye in now?”
“Trying to prevent some trouble actually,” Occult replied, rubbing at his bruised ribs, while smiling at the new arrival. “I was going to look for your stall actually, you’ve saved me a trip. This is my colleague ... um...”
“E.” The blind man said, icily.
“Family grew up poor did it?” The Dwarf asked. “Couldn’t afford more than one letter?”
“Something like that,” E replied.
“E isn’t fond of crowds,” Occult explained. “Or people in general, for that matter. E, this is my old friend Norim Bluntaxe. One of the free traders of the Norhim Horde.”
“Which would be this sprawl,” E said.
“It would be,” The dwarf nodded. “every treasure known to man, elf or dwarf shall at some time pass through the Norhim Horde.”
“Aside from being one of the only reliable suppliers of ... exotic mystical paraphernalia in the seven realms,” Dr. Occult added. “The Horde is also a magnet for ‘lost’ treasures. They all spend some time here as they move about the realms.”
“Aye,” Norim said. “Bargain hunter or treasure hunter, long as your coin is good the Horde welcomes all.”
E frowned, still looking neither convinced nor impressed.
“And I think it’s just the place to find a certain lost object,” Occult explained. “Place has grown a bit since I was last here. Many of the old timers still in business?”
“Most. Few went back to Fairie, some gave up the ghost. Who can I help you find? Though, with there being so much coming an’ a going I canna be promising any...”
“Derion of the bells,” Occult said, slipping a large, rough edged coin into Norin’s broad, leathery palm.
“O’ course, knowing the place as I do, “Norin grinned, dropping the coin into a leather purse that hung at his belt. “and seeing as you are such an old and dear mate...”
“Save it, Norin,” Occult said, smiling. “Bells are all we’re interested in. Save that silver tongue for some tourist. ”
“Just keein’ in practice, Richard. Come on.” The dwarf turned and trudged through the market place, gently shouldering his way through the crowd.
The two mystics were buffeted with sales pitches and various generous offers.
“Finest brass cookware in the realms!”
“Albatross! Get your Albatross!”
“You sir, look like a fellow that enjoys a fine hex. Got all kinds...!”
“You’ll get a big delight out of every bite!”
Wedged in between an inn and a stall offering the finest in trollish dentistry was a small tent made of a heavy mold-green cloth. It sagged dangerously. In front of the entrance flap was a pitiful cook fire that gave off a thin trickle of pungent smoke.
“Looks like Derion’s fixed the place up a bit,” Occult said. “Let’s have a look. Much thanks, Norin.”
“Good questing to you, Richard.”
Doctor Occult lifted the tent flap and he and Mister E stepped inside as their dwarf guide melted back into the crowd.
The interior of the tent was enormous compared to the outside. It was like standing in a cathedral. Three of the four walls were lined with wooden shelves that stretched up into infinity. Every inch of every shelf was lined with bells. Bells of every shape and size. Massive kettle-shaped bells, tiny silver bells, stone, wood, crystal and several that looked to Occult to be carved from human skulls. They shown like polished glass, were coated with dust and grime, were cracked and some glowed with ethereal light.
In the center of the tent sat a wizened old man, thin as reed with wisps of cotton white hair above each ear. He had a long crooked nose, a thin, twisty beard and he peered at them through an ancient looking pince-nez.
He merely nodded in greeting, then returned his attention to the fist sized copper bell he was polishing.
“Do you think we’ll find the bell here?” E asked.
“I think the odds are in our favor,” Occult replied, peering up at the shelves stretching above their heads. “Narrowing it down to one may prove tricky though.”
“You seek a special bell, gentlefolk?” The shop clerk asked in a low, rusty voice. “Tis it a specific type or a named bell?”
“We do,” Dr. Occult said, walking over to the clerk’s desk. “I believe we will find the Unstruck Bell among your impressive collection.”
“Hn,” the clerk murmured, thoughtfully. “A rare and special bell, indeed. I am curious, men of eden, why would you be looking for such a thing?”
“How long are we going to be playing this game?” Mister E muttered, irritably.
“It has come to our attention,” Occult said, ignoring Mister E. “that it is sought by others. Others, with a dark purpose in mind and death in their hearts.”
“And you are more deserving of the Bell’s power?”
“More than likely,” E said.
“We merely seek to keep it from those that would use it for evil,” Occult explained. “To safeguard it.”
“Safeguard the Unstruck Bell?” the clerk chuckled. “and you believe you can do that better than ol’ Derion, do ye, men of Eden?”
“Well...” Dr. Occult began.
“Yes,” Mister E said, simply.
“What my friend means...”
“I meant what I said,” E interrupted. “I see no need to play this game. I feel like I’m stuck in some feeble children’s story. Now, I suppose this creature will devise some pathetic puzzle we must solve in order to obtain the Bell?”
“Actually ... um... yes,” Derion muttered, sounding put out. “If ye be as clever as you...”
“Can we dispense with the sly cackling and just explain what we are to do.”
“Hmmph!” Derin pouted.
“Not quite how I pictured this going,” Dr. Occult said, with a slight note of disappointment in his voice. “Maybe next time I’ll go with the Stranger...”
“Very well,” Derion grumped. “Be ye a spoilsport. If ye be so clever, find the Unstruck Bell.” With that he took a thin rod made of glass from out of his desk and reaching out, played it across the nearest shelf of bells. They began to ring and the ringing spread across the shelves, then to the bells above and below, till a single ringing note was sounding. Played on an infinite number of bells, it reached up to the unseen ceiling.
It swelled and soared about the tent. Dr. Occult clapped his hands over his ears and even Derion flinched a bit at the chaos of sound.
Mister E stood, unmoved by the tsunami of ringing that raged about him.
And like a roaring wave, the sound crashed, and then faded away.
“Well, men of Eden?” Derion smirked. “Where rests the Unrung Bell?”
“What?” Dr. Occult said, twirling a finger inside one ear, in hopes of getting his hearing back.
“That one,” Mister E said, pointing with his white cane. It pointed towards a plain bell, fist sized and made from dull metal. It sat on the shelf, easily unnoticed amongst the other, more exotic and ornate, bells.
“How ...?” Derion asked in a quiet, amazed tone.
“It didn’t ring.” E replied.
“Uh-huh,” Dr. Occult muttered, then turned to the shopkeeper. “Was he right?”
Derion glared at the two mystics and gestured towards the bell shelf.
“Tis yours,” he grumbled.
“Thank you,” Dr. Occult said, reaching into his coat pocket. “but, we do not accept gifts, the Bell must be traded fairly. Code of the Market.” He placed a black pearl, the size of a cherry on the bell seller’s counter.
The gaunt Derion, tired, but failed to maintain his jaded, world weary expression at the sight of the pearl.
“Um... yes, code of... the market,” he muttered, reaching for his payment.
“Pearl of the dark moon?” Mister E said, when Occult came to join him at the bell shelf.
“Yes, came from the eye of a troll. It’s pretty to look at, but I was getting sick of it rolling around my desk all the time. Shall we?”
He reached for the Unrung Bell and just as his fingers grazed its grey surface, Dr. Occult felt like someone had detonated a bomb, just behind his eyes.
Both mystics, as well as Derion, grimaced and gasped in pain, collapsing to the floor.
Occult had a faint impression of several figures stepping over his body, as they made their way to the shelf where the Unrung Bell sat. He could not see their faces or anything but the vaguest of details. Waves of pain, emotion and memory washed over him. A feeling of loss and frustration welled up inside him, so strong it was like a physical pain. He managed to raise his head, hoping that E would be in better shape. The white clad occult detective was curled into a tight ball, clutching his cane, till the skin of his knuckles cracked and bled. Tears streamed from E’s sightless eyes.
It was a sight so unexpected, it was enough of a distraction that Dr. Occult lost his focus for a moment and darkness closed in one him.
“Rose,” he breathed, sadly.

John Constantine and the Phantom Stranger stood outside of Rook’s Books in Greenwich Village. The windows had been smashed, the glass replaced with pieces of plywood. Yellow ‘do not cross’ taped was pulled across the blackened wood of the front door. The building smelled of smoke and loss.
“Bastards,” Constatine muttered, under his breath. “One of the few places I could go without have to watch my back and some arse has to put the match to it. Nothing sacred in this world.”
“Somethings still are,” The Stranger replied. “and James Rook’s establishment will be again. First though, we have a task...”
He raised a white gloved hand and then he and Constantine walked into the bookstore. Once inside, Constantine glanced back at the door. It was still locked, the tape unbroked.
“Gotta say mate, you never fail to give me the creeps, and that’s saying something, knowing the company I keep.”
“What do we seek here, John Constantine?” The Stranger asked. “Do you believe James Rook had the book here, in his shop?”
“Nah, but I figure Jim had to have something that told where they were stashed. That’s what the cult was after. Let me have a look round.”
The Englishman stuck a cigarette into the corner of his mouth, then looking around the fire damaged interior, replaced it back in his coat pocket.
The Stranger, stroked a gloved finger across his chin as he looked about the shop. Within the shadow of his hatbrim, his eyes lit up.
“What do you make of this, Constantine?” He asked, gesturing at an empty bookshelf, in the corner of the room. On the floor, in front of it was a mound of ash, as wide as a trashcan lid and several inches high.
“Very suspsious,” Constantine replied, sarcastically. “A pile of ash in a burnt building.”
“The bookshelf is empty and relatively untouched by fire ...” The Stranger prompted.
“You saying that when the Cult of the Curse hit this place, they took what they were after from that shelf, before they torched the place?”
“And then burnt everything else that rested upon the shelf, to cover their theft.” The Stranger said, kneeling down before the ash pile. He began to run his hands through the ash, his face stern and thoughtful.
“Gonna get your nice, white gloves all dirty,” Constantine told him, leaning over the Phantom Stranger’s shoulder. “What are you hoping to find, mate?”
“Hints and answers,” The Stranger replied.
“Ask a silly question...”

Outside the shop, two figures huddled in a nearby alley. They were scrawny, unhealthy looking and clothed in rags.
“As the Master said it would be,” One rasped, scratching at a cheek litered with grey stumble.
“Yeth,” his companion replied. “They muth pay for crothing the Mathter.”
He then drew an earthen jar from out of his ragged clothes and broke the seal on the lid. Creatures slid out of the jar. Creatures black and snakey.
They slithered through the air, making their way to the smoke damaged bookstore.

Back inside...
“So?” Constanrine asked, as he watched the Phantom Stranger sift through the ash. “Is there a point to this?”
“Something here,” The Stranger murmmered, peering deep into the swirling patterns in the ash and soot. “There was something here. It left traces upon the other books that rested upon that shelf. It was saturated with an ancient magic. “
Constantine ‘hmmm’d’ to himself for a minute, then fishing out his cigarette, again made his way across the room to a counter by the door. The remains of a cash register and several books rested on top it. The englishman went behind it and began rumaging through drawers, the unlit cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth.
“JIm musta had something that listed what he had for books in stock. Old hippie hated computers and couldn’t have memorized his entire inventory...”
He opened drawers and poked through boxes on the floor behind the counter. As he moved, his foot tapped against the baseboard and there was a ‘tonk’ of metal being struck.
“Knew it,” John muttered. “Oi, come take a look at this.”
With barely a hint of movement, the Phantom Stranger was across the room and at Constantine’s side.
“You have found something?” he asked.
“Down there, where this counter touches the wall. Is it just me, or do those scratches in the wood look like...”
“Runes,” The Stranger said. “I can feel a warding spell as well. I should be...”
“Should be what...? I hate when you... oh, shite.”
Turning to glance at his fellow investigator, John Constantine froze. The Phantom Stranger stood, statue still, his shaded eyes vague and distant.
Wrapped around him was what looked like a snake, made of smoke and shadow.
Constatine stumbled back around the corner of the counter and as he turned found himself face to face with another of the ghostly, black snakes.
This one had the face of a nine year girl. A familar girl’s face. A face that Constantine only saw anymore in his nightmares
“Hello John,” It said. “I’ve missed you.”

Somewhere above the streets of New York, the ghostly form of Rose Psychic flew.
The spell that bound her and Richard Occult’s souls together kept them from both being physically together on the earthly plane. It did allow thier astreal forms free rein. No matter whose body was active, the other’s spirit was always nearby and, as with times like this, could roam freely.
While the men searched for the three artifacts, Rose was on the trail of the Cult of the Cursed.
While their spell kept them eternelly seperate, they were able to feel what the other was feeling and pass thoughts back and forth.
So, when Dr. Occult had set out with Mister E, Rose had drifted in the opposite direction. First stopping at Rook’s, she’d been able to find the mystical equivilant of ‘footprints’ of the men who’d attacked the bookstore.
They were faint and this had made the tracking a long, slow process, but Rose was quite sure she it was about to pay off.
The magical ‘footprints’ got easier to detect as she followed them through the city. Now, she floated above an old, decrepted two story building. It had an air of abandonment about it. The windows were dark, the grass around it dry and unkempt.
Rose drifted into one of the grime coated windows and peered in, trying to get a glimpse of the interior.
“You can almost hear the spooky, horror movie background music,” She muttered to herself. “Well, quick look around and then back to play with the boys.”
Rose drifted through the brickwall and inside the building.
The interior was ever bit as dirty and neglected as the outside.
“Bet you could really brighten this place up with some nice curtains and a little potporri,” Rose said as she floated through the first floor rooms.
The lay out of the building made her think it must have been a hospital or asylum at one time in the past. She drifted through dusty rooms, and began to wonder if she’d misread the mystical tracks that had lead her here. She wasn’t the adept that Richard was, more a talented amatuer.
About to give up and go retrace her path, she spotted footprints in the dust and dirt.
Footprints that lead right up to a blank wall.
Rose poked her head through the wall, and nodded thoughtfully at the hidden staircase the wall hid.
“Feels like I walked into a Scooby-Doo episode,” she muttered, coming the rest of the way through the wall, then down the stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, the feel of the building changed radically. Rose felt as if she’d walk through a time warp. The abandoned hospital was replaced by what looked to be a Greek or Roman temple.
The ceilings were high and supported by carved columns. The floor was done in polished marble and the light came from torches set into metal sockets in the walls.
“What in the world...?” Rose whispered to herself, as she flew along the tunnel.
It opened up into a large, eleagant chamber with a domed ceiling. The room was round, decorated in the same oranate Greecian style. Gold and marble glinted in the flickering fire light.
At the far end of the room were three statues, postioned around a basin set in a waist high marble pillar.
“Think I may be in the right place after all,” Rose said, looking around at the chamber.
“Right place for what, I wonder?” A voice murmered.
Rose started as one of the statues moved. It was in fact a man. Blonde haired and breath takingly beautiful, until Rose looked into his blue eyes. They were full of a cold, hateful madness.
“What are you seeking little ghost?” He asked, a cruel smile on his lips.

To Be Continued....