“Belief is a disease.”
There were murmurs of laughter in the lecture hall, the scattered pockets of filled seats tittering softly before going back to rapt attention. The man on the stage, Dr. Lester Pickett, smiled indulgently at his audience before continuing.
“No, it’s true. Now, some of my colleagues frown upon me saying that. Others try to define it as a necessity, a social mutation or even a mental illness. But I believe it is both simpler and more complex than that. It is a disease.”
He was pacing now, using his microphone like a practiced stage performer, which I supposed he was. He was in his element—dressed in a sharply-tailored brown coat and slacks, speaking in cultured, non-regional tones that barely betrayed hints of his Mississippi backwater roots, he was confident and handsome with just enough sleaze filming the top to make him interesting. Most of the girls and some of the boys in the room looked as though their interest in Dr. Pickett went beyond just his lecturing skills, but who was I to judge? So did mine.
“A disease is defined as a disorder of a system. An abnormality that impairs normal functioning. And that is precisely what belief does. We are, after all, simply animals. And any system of belief that runs contrary to our normal functioning as animals is a disease. Religion? Yes. Morality? Yes. Love? Kindness? Honor? Yes. Yes. Yes.”
There were less titters during his next dramatic pause, and he raked his gaze across the audience with the sinister glee of a magician preparing his next deadly illusion. “Does this shock you? Does this challenge your provincial ideals? Then get ready. Because this semester, this course will delve into the heart of superstition and belief. You will learn about people who believe in magic. Societies and institutions built upon the principles of elevating humankind both mentally, socially, and spiritually. Paradigms of morality and ethics that you have been programmed to accept based upon the lie that we are more than simply meat shot through with electricity and a capacity for self-destruction.”
He smiled broadly, his dark eyes glinting in the recessed lights of the hall. “And at the end of it, if I have done my job well, you will see it all burned to the ground.”
“I don’t know why you think I’d be up for killing him.”
Teddy raised an eyebrow at me. “Why not? You’re not going soft on me, are you?”
Rolling my eyes, I went back to scrolling through my tablet distractedly. “’Going soft?’ I regret buying you that bundle of mob movies.” Glancing back up at him, “And to answer your question, no, I’m not going soft. Because I was never…er, hard. Shut up.”
He smirked at me over his glass of dark tea. “Well, we’ll just accept that your version of ‘soft’ has you surviving trips to Hell, murdering people and hellspawn, and the general ‘ending of careers’ as required. Is that fair?”
I let out a groan. “First of all, you need to stay off the internet. Second of all, I haven’t ever murdered anyone. The few times I’ve…had to defend myself…yeah, I did what I needed to do.” I paused before throwing in, “Plus, you’ve killed way more people than I have.”
Teddy sniffed and checked his watch. “Well, that goes without saying. But a great deal of those deaths were with your help, either accidently or on purpose, and given that a great number of those deaths weren’t technically to protect myself or you from some immediate danger…I think I’m going to call a lot of them murders. Which means you are a giant murderer…or, at the very least, very murder-adjacent.”
Glaring at him, I sat down the tablet. “Is there a point to any of this? You still haven’t told me why you think we need to kill him. There are other options.”
Widening his eyes in mock surprise, he leaned forward. “Really, Cora? Like what?”
I knocked on the door and waited a few seconds before knocking again. I had seen him go into the building ten minutes ago, and based on his office hours, he should be inside, but…
“Come in.”
Opening the door, I was surprised by how simple the office was. I’d expected the workspace of an anthropology professor to either be filled stacks of books and obscure sculptures or well-decorated with the trappings of professional academia. But this was just a room with a window looking out onto the next building over, a table with two chairs, and a plush sofa where Pickett sat smiling at me. I sat down my backpack at the door and looked at him uncertainly.
“Come in, come in.” He waved me over, gesturing to the sofa while continuing to talk. “Always glad to talk to my newer students. I am correct, aren’t I? Didn’t I see you in my class yesterday?”
Forcing what I hoped was a shy smile, I nodded as I sat down on the far end of the sofa. “Yes sir, I mean, I was in your class yesterday. I was just going to audit it a time or two, but now I think I want to sign up…if there’s still room, of course.”
Pickett shifted towards me a little on the sofa. “I think we can find room for you, sure. I don’t like to turn away inquiring minds, particularly when they belong to young women as striking as you.” He paused, his smile fading a little. “I’m so sorry. I guess that was inappropriate. I hope you didn’t take my compliment the wrong way.”
I glanced away, my skin crawling a little. “No, no. I’m glad you think I’m pretty, Dr. Pickett.”
“Call me Lester, please. I look at my students as being my friends. My peers.”
He was shifting closer again, but he stopped when I looked up and met his gaze. “Okay, Lester.”
“Good. Now…”
“Can I ask you something about your lecture?”
Pickett blinked, a flash of annoyance passing over his face before he smoothed it into what he probably thought was a charming smile. “Of course, my dear.”
“Your theme for the lecture, and I suppose the course, seems to be centered around the negatives of belief. Morality, religions, belief in magic or superstitions, all a waste of time, right?”
I saw his eyes light up as he got ready to launch into a well-worn response that was probably just a more condensed version of the hour lecture I’d had to endure the day before. Teddy would have probably have let him drone on a bit. He’d have thought it was funny. But I wasn’t in the mood and I had places to be. Holding up my hand, I cut him off before he got started.
“It just seems weird coming from you. What I mean is, you are a very active and prolific practitioner of the dark arts, correct? The highest ranking member of your circle and a master of infernal ritual magic, right? You have tons of beliefs and…well, given the state of Hell, you have to rely a lot on faith I’m guessing. So…”
The man’s gaze had turned icy, and for a moment he looked closer to a hundred than in his late thirties. “Who are you?”
When I smiled this time, it was genuine. “My name is Cora Westgate. I think you know my Uncle Teddy.”
He shot to his feet and started backing away, his face taking on a cruel sneer. “The dollmaker’s niece? You’ve just walked into your own death, bitch. I know who you are, but do you know who I am?”
Leaning back, I gave a small shrug. “Well, I know you used to go by Edward Northrum when you lived outside of Tupelo back in the late 1800s. Had a few names since then, but for the last ten you’ve been Lester Pickett. New head of the anthropology department at the university. Oh, and also head of one of the more extreme circles of infernal occultists around.” I gave him a slight smile. “Well, out of those that are left, anyway.”
Pickett snickered. “Cute. You think your threats mean anything? This place is warded and sealed by blood and my will. I can torture you for years in this room and no one will ever know it. I can keep you alive in a world of exquisite…”
“What are the Keys of Undoing for?”
He stopped and stared at me, his mouth drifting open before he closed it with an angry snap. “How the fuck do you know ‘bout that?” His accent was slipping, but he looked too upset to notice. Shaking his head, he started going around to the far side of the table. “No, it doesn’t matter. I have all the time in the world to…”
I stood up. “No, you don’t. Look, we know that there are twelve Keys. We know that you’ve had one of them in your family for the last couple of centuries and that you’ve found two more over the years. But what are they for? From what Teddy’s told me, there’s a lot of speculation and theories, but I’d like to hear what you think they’re for. Humor me.”
Pickett was silent for a moment, just standing there and staring at me. Likely trying to do something magicky. Something low-level probably, as most of his power came from planned rituals and prepared sites, not off-the-cuff displays of force. His expression grew concerned and then fearful as he broke off staring me down and reached under the table. He was looking for the blood page he kept stored there like a pistol under a poker table. Looking for it and realizing it was no longer there.
“Yeah, it’s gone. It’s all gone.”
Pickett visibly paled as he gripped the table’s edge for support. “That’s not possible.”
I gave him a shrug. “Well, according to you, none of this is possible, right?” I stepped closer to the table. “Except we both know different.”
“What do you want? I’ll never tell you…”
“Where the Keys you had are stashed? Don’t worry. Teddy collected those this morning. You’re my part of it.”
Pickett’s chin began to tremble. “Please. Don’t kill me. I can help you. I can tell you things. Tell you how to prepare for what’s coming.”
I shook my head at him. “You don’t get it, do you? We’re what’s coming. When Teddy went to collect the Keys from your little secret hideout, do you know what else he found? Five children, three of them dead. The ones you were still using as your little blood magic batteries? He said they wouldn’t stop screaming. Even after they were safe, it was like they just couldn’t stop.” I reached back and pulled out my pistol. “So no, you don’t get any deals. Any mercy. You just get the Forest. And the Hunter. And whatever comes after he catches you. Good luck with that.”
I pulled the trigger and a thin jet of flame shot out, arcing across the room and barely touching Pickett before setting him fully ablaze. He only flailed around for a few seconds before collapsing to the floor, and after a few more, his screams stopped and the only sounds were the flames eating his body. Teddy had told me that the fire should limit itself to just the man, burning him so completely there would only be ash and a few bits of blackened bone left. It took less than a minute for me to see that my uncle was right.
I went back to where I’d dropped my bookbag and pulled out the portable car vacuum I’d brought along. A few swipes across the thin rug covering the center of the room and Pickett was gone. Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket, and when I checked, it was Teddy. His text put my stomach in knots.
Teddy: I have a surprise for you! Hurry home when you’re done!
“Look, I’m all about Thanksgiving. Good food, lapsing into a coma, feeling shame the next day, I’m down for all of it. And I do love turkey. But I have a strict rule that I don’t meet my meat.” I waved my hand. “Call me hypocritical, I don’t care.”
Teddy looked at me with feigned sincerity. “Hey, judgment-free zone here.” He turned and gestured at the pen Jeckle had brought in a few minutes earlier. “But I must insist you call our guest by his name. Harrison J. Turkey. After you have become more familiar, primarily through digestion, you may refer to him as Harry from time to time.”
The turkey in the pen looked from Teddy to me. It was like he was actually following our conversation. That was dumb, but it did make me even feel worse.
“You are an ass. And I’m going to the store to get some ham and turkey for tomorrow. You should give this poor thing to…a turkey preserve or something.”
Teddy chuckled and drained his glass before looking down at the turkey. “I told you. She’s got a good heart.”. He reached over and unlatched the pen, and after a parting look at Teddy, the bird stepped out of the cage and came over to sit next to me.
“What is this? Did you hypnotize this turkey?” A dark thought occurred to me and I started edging away from the placid-looking bird. “Is this even a turkey at all?”
He grinned. “It is a turkey, though I like where your head is at. But it’s a special turkey. Okay, technically it’s not a turkey. It’s a grimalkin. But it does look like a turkey for now both due to my little prank and well, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and grimalkins are known to adhere strictly to local customs, whatever they may be.”
I had stood up and was slowly moving away from where the turkey still sat. “Okay. So what’s a grimalkin then?”
Teddy went to drink more tea, saw the glass was empty and sat it back down in irritation. “Technically, a grimalkin is an old term for cats I think? But it’s also what the turkey is. I mean, I think he can be a cat too, if that helps.” The turkey gave a little nod and started melting and reforming before my eyes, feathers being replaced by fur, small dark eyes growing into large yellow ones.
“No, no, that does not help!” Almost instantly the turkey was back. Teddy gave it a long-suffering look. “Sorry, my niece is a bit of a drama queen.”
I stabbed my finger out across the room at Teddy. “No. Don’t put this on me. Tell me what’s going on. Is it dangerous?”
My uncle frowned. “Well Cora, anything in the right circumstances can be…” I glared at him and he trailed off with a pout. “Okay, fine. He’s not dangerous to us. Grimalkins are primarily used as helpers. Familiars, that kind of thing. I’ve entered into an agreement with this one to hang out and help out. He’s very good at sensing ill-will. If anyone is heading this way with trouble, we should get the heads up well ahead of time. According to what I’ve read, at least.”
“In the hell books. The books from the literal library of literal Hell. That’s where you get pet tips.”
The turkey let out an angry gobble as it shot me a dark look. Teddy stood up and cut his hand across his throat while shaking his head. “Ixnay on the petay. He doesn’t like that kind of talk. He’s our guest.”
I raised an eyebrow as I looked questioningly at the turkey who was now grooming his feathers. “So it can talk?”
Teddy gave me a dubious look. “Of course not, Cora. It’s a fucking turkey. Magic or not, we don’t live in a cartoon. Now gather your things so we can be off to the store. All this talk has made me hungry.”
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