Jericho Lott - Chapter 6 (Patreon)

I had my misgivings about having Gabriella in the diner as a waitress. A lot of what Gran did, although not precisely secret, required a certain degree of discretion. Gran trusted in mine because I’d demonstrated it so very often. She knew Larry would be discrete because I built it into his binding. Gabriella, however, was a free agent. She wasn’t bound by loyalty or magic to keep quiet about who came to Gran or any information she might overhear. Beyond that, she was a teenager, and no creature possesses less discretion than a teenager. Yet, all my misgivings came to nothing. Gabriella proved herself remarkably capable of not asking questions or divulging information. I found that a relief, because Gran’s behavior had started to concern me, and I didn’t have the mental endurance for dueling concerns.

In her moments of greatest concentration and deepest concern, I had seen Gran sit and absently stir her tea for an hour or two. Ever since Hartworth’s visit, though, she’d spent hours every day engaged in her thoughtless tea stirring. I found myself watching everyone and everything with more attention. Noises that I would once have ignored forced me to turn and look. Shadows seemed to loom darker and deeper than ever before. I warded my doors and windows with dangerous spells. I lost sleep. Such ongoing deep contemplation on Gran’s part made me worry that some kind of apocalypse was right around the corner. In the end, I simply couldn’t stand the suspense anymore. One night, after the diner was closed and I’d seen Gabriella safely home, I drove over to Gran’s place. I had a key to the front door, but this somehow felt like a business call. So, I knocked. Gran answered the door and gave me a perplexed look.

“What are you knocking for, lad? You have a key.”

“I come to you seeking wisdom.”

She studied my face for a long moment before she sighed and waved me inside. “I’ve got you worried, do I?”

“You’ve been distracted and that isn’t like you. I thought it was time to discuss the matter, whatever the matter is.”

Gran led me into her little living room. It was a strangely barren affair. She had a small sofa and a recliner, both well-used, along with a scarred-up old coffee table. There were a few magazines and paperback novels sitting around, but no knick-knacks, no frills. There was a print on the wall of Da Vinci’s Head of a Woman and a few scattered photos of me and Uncle Bill. I remembered the first time she brought me into the house. The living room had seemed huge to my child’s eyes. Uncle Bill had been there to say hello. He’d been older then than I was now and seemed so very grown up with his five o’clock shadow, black leather jacket, and heavy boots. He’d crouched down and held out his hand for me to shake. I’d just stared at him like he meant to hurt me until Gran told me to shake the man’s hand. I’d done it, trembling like a leaf. Bill shook my hand as gently as one might handle a butterfly’s wings.

“My name’s Bill,” he said. “What’s your name?”

I shrugged at him, too shy and overwhelmed by everything that had happened so very fast.

“Jericho,” said Gran, when it became clear I wouldn’t say anything. “The boy’s name is Jericho Lott, and he’s come to stay with me.”

Bill nodded. “Jericho Lott, it’s a good name. Strong. It’s the kind of name people will remember. Don’t you think, Gran?”

Gran smiled then, a secret sort of smile, and agreed that, yes, she did think people would remember that name. I suppose that they’d both known what I was going to grow up to be. After all, Uncle Bill had my job before I did, and it’s my understanding that simply mentioning the name William Brace is enough to set off terrified screaming and wholesale weeping in certain circles. I’ve been aching for a chance to test the rumor, but it seems Bill did too good a job of putting the fear of God in them, or at least the fear of Gran. The better part of twenty years later, the living room seemed small to me. It was the living room of an old woman unburdened by much sentiment.

Only, I knew that Gran was a lot older than she looked. There were photo albums tucked away in a box somewhere in the house. I’d seen the Polaroids of her in the seventies, and the black and white photos of her in the fifties, and some tintypes that had to date back as far as the Civil War. She always looked the same, like Gran. I didn’t know what she was or if she was even human, but there were always a few pictures of young men. I had a feeling that had always been a “lad” and that there would always be a “lad.” We came and went, carrying out Gran’s will, but she remained the same. I knew I’d ask to hear her story one day, but probably not until I was on my deathbed. Some secrets are easier to carry to your grave when you’re almost there already.

Gran gestured to the sofa, and I settled onto it, taking care not to kick the coffee table. It was a little too close to the sofa for my taste, but Gran was set in her ways. She sat down in the recliner and let out a breath as if she’d been holding it for a long time. I let her take her time and gather her thoughts. I could push a little, but she worked on her own timetable and no amount of pressure would make her talk sooner than she was ready. After a somewhat awkward five minutes, she turned her head to look at me.

“I’ve had troubled thoughts of late,” she said. “I’d like to blame Hartworth, but it’s not his fault. He couldn’t have known. He told me about something that happened to him recently. Bad magic from a long time ago. I suspect that there are things moving that have been asleep for a long while now.”

“What things?”

“Old things. Dangerous things. Best not to speak their names until we know for sure. I’ve no mind to wake them if they’re still sleeping. It gnaws at me, though,” she said, her eyes as distant as the stars in the sky. “I need you to take another trip. There’s a place I want you to go and wait. A person will arrive there and when they do, I want you to ask them a question.”

I considered her words for a moment. “Who will it be?”

“He’s someone who knows certain true things because he must know them.”

“A friend?”

Gran gave that much more thought that I found comforting.

“I wouldn’t say friend, but we know of each other. He will answer out of respect.”

“How will I recognize him?”

“You’ll know him on sight. Names won’t be necessary.”

“Gran, you’re being terribly vague.”

She snorted. “For your protection, lad. He isn’t someone you want to know well.”

I shook my head, but let it go. I recognized her tone. She wasn’t going to tell me more than what she already had. I focused on the practicalities.

“Where do I need to go?”

Gran reached out with a folded slip of paper in her hand. I took it and unfolded the paper. There were coordinates, a date, and a time written on it. I opened my mouth to ask where Gran had gotten GPS coordinates, but she just arched an eyebrow at me. Gran moved in mysterious ways. I memorized the information and handed the paper back.

“I’ll need to leave tonight if I’m going to get there in time,” I said, standing up.

“The person you’re going to meet, don’t test his patience. He doesn’t have much.”

That gave me pause. “How dangerous is he?”

“He’s killed just about everything that ever picked a fight with him and even more who didn’t.”

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“Definitely not,” said Gran. “Be careful, lad, but get the answer. I need it.”