Wizards in the Streets

After a rather vigorous conversation with Joe on the perils of pissing off short, scary landladies with big wrenches, Max grabbed an old worn gray hoodie and flung it on, not even bothering to zip it up. He left the townhouse in an annoyed huff with tied garbage bag in hand. Tossing the bag in the back seat of his old Toyota, he decided to dispose of at the local dump before meeting his client, hoping the extra time would allow to mood to settle.

"And maybe that will give Angela enough time to cool down as well until I come back with the rent on hand. That is if my client doesn’t delay things too much."

After a short, but pothole filled ride to the local land dump to dispose his soiled, and now very smelly, costume, Max pulled up another driveway leading to an old church. He could see the lights were on, flickering and glowing out the stain glass windows depicting various religious icons and saints, even at this late hour.

"Not surprising, considering my client is the one who lives here." He mused as he shut the engine off.

Glancing over the church, Max could see the nearby sign next to the main doors clearly saying bold letters:

"PRAY FOR YOUR OWN SALVATION, FOR NO ONE ELSE WILL.

"Huh. I see he still on that passive aggressive stance binge. Never seemed to make sense for a preacher to do that, even one of his sort, but even so he is still a client."

Opening the glove compartment after brushing his fingers over the handle, Max then grasped the few items inside; a small, dusty leather bag and a what seemed to be a narrow paper tag with odd inked markings. After checking to see if the contents were still intact and unmarred, Max slipped the bag in one of the hoodie’s pockets and folded the tag in its opposite side.

"Better be prepared, just in case I need to knock him out of his ’holy’ moods, or worse, his ’crusader’ rants."

Getting out of the worn seat, Max closed the door but did not bother to lock it. Heading up the steps toward the iron bound, twin oak doors of the church. After ascending the steps he paused, gathering his thoughts and will.

"Just go in, meet the client, get paid and get out. Job done. Simple Max." He said to himself, eyes closed, trying to convince himself of the outrageous lie he just told himself.

Opening his eyes, he pulled on the brass handle of the heavy door, allowing to swing open on silent, well oiled hinges. The flush of candlelight made him blink, as his night accustomed eyes adjusted for the increase in brightness.

Entering the small, narrow church, Max nearly sneezed from the overwhelming scent of burning incense. He could see the glowing sticks inserted into drilled holes in every pew stand, window and alcove in bunches of three or more. Candles, also lit, seemed to also be crammed into every place where there was a shelf, seat, small nook or window still.

At the far end of the building’s sanctuary was a simple, white marble altar and plain granite stone crucifix. There were candles and incense liberally placed in grouped bundles inside the holes of wooden holders and glassware on the altar and on the arms of the crucifix itself, as ash and drippings coated both locations in a thick, heavy blend of dusty, gray ash and greasy, shiny wax drippings.

Door closing silently behind him, Max could see the dark haired bowed head of a man, dressed in the classic black suit and white collar of a Catholic priest, lift upward. But other than that, the priest at the altar did not turn his head nor rise from his kneeling position in front of the steps leading to it.

"Welcome my son." A deep yet dry sounding voice echoed across the church. "I take it the task is finished?"

"Of course you old coot of a priest. I wouldn’t be here otherwise." Max thought with some irrational emotion he did not want to acknowledge right then.

Instead, not moving from his position he entered to from the door, Max just nodded his head, not saying a word. Even though he made no sound, Max somehow knew that the priest at the altar could sense his movement.

The head bowed down once more.

"That is good. I knew asking you of this would result in God’s Will being executed. Yes, God’s Will is great indeed. Praise be to Him." the priest intoned.

"And there he goes. He does this every time. Every. Single. Damn. Time." Max thought as he rolled his eyes.

But Max said nothing regarding his thoughts, nor verbally acknowledged the priest’s words, he just nodded once more. He knew he had to stay quiet until it was safe for him to leave.

"Damn priest and his damn annoying quirks. But better this than what he could be doing to me instead."

"Per our agreement then, your payment in the tithe box. You may collect it at your leisure, my son, with my thanks." The priest said, still not moving, nor turning from his supplication.

"Well, that was unexpectedly short for him. Wonder what got him all brief like that tonight? He’s usually more sermon-y inspired when I show up after a job." Max blinked bemused, "Could be because of tonight? Samhain’s inherit belief system might be affecting his nature somehow. Still, better count my blessings, no pun intended, and get out of here. No need to stay longer than needed."

Max glanced over to the slotted wooden box next to the door, locked with a heavy, old padlock. With a click and rusty pop, the lock flipped open by itself. Max frowned at the impromptu magic, but after a moment, he carefully removed the lock and lifted the lid with a rusty squeak.

"Yep, he’s definitely acting up from this particular night."

Shrugging internally, Max looked inside the open container. He could see a thick and zipped bank bag just big enough to fold in half. Reaching inside, Max pulled it out with a sound of rubbing cloth and scratching wood. Once he secured the small dusty bank bag in his hand, he closed and locked the box and then turned to leave.

"My son."

Max almost swore and nearly jumped out of his skin, but he was able to control himself from cursing in his surprise, barely. He knew if he uttered a sound from his throat that it would most result in a painful if not certain death. And it did not help him that from the location of the voice, the priest uttered those words from right behind him.

Max never heard him move, much less Saw or Felt him do so. Certain beings can do stuff like that, as he found out to his detriment at one job involving harpies at a local Greek collage fraternity. He hated that when the supernatural did that to him.

And the priest looming nearby behind him, waiting, qualified as that regard in more ways than one. He hated that fact too.

Holding the bank bag in one shaky hand, Max prevented himself from gulping from a suddenly dry throat as he turned to face the priest that was now within easy arm’s reach.

The priest was of obvious descended from Asian origins, but that was the only thing normal about him. Max could see his reflection in the milky, dead eyes and in the smooth, waxy, pale skin of his face, gleaming in the candlelight. On the forehead though, carved into the flesh by some crude knife, was a Chinese character that hurt to look at directly, marring that unnatural shine.

He knew if he dared to look closer with his Sight, despite the risk to his sanity, he would see ethereal maggots crawling and feeding in the wound lines that made up the Traditional Chinese word ’jiang.’ The mouth was just as bad, spread wide in a sick, open grining rictus, exposing broken teeth, yellowed and chipped, while a yellowish mist oozed out between the open gaps and into the air.

And even with the overwhelming scent of incense in the air, Max could still smell the sick stench of rot and death from that mist invade his nostrils.

It took everything for him to be able to control his gag reflex and not lose the contents of his stomach on himself or on the undead priest’s robes.

"Damn. This is could bad. Why did he decide to do the closeup talk now?!"

Ever so slowly, Max moved his free hand toward the pocket that held the leather pouch, just in case, and hoping that the dead priest would not notice or react.

But a pale, bony hand moved in an inhumanly fast blur, grasping his wrist in a cold, clammy and an unsettling strong grip, preventing further movement. Almost instantly a freezing chill numbed his held arm to the shoulder, causing Max to wince.

"Correction, this is really bad." Max thought, trying not to panic and run, though it was really not possible for the latter at the moment. The first part though, was gaining rapid traction in his mind.

"Please don’t, my son." the undead priest voice said in deep, bone rattling tones, while that grinning, horrible mouth did not moving an inch, only more foul mist slithered out the ragged, toothy gaps. "This is a House of God. There is no need for violence. Remain at peace."

"Easy for you to say! You not the one in a literal death grip that is currently sucking the life out of you because a powerful, ghoulish undead priest that could easily rend you into bloody cottage cheese if he ever heard a live human voice nearby, decided to get up and personal!" Max mentally babbled.

The priest seemed to sense Max’s internal distress and the bony hand released the chilled, painful grip off his wrist and returned to the undead’s side a moment later. Max slowly released the breath he was holding as feeling, and blood flow, returned to his arm in sharp tingles.

"My apologies for my unwanted aggression. But next time my son, leave the heathen items behind when visiting this House of God. They tend to be, overly protesting so to speak, to my senses when they are located in this Holy House of the Lord."

"Okay, its going be really hard to defend myself as I think he is aware of what I have now." Max thought, trying to figure his next action while still fighting the urge to run, "Still he’s not overly preaching at me for bringing them with me. Or sucking the soul out of me while freezing my limbs solid because of it. Or eating my face off for possibly being insulted for having them here. That’s good so far."

So after taking a small pause to calm his rapidly beading heart, Max shrugged in apology to the priest, saying with his expression without saying a word:

"What you expected me to react when you do something that?"

"I understand and you are forgiven my son." the unmoving mouth responded with another puff of foul air that Max tried to fan away with his still numbed hand.

"I’m forgiven?! I’m not the one who just nearly and literally got scared to death just now!" Max thought in annoyance.

"While it can be nostalgic to have familiar items of power of my past life nearby, there is no need for me to be also reminded of the old powers of my homeland that I have long forsaken as a result of that life. But such is the Will of God, to constantly test me and my faith. And your reflexes."

The priest’s dry, deep voice almost sounded amused at the end of that last sentence.

If the situation was not so serious and deadly, Max would of rolled his eyes again. But common sense, fear and a healthy amount of self-preservation prevailed.

Instead Max raised an eyebrow in questioning fashion to the priest, in what he hoped, was in a respectful question on why he approached him.

"So why the scare and invasion of my personal space then?’" is what Max really meant though.

"I have another boon to ask of you. But not for me, but from another innocent soul that is in need of your skills." Was the priest’s foul misted response.

Max’s other eyebrow lifted.

"...the hell? An ’innocent soul?" What kind of ’innocent soul’ does he mean? No one like that would ever show up here on purpose and ask him for help, him being undead, even as a priest. The only other kind of beings that would dare visit someone him for any kind of help are either very dead, very powerful, very crazy, or the very lucky or some combination of the four. Present self excluded of course."

"Two of those things do not apply to you, my son, and nor the soul currently in need. But the night grows short, and we have no time to discuss about your personal fears or inner demons." the priest said.

"Damnit, forgot about that proximity mind reading ability his kind has. Wait, that means all this time... Oh damn-er, crap."

Luckily for Max, the undead priest deemed not to respond to his current and past trains of semi- blasphemous and disrespectful thinking. Instead the priest turned way in a strange slow, hopping gait on stiff, locked legs, returning back down between the rows of pews towards the altar, not making a sound.

"Head for the Grove Graveyard at the other side of the park where you hunted for the last nest of those cursed creatures. There at the center, where the oldest mausoleum still stands, hides the innocent soul that desperately needs help. Help only you can provide tonight." the priest said as he approached the altar.

"Now wait just a moment priest. I’m finished doing job requests for the night."Max thought directly at him, not bothering to hide the frown this time, now that the priest’s back was turned.

"There is no time, my son. You will soon understand. It is something only with your abilities that you will be able understand. And when you do, you will know and do the right thing. Like you always do when confronted with such a choice from God." the priest said, hopping into a kneeling position on the steps in front of the altar with an audible bone rattling crack, interrupting Max in mid-thought, "Quickly now, my son, before the moon falls tonight or all will be lost for that innocent soul. Go now, with Godspeed and His blessing."

Before he could react, Max felt something like a large, invisible hand press against his chest and then a powerful shove pushed him out the now swinging open doors, almost sending him tumbling down the steps.

A moment later, as Max tried to regain his balance and not spilt his head open on the cobblestone steps, the heavy, wooden doors shut with a dull thud, sending him sprawling down the steps, painfully and bruised but intact.

Cursing low under his breath, Max got up off the ground, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart from the additional rush of adrenaline already in his blood from his previous unwanted but personal close encounter with the undead priest.

"What the bloody blazes was that about? He’s never like that! An innocent soul in need? And I’ll understand when I find this soul? And I’ll do the right thing right then because the Man upstairs knows so?! Damnit, not what I need right now."

Max brushed his mussed hair back in confusion, moving towards the car. Opening the door, he plopped his still adrenaline-fueled, aching body into the worn seat and rubbed his tired eyes, not even bothering to put the key into the ignition for the moment.

He concidered his options, unzipping the bank bag open in his hand and seeing the rubber banded stack of green bills sitting inside, deciding if the pros outweighed the cons.

"Well, at least I did get paid. And Angela is still waiting for the rent. And Joe is alone getting into who knows what kind of trouble, which I don’t need. And I’m nearly spent power wise and need the rest. So I could just ignore what the preacher said, get Angela off my back, tease Joe with some cheesy Halloween jokes and call it a night."

Max then bopped his head onto the steering wheel, causing a short beep to emit from the car while he groaned.

"Yea right, and I’m the famous David Copperfield with a magic show in Vegas that pays me millions per year, allowing me to live in lavish comfort and peace, other than the occasional rabid stalker fan and IRS audit. I’m not really a barely-trained invoker mage trying to make the rent, with a half-baked reputation for troubleshooting supernatural issues. Just because, for me, getting a normal paying job is just too boring or even possible with all the weird stuff that happens around me."

Max sat back, sighing. It is as times like these he just wished he never found that damn book, no, grimoire, long ago. Or was it actually then that the grimoire found him when he was still looking for a purpose in his messed up, aimless life back then?

"Yea, because I’m lucky like that, right?"

Shaking his head to preventing himself from wandering back down past memories, Max inserted the key, turned the over the engine and reversed back into the small road. As he pulled away, he glanced in the rear view mirror where the flickering lights from the church were still visible, but fading fast into the inky darkness of the night, making him reflect on his dangerous encounter.

"And because an undead Chinese Jiangshi, by some impossible event, who got converted to the Western Catholic priesthood, has now told me that an innocent soul is in need of help, my kind of special help, on All Hallows’ Eve, before moon fall, which is just before the so called ’witching hour.’ Just perfect..."

Taking a moment to stop the car at the crossroads, Max emptied his pockets and put the bag of blessed rice chaff and the Chinese paper ward, that he managed to get from that stubborn Asian exorcist, into the glove box. Closing it securely with a click and Invoking the sealing array of Furthak runes that he carved around the handle with an old pocket knife, with another brush of his fingers, he then turned his focus in getting back to the townhouse where he could pick up some additional things he would need for tonight.

And to also convince Joe to come as well, despite the ghost’s personal issues and misgivings for this night. The mystic backup would be useful, for who knows what else is lumbering at night about at a graveyard, on Samhain of all nights.

Not including this ’innocent soul in need’ that brought about this mess in the first place.

"And I have a feeling I’m going to need all the help I can get. I suspect that getting splattered in supernatural ROUS guts and then getting my face and soul nearly eaten by a religious, pogo- jumping, mind reading, super-zombie might have been the best thing that could of happened to me tonight."

Max snorted in blend of morbid humor, annoyance and resignation.

"But even with him acting crazier than usual, the preacher had never been wrong about things like this. And I really hate it when he does that."

Max reflected on the other priest’s words that he said as well.

"And if it is truly an innocent soul in danger somehow, and I can do something to help, I really have no choice, just like he said."

Max shuddered as the memory of milky, dead eyes and the scent of a foul, yellowed mist flashed by in his head as he recalled the rest of the undead priest words regarding the untapped and untrained potential of his own power as well.

"Damn creepy, mind-reading, undead, know-it-all priest. I really hate it when he’s right about me too."