Buffy Mary Sue, Part Four

Buffy Mary Sue
By Scribe

Part Four
Wouldn't You Know It?

Second week on the job

Ephraim was reading a large book, one bound in something unfamiliar, something that Mozell didn't want to think too much about, and Mozell was vacuuming the draperies. Ephraim had said that while dust and cobwebs might be considered traditional for this sort of store, he preferred a more modern scheme. Mozell shut off the machine when the bell over the door tinkled. Ephraim usually let her attend to customers when she was there. She was always glad that he took over the duties whenever he did, since those customers tended to make her more uneasy than usual.

The new arrival didn't come in, though. He stood in the open doorway, surveying the room. He gave Mozell a wary look (she was beginning to wonder what sort of rep Ephraim's usual shop assistants had), then fixed his eyes on her boss. "Are you--?"

"Yes. You have something for me?"

"Item from Romania?"

"Bring it in."

The man nodded, going back out. Ephraim stood, rubbing his hands. "Finally! Put that contraption away, Mozell. This is a very special find, and I feel like sharing the joy."

"All righty." She unplugged the machine (it was a real booger, locating outlets behind the drapery), and rolled it into the back room, taking it to the broom cupboard. When she came back out to the front room, the first man was, with the help of another, was wheeling in a dolly. "Mother lover."

"Yes, it's something, isn't it?" said Ephraim with satisfaction.

"It certainly is. The question is, what?"

Ephraim indicated an open section of the floor. "Put it here. No, no, no--lengthwise." As the men began to shift the item off the dolly, Ephraim said, "What do you think it is?"

Mozell took a slow stroll around it as Ephraim signed a clipboard. The delivery man said, "I'm glad to get rid of this one. Made me nervous, just having it around."

"And you deserve a tip for that. Just a moment." Ephraim opened a cabinet under the counter, and removed a small cage. Mozell looked over, curious. The cage contained several white mice. Ephraim studied them thoughtfully, then said, "Oh, hell. No point in being chinchy." He put the cage away, and pulled out another. This one held a pair of white rats. He handed the cage to the now grinning delivery man. "Enjoy." The two men hurried out, huddling close over the cage. Mozell had the rather disturbing impression that they were drooling.

After the men had left, Ephraim came over. "Ready to answer the final jeopardy question?"

It was a box, as long and wide as a chest freezer, but only about half as tall. It was made of dark, dark wood. In fact, it was almost black, but Mozell couldn't tell whether that was the normal wood color, stain and varnish, or the effect of aging. It had also been intricately carver over every inch of visible surface. Large, geometric sections of the surface was also covered with what looked like copper, embossed to show the design that lay beneath.

The design was... The word chaotic came to mind. It didn't seem to have any one unifying theme. There were the traditional vines and flowers, a few animals (she spotted a wolf and a bird--no, a bat), what looked like astrological symbols, and runes, and... She blinked. She must need more caffeine--she could almost swear that some of the pattern had changed when she looked away from it. "Well, a storage chest would be too logical. It doesn't look Egyptian enough to be a sarcoghagus. Hinged lid... Hm. Considering what type of shop this is... a wooden iron maiden?"

"No, but excellent guess. It is a magical item." He ran his hand lovingly over the top. "Thirteenth century. At least four murders have been committed by those seeking to acquire it. No, don't lift your eyebrow at me. Cold, hard cash worked perfectly well this time."

"What's it supposed to do?"

"I have no earthly idea."

There was a moment of silence. "Like the Beach Bucket of Doom?"

"No, I know what that does--I just don't like to discuss it. I haven't yet been able to track down exactly what this does, though I'm sure it's something fascinating. I'm working on it, but I've only been able to come up with a few morsels of information." He lifted the lid. "Oh, my. This is nice."

The interior was lined with quilted black velvet, with a black satin pad at the bottom. Mozell shrugged. "So it's a fancy coffin."

"I suppose it could have been used as such, but that's not how it's designated." He reached in and stroked the velvet. "Any corpse laid to rest here would be comfortable for eternity. Why don't you climb in and see how it feels?"

That tone was entirely too casual. "Why don't you climb in and see how it feels?"

He smiled, lowering the lid. "There'd be no point. I know that I don't possess the quality required to activate whatever magic it holds." He patted the box. "It can only be operated by a virgin."

She stared at him. "What makes you think that I qualify?"

He shrugged. "Since I haven't actually seen you having sex, there's a chance. Are you?"

"Why don't you just stand on your head and whistle Dixie while I consider answering that?"

He shrugged. "Well, if you are, and you get curious some time when I'm not here, be sure to tell me what it does--if you're still here... in a form capable of speech." He tapped the lid. "Don't sell this one. Depending on what I find out about it, I may not want to let it go."

~*~

That Same Week, Friday Night

*It's going too smoothly,* Mozell thought, as she approached Esoterica. *He hasn't made me want to strangle him once, he hasn't asked me to do more than he told me he'd expect when I signed on, he hasn't fiddled around with my schedule. I'm beginning to get nervous.*

Eprhaim was behind the counter when she came in. This time the flowers were ivory white gladioli (she'd mentioned that they were her favorites earlier in the week. She wondered if he was subtly sucking up, just a little, and decided that Ephraim Tempest would never do anything so crass as suck up. Seduce--yes), and the magazine he was reading was entitled CREATIVE CHAOS. He looked up at her and smiled. "Miss Mozeby--punctual as always..." He gave her outfit an appreciative scan, "And perfectly in uniform," he frowned, "aside from the footwear. Nikes?"

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again--I'm not walking those streets in the Dancing Princess footgear you supply. I like to keep glass out of my feet." She held up a paper sack. "I'll change."

"Only your foot gear, my dear. Change nothing else about your charming self."

She gave him a suspicious look. "Okay, what am I about to not like?"

He folded the magazine as he stood up. "Tonight you solo. I have a rather urgent appointment..." he paused, "elsewhere."

She'd sat down on the second stool behind the counter, and begun unlacing her shoes. Now she hesitated, pursing her lips. "Oooh-kay."

"Such enthusiasm."

"Stage fright."

"No need for it. You've done splendidly so far." He put the magazine under the counter, and stood.

"Any special instructions?"

"No, just carry on as usual. I doubt that I'll be back before dawn. Just take your usual lunch break whenever. If I haven't arrived by the usual end of your shift, lock up and go home. If I'm not here when you come back tomorrow night," he shrugged, "I wish you well in your next position."

She stared at him. "Exactly where are you going? Beiruit?"

"No, nowhere as noisy as all that."

"Just a minute--what do I do if I get robbed?"

"Give them what's in the till, of course. I don't expect you to risk your life for my money."

"And a damn good thing it is, too. But what about calling the police? You don't have a phone here."

"Oh, hell." He fished a quarter out of his pocket, and taped it to the underside of the counter. "There. You'll be able to use the pay phone out on the street, and if it's so urgent that you can't--then you probably wouldn't be able to use a private one in here, either."

"You're so encouraging."

"It's my curse. Good luck." He opened the door, then paused. "Oh, and if anyone, um, physically unusual shows up--I'd hide." He left.

"Charming." She took a seat and pulled out an Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. *Well, it's better than that convenience store, where I wasn't supposed to let my butt hit a flat surface during working hours, and wasn't supposed to lock the front door for five minutes to viset the toilet. I may have lost them about $2.85 in business, but I wasn't about to be sitting in the back with my pants around my ankles and the front door open, so that anything could walk in off the street.*

The next few hours were uneventful. She read. She ate her lunch. She once again tried to figure out what the hell the deal was with the beach bucket. It once again mildly creeped her out. Finally there came a time where her lunchtime Diet Pepsi made itself known. With a great deal of satisfaction, she took the key from the till and locked the front door, then went back to satisfy nature.

Once relief was achieved, she washed her hands, and left the restroom. She was about to go on through to the shop, when she hesitated in front of the other door--the one through which Ephraim had disappeared with her 'blood test' when she was hired.

*I will not think of Bluebeard,* she thought. *What does he have back in there--a mini lab? It's really none of my business... Yes, it is. If he's running a meth lab in there, I'm outta here. Maybe it's something more innocent. Maybe it's just a dark room to develop naughty pictures. He hasn't actually told me not to go in there.* She snorted. *Right. That's along the lines of 'please don't eat the daisies'.*

She tried the knob, and got very still when it turned smoothly. *Oh, heck! My feline nature just kicked in, and now I have to look. Okay, one quick peek.*

She opened the door. Her nose wrinkled. It smelled like smoke and... Sometimes just before a really big storm, when the lightening and thunder was cranking up, but the rain hadn't started yet, you'd get that peculiar sort of electric smell. Someone had told her once that it was ozone. In any case, it damn sure seemed out of place in this stuffy room.

It was dark in the little room, but enough light slanted past her for her to get a pretty good look at it. It was bigger than the bathroom, but still small--maybe walk-in closet size. There was a table draped in what looked like black linen across the back wall. *Nope. That's an altar. It has to be, because that thing there in the center is most definitely an idol, and not just some object d'art.*

She took a step into the room, peering at it intently, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be. *I think it's safe to say that it isn't your standard issue devout Roman Catholic lawn ornament.* There was a shallow black metal dish sitting in front of the idol. She bent over, examining it, and noticed that the acrid scent was stronger there. She also noticed a dark maroon speck. "Oh, I don't fucking believe it. No, you didn't." She reached out and gingerly scratched at the spot with her fingernail, wanting to see if it could be paint.

The rim of the bowl started to glow. She thought that perhaps it had been glowing for a couple of seconds, and she just hadn't noticed it--because it was black. Yes, a black glow. Her mind didn't really want to process that, but there was really no point in trying to say it was anything but that. And the glow was creeping down the sides of the bowl toward the center...

Toward where she was scratching. She jerked her hand back a split second before the darkness rushed the rest of the way down. She stared as shadows seemed to pool in the bowl, then started to swirl.

*This was a very, very bad idea. I wish he did have a meth lab in here. Or maybe illicit guns. Or even bio weapons.* She stepped back out quickly, shutting the door with a slam, and wishing that it was steel plated.

*I'm going to forget I ever saw that. I just hope that Ephraim gets back soon, because I really don't like the idea of being alone with that thing.*

To her relief, she heard someone knocking at the front, and she hurried up to unlock it. She slowed down as she approached the door, though, thinking, *Wait a minute... Ephraim's the boss--he has a key. Must be a customer.*

The knocking came again, only this time it was more thumping. *An impatient customer.* She took the other key from her pocket and reached for the door knob, then stopped. She could hear breathing. Should she be able to hear breathing through the door? And was that growling. She called out, "Sorry--no pets allowed." *Damn sure no dog that sounds that big.*

The thumping immediately graduated to pounding, and a voice outside said, "S' klaagrak fll ch'log, Rayyyn!"

At least that was what it sounded like. Mozell could feel the hair on the back of her neck prickling. "We're closed."

There was a crashing thud, and she saw the door jerk in its frame. "Bo meccret! Fll t'lurmb ah."

"Go away, or I'll call the police."

There was a moment of silence, then a strong, snuffling sound. That was followed by a low chuckle that might have made her wet herself, if she hadn't just been to the restroom. What came next was even worse. It was a low croon. "Virrrrrrgin."

The next blow was thunderous--like someone had run a car into the door. She heard metal squeal, and there was a brittle cracking sound. To her horror, she saw that wood by the knob on the frame was starting to split, and the nails on the hinges had been jarred almost a centimeter out of position. This wasn't like the flimsy door back in the store room. She wouldn't have thought anything less than a SWAT battering ram could do this.

There was a thin screeching sound, and she saw that the door was being slowly pushed inward. As she watched a set of thick fingers wormed through the gap created, flexing, and trying to get a grip on the door.

The fingers were purple and scaly, and tipped with long, curved nails that would have done a Mandarin proud. As she stared in disbelief, the fingers flexed, and the nails retracted, then extended again.

Ephraim's parting bit of advice came to mind. She whirled, searching frantically for a hiding place. She didn't have much time, and she'd never been all that fleet, so she picked the closest option.

She ran to the store's newest acquisition, lifted the lid, and climbed inside without a moment's hesitation. She lay down, reached up, and pulled the lid shut, praying that the box wasn't air tight. Even if it was, she had a feeling that she'd rather suffocate than face whatever it was that was about to break into the store.

She didn't see the darkness that crept out of the back room and across the floor. It looked something like a dense fog, and something like a tide of swirling water. It spread along the floor, and when it touched the base of a display case, the objects inside jittered minutely.

Then it seemed to split. One side moved to the wooden box, lapping around the base, then slowly flowing up the sides to cover it. The other section went to the front door, and flowed under. There were immediate howls and snarls, the sounds somehow conveying pain, fear, and supplication, all at once. The steady pressure on the door ceased, and there was the rapid, slapping sound of footsteps retreating up the alley. A moment later the darkness flowed back under the door and drifted over to collect, also, around the box.

After a moment it began to retreat. It was like a movie being run in reverse. Had Mozell been there to watch, she would have seen it condense, slip back under the door in the store room, flow up the altar, gather in the bowl, and dissipate.

She wasn't there to watch it.

The shop's proprietor returned about a half hour later. He was carrying a briefcase, and looking smug. Just before he entered the alley, though, he paused, sniffing the air suspiciously. Then he moved toward his shop, increasing his pace. When he saw the state of the door he began swearing.

He didn't bother with trying to unlock the door, he just kicked it the rest of the way off the hinges. "Mozell!" No blood--that was promising. There was no lingering aura of death, or even violence, so maybe he'd be lucky, and she was just sitting in the back room, gibbering and white haired. Actually, that might be rather nice. Insane people could be a lot of fun. Druscilla was a hoot.

Then he noticed that the box was gone.

Ethan groaned. "Oh, bloody hell!" He stalked back to the room containing his idol and threw the door open. "I don't want to get a new shop assistant!" he growled at it. "I like her, and I was planning on getting into her pants. Couldn't you have waited a little while before you did whatever it was you... Ow!"

He'd just gotten what felt like an electric shock from the briefcase. He looked at the idol, then nodded. "All right." He picked the case up from where he'd dropped it and took it back into the store room. He sat at the desk, unlocked the case, and opened it.

Inside were several sheets of very old parchment, each page filled with cramped, faded writing. Much of it was in several different languages, but the title at the top was easy to read. 'Ye Journying Cassket'.

He started to read.

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