Queen of the Dark Things (6 page)

The concepts behind disbelief are simple and build upon the nature of dreamstuff as has already been discussed. Dreamstuff collects together, forming the will or consciousness of a being that can then exert its own will upon other nearby dreamstuff, altering it into a form that it wishes or believes to exist. The stronger the will, the greater its exertion on nearby dreamstuff. Thus, the struggle in disbelief can quite literally be described as a battle of wills. The disbeliever is restructuring a being's essence while that being is trying to maintain its own form through its belief in its own existence.

The danger of disbelief—besides the fact that you are disintegrating a living, conscious thing—is that some beings are very good at resisting such attempts. Strangely enough, the beings best adapted to resist disbelief, almost counterintuitively, are the lesser forms. Disbelieving complex forms like fairies, genius loci, angels, or djinn is fairly simple unless they are adept in defending themselves from such attacks and are given ample time to prepare themselves in the moments before. They are, after all, beings of complex emotion and, though nearly, if not completely, immaterial, they are made up of as many working, moving parts as we are—even if those parts are entirely made up of energy. No, the hardest beings to disbelieve are those made up almost entirely of a single emotion. Hate, anger, love, sorrow—these are not the kinds of emotions easily diminished by reason. They are stronger than disbelief. Your urge to disbelieve them must be significantly more powerful than their belief in their own existence for it to work.

Beings of hate, beings of love, beings of sorrow and loss; these are creatures that exist only to fuel and feed their emotions. They exist as a means to an end. And those creatures resist with a willpower that few can override. It is why most religions teach their holy men to exorcise rather than to destroy; the beings they are sent up against are creatures of such powerful emotions that they can only be sent away. This is not to say that they cannot be disbelieved, but simply that they cannot be disbelieved by you.

C
HAPTER
7

B
EATRIZ

Y
ou're going to what?” asked Gossamer. “No way. Not without me.”

Colby shook his head as he grabbed small tokens and materials from around the house, stuffing them into his backpack. “I can't take you. Not this time. It's too dangerous.”

“If it's too dangerous for me then it is definitely too dangerous for you.”

“I promised I'd help. Besides, Beatriz knows the rules. She shouldn't be here. Not in Austin. This is my city and no one takes children in my city.”

“Are you at least taking Yashar with you?”

“No.”

“Bill?”

“Definitely not. There's no telling what he would do.”

“At least take the pike.”

Both looked over at the wall, the pike still resting on its pegs. “No. No freakin' way. That thing stays here.”

“You might need it.”

“I don't need something that dangerous.”

“What if you can't just disbelieve her? She's old. She's powerful. If she is more emotion than reason—like
he was—
you might not be able to just make her go
poof
!”

“I can handle her.”

“By talking to her?”

“There are ways to handle spirits other than just disbelieving them. She has her weaknesses, her own fears. If she doesn't listen to reason, I'll find a way to get her gone. I've destroyed far more powerful spirits than her before.”

“That's the kind of cockiness that gets people killed.”

“Goddamnit, Gossamer! She didn't listen. I told them! I fucking told them! Stay. Out. Of Austin. She was there, Goss. She was there the night they tried to sacrifice him. She was there the night they killed him. That she still walks the earth is only because I didn't destroy her when I had the chance, and this is how she repays my kindness? By trying to drown children in my fucking town?”

Gossamer cowered, his tail creeping in between his legs. “Your . . . kindness? Are you serious?” He shook his head. “Are you listening to yourself?”

“Are you fucking with me?”

“No. Not even a little bit. I get where you're coming from and I know how angry you must be, but do you really think that sparing her life from your own rage means she owes you anything?”

“Shut the fuck up. I didn't ask you.”

“I don't know . . . I don't know what to say. Maybe you need this. Maybe you need to go out and kill something. It's been too long. Maybe Bill was right.”

“About what?” Colby stared at him, thinking back. “That I'm a monster?”

Gossamer shrugged, his fur bristling.

Colby glared for a moment, seething. Then he took a deep breath. And another. And another. Rage seeping away. “No. You're right. I'm going about this all wrong. I'm not out to kill Beatriz, I'm out to ship her off, send her back up the river away from those little boys. I can't forget that.”

“Take someone with you. Please.”

“Not this time. This I have to do alone.”

C
AROL
V
OSS'S HOUSE
was much larger than Colby had expected. When she'd said money wasn't an issue, he assumed she was exaggerating. While he had spent time around all manner and sort of supernatural creature in his life, he'd spent very little time around the wealthy except when picking through estate sales—and those were almost entirely run by separate brokers. She seemed normal, just an average everyday mom worried about her kids. As it turned out, Mr. Voss did in fact do
very
well for himself. Their house was on the expensive side of the river with a Brazilian hardwood boat dock and a view of Mount Bonnell that only a privileged few could afford.

The lawn stretched out long and wide from the back of the house, thick, lush, a shade of green brighter than most of the other lawns this time of year. The grass was firm, uniformly cut, springing back into place with each step, carefully manicured trees growing at perfectly measured intervals. The lawn looked less like someone's backyard and more like the set of a catalog photo shoot.

Colby stood in the expansive backyard, looking out over the river, the sun setting behind him, waiting for twilight. Shadows crept closer and closer to the water, the sky exploding in pinks and purples. From where he stood, Colby could see the crowds atop Mount Bonnell, watching the sky, waiting for the sun to wink out behind the hills.

And as the hills swallowed up the sun, and the tourists returned to their cars, and the night began to set in over the river, darkness swelled beneath the waves. Colby sat pensively in the grass, waiting for the moment when twilight shifted to dusk. That was the moment that shadows came out, when Beatriz the La Llorona would show herself.

And there she was. Standing, dripping, hollow eyes burning, knee-deep in the shallows of the river. She stared out, her mouth dangling in some silent howl that had yet to catch up with her, her gauzy linen dress soaked through, clinging to her every curve. Her body was still a sultry twenty-four, lusty, hippy, dangerously seductive. But her face was ghoulish, a wrinkled prune wrapped around yellowed, mossy teeth and embers peering through clawed-out sockets.

She took one sloshing step forward, cocking her head to the side at Colby, her howl finally catching up to her, a shrill, angry cry like bitter wind scraping through dead trees. Then she moved again, and again, her entire body lurching forward with each awkward, splashing step, her feet digging in and out of the river mud beneath. Her hands, soaked, freezing, and pale, were unmoving, clutched in a clawlike rigor, dead nubs at the end of stiff arms. Beatriz moved like the dead should move.

She tried to step around Colby, pretending he wasn't there. Colby carefully sidestepped. Beatriz grimaced angrily, surprisingly able to become uglier and more horrifying than before.

“
¡Ay! Mis hijos!
” she wailed.

“No,
ellos no son tus hijos,
” he replied in slightly accented Spanish.
No, they are not your children.

“
They are my children, and I need them!
”

“
No. You need to leave, to return to the water. You know my rules. I'm asking nicely. Please leave this family be.
”

“
No! I will not leave without my children! I need them. I am so alone.
”

Colby stood at the edge of the water, the night getting darker around him. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a finely etched silver Zippo covered top to bottom with arcane symbols. “
I'm going to ask nicely one last time
,” he said.

“
Colby, I need my children.
”

Colby flipped a cigarette into his mouth, flicking the lighter, and lighting his smoke in one fluid motion. “
Those aren't your kids, and you know it, witch.
”

Beatriz tightened, her arms drawing close, her fingers becoming long and sharp. She hissed and the air around her chilled, frosting the water on her skin. Then she took another sloshing step forward. Colby took a long, slow drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke in her face.

She recoiled, covering her eyes with the inside of her elbow.

“
I have two rules, Beatriz. And you know them. One: Austin is off-limits. Two: you come for the children, I come for you
.”

Beatriz lunged at Colby, hissing, slashing at his face. Colby fell backward to the ground, landing hard on his ass.

She clawed at him and he jabbed his cigarette at her eye sockets.

Beatriz jumped back, again covering her face.

Colby focused upon her, trying to break her dreamstuff apart. He felt cold, lonely hate. Misery. Anger. “Shit.”

“
I'm so hungry, Colby. It consumes me.
”

“
I know
.”

“
I need them. I need them.
”

“
I know,
” he said again.

“
Let me have them and I will leave. I promise.
”

“
I can't do that. I can't let you drown those little boys.
”

“
I won't, I promise. But I need them.
”

“
You're not taking those boys.
”

Beatriz cast her arms back and leaned in with a wild, uncontrolled hiss.

Colby stabbed at her with the lit end of his cigarette, causing her to recoil once more.

“
That cigarette won't stay lit forever.
”

It wouldn't. He had to think quickly. “
You can't have those boys, Beatriz . . . because you have two of your own. Where are they?
”

She shook her head. “
I don't know
.”

“You do. You know where they are, Beatriz.”

“
No. I don't.
”

“
You do. Think back. Think hard. Where are they?
”

“
I don't know!
”

“
You know where they are, Beatriz, because you drowned them. You drowned your little boys!
”

“
I didn't! No! I don't know where they are!
”

“
Think. Think. Think back as hard as you can. Where? Are? Your boys?
”

Beatriz stopped her clawing and flailing for a moment, tilting her head, lost in thought. Colby could feel the confusion, the lack of conviction and certainty. Beatriz was bubbling to the surface of all that hate. She was beginning to reason, beginning to think back through frozen memories decades old and drowning.

Colby focused once more and the embers in Beatriz's eyes became flames.
“Noooo!”
she screamed, flaring up, a green flame swallowing her whole, boiling away her flesh.

Beatriz vanished with a slight sizzle, the smell of cheap perfume and rotting fish the only lingering reminder that she'd ever been there.

Colby rose to his feet, dusting himself off, and flung the lit cigarette out into the water. It was done. He took a deep breath and staggered slowly toward the house.

He knocked on the back door and Carol answered almost instantly. Colby's eyes were cold, disappointed.

“You were watching?” he asked.

Carol bit her lip, playing coy.

“I told you not to watch.”

“I know, but . . . I was worried.” She paused for a second, then asked, “Is it done? Is she—”

“Gone? For good. She won't be back.”

“Oh my God, thank you!” She burst into tears, throwing her arms around him. “You saved my babies!”

“You're welcome. Now for your end of the bargain.”

Carol pulled away and nodded, wiping tears away from her eyes. “Are you sure I can't pay you?”

“There's no comfort in the world I need that money can grant me for very long. Besides, like I said, I do all right. This is the one thing I can't really get. On my own. You know?”

“It just seems so—”

“Yeah. But a deal is a deal.”

“Come on in,” she said, stepping back, welcoming him inside. “My husband is with the boys upstairs. We won't be bothered.”

The back door led immediately into the kitchen. Colby walked in and breathed deeply. He pointed at the simple wooden kitchen table. “Right here?”

“Is that okay?”

He nodded. “It is.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great. Black.”

“Is French press okay?”

“Perfect.”

Carol began nervously making a cup of coffee. She turned around. “This seems, I don't know . . .”

Colby smiled awkwardly, nodding. “Look, I don't meet a lot of
people
doing what I do. And I certainly can't talk to them without feeling like I have to hide who I really am. Words can't explain the loneliness I feel on any given day.” He stabbed a single finger in the air. “There's one thing, and only one thing, you can do for me that makes what I just did out there worthwhile. I want to sit down at that table, have a nice cup of coffee, and eat dinner with a very nice woman whom I don't have to pretend around. I don't get a lot of home-cooked meals and whatever that is, it smells delicious.”