The highway accesses at Woodbury, Stony Point, and Fort Montgomery were closed off to traffic, isolating Bear Mountain State Park and surrounding woodlands. The military occupied Doodletown and set their FOB there. According to the units tracking the demon, he would cross that point on his way to New York City.
As Cat rode on Dash and pondered about the situation, things started to feel odd. The demon could teleport and use technology, why would it move on foot? He could’ve taken a car or called an Uber if anything. Also, why would he go to New York City at such a snail’s pace when he knew she was in Las Vegas?
Admiral Ackbar in his white command chair flashed in her mind. “It’s a Trap,” the wise Mon Calamari warned as his frog chin puffed.
Maybe it was the pull of Fate. Both her and Catherine knew they had to end this. Too many losses already. The whole world economy was in disarray. Catherine stated repeatedly that she would accept her eternal punishment if it meant saving more lives.
Yet Cat didn’t want to pull the trigger. The world could burn for all she cared if she could save Catherine. Save her love, the only family she had now. The Shaman called them “sisters”. It rang as true as Spring sunshine thawing snow.
The four monster wolves carrying four people and one house cat sped past the world of white and browns of the frozen forests. They’d left Oliver behind as Martinez insisted on coming. The cop wanted to witness the fate of the world from a first-row seat.
They left the forested areas and invaded interstate 287, crossing the Hudson in a blur and vanishing in the riparian woodland on the west bank. After the roadblock, they left the woods and ran along the empty Palisades Interstate Parkway north. Minutes later, they saw the military tents and the helicopters moving around, carrying people and precious silver ammunition.
The sentries at the edge of the hamlet hailed them. “The General is waiting for you inside. Please, this way.”
They got off their lupine rides and entered the camp, escorted by a squad of soldiers. At the command tent, Cat saw the same General who talked to her in Fort Hamilton.
“Miss Wallenstein and companions, welcome. It’s unusual to have civilians fighting alongside us but the President was adamant you had to be present.”
After the proper introductions, he showed the situation. “He’s moving east along the Route Six and will be within shouting range before nightfall. There’s a group of cultists with him.”
The General stared at her with pity. Cat felt her heart freeze. “What’s the matter?”
“Lieutenant, the picture.”
The lieutenant produced an aerial surveillance picture showing the faces of the group following Roger Marthan. Among them was a certain Mrs. Wallenstein. Cat's vision blurred as her world spun.
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Her legs faltered. She felt her vision darken and bright dots flashed all around. Her blood pressure plummeted and she lost her balance. Alice kept her from falling down as Mr. Mouser climbed on her chest and started to purr and breathe slowly right in front of her face, remembering her to do the same. Breathe. Shinji gently lifted her other elbow, allowing Cat to stand up.
She wanted to disbelieve the picture. Say it was a fake. But her heart knew. Catherine whimpered inside her head.
“Our orders are to not spare anyone associating themselves with the enemy,” the general said harshly. “As of now, everyone in that group is considered an enemy combatant.”
“They don’t have weapons!” Cat protested. “They’re unarmed civilians probably under some sort of mental influence or control by the demon! You can’t!”
The general dared not keep eye contact. “I owe you one for the betrayal of my subordinate in Fort Hamilton. Your country owes you for the technology to see invisible creatures. I’d give you a chance to go there and convince her to part with her current company, but we know he’s after you. We can’t let him achieve his goal and capture you.”
Cat slowly and silently recovered her wits. “Trust me, General. If he wanted to physically get me, he just needed to reach out and grasp. He had plenty of chances but never actually captured me. He even let me go from Fort Hamilton, no. He suggested I used Shinji’s holy sword to kill him. He wasn’t bluffing. I must go. I am going there to retrieve my mother.”
She felt it was a huge mistake. She even declared her filial piety was paid off when she put her life on the line against the Florida Walker. Rationally, she should just let Mrs. Wallenstein suffer the consequences of her choice. Yet she couldn’t. Catherine couldn’t. The girl hopelessly loved her mother. It was so intense it overwhelmed the soul currently in control of the body. Fused with Catherine’s physical form, Cat couldn’t help but live according to the directives of her new heart.
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She was no Hero. Her archetype was the Princess. There was no hero, the two returners notwithstanding. She should stay inside the ivory tower and wave a handkerchief to raise the spirits of the warriors.
Fuck that.
The Princess was a plot device. A placeholder for the audience to project on. But this was real life even though the mystical fairy wished to put her in a box where she could be understood. There was no Hero, no archetypes. Only people and what they did with their time and lives. The archetypes came later as the bards sang the finished tale. Which it wasn’t. Finished. She would either write the ending or have someone else do it and shove it down her throat. Or up her…
Fuck that. Thinking better, not “that”. Fuck the tale. Break the archetype. The first step was the hardest. Catherine once again begged to be damned in exchange for the safety of her mother and the world. Cat would have none of that.
She scratched Mr. Mouser’s scruff. “Are you coming with me?” The Wirehair chuffed and rubbed his nose on her cheek.
“Let Dash take you there. He won’t engage unless things devolve into violence,” Alice offered her fastest wolf.
“Miss Wallenstein!” The General protested. “I do not give you permission to go!” He stated at the same time his eyes softened.
She returned a wry smile and nodded. A scene came to her mind as she asked him, “Neighbor, how stands the Union?” A faint grin appeared on the commanding officer’s face. He didn’t return the matching answer, though.
“Let the record show that Miss Wallenstein acted on her own. Let it also show that she did not shirk her calling.”
She turned around and left the tent. She didn’t see the General saluting her from behind.
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A thousand scenarios ran through her mind as Dash dashed west on Route 6. Near a summer camp at the edge of a river, a group of cultists blocked the bridge. They were dressed like normal people with no visible weapons although the winter clothing gave them plenty of room for concealed carry. All of them had high magical potential, higher even than hers. Their sickly corrupted auras made her want to retch, though.
“Ahoy there, Missy!” Their leader shouted. “That’s close enough for the big doggo.”
Mr. Mouser raised his heckles and stared at the cultists as she got off Dash and rubbed the giant wolf’s neck. “Thanks, Dash. I’ll walk from here.”
Dash nudged Mr. Mouser with his snout. Cat could only wonder at what the critters were talking as Mr. Mouser hissed back, apparently annoyed. Dash licked the Wirehair and sauntered away, surprising her as he vanishing in the snowy woods moments after crossing the tree line.
She unclipped Mr. Mouser’s leash and let the cat down on the asphalt. He stretched and stood next to her. Approaching the cultists, she demanded, “I want to see my mother.”
The leader pointed to the dirt road leading to the camp house, “this way, Miss.” They boxed her but she made sure to keep her step, breathing, and heart rate steady. As much as she could. Mr. Mouser matched her pace and remained right next to her, his tail and ears poking straight up with enough discipline to shame any trained dog. The comparison was unfair. The cat was basically an intelligent, sentient creature now. A bit of regret and shame made her cheeks flush. Regret it because she bragged so much about the Wirehair but his “training” was actually due to magic. And shame because even though she was still disgusted by the massacre at the “animal traffic warehouse” back in Nevada, it was reassuring she had a fighting companion by her side.
She heard chanting coming from the building as well as the scent of incense mixed with brimstone and some herbs. A red light shone through the windows and open door.
“You can enter if you want,” the leader stood next to the door and pointed inside.
Mr. Mouser sneezed when they entered. All the furniture was pushed to the corners of the room to make space for an eleven-pointed star inscribed in a circle, painted in red… she hoped it was paint, although the smell said otherwise. Someone dressed in a white gown was lying in the middle of the circle while the other cultists, these with brown hooded robes stood at each point of the star. Catherine’s screams of pure, unfiltered terror told her of the sinister presence watching the nefarious ritual unfold.
“Catherine, so kind of you to join us,” Roger Marthan greeted with feigned cordiality.
She had no time for pleasantries with the infernal. “You broke our Deal,” she accused with a hiss. Catherine kept mindlessly wailing and keening.
“Have I?” He asked tilting his head theatrically. “I literally can’t do that.”
“You agreed to leave her alone!” She yelled her protest.
The disguised demon shrugged. “I did. However, she didn’t leave me alone. Did you, Mrs. Wallenstein?” The cultists stopped chanting and parted at his command, showing the woman in white lying down on the ritual circle painted with red body fluids.
“The unfilial whore I bore from my loins returns home,” The woman raised only her head to meet Cat’s eyes and groused.
Catherine started to bawl and howl. “Mom, snap out of it! Stand up and stop this madness! What are you doing in the middle of a demonic ritual?”
She didn’t move. “It’s none of your business.”
Enraged by the situation and the tinnitus of the ghost’s incessant screams, she grabbed the lapel of the demon’s jacket. “This is not leaving her alone! You broke our Deal! Your puppets and cohorts are not leaving her alone either!”
Roger Marthan pinched her hands and removed them from his jacket, brushing the fabric smooth. “That won’t work, lady. Neither of us interacted with her. She’s laying down on that diagram on her own. We didn’t break the Word of our Deal.”
Mr. Mouser rubbed his back against her leg as he did a lazy eight-figure between them, ignoring both demon and cultists.
“Yes, I’m here on my own volition, you filthy prostitute,” Mrs. Wallenstein shouted as if possessed and started to scream every expletive known to the English language at her.
With both mother and daughter screaming at her, Cat felt her anxiety spike. Mr. Mouser climbed up her leg and around her neck, resting his belly against her nape and a set of paws on each side. The Wirehair then started to lick and nibble under her earmuffs. That calmed her enough to think with clarity for a moment.
She faced the demon again, standing on her toes to stare at his eyes, “You broke our Deal. I demand reparation. Take us to that dimension.”
Roger Marthan grinned, his lips stretching to both ears, showing rotten yellowed pointed teeth. He discarded his human disguise and assumed his true pustulent and slimy form. “I’ll do that but you’re paying for the spell.”
He probably knew how much magic she had. But Cat had a plan. Knowing the demon stuck to the letter and not the spirit of his Deals was the last piece of the puzzle.
“Fine!” She declared.