Harvey Loveless Mysteries 3: Support

I have to think that every church has one of these: a grimy room specially made for support group meetings. The Sunday parishioners get gothic ceilings, stained glass windows, and paintings of naked people flying through the clouds. We get a water heater, metal chairs and a coffee pot from when the first Bush was in office.

Not that we needed the space. We had five this week, four participants plus Father Gregor. He sat directly across from me in our little circle. He was young for a priest, probably late 20's, but I respected him more than any priest I'd ever met. I don't know if he took this job voluntarily or if he ticked off a higher up, but he always acted like he genuinely wanted to be here. Support groups were never fun, but this one was exceedingly looked down upon.

I always thought it was funny, if someone voluntarily drinks and wants to stop then they're a hero. If someone is born to become a monster and don't want to they are still labeled with the monsters.

Father Gregor started out with the serenity prayer. Our group had just whole hardheadedly ripped off the Alcoholics Anonymous protocol, including the steps, though recovery had different meanings here. Some of us will never truly recover.

After a short silence Nick was the first to speak. He was a little shorter than me but outweighed me by at least 100 pounds. All of it was pure muscle though, which he tried to hide under baggy jeans and an oversized sweater. He kept his blond hair at a close military style length, and never used product in it. I always meant to ask him why he didn't attend the survivor meetings, since he wasn't like the rest of us, but it seemed like too personal of a subject to broach.

"A woman came up to me at the gym this week," he said, never looking up from his massive hands. "She said she'd seen me around before, and wanted to say hi. I tried to act cool but at one point she touched my bicep and I cringed away. I smiled and said I was sore. She seemed weirded out but was still friendly and kept talking. I think we had a real connection."

"That's great!" said Father Gregor, real enthusiasm shining through is green eyes. "I'm glad! That's such a good step forward. Remember that God did not make women to be our enemy."

I glanced at the woman sitting directly opposite from Nick, though she didn't seem to notice the comment. She was, as usual, staring at her gloved hands as though she was looking for the answer to all of life's mysteries in the silk.

"Thanks, Father" Nick said, turning a little red. It's unusual to hear a priest praise a young man for being touched by a young woman, but in this case it was a positive step. At 18 Nick was at a party where he got drunk and went to bed with a pretty girl. Halfway through the act she shucked her skin and revealed herself to be a massive insectoid creature, trying to get his DNA. By that point Nick was past the point of no return and she got what she came for. He'd been terrified of women ever since.

The woman in our circle, Alice, looked up and said she wanted to go next. Her eyes were abnormally large and seemed to portrude in an unusual Steve Buscemi if his mother was part iguana sort of way. Her mouth was a little too wide when she spoke, and her unusually pale skin was pock marked with scabs and scars, many of which were self inflicted.

"I haven't found new scales in over a week," she said enthusiastically. "The doctor says that my showers are fine and that it's sea water that's a problem. I can even do salt water since its something in the ocean itself that triggers... episodes..." She trailed off, her enthusiasm draining away like a balloon with a hole.

"Have you been to the beach this week?" asked Father Gregor, concern in his eyes.

"No, I haven't" she said quietly, returning her odd gaze to her hands. "I've been taking extra shifts so I'm too busy to go, but I've wanted to." She wore a red gingham waitress uniform complete with apron and name tag. Her "skin condition" was listed as a medical issue so her employers let her keep her gloves though it was a mystery to everyone how she kept them so clean.

"That's good! Remember about idle hands..." said the Father, smiling at her kindly. The mention of hands made hers twitch a little. I'd never seen her without the silk gloves, but from what I'd heard about the operations on her fingers she'd been through, I don't think I wanted to. About every six months they would have to go in and remove the excess skin growing between her fingers. She always seemed much happier after the operations, and I think her next one would be coming up soon.

Alice was a result of a similar DNA collection process Nick had gone through. A race of sea beasts had been breeding with the residents of a coastal town for centuries before the city was raided and its residents quarantined. Some of the lines had moved away from the town beforehand, and some of their children still showed signs of their heritage. The most extreme would grow gills, scales and webbed digits coupled with an extreme urge to return to the sea and join the bizarre underwater race.

Attention turned to the last member of our little meeting, besides yours truly. The man was in his mid fourties, though he looked far older than he did. He was wearing stained sweat pants and a thin blazer, and rocked a beard that would be the envy of any hipster. His eyes were always darting around the room, occasionally stopping on something in the middle distance only he could see, at which point he would close his eyes and count to ten before going back to his searching.

"I... I think... I slept last night... No dreams..." he said. His voice was shaky like he just emerged from a polar bear plunge.

"Nate that's great news!" said the Father in his usual upbeat tone. "Is the medication helping?"

"I... Think so...." he said before snapping his eyes shut and counting to ten quickly. Six years ago he was a stock trader who had made the wrong investments to the wrong people and had ended up owing more than he had. In a desperate move he'd turned to magic hoping to gain the ability to see a little into the future and know what stocks to trade when. The ritual had gone wrong somehow and the creature he had dealt with for power gave him the ability to instead see the unseen world, meaning that he now saw the plethora of spirits and demons that surrounded humans on a constant basis. He lived in the church now and worked as its janitor. Apparently his wife remarried recently in another city.

Nate never looked directly at me.

"And how are you, detective?" the Father asked turning to me, his wide grin as warm and friendly as it would be meeting at a summer barbecue.

I inhaled slowly. "I cast three spells last night."

"Oh Harvey, what happened?" Asked the priest, his concern genuine on his face.

I explained the circumstances of the previous night, with the cult and the woman on the table, leaving out Detective Holms' visit this morning.

"Harvey, do you know Luke 22:42?"

"I had no idea she was my sister and she kissed me anyway?"

The priest looked confused for a minute before breaking out in laughter. The rest of the group followed nervously.

"No no, it says "Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done."

I nodded my head in agreement although I had no idea what he was talking about. To be honest I'd never read the Bible cover to cover. Not for its length or even language, I was just a little weary of religious tomes. In my experience they usually lead to trouble.

"I think that while your condition is not ordained by God, it can be used for good. And if you use it for his will, to help those in need, you can sanctify it, make it into something good that he can use."

  

It wasn't really what I interpreted the passage to mean, but the rest of the group nodded in agreement so I did as well. The meeting wrapped up with a small discussion on the meaning and significance of step two, most of which was done by Father Gregor. We adjourned with another recitation of the serenity prayer and one of those freestyle prayers the priest liked to do. While everyone was standing up, stretching, shaking hands and meandering towards the coffee and doughnuts I casually said "Hay has anyone heard about a fake Necronomicon floating around?"

The room froze and all eyes fixed on me. I'm apparently not as great at acting casual as I thought I was.

Father Gregor spoke first. "Harvey, you remember the first rule: We are here to recover not gain more dark knowledge?"

"I know," I said feeling slightly sheepish. "It's for a case I'm working on. The thing's bogus anyway."

"I would still rather you didn't bring things like that up in meetings," he said, the concern in his voice turned down and the dad authority turned up.

  

The members resumed their activities and I headed for a doughnut. I knew better, I know I knew better, but it was worth a shot. As I decided between cream filled or chocolate covered Nick sidled up to me.

"I need your help," he whispered, trying to look like he was getting a doughnut but was instead shuffling them around the box.

"Well, the cream filled is out, but the chocolate is good" I said as I took a bite of my newly acquired doughnut."

"No, I mean, I need your help, with something else" he whispered nervously. Nate came up to pour a cup of coffee and Nick immediately walked away, tilting his head in a way that meant I was to follow him. I rolled my eyes and did so.

  

"Look, is there somewhere we can talk, in private?" he asked, still glancing at the others in the room.

"We are talking in private" I said while still chewing on my doughnut. The kid was young, probably early twenties, and I figured it was about time he learned how to ask for something directly.

"I mean, like your office? Can you meet me at your office in like, an hour?" He asked.

I rolled my eyes again and fished a card out of my coat pocket and put it in his beefy hands. "In one hour." I said and headed for the door.

~~~

The best part about my office was that there was a door in the back of it that, when cleverly opened with the cunning use of a doorknob, lead to my apartment. Waiting for Nick was far less of an inconvenience than I wanted him to believe, simply because people who knew me and what I did tended to think that I would do odd detective jobs for them for free. When he got here I was going to tell him that if it wasn't group related I'd be charging him for his time, though I can't imagine what it would be if it was. Did he want me to be his sponsor? In his case he wasn't really trying to recover from using magic, nor was he fighting off the urge to do solo reenactments of "The Little Mermaid" every night, he was just afraid of women. What would he want me to do, get him girls? Did he think I was a pimp?

It was nearly ten, near the time we were supposed to meet and I sat with my feet propped up on my desk and my laptop on my legs going over the case notes from the last few months. Seven cults. I hadn't really thought that much of it honestly. A busy season, yes, but I'd rather deal with kids in Halloween costumes than the real thing any day of the week.

A knock came at my door. I want to say that it sounded nervous, but that was probably just projection. Plus not many people knock on a detective's door at 10:00 at night and are excited. The two groups just don't seem to meet.

"Come in" I yelled, putting my computer down on my desk and adapting a more professional posture. I only had my desk light on, less for effect and more because I preferred not to waste electricity.

Nick stood in my doorway, his huge form taking up most of the space he occupied. He came in nervously and stood at the other end of my desk, his hands clasped tight in front of him.

"Have a seat," I said, "Take a load off."

As he sat down I heard my poor guest chair groan in protest once again. If I kept getting larger gentlemen in my office I'd have to upgrade sooner rather than later.

He kept staring down at his hands in the poor light. He'd yet to say a word. "Can I help you?"

"I... I...." he said "I think I have a problem."

  

"Yes," I said, starting to lose patience. "We've established this, hence why you're here."

"The black spot, how did you get it?"

I was taken aback by the question. The group knew I did magic but I had only told Father Gregor why and how.

"How do you know about...."

"I think I have one" he blurted out.

I was again taken aback. I swore I could feel the black tendrils on my chest twitch at that point, as impossible as it was.

"Um... Okay..." I said not sure what to say. It's not a feeling I have often and not one I'd like to have again.

"I noticed it a few weeks ago. I talked to Father Gregory and he said you had a similar problem. I wanted to bring it up but I didn't know how and then when you brought up the fake book..."

I perked up at that. "Wait, what? You know about the book?"

"Yeah," he said. "Someone in my dorm had a copy and I thought it might have some answers so I took it. And now I think I've been tainted".

"Okay" I said, putting my fingers on my head to preemptively nurse the headache I could feel coming on. "You can't get tainted from a fake Necronmoicon. It doesn't have any power. It's just-"

"But I was!" he yelled then collected himself. I was surprised, this was the most emotional I'd ever seen him get.

I had an idea. "Nick, why don't you show me the taint and I can tell you weather or not it is what you think it is."

Nick looked nervous. "Don't you need more lights?"

I shrugged and clapped my hands twice. The room lit up in an instant. He jumped and I had to stifle a laugh. When I'd first moved in here the voice had whispered that I could use my powers to turn on and off the light to the point where I thought that alone would drive me insane, so I installed a Clapper. Problem solved.

"Okay," said Nick as he stood up. I figured it had to be an errant mole or a rash, something stupid that I could tell him was fine and at worst send him to a dermatologist. At the very least I expected it on his arm or chest, so I was a bit surprised when he started undoing his belt and unzipping his pants.

"Woh Woh!" I said, throwing my hands up. "I said show me THE taint not YOUR taint."

He didn't stop as he pulled down his pants, revealing form fitting UnderArmour underwear. I wasn't sure when he dropped them what I was more surprised by: The fact that there was a man bare from the waist down standing in my office, or the fact that starting at his genitals and tendrilling across his hips and up near his naval was the same black coloring that I had coming from my chest.

"I um..." I said. "I'd like to see this fake Necronomicon and talk to the friend who had it. Also I'll take the case"

Harvey Loveless Mysteries 2: The Counterfeit Cult

My head pounded as I stared at the bottle of Asprin in my hand.

Do it. One more spell. 

I ignored the voice and swallowed the pills with the water on my desk. I'd cast three spells the previous night, three spells I probably shouldn't have cast. 

I put my hands on the back of my head and tried to massage the headache away. My entire body hurt, like I'd spent the entirety of the previous night at the gym, at least it felt how I assumed spending at an entire night at a gym would feel like. Admittedly, I'd never done it but it seemed right. 

Anyway, the human body is not built to channel the dark powers of the Eldrich through them, especially for what I did. Most practicing wizards and whatnot, without the aid of a Necronomicon or other dark entities fueling their magic, usually can only manifest things like curses and at best mild telekenesis on their own, at least to the mortal world. I had super heated a dagger and turned a solid to a liquid and back. That was some serious power. 

And now I was paying for it. 

One more spell. Just a quick one to make the pain go away. 

I jerked my head up and opened my laptop. The template for a police report I had started the previous night was there. A few more details and it would be ready to send in. I focused on getting the details of Mrs. Jensen's bonds right. Someone in the little group had known how to tie people down, and that was not good news. 

I think that's what pissed me off the most about the previous evening. It was the seventh "cult" I'd busted up in a month, but this one was the most threatening to a person's life. The worst the others had done was noise obstruction, scaring the neighbors and that one mutilated cat I'd had to deal with (That kid's going to jail). This is the first one that had tried a human sacrifice, and that had set me off. 

A knock came at my door. It was well past my time to open shop so I shouted "Come in" to the figure on the other side of the semi-transparent glass. Detective Holmes (Seriously that's his name) walked, or rather, waddled in and took a seat on the other side of my desk. 

Detective Holmes (Don't make jokes about it he hates that) looked a lot like how I would imagine Scruff the Crime Dog would look in human form, and if the owner fed him table scraps. He had massive jowls connected by a bushy blond mustache flaked with white. His hair, nearly gone, had been a striking blond when he had started. The man looked more like Wilford Brimley than he did Sherlock Holmes, or even a cop for that matter. The chair creaked as he adjusted himself to get comfortable and I half expected it to collapse beneath his weight. 

"Heard you had some fun last night," he said by way of greeting. 

"Yeah, fun. Just what I need at 9:00 at night, a scared husband ranting about how his wife has been abducted by a cult." 

"Yeah well thank God it wasn't a real one!" he said throwing a newspaper on my desk. 

My first thought was wondering why on earth Holmes bought a newspaper, then I saw the headline:

"CULT ACTIVITY ON THE RISE, POLICE BAFFLED" 

"Baffled? Is that still even a word?" I said sliding the paper back. 

"It is when your industry is dying, you want to sell headlines" he said back with a laugh in his throat. 

"Thing is though, we do have a puzzle with the new cults"

"Tom, these are hardly cults. They're mostly just kids trying to have some fun. I mean, yeah, we've seen a lot more lately and last nights got kinda intense but it's a phase"

"Got kinda intense? Harvey, they had to saw that kid out from the floor last night. What did that cost you?" 

I winced at that. The only reason the Department of Extra Dimensional Activities (DEDA) let me do what I do was under the condition that I kept my magic under control. Half the cops in the department wanted to disassociate with me, the other half wanted me locked up in Arkham. Tom Holmes was the only man to give me the time of day. 

"I'm fine" I lied, trying to sound nonchalant. 

One quick spell and he'll believe every word you say

"Harvey," Detective Holmes said as he pulled something from his coat. "Have you ever seen this?" 

On top of the paper he flopped a giant three ringed binder covered in hand drawn pentagrams in red ink. I must've really been out of it to not have noticed him carry this thing in. I stood up and flipped the binder open to read "The Necronomicon" typed out on the page. I flipped through the book finding pictures and diagrams all neatly compiled into the binder, like someone's elaborate homework assignment. 

"I... Tom, what is this?" I asked as I stopped on a page where a man with a goat's head was dancing in a circle with three women. 

"That's what we're hoping you can tell us" he answered. "Harv, do you think it's..." 

"No," I said firmly. "No it's not real. The spells, the images... No, this is not a real Necronomicon."

"We figured as much," Tom said, letting loose a breath he'd apparently been holding. "We cross referenced parts of it with the sanitized version we have, but I wanted you to look at it for sure." 

"Yeah, Tom. This isn't it." I said sitting back down. I'd only seen a real Necronomicon a handful of times, and only studied it once. The thought made me want to reach for my chest where the black tendrils sprung from. I sipped my water instead. "Where did you get this?" I asked. 

"In the floor kid's house" he said. "As soon as he was booked we went to his house on a standard sweep for any dangerous contraband and found this thing. His mom said she thought it was for one of his classes. If you look on the back page, you can see where each member of his little club signed it in what looks like blood." 

I didn't want to see it. Of course they had though, it was only the most cliche'd thing to do when in a satanic cult next to the pentagrams and someone calling themselves Lucifer. 

"Did he tell you what website he got it on?" I asked. For over 30 years knowledge of the Eldrich had been public knowledge, but with the advent of the internet misinformation had spread faster than mono in a freshman dorm. 

"That's the really weird part. Harvey look again at the front page," he said as he opened the book back up and pointed to the title. "See how the wording is kinda fuzzy? He photocopied this. He photocopied the whole damn book!" 

I raised an eyebrow. The binder held what had to be at least 300 pages. That would be a pain to photocopy. Plus why do that instead of just finding it online? 

"So you think this thing is getting passed around? Like a Playboy some kid finds in his dad's study?" I asked. 

"Apparently. We're going through the names of the other members of both his and the other cults we've messed with lately and see if any of them know about this book." 

"And the floor kid?" 

"He clammed up about it. Won't answer any questions about it, won't even look at it when we brought it in. Now mind you, he talked from the time we find him all the way till then, saying how lord this and lord that was going to curse us and how dare we get his mugshot and bla bla bla..." Tom made talking gestures with his hands. I chuckled at it. 

"I can ask around, see what I can dig up on this book." I said, looking at it again. "Don't know what I'll find, most of the people who are serious about this stuff don't need counterfeit books, and would for sure not use a photocopier to obtain said books" 

Tom picked up the binder and newspaper as he stood. I suspected my guest chair was breathing a sigh of relief to be freed from Tom's round shape. When I first met him, I had to suppress my impulse to make Sherlock Holmes jokes, but now I had to try not to look at him and say "I'm Wilford Brimley and I have diabetes". 

"Let me know what you find, Harvey" he said and extended his hand. I took it and we shook. I noticed as we did the tattoo on his wrist glowed faintly, informing him that he was touching a person with magic. Tom of course didn't need the reminder, but I still thought it was a neat little trick. 

As he walked out of the room I sat down again at my desk, my headache starting to dissipate and my limbs beginning to loosen up. The first rule of being a private detective was to ask a lot of questions and several immediately came to mind: Who would want to make a fake Necronomicon? Why would they pass it freely to college kids? What's to gain from it? 

Cast a spell to find out. Scry into the origins of the book.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Another side effect from using magic was the temptation to use it again, especially the type I could do. In general magic came in three forms: inherited, meaning that someone along your family tree had encountered an Eldrich creature or had got ahold of a real copy of the Necronomicon. Then there was learned, which meant YOU had a copy of the Necronomicon or one of the less powerful spell books that shifted around the black market and was teaching yourself magic. Then last but not least directly from the source itself. You'd made a bargain with something beyond time and space to get power and they had granted it to you, which was the boat I was currently in. Most people did magic immediately after they got it, very quickly either killing themselves or driving themselves mad. 

I was a.... special case... 

The fact was though, the temptation was strong today. Plus I had questions I needed to answer. 

Looks like tonight was a good time to hit up my support group.