Below the Signal



The Mall of Louisiana screams. It’s a high-wattage terror far worse than any demon Elias Nilssen has ever faced. Vaulted ceilings and blinding white-and-gray tiles reflect every harsh beam. The air stings his blue eyes, thick with Cinnabon glaze, clashing perfume samples, and two overlapping basslines - pop-punk shrieking from one store, hip-hop thumping from the next.

Running his fingers through his bleached curls, Elias scans the aisles with a bored expression on his freckled face. His black winter jacket partly hides his muted brown sweater; his white shirt collar pokes unevenly over the neckline. Baggy jeans bounce over his squeaky combat boots.

Elias struggles to push the heavy shopping cart when three boxes of expensive makeup materializes in the cart. They topple over the pair of platform shoes like wrecking balls, knocking down a stack of Britney Spears CDs.

Upon seeing the items, Elias glances up. He watches his best friend, Tess Beauvais, hover nine inches above the cart and sets his jaw.

“Are you fucking serious, Tess?” he groans. “I can’t afford all of this shit.”

Tess pouts before lowering herself on the ground.

“Oh, come on, Elias,” she scoffs. “I’ve brought my emergency credit card with me. So stop acting a fucking sourpuss.”

“And what makes you think Agnes would like this stuff?”

“Think of it as a woman’s intuition.”

“Really?”

Tess gives her hair a messy toss and then gradually bobs her head. “Mm-hmm, that and the fact that your little sister adores me to tears.”

“Jesus,” Elias huffs. “Sorry about that. Agnes can be such a pest sometimes.”

“Don’t be. She reminds me of my kid sister.”

Trudging past the rack of neon-yellow windbreakers, Elias adjusts his reading glasses near the bridge of his nose while Tess darts around the chaotic throng.

Her micro braids slap across her excited face. Her older brother’s military coat drapes over her bluish-brown Coogi sweater and mom jeans. Her black Doc Martens click as Tess snatches a sleek pair of Ray-Bans and tosses them in the pile.

Elias stops walking and utters a sigh. “Is that the last one?”

“Yep.”

“You sure? Because the mall’s going to close in twenty minutes and I really don’t want to -”

“I’m finished,” Tess interrupts coolly. “Now, do you want take the cart to checkout or are you going to waste twenty minutes, bitching like an old woman?”

Elias clamps his mouth shut and follows her toward the checkout.

They nearly round the corner into the central atrium when his Nokia goes off in his right pocket. Confused, the twenty-four-year-old slows down. He takes a second to retrieve the device while Tess happily wheels the cart to the register, already swiping her platinum card.

‘I hope it’s not Dad again,’ Elias thinks with an exhausted smile on his face. ‘He’s probably worried about where I am.’

He presses his thumb against the Answer button, hoists the device to his right ear, and waits for the ringing to subside until a loud popping noise causes his heart to jump.

“Elias Nilssen!” an old chipper voice beams. “How are you doing on this fine evening, my boy?”

Massaging his chest, Elias takes a second to collect himself and tightens his smile, already guessing his employer is doing yoga on his desk again.

“I’m doing great, sir,” he lies, trailing Tess toward the sliding doors. “We’re finished shopping at the Mall of Louisiana, and we’re heading to my parents’ place to celebrate Agnes’ birthday.”

“Aw, Little Agnes! It’s been a while since I’ve seen her face! How old is she now?”

“Sixteen.”

“Oh, how sweet! I’d love for you to spend the rest of your Friday with your friends and family.”

“But you have another case for me and Tess.”

A pained sigh confirms it. “I’m very sorry to call you unexpectedly, but the shipment of special herbs are arriving tonight and I need someone to collect them for me. Put me on speaker, will you?”

“Of course, sir. Give me one moment.”

*********Lowering his phone, the exhausted monster hunter leads Tess into the parking lot.

Cars clog every lane. Horns blare in every direction, forcing conflicted shoppers to abandon their carts and cars. Streetlights cast long, frantic shadows until the duo reach the blue, battered Volkswagen Beetle under a lonely lamp.

Elias unlocks the trunk with a sad electronic chirp. Tess loads the gifts atop the spare tire, two shotguns, a box of shells, and a dusty emergency flare kit. Once she slams the trunk shut with a solid thud, the witch places her left hand on her hip, sighing, “He does know it’s Friday, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he also know we work under the Demon Ministry branch?”

“Yeah, but Dr. Barr wants us to take care of some shipment tonight. Herbs or whatever.”

Tess stifles a groan. “Seriously? There are, like, fifteen thousand people in that building. Can’t he hire those losers to take care of it?”

‘Great question,’ Elias thinks grimly. “Look, as badly as I want to hang up on Dr. Barr, he pays us better than Target. Plus, my dad’s bringing his new girlfriend to Agnes’ birthday party, and I’d rather kill a monster than be seen with that bitch.”

“Since when does your dad have a new girlfriend?”

“Since Thanksgiving. Look, do you want to get this over with? ’Cause I’m more than happy to drop you off at your apartment.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tess grunts, pulling a cigarette from her left pocket. “I know the bayou like the back of my hand. Plus, I have a lot of student debt and lazy roommate who never pays her rent on time. I got nothing to lose.”

Amused by her honesty, Elias gradually bobs his head. He opens the car door with his left hand and crawls onto the driver’s seat. In contrast, Tess opens hers without lifting her hand. She then sheds her backpack from her tense shoulders, plops it onto the thick car mat, and slowly straps on her seatbelt.

Elias, on the other hand, shuts the door across from him. He reluctantly puts his phone on speaker and rests it against the cupholder so Tess can hear Dr. Barr’s voice.

“Hello, Dr. Barr? Are you there?” she asks aloud. “You’re on speaker.”

“Excellent. Thank you very much, Elias,” he exclaims between grunts. “Now, Theresa, what do you know about Knotwither?”

Sliding the cigarette in her mouth, Tess lights the end with her blue flames. She takes a quick puff and rolls the window down to let the smoke escape Elias’ car.

“From what I heard, sir,” the witch begins, taking the cigarette from her mouth.

“Knotwither is a very special herb. People in the Middle East would use them to make a variety of medicines and explosives. After the Gulf War was over, Clinton had his soldiers confiscate them. Why do you ask?”

“Because I got a call from some friends at the Crossroads Bureau, informing me that the shipment will be at the herbal warehouse in Lafayette. While its owners are a little hostile, I ensured they will let you retrieve the herbs without any trouble.”

Elias scrunches his face. “And what do you mean by that?”

“He means root workers and conjure doctors,” Tess answers, exhaling another thick cloud of smoke. “They can be a little skeptical towards strangers, but as long as you pay them for their services, they’ll let you be.”

“Why the secrecy? Don’t they use herbs and roots to heal their communities?”

“Yeah, but Hoodoo isn’t exactly the kind of religion you brag about to your buddies. Especially the Christian kind - no thanks to Sabrina the Teenage Half-Wit.”

Turning her attention back to Elias’ phone, Tess tucks a loose strand of hair behind her right ear and adds, “If there isn’t anything you’d like to discuss, then we’ll be on our way now.”

“Understood,” Dr. Barr responds in approval. “Be careful.”

“We will,” Elias promises.

The blue Volkswagen Beetle rumbles to life, merging with the distant wail of sirens fading behind them. The parking lot, littered with abandoned shopping carts and discarded wrappers, shrinks in the rearview mirror as they merge onto the darkened highway.

Streetlights streak past, their sodium glow painting brief, golden brushstrokes across the windshield.

Tess leans her head against the window, her smoke curling into the chilly night air.

Meanwhile, Elias keeps his hands tight on the steering wheel. The soft glow of the dashboard illuminates his freckled face. The radio fizzes with static, then slips into a scratchy ska punk track whose jittery rhythm trembles faintly through the Beetle’s frame, nudging the silence apart.

The road stretches endlessly, flanked by swampland and cypress trees that loom like dark sentinels under the crescent moon.

The Beetle climbs a slight rise. Its headlights cut through the mist curling low across the marsh. With a gradual turn to his left, Elias lightly presses his gas pedal while Tess lets out a long drawl.

Smoke drifts through the car, carrying the familiar mix of tobacco and vanilla from her perfume. Her fingers tap against her thigh to the beat of the tires humming over the asphalt when she catches the clusters of lights flickering on the windshield.

Tess’ eyes widen in absolute shock. She flings her shriveled cigarette out the window, leans towards the windshield, and asks, “Hey, do you think those lights belong to the warehouse?”

“I think so. It’s been a while since I’ve been in this part of Lafayette.”

“How come?”

“Because I had college exams and a new apartment to find. But the good news is I’ve already graduated. Also, thanks to Dr. Barr, I have enough money in my account to move out of my dad’s place.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“Well, unless someone in my family secretly has a dragon birthmark on his right hand, I have to continue my monster hunting duties - even if it fucking kills me.”

Stunned, Tess blinks twice. She tilts her head to the side and whistles, “Damn, and I thought Harry Potter had a hard life.”

“Ha. If you say so, Teddy,” Elias snickers under his breath. “If you say so.”

Stubbing the cigarette into the small metal tray, Tess moves her head out of the cracked window to see the herbal warehouse squatting at the end of the gravel road. Corrugated metal panels sag slightly along the sides. Tall windows are fogged with a permanent film of dust and smoke.

A crooked wooden sign advertising oils, roots, and remedies dangles above the load bay. One floodlight briefly flashes at the approaching vehicle until something or someone dims it down.

“Good,” Elias mutters, peering ahead. “I hope this assignment is quick.”

Tess rubs her thumb under her chin and smirks. “Relax, Eli. We grab the herbs, get paid, and go home. Just like the good old days. What could go wrong?”

*********

Elias guides the Beetle near the warehouse entrance. Tires crunch over gravel as the headlights sweep across the weathered metal siding. He kills the engine and listens to the cicadas’ distant chirping while Tess studies the long, rectangular building from afar. Its rust-stained walls are interrupted by tall windows fogged from the warmth inside. Pale floodlights cast vast halos across the yard, illuminating crates stacked beside the loading dock.

Tess steps out first, stretching her arms as the humid air clings to her skin. The rich, earthy smell hits them almost immediately — dried roots, crushed leaves, smoldering incense drifting from somewhere deeper inside the building.

Elias slams his door shut and pockets the keys. Two men wait near the entrance in worn work boots, rolled sleeves, and aprons stained with the colors of the natural world. One holds a clipboard; the other wipes his hands on a rag as they nod in greeting.

“Are you the talented employees Dr. Barr spoke of?” one questions.

“Yes, sir. My name is Elias Nilssen and this is my friend, Tess Beauvais. We’re here to collect a box of Knotwither for him,” Elias explains. “Could you take us to it?”

Hoisting the clipboard to his chest, the middle-aged rootworker cracks a cheerful smile before leading the duo into the lively warehouse. Workers trudge up and down the stairs with determination. Tied bundles of herbs lie sprawling across the tables, emitting smells of camphor, earth, citrus, and smoke.

Tess avoids the drying racks hanging above her head and spots a younger worker slicing pale stalks of angelica root with practiced precision. Another sorts bundles of rosemary, lemongrass, and mugwort into separate bins. Glass jars are filled with names scribbled in grease pencil: Devil’s Shoe String, Cascara, Spanish Moss, Five Finger Grass, and Sweet Annie.

Tess studies everything with quiet admiration while Elias eyes the workers moving down the line.

He sees them packaging herbs into parchment bundles or tucking roots into small gris-gris bags. Nearby, a sealing machine hisses as boxes are prepared with printed labels for distribution across Louisiana. Finally, the conjure man guides Tess and Elias to a counter at the back of the warehouse, where a sturdy wooden box waits for their arrival.

Tess lets out a small, delightful laugh. “Holy shit, is this the box?”

“Yep. Here you go,” one of the conjure doctors declares, placing a hand on the lid. “Make sure you tell Dr. Barr to water them thoroughly or else -”

A faint metallic click interrupts him, causing Elias to look up. He sees the front door’s lock clicks on its own then immediately shoves Tess onto the ground.

*************

BRRAAT - TAT - TAT - TAT!

Gunfire tears the warehouse apart. Workers scream.

Devil’s shoestring, rosemary, and mugwort erupt into the air like botanical shrapnel as fragile shards sprinkle across the floor. Shelves crash. Lights flicker excessively as masked gunmen storm inside.

Ignoring the bloodshed, Elias drags Tess under the collapsed table. He ducks his head to avoid the stray bullets then rummages his waistband to grab his firearm.

Most of the conjure doctors aren’t so lucky, though.

Two of them go down in the first volley - one cut down mid-run, another falling down the stairs, a third thrown back into a shelf of jars that collapse like brittle bones.

Others bolt toward the back entrance, sprinting, ducking, hauling each other by the collars. Warehouse lights blink under the assault, turning gunmen into stuttering silhouettes.

Elias watches one masked figure rush the table. He snaps his arm forward and buries his sleek knife in the man’s throat.

Hot blood spatters across Elias’ jacket. His blue eyes narrow as Elias rips the blade free and shoves the collapsing body aside — only to be pushed onto the ground by Tess.

“Stay down!” she commands.

Elias sucks his cheeks. He wipes the gore sliding down his nose whereas Tess rises over the table. She grits her teeth, pushes her hands away from her chest, and unleashes a roaring burst of blue fire killing three attackers at once.

The flames gutter from her fingertips as Tess drops to one knee, shaking like a leaf. She groans at the blood staining her coat and sweater then turns to Elias cocking his firearm.

“Why does shit like this keep happening to us?” she asks, annoyed. “I just got these boots on sale!”

Before Elias can answer, his gaze snags on something scratched into the inside of the wooden box lid. It isn’t just an intricate pattern, but a small, stylized devil, etched with clean, sharp lines, as if carved by a switchblade. The devil has sharp, goat-like horns, a cunning, pointed chin, and eyes reduced to mere slashes of contempt.

Though Elias isn’t perturbed by the symbol, he suspects that these men had much more in common than he realized.