The ones he knew were called into Sheddlestone Hall, they were unaware, or not told, about the dangers of undertaking the spirit walk. Now they were here, in what Alex had begun to view as a tomb, incarcerated by vengeful gods.
And the psychics Alex didn’t know seemed to come from around the world. Snatched from their spirit walks by the same gods.
But why?
Another light came at him, turning away at the last moment. Alex saw a blur of wings, and if he had had a heart, it would have leapt. As it was, his spirit crackled with excitement. Alex looked up. There were more lights up near the block that kept them cut off from the world. Alex thought they were gathering, the specks merging into a single source that slowly pushed back the shadows and gave Alex enough light to see by.
His heart sank. Miriam Walker’s spirit hung from its chains and Alex could see the grey and black lines that formed her body. She’d died. Sometime in the last few hours, Miriam had given up any chance of returning to her mortal body, and now the remnants of her spirit reminded him of a dirty rag.
The mass of light sank slowly to the floor. Alex could see them now. Sylphs. Hundreds of them. The tiny winged figures looked like Tinkerbell from Peter Pan. Alex saw the other psychics rousing themselves as the sylphs linked arms and formed a portal.
A woman rose out of the pool of light. Alex recognised her. The goddess Ki draped in robes of silver and satin that reflected the sylphs in brilliant flashes. Alex narrowed his eyes against the glare as heat filled the basement. It warmed his spirit and calmed him. He felt like a child, safe in his mother’s embrace. Ki turned, studying each psychic until she ended facing Alex.
“They are coming,” she said.
“Who are?” Alex caught glimpses of her beauty through the glow that shone from her flesh. Her eyes seemed to burn with the ferocity of a desert sun.
“The destroyers. They come here to change the world.”
Alex tried to catch the meaning of her words. “They are coming here? Where are we?”
“This is the Place of Retribution. Where the world can be remade.”
The light overwhelmed Alex. Through his eyelids he saw a pink mist that rolled back to reveal a land of forests, lakes and snow-capped mountains. People walked past him, unaware of his presence. Hikers, a family group of three generations. Alex followed them down the trail as it wound between a stand of pine trees. In a glade, he saw a herd of pronghorn, their dark eyes watching the party. It was a place of natural beauty. Not a Place of Retribution. Until they came out of the tree cover and the hikers stopped.
Alex drifted in front of them, looking down a grass covered slope. At the bottom, where a small river ran across smooth boulders, stood a man and a woman. They seemed to be arguing until Alex saw the dark aura surrounding the man and realised the power he had within him. The man reached out, grasping the woman by the hair and tearing it from her scalp. She tried to run, but out of the water rose a grey mist that swirled around her legs, pulling her to the ground.
Alex saw the land shake, a tremor that reached around him and made the pine trees bend. Needles fell like rain as the ground rippled. The hikers screamed as a fissure split the land, running across the hillside like a hand tears paper. Heat burst through the fracture, followed by a rush of fire. Grass and trees ignited. A wall of flame swept up. Alex saw the hikers run, seeking any route out of the firestorm. They failed. Grandparents fell first, stumbling on rough ground as the flames leapt upon them like hungry predators. Alex didn’t want to witness the others dying but he had to. Mother and her daughter clung to each other as burning branches fell onto them. The father and son got a little further until the land opened another fracture and they fell, screaming, into a river of molten rock.
The ground rose as if taking a breath and then expelled it. Rock, soil, grass and trees leapt towards the sky as the land erupted. Fire followed. Magma, ash, sulphur and rock came from the Earth. They rose hundreds of metres into the air, and more followed as the world bellowed and below, in a tiny piece of untouched world, a laughing man watched it all unfold in triumph.
The vision faded. Alex could feel the energy of his life ebbing away as he hung there, driven by the horror at what he had just witnessed. Ki came to him, her hand cooling the raging fire that ate at the centre of his soul.
“Others will come,” she said. “They will aid you.”
“When?” Alex didn’t want to tell her it might be too late. He knew that spirit walking always damaged a psychic if they were away from their body too long. As far as he could tell from what the others had told him he’d left his body a couple of days ago. Alex knew death would be coming to keep him company soon.
“They will be here.”
Ki retreated. The portal opened for her once more and the goddess stepped into it. Alex closed his eyes as the sylphs glowed brighter than the sun. When the light vanished the tomb returned to darkness.
I’m dying. Alex wanted to weep but no tears came.
Silence enveloped him and a chill settled onto his soul. Alex thought about his parents. They were still scared of his talent even though he now made a better living from it than his father made working the stock market in London. The money Alex earned sat in a bank waiting for the day that he would buy that around-the-world ticket he’d always promised himself. That made him smile. Europe first, then Dubai, followed by Asia, Australia and New Zealand before travelling up through South America to Mexico, the USA and Canada. Maybe he could leave behind his psychic talents and just enjoy the holiday.
Or maybe not. There were other things he wanted; a girlfriend for starters. That would be nice, especially someone who understood the psychic world. Most of the women he came into contact with were older, a lot older. Little grannies who read fortunes, cast Tarot or held seances like Miriam. For a couple of days he thought he’d found someone when he met Connor’s mother, Devon. She understood his world even if she came from a completely different background. But Devon and her son never returned from the village of Darlford, killed by the demon Scieppend.
Alex pushed the thought of death from his mind. No, he wasn’t going to die. He’d get out of this tomb, back to his body and the first thing he’d do would be to buy that ticket. Alex smiled in the dark.
Watch out world, here I come.
***
“Where are we going?” Itzel asked as sunrise painted the eastern horizon with tints of pink and orange.
“I’ve told you, to the Place of Retribution.” The High Priest sat, half-slumped against the passenger door as he dozed his way through their journey north-west.
“I know,” Itzel said, with exaggerated patience. “But where exactly? You just tell me which interstate to get on and where to get off. I need to know where we are going.”
“Why?” he didn’t open his eyes, but she felt the heat of his rising anger touch her soul.
“So that I know when to get more gas, or stop for food. Anything.”
“It is not for you to know until we get much closer.”
Itzel sighed. Her grip on the steering wheel relaxed. She wanted to know because she did not like being the one who did not have control. For too many years she had led operations and been the one trusted by the priests of her religion with secrets. Now she wasn’t, and that left her uncertain. Did the High Priest trust her? And if he didn’t, why?
She drove a small, European-built hire-car. Plain, unremarkable, the perfect place to hide. And somewhere in the vast land behind her, Ramon, Yancha and the acolytes travelled in the opposite direction to kill a child. Itzel counted the miles. When they had left the airport in one vehicle, the High Priest told Ramon to take them into Toccoa. Once there, the High Priest hired a car for himself and Itzel and paid for it on a credit card charged to a fake business operating out of the Cayman Islands. He sent the others off with instructions to hide the minivan they were in and find another car. Now, in the hours since Toccoa, Itzel had followed the directions given her. With patience wearing thin, she want
ed answers.
“What about the girl? Why is she so important that she has to die?”
The High Priest grunted something close to a laugh. “Why do you ask so many questions, Itzel? Are you scared?”
“I work amongst the enemy. It is not fear to want to have all possible information. That way I can make decisions based on what I know, and what I expect others to do.”
He didn’t respond. When Itzel glanced across at him, she found the High Priest looking at her. “She is a conduit,” he said.
Itzel concentrated on the road. A conduit? What does that mean? So she asked.
“Once in a generation,” the High Priest said, “someone is born who can channel the power of the natural world. This child can commune with the dead. She can see the future. She has the power to light the world or plunge it into darkness. That is why she has to die. Before she wakes up to the truth of her life.”
Another mile ticked by before Itzel began to breathe. If the gods feared this girl, then it is right she should die.
They passed a sign announcing a rest stop in five miles. Needing both the rest and the stop, Itzel said, “We’ll be stopping soon. I need to sleep.”
“You can take a break but no sleep,” the High Priest said. “We cannot afford to lose any time.”
Itzel stopped herself asking why. The girl. He feared the girl in a way that almost made Itzel smile. Instead, she said, “Do you think Yancha and the others will succeed?”
“No. But their deaths will provide cover for the real attack.”
The blaring of a truck’s horn jerked Itzel back to the road; she got the car back into the lane with her heart hammering. The truck driver blasted them again as he pulled alongside. Itzel ignored him, easing off the accelerator, so the truck moved ahead. Now she returned her gaze to the High Priest and said, “They’re going to die?”
“Of course,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “What did you expect?”
“That they might succeed and live.”
He laughed. “Sometimes I think that one as well-versed in the art of killing as you can be quite uniquely naïve.”
“What does that mean?” Itzel asked.
“It means even if they succeeded the whole weight of US law enforcement would come down upon them. They wouldn’t get much more than a few miles before they were tracked down and attacked. Better they die in the attempt to kill the child and let our enemy believe they are protecting her. That way we can be successful in our real aim.”
“Which is?” Itzel asked, as another sign flicked by announcing the rest stop in one mile.
“To kill the child.” The High Priest sounded as if he were lecturing a particularly stupid student.
“How?” she began indicating to take the ramp for the rest stop.
“That is not for a mortal like you to know.” The final word said in such a way that Itzel knew if she pushed any further her life would be in the balance.
She found a space in the parking lot. The High Priest said he did not need a drink or to visit the restroom. Itzel went alone. She sat in her stall and contemplated her future. Death. This time out of her control. Every mission carried the risk, but in each one, she could judge the pay-off. A successful kill or wait for a better opportunity. Now she had no choice. He was in charge, and if she did not do his bidding, then the gods would come for her.
Out of the restroom, Itzel bought a coffee and stood beside a tinted plate glass window. She could see him outside the car, walking around to stretch his legs. He looked everything an ordinary man would look. Smart-casual clothing, neat hair, tanned and fit. Just ignore the fact that he is immortal. Just ignore the fact that the gods work through him.
She moved away from the window, conscious of the fact that he might sense her watching him. She sat near a family of mom, dad and three young children. All she could hear was laughter. Itzel stared into her coffee. She needed to warn Ramon. Itzel didn’t want him to die on a suicidal mission. She took out her cell phone and glanced around. No sign of the High Priest. Itzel tapped out a message, trying to avoid using direct language and hoping Ramon would read between the lines. She wasn’t certain he would, but felt better for sending it.
There were only dregs left in the cup now. Itzel swirled them around, trying to divine her future from the grounds that stained the bottom. At some point, the High Priest would come looking for her. Itzel looked up, wondering if anyone in this place would react the same way as the waitress back in the diner. She tried to help me. The one person who has reached out to me and she died because of it. Itzel toyed with her phone. A 911 call, tell them that the Lavonia suspects are in a silver Volkswagen at a rest stop on I-24.
A cold chill brushed her shoulder. Itzel resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. She knew what she would see. Or not see. One of the gods would be waiting. Sensing her thoughts. Her doubts. Her betrayal. Itzel pushed the cup away from her. If she could divine the future, then it would be death.
A burst of laughter came from the family group. If the High Priest hadn’t taken me from the street that day would I have become a mother instead of a killer? Itzel stood. She returned to the restroom, and in the stall she keyed in 911 before the air around her darkened, and a malevolent face emerged from the swing-door. Hunger filled the eyes, and Itzel heard the hoarse, panting breath that came from its fang-laden mouth. Saliva fell in a lazy dribble onto the tiled floor. Itzel’s hand began to shake. A voice in her head screamed, ‘connect, press connect’ but her limbs were no longer her own.
The numbers faded from the screen. The face retreated into the door. Itzel began to breathe again. She stumbled out of the stall and ran the cold water, splashing it onto her face. The mirror reflected her haunted expression. Itzel didn’t recognise the face looking back. Dry skin stretched across sharp cheekbones. The dark rings under her eyes and the lines that now radiated from the corners added years to her age.
A woman entered the room. Itzel pretended to be checking her make-up. Neither spoke, though Itzel saw the woman glance at her in the mirror. The frown on the woman’s face told Itzel all she needed to know. Do I look that bad? The answer, yes.
When Itzel left the restroom, she saw the High Priest waiting for her just inside the coffee shop entrance. Keeping her gaze down she brushed past him. That brief touch sent a shiver down her spine. The cold that came from him reminded her of a winter’s day. Outside, where the sunshine did its best to warm her, she stopped and let him catch up.
“Where have you been?” his voice came close to her ear, and the threat it carried made her prepare to run.
“Drinking coffee. Making a couple of visits to the restroom. Why?” she didn’t look at him.
“Did anything happen?” he walked around in front of her and iron fingers grasped Itzel’s chin, lifting her face up.
“Like what?” the words came out odd because of the way he held her.
“Like a visit from a demon?”
“Oh, that.” Itzel shrugged as he released his grip. “I saw it appear for some reason.”
The smile that crossed his face reminded her of a shark. “The goddess needs you, Itzel. I can always find a replacement.”
“No, you can’t,” Itzel said. “I’m the best you’ve got. Better than Yancha, better than any of your stupid acolytes. Forget that, and you will forget how dangerous I am.”
His face seemed to change, bones moving beneath the flesh. Itzel saw the outline of a much older face appear, the brow jutted forward, jaw extending as teeth lengthened.
“Know what I am,” the High Priest whispered. “I am the beginning, and I am the end.”
Itzel wanted to run, but her legs would not respond. He dominated her vision now, filling every part of it and merging into her. She felt the cells of her body twist. The world grew dark, the coffee shop vanished. The parking lot became a forest floor; cars grew into huge trees whose trunks disappeared into the green canopy hundreds of feet above. Itzel couldn’t move. He resembled something
close to human as he stalked around her. Eyes as black as night examined her. A hand, the back covered in coarse dark hair, reached out and stroked her face.
“See me,” he said, his voice as twisted as his features.
“Where... are... we?” Itzel managed to ask the question as his hand ran down her neck and onto her body. She shuddered in revulsion as that hand now squeezed a breast.
“We are at the beginning.” His hand let go, moving down now until Itzel wanted to scream. She couldn’t ask the beginning of what, her mind was too fixated on the hard caress of his fingers. He stepped back, warped teeth revealed in a callous smile. Once more he circled her and all Itzel could do was wait.
“We are at the beginning,” he said, again. “When the jungle was home, and the gods walked the earth. They found me here. They chose me.”
“What are you?” Itzel asked as he came to stand in front of her again.
“I am what existed before man. When the gods wanted to create man they also wanted to preserve me. I am their vessel.”
His hand landed on her shoulder, and the weight made her knees buckle. Itzel sank to the soft soil, and still he pushed until her face pressed against the leaf litter. The smell of decay filled her lungs and made her choke. His body lay upon her. Itzel gagged as his hands pulled at her clothing. She felt his sharp nails slice through the fabric. He clutched her body close, his heat and strength overpowering her. Itzel screamed when he entered her. She dug fingers into the ground and tried to throw him off. A fist battered her neck, and darkness clouded Itzel’s vision. Dead vegetation filled her mouth, stifling the next scream as he pushed hard into her again. Tears came next. Tears of defeat, as she surrendered and let him take her.
The Tomb (Scarrett & Kramer Book 3) Page 22
