Stolen Souls

by Debra Dunbar

  Nyalla took off her backpack, unzipping it and holding the heavy bag upright. She felt Eric do the same. The wind rustled the grass around them in a wave. A dark shadow disengaged from the tree line and sped toward them. Nyalla glanced up at the moon, watching a dark cloud devour it in time with the shadow moving across the grass. Was it only the darkening of the moonlight? The cold mist rising up around her knees confirmed her suspicions to the contrary.

  “So warm. And your souls are young and tender.”

  This time the voice was right in front of her. Nyalla jerked the backpack, flinging dirt forward. A scream of pain rewarded her, and she felt the mist recede.

  Oh, my dinner is smarter that I’d anticipated. What is your name, little girl?

  The ghoul was smarter than Nyalla had anticipated, too. It had gone back to the echoing speech that made it impossible to determine its location. Something wet and rubbery slid along her ankle, and she squealed, pouring dirt down her leg. The ghoul shrieked again.

  It became a dance. The ghoul would sneak in to taunt them with a slimy caress then dart away. Sometimes they managed to hit it with the dirt, buying them a few moments reprieve, but mostly the grave dirt missed its mark.

  “He’s toying with us, trying to get us to waste all of our dirt before he moves in for the kill,” Eric whispered.

  Nyalla nodded. Digging both hands into the backpack, she let it slide to the ground, holding as much as she could in each fist. Cold touched her shoulder, slid up her ankle, brushed through her hair. She remained still, holding her breath and waiting. Yellow eyes blinked before her, and she stared into them. They crept closer, and Nyalla couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her.

  The ghoul laughed, reaching a finger out to her. Finally she could see him — an emaciated figure in tattered clothes.

  “Now!”

  Nyalla flung both handfuls of dirt, then bent down to grab the backpack. Eric spun around, and hurled everything remaining in his pack forward, and she did the same from a crouched position. The ghoul screamed, batting furiously at his skin as if a thousand bees stung him. Boomer burst from the grasses to tackle the monster, flattening everything as they rolled. The ghoul thrashed about, shrieking in pain, but still, he lived. The hellhound dug claws into his torso, bit down firmly on an arm, but each tear in the flesh immediately knitted together. Grabbing Boomer by the scruff with his free hand, the ghoul flung him to the side, losing a section of his arm in the process.

  Nyalla stared in horror at the shredded limb, tendons, and strips of skin hanging from the exposed bone. Impossibly, it began to fill in with black and gray flesh, and the ghoul struggled to his knees.

  “It’s just slowing him down,” Nyalla shouted.

  “And pissing him off.” Eric grabbed her arm. “Run for the car.”

  Nyalla ran, Eric and Boomer behind her. Long grass tangled in her legs, and she stumbled over the uneven ground. Grabbing the keys from her pocket, she opened the back hatch on the Suburban.

  “Go, go!” Eric screamed.

  She could feel it — the ghoul closing in on them. Gray rolled like the tide across the shadowed field, covering her feet and advancing ahead of her toward the car. Her breath felt heavy in her chest, as if the ghoul was pressing down upon her. With a surge of speed, Nyalla ran to the trunk and grabbed a bucket of dirt.

  “No! In the car. Get in the car!” Eric reached out to grab her arm, and she shoved a heavy pail into his hands instead.

  “Spread it around the car, as a barrier. Hurry.”

  Nyalla grabbed a second bucket, circling as close to the Suburban as she could to preserve the little they had left. The mist halted about ten feet from the car, and from its depths she heard growls and snarls. Boomer. Tears stung her eyes as she worked, worried that the ghoul might prove too strong even for a hellhound.

  Eric was faster, grabbing a second bucket, and joining her line of dirt around the driver’s side of the car. Nyalla tossed the empty pails back into the SUV and dove through the door.

  “Boomer! Come!”

  A yelp and a scream answered her. No! She couldn’t let anything happen to him. Nyalla threw open the door, and was halfway out when a hand grabbed her leg and dragged her backward.

  “Don’t you dare go out there,” Eric snapped as she struggled against his grasp.

  “Boomer — I need to help him.”

  “With what? The grave dirt just slows him down. Nyalla, we don’t know what we’re doing. We’re completely out of our league. I’m not going to let you get killed by that thing rescuing a dog.”

  Fury rose through her. Just a dog. All her life, she’d been just a human — expendable, worthless. Even more so because she had no magic. How dare he decide Boomer wasn’t worth the risk to her life. Nyalla turned, and with every ounce of her strength, punched Eric in the face. It probably hurt her fist more than it hurt him, but it had the desired result — he let go of her leg and she tumbled out of the car across the line of dirt.

  “Nyalla!” Eric mumbled what sounded like swear words behind her, and she ran into the thick shroud of gray before he could reach her to pull her back into the car.

  Nyalla. The sound seemed to come from everywhere around her, mocking as the mist clung to her skin. It sizzled and burned, like an electric shock. Nyalla hugged herself, trying with her hands to cover all her exposed skin. Where was Boomer? There was no more growls, no noise at all since she’d entered the mist.

  Something brushed her leg, and she jumped to the side, stifling a scream. Orange eyes looked up at her — orange, not yellow. Before she could say his name, a furred face came into view, again touching her leg with a cold nose. Nyalla reached down to grab the loose fur at Boomer’s neck.

  “To the car. Hurry.”

  The hellhound had to guide her out of the mist. It had become so thick she could hardly see his outline. It seemed they walked forever until the SUV loomed before them, the mist abruptly ending at the line of dirt. Yanking open the door, Nyalla shoved Boomer in, closing it quickly behind her. It was a tight fit, all of them huddled in the back seat, especially with Eric glaring at her.

  “Sorry.” Her apology was soft and tremulous. It made her angry. She had nothing to be sorry for. “I had to get my dog,” she added with considerably more firmness.

  “Well, you didn’t have to punch me.”

  Yes, she did. Otherwise Eric would have never let go of her leg. It was useless to argue right now, so she ignored him and looked outside the window. The mist had consolidated into a tight sphere tracing a line around the SUV just outside the barrier of grave dirt. It lightened and fell away, revealing a gaunt form in raggedy clothing with glowing, yellow eyes.

  Nyalla, you and your friends cannot hide in that car forever.

  No, but it would be daylight soon, and they’d have a few more hours to try and find a way to put this thing back where it came from. Nyalla’s goal right now was just to stall, to keep it from killing anyone else, to buy them more time.

  Come out, or I’ll be forced to find someone else to play with.

  It was almost as though the ghoul had read her thoughts. Nyalla bit her lip, wondering how she could keep the monster’s attention on her for just a little bit longer.

  Who should I play with? That family last night was fun, dessert after a lovely dinner. Children are a particular treat — so innocent, so quick to scream.

  Nyalla’s heart felt like it would burst from her chest. What could she possibly say to keep the ghoul here for just another hour?

  Who do you love, Nyalla? I can’t read you. Is it that man in the car with you? The little demon pup? You fear for children, so maybe I’ll feast on the tender flesh of baby Jack. That would pain both you and this soul I ride, would it not?

  Of course! Nyalla exhaled in relief. Shelly and Jack were far out of reach by now. Sending the ghoul on a wild goose chase would be the perfect way to kill an hour until dawn.

  “No!” she screamed, trying to sound suitably terrified. “Not Jac
k! Not Shelly!”

  Eric chimed in, his voice filled with honest fear. She hadn’t told him that she’d sent John’s wife and child safely away with an envelope full of money.

  The ghoul chuckled, circling the car, his eyes like yellow flashlights bobbing in a haze of smoke. Then come out and play, Nyalla. It’s you or the baby. Which do you choose?

  Eric launched himself at the car door. Boomer blocked him with strength far beyond a normal hound. Nyalla grabbed at his leg with an ironic sense of déjà vu. “Eric! Stay here, you idiot.”

  He didn’t resort to punching her, but did give Boomer a few whacks with his shoulder. The hellhound didn’t budge an inch.

  “Not the baby! Take anyone but the baby!” she shouted, hoping that the ghoul took the bait before Eric managed to get past Boomer.

  The faint mist thickened into a dark black, and the yellow eyes vanished. Slowly the darkness pulled inward, vanishing into a pinpoint with an echo of laughter. There was a moment of silence before the air filled with the song of insects and night birds.

  “How could you?” Eric turned to her, his hands in fists. “That thing is going after Shelly and the baby. It will kill them!”

  “That thing will find an empty house. Shelly and Jack are on the eastern shore by now, safely out of the ghoul’s range. By the time the ghoul realizes that, it will be dawn.”

  Nyalla watched as Eric’s hands relaxed and his shoulders slumped. The man looked like he was ready to collapse. She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder and tried to read his expression in the dim moonlight.

  “We need to go there,” Eric said, shrugging off her hand and climbing into the driver’s seat. “Just in case the ghoul decides he’s got time to take out one of the neighbors. We’ve got a little bit of grave dirt left. I hate to unload my firearm in the middle of a development, but if that monster tries anything, I’m going to shoot it and throw dirt on it until the sun comes up.”

  Nyalla climbed over the seat beside him and sat silent as Eric drove to Shelly’s house. They arrived just as the sky was lightening to dim purple in the east to find the door open. Eric cleared the room, gun drawn. The ghoul had left — no doubt for his daytime resting place as the sky was lightening by the moment.

  The lock to Shelly’s door had been broken, the door jamb splintered. Inside, couch cushions were ripped, and a chair on end. The coffee table had a long gouge that ended abruptly at the edge of a picture. Shelly and John’s wedding picture was untouched, just as pristine in the glass and mahogany frame as when Nyalla had seen it last. She picked it up and ran a finger across the image of the happy couple. Why hadn’t the ghoul smashed it? He’d trashed the room, but the wedding photo and the open scrapbook of pictures beside it were unscathed.

  Eric called in the “burglary” and found some boards in the garage to secure the door. They waited for the police to arrive then staggered, exhausted, toward the SUV.

  “We managed to keep it from killing anyone tonight, and I know I should be celebrating that, but I’m not,” Eric ran a tired hand across his face. “Nyalla, we’re in way over our heads on this one. You may be from Hel, but you don’t know anything about how to kill this ghoul, and neither do I. What happens tonight? This thing won’t fall for the same trick again. What do we do now?”

  Nyalla brushed the loose strands of blond hair from her face and tucked them into her long braid. She could barely stand. But in spite of her exhaustion, she felt oddly invigorated.

  “We talk to John’s mother; we talk to these other leads we have, and we find ourselves a necromancer. Tonight is a whole day away. I’ll deal with tonight at sunset, but, in the meantime, I’m not giving up.”

  20

  So, do you think it could possibly be John’s mother?” Nyalla asked between bites of buttered toast. She and Eric were running on only four hours of sleep but needed to get going if they were to question everyone they wanted to before tonight.

  Exhaustion wasn’t the only thing contributing to the heavy atmosphere in the room. Eric had come back to her house, worried to leave her even in daylight, but he’d slept on the couch while she was upstairs with only Boomer for company.

  There was still that invisible pull of attraction between them, but he was stewing over something. Nyalla wasn’t sure whether he hadn’t forgiven her for hitting him, was upset over her risking herself to go after Boomer, or somehow blamed her for the whole ghoul incident. Which would be really unfair. It wasn’t her fault; she hadn’t brought this thing into their world. Maybe he was losing interest in her as a girlfriend. She couldn’t really blame him — this wasn’t exactly a normal courtship from what she could tell. One look inside his heart would tell her, one glance with her angel–gift. Nyalla peered at him over the edge of her coffee cup. No. It was wrong to invade people’s privacy unless she had a good reason to do so. This wasn’t a good reason. He’d tell her when he was ready. And besides, part of her really didn’t want to know.

  “I can’t imagine she’d do such a thing. Honestly, I can’t see anyone in this town doing such a thing, but there’s clearly a lot going on around here I never knew about.”

  Was that a dig at her? Nyalla straightened her shoulders. There was no sense in driving herself crazy wondering what he was thinking. There was a ghoul to get rid of — time for angst and self–doubt later.

  “Shelly insisted if it was John’s mother, the necromancer who attempted the resurrection would need to be local.”

  Eric looked pensive. “Not necessarily. Emma Mayfield is only about fifty. She hates technology, but who’s to say one of her friends didn’t locate someone over the Internet for her. I think we should probably check out these other suspects first. Emma’s a bit of a firecracker, and I really don’t want to have to confront her about this unless I have to.”

  Nyalla nodded. “And we also have to consider John’s brother, as well as any close friends.”

  Eric ran a hand across his short hair in frustration. “That list is pretty long. John was popular. He had a lot of friends that adored him. By the time we work through all the likely suspects, this ghoul thing will have killed half the town.”

  Or more. “Let’s be positive. We’ll start with the most likely suspects, which would be the immediate family, and any local people with rumored ties to the occult. Chances are, whoever wanted John raised from the dead didn’t have the funds to fly someone in from out of state, so these are pretty good leads, in my opinion.”

  “You would make a great detective, Nyalla,” Eric smiled, his eyes warm. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe there was some hope for this relationship after all. He’d hardly look at her like that and compliment her otherwise.

  “Well, I do watch a lot of television police shows,” she confessed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “I’ll put that one on my ‘short list’, as you call it.”

  “I think you should. Detective, paranormal investigator, profiler.” Eric reached out and folded his hand around hers.

  Profiler. Nyalla had seen that job on a docu–drama recently. She thought briefly about her gift. It would really be useful in an investigative–type job. But would the police ever accept the fact that she just “knew” what was in a person’s heart, what the suspect was feeling at that particular moment? Probably not. Some things were best kept secret, locked away in private.

  She smiled up at him, liking the feel of his warm hand. “When this is done, I’ll make you dinner. Not re–heated pizza — a real dinner with courses, and wine, and candles.”

  “I’ll help. It’ll be fun to cook something together.”

  Eric tugged on her hand, pulling her toward him and onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. Nyalla rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. This was better. Much better.

  “This isn’t how I envisioned us spending our nights together,” he murmured against the top of her head. “Chasing monsters, running for our lives. I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk.”

  “And I’m sorry for fightin
g with you in the back seat of the car.”

  He laughed, bouncing her head gently against his shoulder with the motion. “We should be doing other things in the back seat of the car. Naked, sweaty, enjoyable things.”

  An image of them in the backseat of the Suburban filled Nyalla’s mind. Fun, but there would be more room to maneuver in her bed. It would be a good deal more comfortable, too. But they couldn’t waste their few hours on sex, as appealing as the prospect was.

  “We better get going if we want to talk to all these people before nightfall,” Nyalla said, lifting her head and shifting to slide off Eric’s lap.

  Eric agreed, and they headed to the nearest house on their list. The whole morning was a bust. Blaire Southland was, in fact, really a Presbyterian who just happened to have a fondness for herbal teas and organic gardening. Mr. Carney was clearly obsessed with keeping demons out of his home, but didn’t know any magic beyond his profuse application of iodized salt. Mrs. Simpson nearly passed out laughing when they’d questioned her. It seems she was never much for keeping her lawn neat and tidy, and the boys had all managed to cover themselves with poison oak while toilet–papering her trees that Halloween. Discouraged, Eric and Nyalla made their way back to her house, hoping to get in a few Internet searches before questioning the formidable Emma Mayfield.

  Eric paused on the threshold as Nyalla opened the door wide. The Plott hound welcomed them, wagging his entire body in excitement. “You know, that little boy found in the closet at the Findleys was curled up with a hound whose description was eerily similar to Boomer.”

  “He did go out that night.” Nyalla wondered where he was going with this. “He’s a hellhound. He might have been tracking the ghoul and wound up there.”

  “I don’t think he had anything to do with it,” Eric told her reassuringly. “But the detective investigating is wondering if there is an attack dog involved. A lot of the carnage involved what appeared to be an animal attack.”

  Nyalla looked at the hellhound, and he shook his head, his brown eyes earnest. “Boomer wouldn’t kill people.” Or would he? She really had no idea what the hellhound was capable of. “Well, anyway, he didn’t do this. You’ve seen the monster twice now, seen Boomer attack him and drive him off. I’m sure he was defending that little boy.”