One eye was swelling, half-shut, and adrenaline made her shake so hard she wasn’t sure she could move, but in the split second that he stood and turned his attention to Shelley, she called the sword to hand and plunged it into his back.
He screamed, twisted, and dropped to his knees. The gun went off. Shelley likewise screamed, but in Diane’s arms—Diane had heard, somehow, she had come. She had pushed Shelley out of the way at exactly the right moment.
In the narrow space between the couch and the wall, the man was trapped. April got up on his back, knees pinning his shoulders down, all of her weight concentrating on the sword piercing between his shoulder blades as his whole body convulsed. She could feel the floor on the other side of his body. The sword cut clear through, fading at the edge where it met skin and flesh but no less real, no less holding, for all that.
A double-edged sword, an old song said, piercing to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, of bone and marrow.
A gurgling noise came from the man’s throat, and a viscous substance began to appear on the floor, leaking from his mouth and eyes. It was dark, and it gathered itself on the floor like oil, not like water that spreads and dissipates.
Diane and Shelley both appeared over them, eyes wide.
“What is that, what’s . . .”
“It’s not anything you would understand,” Diane said firmly. “Or want to.”
“Him.” Shelley pointed a shaking finger at the man on the floor, the man through whose back April was still holding a sword as firmly as she could while he shuddered and shook, twitching and trying unsuccessfully to buck her off. “He’s a con man. He’s worse than a con man. I found out about him . . . I saw his picture in a paper. He lied to me. He’s no doctor. And he don’t help kids. He’s been up on charges of abuse and kidnapping and dealing.” Her voice trailed away as she continued to stare at whatever was pooling on the floor. “But that . . .”
“I don’t understand,” Diane said, trying to meet April’s eyes. April’s jaw was clenched, and she hadn’t moved. “When Reese and I fought demons, they just . . . left. One stab and they were gone.”
“The hosts weren’t hanging on to them,” April explained through clenched teeth.
“That’s why this is so hard? He doesn’t want the demon to go?”
“That’s why.”
“Can you make it go anyway?”
“It’s going.” April nodded toward the puddle on the floor.
“It looks so hard.”
April nodded again. “He might die. If he won’t let go. The demon might just kill him anyway, but it can’t—not under the shield. It’s powerless. This is all him—the man. Hanging on if it kills him.”
Fighting to stay in darkness.
Fighting to remain enslaved.
April found herself wishing he would die. Easier to deal with. Easier to explain that to the police, and go to trial and plead self-defense, than watch someone fight so hard to stay connected to so much nothingness, so much evil.
He choked out something, and then her wish came true.
He lay still.
He wasn’t breathing.
She knew, although she couldn’t feel it, that his heart had stopped.
She licked her lips and stood, slowly. “Call the police,” she said.
“What?”
“He’s dead. We’re going to have to explain it. Better just call the police.”
Diane laid a hand on April’s arm. She looked up at the older woman, and neither said a word.
Diane let go and turned to the kitchen to make a phone call.
Shelley stood in the middle of the living room and said, “Nick.”
Dread building in her heart, April turned. Nick was standing in the doorway toward the stairs. Just staring.
“How much . . . did you see that?” April asked. Heart breaking.
He stared.
And then he turned around and ran. Up the stairs. She heard feet pounding across the floor and the window being thrown open and knew he was out on the roof, and in a minute he’d be down the drainpipe, and then he’d be running, running toward the harbour.
Her face was throbbing. She could hardly see out of her left eye.
“Thank you,” Shelley said. “Thank you for saving me. And my kid.”
I didn’t, April answered silently. I haven’t even begun to save you. And I don’t know what I just did to Nick.
“I’m sorry I said you were a liar,” Shelley went on. “You done a whole lot for us. I’m sorry.”
Wait, April’s mind told her. Stop. Think. You can’t talk to the police right now.
Why?
You have to find Chris.
We can’t.
Yes, you can. You know where to go.
She struggled to understand what her own mind was telling her. Or perhaps it was the Spirit speaking. She didn’t know if she could tell the difference just now. But April’s gift—eyes to see. She had seen something. What?
“The car.” The words came out her mouth before she’d even really thought about them. “Diane, the car!”
Diane appeared in the kitchen doorway, frowning. “What about it?”
“The license plate. We can trace it. We can find out where it comes from. The hive, Diane. We can trace the car back to the hive, and find Chris.”
It was a tenuous hope, and she knew it. But it was the best they had.
Diane was still staring at the dead man on the floor. “What about him? We can’t just leave him here.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Not yet. I . . . I just couldn’t yet.”
“I don’t know.” April wrestled with herself, more torn than she wanted to admit. What she’d said to Diane was true. They had to get the police involved. Make sure they told their story—that the man had broken into their house and attacked them, then died of a heart attack—before they could be made to look guilty. But all of that would take time. And there would be questions, and maybe suspicions, and statements to be made, and limits to where they could go or what they could do until it was all over. And dealing with all of that meant not going after Chris and Tyler, not hunting down the hive. Not until too much time had passed.
For one fleeting instant April let herself hope that this man, dead on the floor, was it. There were no others; he was the only threat, and he was dead. The boys were safe.
She knew better.
But what choice did they really have?
In the end it was Shelley who clinched it for her. Nick’s mother had slid down with her back to the wall and was staring at the dead man where his feet protruded from behind the couch, staring and moaning. They couldn’t leave her like this. And they couldn’t take her with them.
The Spirit knew that.
And the Spirit had sent her here. If it wasn’t for Shelley, they wouldn’t have had the opening they needed—the distraction necessary to get the upper hand.
And then, too, there was Nick. Someone needed to go after Nick.
“Call the police,” April said. “We need to deal with this. But the car—while we’re waiting for them, we can find out about the license plate.”
“It’s not going to do us any good if we can’t go out and find the place,” Diane said.
“We’ll call Reese and Richard and Mary. Give them the info and let them track it down. They’ll still be at the number Richard traced—I hope.”
“It’s my son out there.”
“Yes, I know.” April met Diane’s eyes with compassion. It was true. It was her son out there—her son being threatened.
And maybe that meant it was best Diane not go.
Maybe that was just one more piece of this particular plan.
She remembered asking Reese: “Do you think plans are real? Or is that just what we call something after everything has already happened and we can’t imagine it going any other way?”
She still didn’t know the answer to that, not for sure.
Today, like so many d
ays, all she could really do with that uncertainty was trust.
Chapter 12
Reese got off the phone with a grim look and relayed everything April had told her about the twins’ disappearance, Alex’s drawings, the attack at the house, and the demonized attacker’s cryptic threats toward Chris. Her news didn’t send them in a new direction: they had already decided to head toward Brass. Miranda’s story had told them nothing about how to find their friends; Reese gave the police all the information she had and let them set to work trying to find the moving van or the identity of the young man Miranda called Clint. Their only sure link to the hive was the teenage boy, Alex.
So they were heading back to Dr. Smith’s.
Reese had installed the twins at the children’s home to keep an eye on Alex partly because they didn’t want to force the issue—to hurt the boy in the process. But now three men were dead, April had come a hair’s breadth from being shot in the head, and Miranda had confirmed that the hive had Chris and Tyler. They were out of options.
Before they got off the phone, Reese assured April that talking to the police was the right thing to do. Like it or not, the law was tangled up in this, and so far the partnership had not been a bad one. Following up on that herself, Reese found Lieutenant Jackson and told him that a friend had been attacked up in the village and that he should know they thought the attacker was connected to the death of Rick Brodie, the murders on the highway, and the disappearance of their friends.
On their way now, she sat in brooding silence in the backseat of Richard’s car. Mary watched her worriedly while Richard kept his eyes on the road, waiting for her to speak.
“We’re missing something,” she said finally.
“By which you mean . . .”
“What are they doing? What are they trying to do? This isn’t all random. It’s organized, much better organized than demons on their own ever are. But what is it? What are they trying to do to us? We’re just reacting to them—letting them lead. We have no idea what they want. This isn’t the way to fight a war.”
“We know what they want,” Mary said. “Destruction. Chaos.”
“The demons want that. But they aren’t alone. What does the hive want—the hive, together? And why are they coming after us?”
“We’re their enemies.”
“Yes, always have been and always will be. But I’ve been fighting demons most of my life, and they don’t like to come after us. They like to terrorize vulnerable people, and get into their heads, and bring a lot of darkness. They don’t often tangle with Oneness unless we go after them. Why are they hunting us?”
Richard was listening intently. “Keep talking, Reese,” he said.
“Think about it. They attacked me—David did. Then they came after April—the killing cave. And they tried to kill all of you in the warehouse.”
“All except Diane,” Mary said.
Reese froze.
“What is it?” Mary asked, twisting around in her seat to get a better look at Reese. “Reese, what is it?”
“Diane.”
“What about her?”
“Why is the hive bothering with Chris? Why in the world kidnap someone like him? And use him as a pawn? He’s exactly the kind of person demons try to leave alone. He’s not Oneness. He’s not on the demon’s side. He’s much, much safer just to leave alone—to not push. So why have they kidnapped him?”
“You have a guess,” Mary said.
“Yes. They want Chris for the same reason they started going after the village cell in the first place. To get to Diane.”
“That doesn’t really make sense,” Mary responded. “When April disappeared, we realized they were targeting her because she’s a great saint—because there’s more power in her than any of us realized.”
“She is that,” Reese agreed, “and it’s probably why the demons were too cowardly just to kill her. It’s why the cave. But it’s not why they targeted her in the first place.”
“Well then?”
“Think about it. Think about where the hive is stemming from. Where it gets its power and its vision.”
“From David,” Richard said.
“Yes, from David. From a man who can’t even be possessed because he’s Oneness. And now there’s Miranda . . . that man, Jacob. He’s Oneness too.”
“And yet he’s operating outside of the Oneness,” Mary said. “Acting more like a demon.”
“To put it bluntly, yes.”
“David is doing what he’s doing because of the massacre when you were young. Because he lost everything he loved and decided to quit loving. I don’t know what Jacob’s story is, but I imagine it’s similar—that there’s a reason he’s turned against the Oneness, or else decided he’s its only true representative. That Clint guy must be connected to David somehow, and David’s sent him to target Jacob. Why?”
“Ultimately,” Mary said slowly, “so that the hive can spread through Jacob’s community. That’s how they usually work, isn’t it? Capitalizing on already existing human networks?”
“Yes, exactly. So think. Think why Chris. Think why Diane.”
The answer hit them all at once, and Richard groaned slightly.
“Because she’s vulnerable,” Mary said finally. “Because if Chris got hurt, she might still turn against us. Become another Jacob. Another David.”
“They originally thought that taking out her cell would get to her; that’s why they launched the initial attack on you, through April. But now they’re striking closer to home.”
“That’s terrifying,” Richard said.
“What is?” Mary asked.
“Think about their goals. What they want, ultimately. How they spread. To take the world into darkness through madness and control—the ultimate paradox. They use human networks to do it.”
He allowed his eyes to leave the road for a split second, meeting Mary’s. “There is no greater human network than the Oneness itself.”
Mary gasped.
“That’s what they’re trying to do?”
“I think so,” Reese said, bleakly.
“Is that even possible?”
“David turned. Jacob turned. Diane . . . Diane could turn. If their influence grew enough, reached out far enough, hurt enough of us . . .” Her voice trailed away.
“What about you, Reese?” Richard asked.
She closed her eyes. Not startled at the question—only hurt, and expectant. “What about me?”
“Are you vulnerable?”
“Why would you ask that?” Mary asked, shooting Richard a glare. But he ignored her.
“I’m not whole anymore,” Reese said. “Not since what David did to me. I’m trying to come back, but . . .”
She was quiet a moment more. “I thought forgiveness would fix it. I thought when I forgave David and let him go, we had won. I had won. But I’m not whole. If something else happens . . .”
Her voice grew so quiet they could hardly hear it.
“If Chris dies.”
“Finish that ‘if,’ Reese,” Richard said.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I would do. How I would be.”
“Why us?” Mary whispered. “We’re so small. Just one little cell in the middle of nowhere. Why would something this big start with us?”
“Because it doesn’t have to be bigger. Because they can get into the Oneness one at a time. They already are.”
Richard groaned again, and something in Reese snapped. She hit the side of the car with her fist and swore, and started to weep.
Mary looked helplessly at Richard.
“We need to find Chris,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what else we can do. But we’ve got to make sure that boy doesn’t die. His mother depends on it. Reese depends on it.” His voice dropped even lower. “Maybe we all do.”
* * *
It was dark, incredibly so. Tyler didn’t know how long they waited in the darkness. They’d been taken into a basement where the walls, the floor and the
ceiling were painted black; there were no windows, no lights, only air that was damp, smelling of mildew and asbestos, and oppressive. The very air felt toxic, for spiritual reasons as much—or more than—as for physical.
They were not tied up or restricted in any way, just dumped on the concrete floor and left. Bonds would have been useless; they still couldn’t move.
He knew Chris was there from the sound of his breathing, but they did not speak to each other. Tyler was not sure he could speak. He suspected the drugs—or poison, whatever it was—were affecting their vocal cords now.
In a way, that was a relief. He didn’t know what he would say if he could talk. Or what Chris would say. Things were so far past hopeless that giving voice to them could only make everything feel worse. He hadn’t even had a chance to fight. They’d been injected and lost before they could begin.
The images—his own imagination of the things he had not seen, but had heard and smelled—played over and over and over in his mind.
Upstairs, people were talking. The timbre of their voices carried down, but none of their words. He thought to himself, They’re going to win, but the words hardly meant anything. He had seen them win. Had heard and smelled their winning. Carnage, chaos. Blood and senseless, senseless death.
He knew that ceding that—that it was all senseless, that it didn’t fit a plan, that the policemen did not have to die but did anyway, just because some barely-more-than-a-child filled with some supernatural power killed them—was giving them a victory too. Oneness believed in meaning. In plans. In a Spirit holding everything together and ensuring that nothing was meaningless.
He had believed that.
Not anymore.
In this room, in this dark place, Tyler was ten again and his parents were dead, and people you should be able to trust—people like Jacob, who had the strength and the charisma to lead you, were your betrayers. The Oneness was not strong enough, or not real enough, to fill the howling void created by all that was wrong and crumbling away in the world. And he just had to deal with it, in the only way anyone ever could: by dying, by giving up forever.
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