Everyone turned to look at him. Emma scrunched tighter against Aggie.
“You want to run that past me again?” she asked, slow.
“They’ve got demon in them,” he said, and it was suddenly hard to hear him because he got quiet, like the air was too heavy for words.
Emma shrank in Aggie’s arms; Aggie wanted to shrivel up alongside her. “Charlie. What, exactly, does that mean for us?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But it’s bad. It also explains why I haven’t been able to read their thoughts.”
“Aw, hell.” Quinn clicked the safety off his gun. “Aggie, go to the back of the house and call the police. Charlie and Amiri, go with her. I’ll take care of this.”
“Quinn—” she said, and went blind as she saw blood run from his heart, his throat—and in another future—and in another—another—
“They’ll kill you,” she hissed. “I see it. Come with us, right now.”
“No,” he said, and gave her a hard look. “Fate is just probabilities. I’ll take my chances.”
The porch steps creaked. Emma whimpered. Aggie hugged her tight and turned down the hall to the kitchen. She felt Amiri at her back. Charlie appeared in front of her, a shadow running. She reached into her pocket for her cell phone, but before she could begin dialing, a gunshot rang out behind her. Charlie blinked out of sight.
Amiri growled, using his body to push Aggie against the wall. She listened hard; ahead of her, she heard a creak. Mouth dry, she set Emma gently on the floor and held her finger up to the girl’s mouth. Emma nodded gravely. Aggie looked at Amiri, gesturing with her chin. The shape-shifter blinked once and leaned protectively against the little girl. Safe. The probabilities were safe. Aggie put away her phone and reached for her gun.
Charlie reappeared beside her. Bone and blood loomed around him, golden sand, a woman with red hair and red lips and a red dress…
There’s someone in the kitchen, she told him. Can you distract him?
“I’ve tried that before,” he whispered in her ear. “They don’t see me.”
Quinn?
“Alive. Tracking.”
Taking his chance with fate. Something Aggie needed to do for herself.
She held up her gun and slinked down the hall toward the kitchen. Charlie disappeared, but she knew he was close. Warmth pushed against her ear and he said, “It’s the mother. She has an ax. She’s waiting by the entrance to the kitchen.”
Perfect. Just great.
“You have bullets,” Charlie said. “Shoot her and be done with it.”
We can’t kill them, Aggie said. We do that and we’ll just make trouble for ourselves with the law. Not to mention the Kreers might have useful information about other victims, maybe people in their network, if they have one. We have to—
But whatever she was going to say died as a high screech cut the air and a body flung itself from the kitchen. Aggie cried out, squeezing off a round into the wall that did nothing to slow the old woman, who swung her whistling ax hard and fast. Details died; all Aggie could register was a blur made of pure fury, a mouth that flashed white and sharp, and she felt Amiri behind her, pushing Emma away as the child cried out a word that was high and sweet and not quite a scream. For a moment the air shimmered—Mrs. Kreer faltered—and Aggie took the chance offered and dove toward the old woman, rushing and rolling past her. She smelled mold, mustiness…and then the air cleared as she entered the kitchen, spinning on her feet.
“Come on,” Aggie snarled, goading the old woman. “Come and get me.”
Get me, get me. Only me and not the kid. Don’t follow Emma.
Mrs. Kreer hesitated, glancing over her shoulder as the tip of Amiri’s tail disappeared around the corner in the hall. She began to follow them and Aggie thought, Fuck it all. She aimed her gun at the old woman’s leg and pulled the trigger, feeling a grim satisfaction as the bullet slammed through the meat of Mrs. Kreer’s thigh, making her stagger, lean against the wall.
But the woman did not fall. She did not drop the ax.
“Oh, shit,” Aggie muttered, as the old woman turned to face her. For the first time she was able to get a good look at her face. Mrs. Kreer appeared the same as Aggie remembered from her visions; clean and coiffed, with high pale cheeks and a small wrinkled mouth. She wore a black sweater over a white turtleneck. Long embroidered pants ended neatly above her ankles. Mrs. Kreer: ordinary woman, pillar and post and proud mother. Only her eyes gave her away. Aggie had never seen anything quite that cold or black.
“Don’t move,” Aggie said. “I will shoot you again.”
But Mrs. Kreer moved and Aggie was not surprised, because that was what the future held in all its variations—fighting, the old woman fighting like her life depended on the kill—and when Mrs. Kreer brought down the ax, Aggie was ready. She leapt backwards, probabilities spinning, calculating the future even as she danced across the kitchen floor, dodging the whirling steel of Mrs. Kreer’s weapon. Her palm was sweaty around the gun, but she stayed patient, moving and moving and—
The future shifted; Aggie’s foot hit the trail of blood dripping from the old woman’s leg and the floor disappeared as she went up and up—
—and slammed into the ground so hard she stopped breathing.
Mrs. Kreer darted forward, but not before Aggie mustered enough strength to kick out with her feet, catching her in the gut. The old woman made a woofing sound, but collected herself faster than Aggie. Struggling to stand, Aggie saw—wild eyes, swinging blades, screaming and yelling and blood everywhere, blood and meat—but then a gunshot split the air outside the house, she heard a shout—Charlie—and the future changed as she felt his warmth surround her.
He materialized in front of Mrs. Kreer—shadows gathering, swarming like bats to make a body—but the woman showed no indication she saw him. Yet, when she lunged forward to attack Aggie, she passed through him and a curious thing happened. Mrs. Kreer swayed. She lost her balance. Her grip around the ax handle loosened. Aggie darted forward. Distracted or ill, the old woman could not defend herself quickly enough and Aggie slammed the butt of her gun against that graying head, dropping her to her knees and stunning her long enough to wrench the ax out of her hand. The old woman began to fight back, snarling, but Aggie hit her again in the head, knocking her flat on the ground and immediately stomping on that wounded leg, grinding her heel into the bullet hole, savoring the anger in her heart as she made Mrs. Kreer writhe.
“Agatha.” Charlie appeared beside her. “Agatha, stop.”
She did not want to, but she understood why she should. She eased up on the old woman, but only for a moment. Aggie reached into her pocket for plastic cuffs and tied the monstrous woman’s hands behind her back. Did the same to her feet, arching her like David Yarns, hogtied, ready to be put on the spit and cooked and turned, cook and turned. No running for this one. No more hurting children.
Mrs. Kreer’s future was done.
CHAPTER SIX
Quinn was alive. Despite all the variable futures that had him bleeding or hurt or screaming, he was alive. Lucky man. When he entered through the back door off the kitchen, Aggie had her back turned. All she heard was a creak, a step. Scary. She spun and almost shot him.
“Bang, bang,” she said. She put down her gun, clicking the safety back on. “That scared me. You okay?’
“Better than I was three minutes ago. Kid is down. I got him tied up in the backyard.”
“Tough?”
“Not really, though there was a moment or two.” Quinn tapped his head. “Luckily for me, I have magic bullets.”
Telekinetic bullets. Aggie smiled.
Beside her, Charlie drifted down to the ground and crouched over Mrs. Kreer. The woman’s eyes were open, staring. Aggie did not like to look at that cold gaze; there was something alien about it, distant. It gave her the creeps, made her stomach turn. What could compel a person do such things to a child? It was inexplicable, and she thought about what Charlie had said. T
hat Mrs. Kreer was part demon.
“Yes,” he said softly. “I can see it in her now. I was not looking before. It’s very weak, though. Just a trace. That would be enough, though, to influence her behavior.”
“I thought you said those things were gone from the earth.”
“I thought they were. Some…must have remained. Evolved, perhaps. I only recognize this much out of instinct.”
Quinn stirred. “Are you talking about the ‘D’ word?”
“Yeah,” Aggie said. “Though it’s bullshit, giving them an excuse for all the things they did.”
“No,” Charlie said. “I’m not saying that.”
“No?” Aggie wished he had a face. She wasn’t even sure why he floated around in a human body. Be a cloud, she thought. A bird.
And then, Don’t leave me.
“Aggie,” he began, but she shook her head.
“You say Kreer and her boy have some demon in them? I’ll buy it. But who’s to say I don’t have some demon in me, too? I might even have more than them. Maybe seeing the future isn’t just some freak of nature, but a freak of some ancestor. But you don’t see me out murdering and molesting.”
Charlie stirred. “I believe we already had this conversation, and I’ll admit I was wrong. Some choices are products of nothing but pure nature, Agatha. Maybe some people are born wrong.”
Aggie wanted to disagree—wanted to so badly because it was principle, the building block of her life that fate was built upon variations, variables, all playing each other to mix new futures and ways of being. Choice, choosing well, creating a good life that was a product of small moments…
But to be faced with the possibility that destiny might be inescapable—that the future was already written in only one way, with one outcome—and to have that outcome be so dark and destructive…
It scared her. Because if people could be born whose only purpose was to hurt others, then what did that say for the future?
“That there are also those who are born to do good,” Charlie said quietly.
A nice thought, but Aggie was not convinced. She did not want to be convinced of the alternative to choice, to free will. Aggie looked down upon the old woman, who stared at her, mouth pursed, a fine shudder racing through her body. Maybe she realized the shit she was in; maybe she was angry or scared or just plain cold. Aggie steeled herself and kneeled. Bent close.
“You look so ordinary,” she whispered. “But you’re rotten on the inside, and you chose to be that way. Maybe you do have some bad mojo in your blood, maybe you got a bigger darkness in your heart than some, but I won’t let you rest your laurels on that. You dug your own grave, Mrs. Kreer. You buried your own heart.”
“My son,” said the old woman. “What have you done with him?”
“Not nearly enough,” Quinn spoke up. “But I can change that, if you like.”
Mrs. Kreer sucked in her breath, making a hissing sound that sent chills up Aggie’s back.
“Right,” she said, standing. “I need some air.”
There was a scuffling sound from the hall; Amiri emerged from the shadows. Emma had her hand on his back, buried in his fur. Charlie appeared before them in an instant, blocking her view of Mrs. Kreer. Aggie joined him and swept the girl up in her arms. Carrying her down the hall and out the front door into the sunlight. Emma covered her eyes.
Aggie felt warmth on her back, another kind of sun, and Charlie said, “I need to go soon.”
“You said that a while ago.”
“And I’ve had far more time here than I should have. It won’t last.”
Aggie carried Emma down to the rental car and placed her in the backseat. Quinn joined them and said, “Amiri is standing guard on the big bad momma. I’m going to head out back and check on her spawn.”
Aggie dug into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Tossed it to him. “Police still haven’t been called. Be sure to warn them about the spike sticks.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said, and walked away, dialing as he went.
Charlie kneeled in front of Emma. He touched her small hands.
“You were very brave,” he said to the girl. “I am so proud of you.”
“My mommy,” Emma said.
Charlie hesitated. Emma looked away. Aggie’s eyes felt all hot again, but she swallowed down the ache and said, “I need to talk to Charlie for a minute, okay? We’ll be right over there where you can see us.”
Emma raised her gaze; old eyes, haunted eyes. She glanced at Charlie’s shadow and said, “You’re leaving.”
“I don’t have a choice,” he said, and Aggie heard the pain in his voice, the hoarse hush.
“Okay,” Emma said, and reached out to hug him. Her arms passed through his body, but Charlie wrapped her up in himself and she whispered, “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” he said. “You changed my life.”
Emma began to cry. So did Aggie. Charlie pulled away, gliding fast over the meadow away from the car. Aggie stumbled after him, wiping her eyes.
“Charlie,” she called after him. “Charlie, stop!”
He did, waiting for her to catch up, and though he was not solid, Aggie still pressed against his apparition, soaking in his heat, his presence, the comfort of knowing he was there. In all her life, she had never felt such a need to simply be with a person; but here she was, and her heart was breaking because—I need to breathe, I need to eat, I need to love.
“You’ll find someone new,” Charlie said, rough. “You’ll forget me. You didn’t know me long enough for anything else. We were barely friends.”
“We could have been best friends,” Aggie said, shaking. “I think, maybe, we already are.”
His body seemed to contract in on itself—at first she thought he was going to disappear, but it was nothing; a shudder maybe. One to mirror her own. She wished she could see his real face…and then thought perhaps it did not matter. This was Charlie. The real him.
“Agatha,” he whispered. “I wish things could be different.”
“Tell me,” she breathed. “Tell me why they aren’t.”
“I don’t own myself,” he said, and if there had been pain in his voice earlier, it was nothing compared to now: broken and hollow, dull and dead as stone. “I’m…locked up. My brothers, too. All of us kept, like animals.”
Aggie thought of her future memory, the sand and the woman, and Charlie said, “Yes, her.”
“Why? How?” How, in this modern world, with so many eyes, so many ears?
“How was Emma taken? And that boy you saved? The most terrible abuses happen in plain sight, and no one sees. Hearts go blind. Do you know why, Agatha? Because it takes courage to help others. More courage than anything, because it means opening yourself, dedicating yourself to something that is beyond your life. Easier to just…walk on by. Ignore and pretend. It’s safer that way.”
“You didn’t do that.”
“But I have. Maybe I will again. I hope not. I don’t want to be that man anymore.” He stopped, pressing her tight within himself. “That’s not something you need to worry about. You, Agatha, are a champion. True blue. My huntress.”
And you are my dark knight, she thought, my mysterious companion. She could not say the words out loud. They felt intimate, somehow. As though to say them in the air would be exposing a part of her that was raw. Thoughts, though…thoughts were still reality. And she meant them. She really did.
“Mysterious companion,” Charlie echoed. “Dark knight. Maybe I’m not quite Batman material, but I like that. I like being that for you.”
Her mouth curved. “And the woman who keeps you? You haven’t told me why. Or how.”
“Because she can. Because she wants something from my brothers. Their obedience, their pride, their strength to draw on in order to make herself more powerful.”
“But you’re here. You’re able to dream your way out.”
“No,” Charlie said. “This—me, what you’re looking at—is
not a dream. It’s my soul, Aggie. My spirit, my consciousness, whatever you want to name it. And the only way…the only way for me to separate my soul from my body is through death.”
Understanding was slow. Her mind tasted the words, rolling them around, horror growing as she sounded out the concept in her mind. Death. His death. It was impossible.
“No,” Charlie said. “Every time I came to see you or Emma, I had to die first.”
“But when you left…”
“It was because my body came back to life, calling back my soul. My kind are hard to kill, Agatha. We…regenerate our vital organs. Call it a…a consequence of our early purpose, which was to battle creatures more powerful than ourselves. It gave us an edge.”
“But if you have to die in order to be here, then how? Who does it?”
“The witch—the woman keeping me. She would…cut out my heart. All my vital organs. Doing it that way takes longer, so I could stay with you and Emma. But she found out. Got angry. To be here this time, I…had to do it myself.”
Aggie choked. “Why? Why would you put yourself through that?”
“How could I not?” His hands passed over hers and warmth rolled up her arms into her chest, her heart. “Death really wasn’t a high price to pay.”
She couldn’t talk. It was too much—Charlie dying, Charlie murdered.
Charlie killing himself.
Aggie shook her head, helpless, and Charlie said, “You don’t have to find the words. I hear you.”
He heard her. He heard everything. She wanted to say, Don’t go, please, we only just got started, but it was no good begging him to stay. Instead, because she had to say something, anything to fill the silence inside her breaking heart, she whispered, “You’re warm.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “I can be warm, even as a dream.”
“You’re no dream. Don’t keep calling yourself that. You’re real. You’re more than idle fantasy.”
She wondered if he smiled; the warmth around her body intensified. “My body is quite some distance away. I’m also dead. I think to call me anything but a dream—”
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