Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles Book 2)

by Rob Blackwell

  Quinn disappeared into the bedroom, rooted around in his dresser, and pulled out three small bean bags. He had won them years ago at a pub quiz with Janus and Bill. Quinn smiled briefly at the memory.

  He returned to the living room and started juggling.

  “You never cease to amaze me, Quinn O’Brion,” she replied.

  “Have you never actually watched me juggle?”

  “You always go off to the conference room,” she said. “I’ve only ever seen you do this in your memories. I’m enjoying the live show.”

  Just then, he threw too far with his right hand, sending the bag careening out of his reach and onto the floor.

  “Wow,” Kate said. “This is dead sexy. I can see why you keep this talent hidden. Helen would be all over you.”

  Quinn bowed slightly, then bent to pick up the fallen bean bag.

  “It takes a minute to get focused,” he said.

  He started over. This time went a little better, but in less than a minute, the bags were on the floor again. Instead of teasing him this time, Kate stood up, collected the bags, and then kissed him lightly on the lips when she returned them to him.

  Quinn stared at the bag in his left hand. He remembered winning the quiz. It had been a Wednesday evening when Janus had insisted on going out. He loved pub quizzes—Quinn knew they reminded Janus of Wales—but they were usually insanely difficult. Unless you had a photographic memory of sports winners and politics, which Quinn did not, it was hard to win anything. But that Wednesday had been different. That particular day, Quinn had been on fire. Even the obscure sports questions had been obvious to him, though he could never have said why or how he knew the information. It had been like some switch had turned on in his brain.

  After they had won, Janus had pressed the bean bags into Quinn’s hands.

  “They’re yours,” Quinn said. “It’s your pub quiz.”

  “Not after tonight,” Janus said, laughing. “You rocked that thing. Besides, what kind of wanker do you take me for? Juggling is for sissies.”

  Three months later, Janus was dead.

  This time when Quinn started, the bean bags flew through the air in perfect arcs. They moved in the sort of order that Quinn thought the universe lacked. Within the first minute, he was almost in a kind of trance. The bean bags were now just blurs in the air and everything faded away. The apartment, the Crowley books, even Janus. Only Kate remained with him—she was now such a part of him, Quinn thought they could never be separated again.

  In his mind, he saw the numbers: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13 and 17. They floated through his mind like the bean bags he was juggling. He picked up the pace of his juggling. The bags moved through the air at incredible speed. Quinn had juggled many times in his life, but never like this before. It was as if Kate’s mental focus had been added to his own.

  The numbers and pictures from the book clicked through his mind with every throw of the bags until finally they blurred together. And then, only then, did the thought finally snap into his mind.

  The bags fell to the floor.

  Both Kate and Quinn practically ran over to the desk where the Crowley books lay. She opened the first book while he opened the second, both turning to Chapter 2. The drawing of the bear was on both.

  In one, the book they had found in Zora’s office, the first line read: “To eternity, righteousness notifies existence. False anger haunts illusive illumination. The exit you love ousts light for answers. Doom enters thought.”

  In the second book, still in the bear chapter, the first line was totally different: “Hark, paupers! Institutes carry only some notions; every man sees his cares called, every figure instills eternity, not defeat, and hope.”

  On a separate piece of paper, Kate carefully took the first letter from each word of the first book, leaving spaces in between, in which she added the first letter of the words in the second book. She took the “t” from “To” and the “h” from “Hark,” and put them next to each other. She did it through the end of both sentences until she had a string of letters.

  It took a moment to make out the sentence in front of them: “The Prince of Sanheim is the cycle of life and death.”

  “Bingo,” Quinn said softly.

  After a moment, he added something else.

  “At least now we know why Crowley sucked as a poet.”

  *****

  For the next two hours, they transcribed the code carefully, painstakingly, until they had a complete text in front of them.

  Looking back, however, Kate thought the most important line was the first. It’s funny what can be conveyed by a single sentence. She wondered why she hadn’t seen the pattern before.

  “I think I know who’s targeting us,” Kate said as they continued to decipher the manuscript, which detailed both the history of the Prince of Sanheim and parts of Crowley’s life.

  Quinn nodded. As she thought it, the realization hit him full force.

  They didn’t know who it was, of course. No ancient book could tell them that. But they now knew what was after them.

  “It’s another Prince of Sanheim,” Quinn said.

  *****

  Kieran waited in the large chamber. The moidin milled around as he supposed they always did. He only knew a handful of their names. It wasn’t wise to get too attached.

  I should feel bad for them, he thought. They’re just batteries to those two.

  He watched one as she talked with another moidin and tried to remember her name. She was blonde, blue-eyed and pretty—Sawyer had clearly picked her. Left to her own devices, Elyssa always chose brunettes or the occasional redhead. But Sawyer? He was no gentleman, but he definitely preferred blondes.

  Kieran thought her name was Karen. He should warn her. It would be easy. He could walk up to her, tell her what the future would hold, and strongly encourage her to leave. The trouble was twofold. One, the warning would undoubtedly get Kieran killed, and he was nothing if not a survivor. Secondly, and arguably more importantly, it wouldn’t work. Karen—sweet, young, naïve Karen—believed every word Sawyer had ever spoken to her. How she was special. How, together, they were going to change the world.

  They always believe it, Kieran thought. Why is that? Is this world so bad that it needs changing? How come nobody is ever satisfied with the advantages they have?

  Maybe it was because Sawyer succeeded in making them feel unique. Don’t we all want to be flattered, told we are part of some grand plan? And he could sell it so well. Maybe, even after all these years, he still believed it.

  His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the man himself. Kieran didn’t hear him walk in, but instead saw his arrival on Karen’s face. There she was, laughing and talking to a friend in animated tones, and then she turned. Kieran didn’t follow her gaze, just watched her expression change. All trace of thought vanished in an instant. Whatever she was saying died on her lips. For her, the only person that existed in the whole world was Sawyer. And he was now in the room with her.

  Had he thought she was pretty? Had he even considered trying to save her, putting his own neck on the line to do so? What a stupid and foolish thing that would have been. Karen wasn’t in this because she wanted to change the world. She was in love, and that was the most powerful drug in the universe. In that moment, when her gaze went to the man she adored—a man who didn’t return her feelings for a second, who regarded her the same way a carpenter might regard a particularly shiny hammer—she didn’t look pretty at all. To Kieran, she looked like a stupid cow, sitting in its stall, chewing its cud, unaware it was about to be sliced into official, Grade-A beef. He turned away in disgust.

  Unfortunately, his gaze now turned to the man who inspired the look he despised so much. He watched as Sawyer took his seat in the front of the room. He nodded slightly in Kieran’s direction and motioned for him to come forward.

  Kieran dutifully obeyed, hating himself a little more with every step.

  Only for a little longer, he thought. Thank God
for that. For good or ill, this will all be over soon.

  Sawyer smiled as Kieran approached. He had been sitting up straight, but he slouched ever so slightly as Kieran walked forward, indicating he was relaxed and at ease.

  “How’s our search panning out?” Sawyer asked.

  Kieran didn’t dare look straight into his eyes for fear he would see the lie there.

  “Last night was a bust,” Kieran said.

  In truth, it had been anything but. It had been his turn for the watch, tasked with seeing if any strange events occurred. And there had been plenty. From what he could tell, the new Prince of Sanheim had been riding all over the damn place, trying to get noticed. But Kieran had carefully kept that knowledge to himself. The longer he could keep Sawyer from Quinn O’Brion, the better.

  “We’re making progress, mostly by ruling out various candidates,” he continued. “Between us, Elyssa and I have seen two dozen already.”

  Sawyer abruptly stood up and walked down the steps from his makeshift throne. He looked out at the two dozen or so moidin who now stood silently watching his every move.

  “This is taking too long,” Sawyer said, and Kieran heard real venom in his voice. “We are running out of time.”

  “The plan is in motion. You just need some patience to let it play out.”

  Sawyer stepped toward Kieran and stood inches from his face.

  “I want this finished. Time only helps them, not us.”

  How well I know that, boss, Kieran thought.

  Kieran almost couldn’t believe it. For all of Sawyer’s bluster, he seemed nervous too, just like Elyssa. What had gotten into those two that they were so worried? This wasn’t exactly their first rodeo, as Kieran knew full well.

  “I’m saying it’ll happen, boss,” Kieran said. “Give it time.”

  “No,” Sawyer said, and he stepped away.

  “Okay,” Kieran said. “We can strike again. Elyssa has identified two other targets. One is a rapist. I think she would really enjoy hunting him. That will put them even further on edge and…”

  “No,” Sawyer said, and it was practically a shout. “That didn’t work.”

  “Of course it did,” Kieran said. “The police and media are buzzing. The Prince of Sanheim knows someone is looking for him. He and his consort will be nervous.”

  And they aren’t the only ones, Kieran thought, but didn’t say.

  Sawyer looked out at his crowd of moidin but seemed not to see them.

  “We don’t know who they are, do we?” he said. “And wasn’t that the idea? Spook them so badly they run or panic, tip us off in some way?”

  “That was one of the ideas, but it’s only been one murder,” Kieran replied. “I think if we…”

  “Enough,” Sawyer said again and he turned back to Kieran. “It won’t work. Killing the guilty may get the attention of the police, but it’s hardly likely to spook the Prince of Sanheim. I know what they feel like. This is their town. It might have made them angry to see someone cut down in their backyard and them blamed for it, but it won’t really affect them.”

  “And what will?” Kieran asked, but he suspected he knew the answer.

  “This is their town,” Sawyer said again. “Killing the guilty isn’t enough. To really make a stir, we have to kill the innocent.”

  “Our past is everything. It defines who we are. The entire history of the world—invading armies, plagues, natural disasters—are but exposition to the story of our lives.

  I first heard the history of the Princes of Sanheim from Fara at a very early age. By 10, I could have named all of them—and there are more than I care to remember.

  But it’s only worth discussing a few.

  We must talk about the Bear because he was the first of us and he set the pattern of what was to come. In many ways, he doomed us all.

  History has lost his real name, but I know his type. He was imperious, arrogant and—as is often the case with those other traits—deeply insecure. As the first of us, he believed he was unique and immortal.

  But he was wrong.

  After 34 years, another showed up, also claiming to be the Prince of Sanheim. The Bear felt threatened and did what anyone in power does in such a situation—he eliminated the threat.

  Maybe our lot would be different if the Bear had chosen another path. I’ve often wondered if two Princes could coexist peacefully. But it’s an academic question.

  Spurred on by the dark musings of another, the Bear made his decision—and the rest of us have paid the price. No Prince of Sanheim has been able to live in harmony with another since that day.

  Five more times, the Bear cut down a new Prince of Sanheim—until a young warrior named T’Noughn faced his cennad and won. T’Noughn didn’t wait to be killed, but instead slunk off with his consort and plotted. He was the first to realize he didn’t have to play fair.

  Only later—at a time and place of his own choosing—did he fight the Bear. The key to victory, he discovered, was to battle with followers, or moidin, at his side. And as a result, he won.

  It took 200 years for the Bear to fall, which stands as a record for our kind. Since then, the play has been repeated time and again.

  The savvy Princes wait and watch for their successors to appear—and kill them before they are a threat. The smart new Princes see danger on the horizon, quickly gather others to their cause—and strike as soon as they can kill their predecessors.

  Such is the curse of the Prince of Sanheim.”

  —Robert Crowley, 1871

  Chapter 14

  September 27, 2007

  Maggie Frank began the laborious process of double-checking that everything would be ready for the next morning and started shutting off the lights at The Rainbow School. She hated locking up alone. She also disliked doing it this late. She looked at her watch and noticed it was now past 10 o’clock in the evening.

  It had been an exhausting few days. She wished she could say that parents’ night was the highlight of her job as director of the preschool, but it was exhausting. Parents wanted to make sure their kids were well cared for and this night was meant to prove it to them. She had to make sure that everything went perfectly.

  She had bid the last parent goodbye 20 minutes ago and had stayed behind to complete the final clean-up before tomorrow. As she walked around the rooms ensuring the lights were off, she felt unnerved.

  She supposed that any building seemed creepy when there was no one inside it. Last year, she had forbidden anyone from locking up alone. She hadn’t lived in Leesburg the first time Lord Halloween had struck the town in 1994, but she had grown up near enough that it had made an indelible impression nonetheless. She had taken every precaution, starting with a rigid security system at the daycare center that included a buddy system for locking up. Lord Halloween had a penchant for striking out anywhere—including at kids—and she was going to be damned if anything happened here.

  Fortunately, despite the complaints of a few parents that it was overkill, the system had worked. Other than a small fire in the building, 2006 had proved to be uneventful, at least where the daycare center was concerned.

  After Lord Halloween’s death, she had kept most of the procedures in place, but she had reluctantly let the buddy system slide. Now she wished she hadn’t.

  She finished her final round of the building and prepared to go home. Maggie told herself she was being silly for being so nervous. The daycare center, after all, was near the center of town. Even at 10 in the evening, it wouldn’t be completely deserted outside. But when she stepped out, she saw that wasn’t true. And maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. After Lord Halloween, everyone had learned to get home quickly—and shut and bolt their doors and windows. Even if he was dead, who knew what else lurked out there in the darkness?

  She shivered at the thought and hurried up. She had only walked half a block when she heard it, a sound that both perplexed and frightened her. Why would someone be out riding their horse this late a
t night? The sound stirred a memory she couldn’t quite recall, but nevertheless triggered an instinct that told her she needed to get to her car—and fast.

  The sound grew louder as Maggie broke into a flat-out run. Whoever was riding this way was in a hurry and sounded like they were coming right for her.

  She cut through the streets and ran back to the parking lot. Instead of passing by and fading away, however, the sound got steadily closer. She risked a glance behind her and screamed.

  Only 20 yards behind her, a horse was coming straight at her. It was black, but its red eyes shone brightly each time a hoof hit the ground. She looked at the rider on top and screamed again. She had no idea what it was, but knew it was something out of a nightmare.

  She broke into a sprint then, hoping to close the distance to the car before the horse could catch up to her.

  Instead, the horse blew past her, blocking her path. The rider pulled out a sword and pointed it at her as the horse reared up.

  Maggie didn’t wait to see what it did next. Realizing that going forward was useless, she broke left, running into a neighboring parking lot. She dodged around the cars and heard the sounds of breaking glass behind her. The rider was smashing car windows as it went.

  She was thoroughly turned around now, unsure of where she was heading in the maze of parking lots behind the main city thoroughfare of Leesburg. She ducked into an alley, hoping she could be quick enough to elude her attacker. But as she went in, she heard the horse follow close behind. A screeching noise rang out, forcing her to turn around. The thing on the horse was running its sword along the brick wall, making a scraping sound that echoed through the dim alley.

  The horse should have been able to catch up with her. It was now only one or two yards behind—a short jump and she would be done for. Yet the horse and rider seemed more interested in staying close than reaching her.

  It’s playing with you, Kit, a voice in her head said. She was surprised to find it was the voice of her younger brother using a family nickname.