Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles Book 2)

by Rob Blackwell

  “What struck me initially was how down-to-earth most of these people were. Yes, I met some that were air-headed and the like, but most of them were intelligent, rational people, who simply did not know what to think about these odd events occurring in their homes.”

  “What events?”

  “Depended on the house. Sometimes it was auditory phenomena—footsteps, music playing, people laughing. Other times it was things moving. Lights that turned themselves on and off. Lamps that would rattle and move slightly across the floor. Pictures that came off the wall. That type of thing.”

  “Did anybody see an actual ghost?” Kate asked, remembering to take notes.

  “A few women I talked to did. None of the men did. Some, I believe, felt something, though they weren’t sure what.”

  “So your impression of these people is that they are telling the truth?” Kate asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Terry replied. “I think most people who experience ghost-like phenomena are telling the truth. Indeed, I think it is much more common than people believe. It just isn’t talked about, that’s all. It’s dismissed by people who think—quite logically—that whatever they are experiencing can’t really be happening. There is a short circuit, the house is just settling, a kid or a pet must have done something. There is always an alternate, and for many, attractive solution to whatever is happening.”

  “People are afraid to believe in ghosts?”

  “Or afraid of what someone might think if they knew they believed in ghosts,” Terry said. “Actually, most people believe in ghosts. Just look at our legal system. You can be sued if you sell a house knowing it is haunted and don’t disclose that to the buyer. It happens from time to time. And most juries will side with the buyer, believe me. But at the same time, ghosts aren’t discussed openly. It’s too associated with other things like alien abductions or psychic healers or the like.”

  “So why did people talk to you?”

  “I approached it with an open mind,” Terry said. “With a scientific mind. I don’t make them feel stupid and I’m searching for a way to prove what is happening. I think I know a good deal about it now—you can’t do this for 15 years and not discover something. Now, talking to people is easy. I can tell pretty quickly if it is a legitimate phenomena or someone has just watched too many scary movies.”

  “Is it mostly people from Leesburg who come to you?”

  Terry chuckled slightly before answering.

  “I get calls from all over,” he replied. “But I work mostly around here.”

  “Why?”

  “I have enough work here for me, that’s why. There are 62 spots I’ve identified in Leesburg and the surrounding area, including Waterford, Purcellville and Middleburg. Some of these hauntings have been here for 200 years. So there are certainly a lot of manifestations here, perhaps because of all the history and human emotion that comes with it.”

  Kate decided this approach was going to take too long. Terry was clearly used to rattling off facts and statistics, but she didn’t have a lot of time.

  “You said ‘history and human emotion.’ I understand the history part. But what does emotion have to do with it?”

  Terry looked at her in surprise. He blinked rapidly at her for a few moments before continuing.

  “I would have thought that would be obvious,” he said. “The most powerful force in this world is human emotion.”

  “I thought that would be nuclear power,” she said before she could stop herself.

  “Then you would think wrong,” he said. “Ms. Tassel, most ghost sightings aren’t really ‘ghosts’ at all. They’re what I call ‘residuals.’ People report hearing footsteps in the attic at night or seeing a woman in 19th century clothes at the window. But every night it’s the same. Those aren’t really ‘ghosts.’ They are just a recorded image. What makes the recording? Human emotion. At times of stress, joy, grief—that is when those images are formed.”

  Kate thought of the wraiths in the graveyard. They weren’t ‘residuals,’ but they were also only about emotion.

  “What about other ghosts? Real ghosts? The kind you find in a graveyard?” she asked.

  Terry chuckled again.

  “Firstly, there is another kind of ghost,” he said. “It’s what I call a ‘sentient.’ It’s something that can’t usually be seen, but it interacts with the environment. It is not simply repeating the same actions over and over. Secondly, however, you won’t find ghosts in a cemetery.”

  He said it so smugly, Kate missed a beat.

  “What?” she asked.

  She knew he was wrong, of course. She had summoned ghosts from a graveyard the other night. There just hadn’t been enough of them.

  “You will find ghosts in hospitals, restaurants, funeral parlors and residential homes,” Terry said. “But you won’t find them in graveyards. It’s all about emotion, Ms. Tassel. Graveyards have corpses, not people.”

  “That’s not true,” she said.

  He stared at her for a moment. Kate paused, unsure how to proceed.

  “I had a friend once,” she said. “She saw a ghost in a cemetery. I believed her.”

  “Ah,” he said. He stood up and started to pace. “And your ‘friend’ is quite confident she saw a ghost? She didn’t just get spooked?”

  Kate could tell he wasn’t buying the ‘friend’ stuff and decided to come clean.

  “I saw a woman,” she said. “She was dressed in black mourning clothes. It was in a graveyard near here.”

  “Did she interact with you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “She spoke to me.”

  Terry’s eyes widened at that. He seemed to study her intently as if deciding if she was lying.

  “That is… very unusual,” he said.

  “But she was in a graveyard. I promise you that. I thought… I thought that’s where all of them would be.”

  “Then you thought wrong,” he said. “What did she say? Was she buried there?”

  Kate thought for a moment.

  “No, actually,” Kate responded. “She was buried in Hillsboro. Her child was buried there.”

  “A-ha,” Terry said and Kate was momentarily startled. He pointed his finger at her as if making an accusation. “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “It’s not about where they’re buried,” Terry said. “It’s about where they lived.”

  “She lived in a graveyard?”

  “No, of course not,” he responded. “Not literally. It’s about where her heart lay. Emotion is the key to everything, Ms. Tassel. It’s what drives us when we are alive and—if ghosts really are spirits of the departed—it’s what keeps us here. Think about it: in how many legends do you hear about ghosts with unfinished business? The ‘sentients’ are relatively rare, but they’re the ones who won’t move on because they feel emotionally grounded here. That’s why I said emotions are the most powerful force in the universe. Emotions are the only things that can defy death.”

  Kate started nodding her head, thinking of the spirits who had responded to her cry for help the other night. They had responded not to her issue—the imminent death of her loved one—but because her problem matched theirs.

  “So if I saw ghosts in a cemetery—even several of them—it might not be because they’re buried there,” Kate said. “It might be because their loved ones were.”

  “Yes, if they spent much of their lives grieving for them there.”

  “Have you ever heard of a ghost taking solid form?” Kate asked, coming closer to the real reason she was here in the first place.

  “Yes,” Terry replied. “If their connection is strong enough—if their emotions are powerful enough—they can interact with the real world. Not for very long, of course, maybe enough to move a chair or a table. Indeed, I’ve heard of a ghost that carves his initials into various pieces of furniture in a house near here.”

  “He uses a knife?”

  “He appears to bring it with him from wher
ever he is,” Terry replied. “This is all just guesswork, Ms. Tassel, but I believe that whatever defines us in life follows us in the spirit world. If the man was very attached to his knife—perhaps he was a wood carver or some other artisan—then it’s a part of him now, the same way his clothes would be. It’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

  Kate stopped taking notes, looked at Terry and asked the question that she most wanted to know.

  “If I won’t find many ghosts in a graveyard, where would I find them?”

  Terry paused for a moment.

  “Well, houses, for one,” he said. “But that’s not what you mean, is it? You want to know how many can be found in a single spot?”

  “Yes,” Kate said. It was what she needed. She had thought the answer lay in cemeteries, but now it was clear she required something else.

  “In my experience, the places we ‘haunt,’ if you will—I dislike the term—in death are the places that caused us the most pain and anguish in life,” he said. “You would need to find a spot that represented that experience not just for one or two people, but for many.”

  Kate glanced at the painting behind Terry’s head.

  “And is there such a place near here?” she asked.

  Terry gave her a shrewd look, following the direction of her gaze.

  “I think, Ms. Tassel, you already know the answer to that.”

  *****

  Tim sat huddled in his chair staring at his Blackberry. It was a Saturday, so in theory he should have the weekend off. But these days, he used the device constantly to send e-mails to Ethan, the reporters and sources—or for research.

  He should have put more energy into researching the Prince of Sanheim before all hell broke loose. But he had assumed it was just a name plucked from a legend—the equivalent of Lord Halloween—that didn’t mean much. He had been wrong about that.

  He watched Quinn sleeping. It’s what he did most these days. Tim would be more worried about him—the doctors certainly were—but he could see him healing at an unbelievable rate. Whatever powers his two reporters had tapped into, they were literally incomprehensible. Every day, the doctors had new explanations, half-cocked theories to explain the unexplainable. Tim suspected that whatever supernatural powers Quinn had, they were all being used up in fixing him, leaving no room to stay awake.

  He liked Quinn and most of the time he liked Kate, but he was still worried about whether he was doing the right thing. The two of them seemed dedicated to stopping the threat out there—and had already proven themselves by killing Lord Halloween—but their powers made him deeply uneasy. Kate’s little show in the apartment had left him with nightmares. Whatever could do that—could it really be good? Wasn’t it more likely that whatever was going on here, it would eventually consume Quinn and Kate? And who would stop them then?

  His thoughts were disturbed by a shadow in the doorway.

  “Back so soon?” he said, expecting to find Kate.

  But a strange man stood in the doorway, looking at Quinn. Tim was out of his chair in a heartbeat, pulling his gun out of reflex and aiming it at the man’s head.

  When the stranger turned to him, he looked alarmed.

  “Bloody hell, gramps!” he said. “Are you even allowed to have that here?”

  “It’s Virginia,” Tim replied. “What do you think?”

  The man put up his hands.

  “You going to shoot me?”

  “That really depends on what you’re here to do,” Tim replied. “Are you Sawyer?”

  The man laughed at that.

  “If I were, you would be dead now,” he said. “Probably burnt to a crisp.”

  “Then who are you? What the hell do you want?”

  “My name is Kieran,” he replied. “And I’m here to give a warning.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well, no offense, but I didn’t come to give it to you,” Kieran said. “I’m here to talk to the boss.”

  “Quinn is asleep.”

  “Uh, no, the real boss,” Kieran said. “Where is Kate?”

  “If you think I’m telling you that, you’re even dumber than you look.”

  “Look, I’m trying to help.”

  “Well, I don’t trust you. I don’t really trust anyone,” Tim said.

  “How Agent Mulder of you,” Kieran said.

  He walked into the room and shut the door behind him.

  “Just keep it nice and slow,” Tim said.

  “You ever going to lower that weapon?” Kieran said.

  “Not planning on it, no,” Tim said.

  “Look, we don’t have a lot of time,” Kieran replied. “Sawyer and Elyssa are on the move again. They’re planning to attack Waterford tonight.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Cause I work for them, obviously,” he replied.

  “What’s their plan?” he asked.

  “Their usual,” Kieran replied. “They’re going to walk into Waterford and burn it to the ground.”

  “How do I stop them?”

  “You don’t,” Kieran said. He gestured at Quinn. “They do. Trust me, you’re no match for these guys. I’m not even sure these two are.”

  “Then why help them?”

  “Because if I don’t, a lot of innocent people are going to die,” Kieran said.

  “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who cares.”

  “I normally don’t. But I’m tired of looking the other way, okay? Sawyer and Elyssa need to be stopped.”

  “What’s in it for you?”

  “I just told you,” Kieran replied, looking exasperated. “I finally grew a conscience.”

  “I know your type. A man like you traded away his conscience a long time ago,” Tim said. “You don’t ever get it back.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” Kieran said softly. “You can’t ever really trade it away. It stays with you—even when you don’t want it to.”

  “You’ve said your peace,” Tim said. “I’ll pass on your warning. Anything else I should mention?”

  Kieran looked over at Quinn in the hospital bed.

  “Tell her he’s not going to heal in time,” Kieran said.

  “Well, obviously not by tonight.”

  “No,” Kieran continued. “I meant by Halloween.”

  “Why does that matter?

  “Because if he isn’t completely healed by then, they’re going to lose.”

  With that, Kieran opened the door and left. Only when Tim was sure he was gone did he lower the gun.

  Chapter 31

  Kate waited in the dark.

  She hadn’t changed form but remained her normal self. For all the usefulness of her new abilities, using them seemed to drain her quickly. She had begun to wonder if the source of her power—like the presence of ghosts—also had to do with the emotional scars left on an area. If so, then the plan she had been hatching since her visit to Terry Jacobsen might actually work. If not—well, they were probably doomed anyway.

  The police and most of the county’s firefighters were also nearby. Tim had not wanted to take any chances that the situation could get out of hand. Once again, he had tipped off Sheriff Brown that another attack was imminent.

  But the night seemed normal and quiet. She waited at the top of the hill on Main Street looking for any sign of movement. Each time a car passed by, she tensed up. But nothing unusual was happening. There was no sign of Sawyer, no hint of even a few dobhar-chu. The night was still.

  Maybe Kieran was wrong, Kate thought. Maybe the attack was coming later. Or possibly Sawyer had called it off at the last moment. She ran through other possibilities in her mind. A dark thought occurred to her.

  Just as it did, her cell phone rang. She jumped and answered it.

  “They aren’t attacking here,” Tim’s voice came immediately.

  She already knew what had happened.

  “Where?” she asked.

  “Purcellville,” he responded. “We’ve got several firetrucks on t
he way out—but it’s going to take time. Most of the county’s resources were near here.”

  “My God,” she said. “He played us, didn’t he? It was a trap.”

  “And we fell for it,” Tim said and hung up.

  Kate got back in her car and started to drive the 10 miles southwest to Purcellville.

  But in her heart, she knew it was already too late.

  *****

  Mike Poje stood in his backyard, smoking a cigarette. His wife didn’t let him smoke in the new house. He actually didn’t mind it, but he often pretended he did. He thought if he complained a little, she would make fewer demands in other areas. So far this plan was not working.

  He sighed as he blew smoke out of his mouth. He had to admit the new place was great—both the house and yard were bigger. Mike planned to install a swing set back here. Even though the house was close to the heart of Purcellville, Mike was particularly pleased that it backed up to the Washington and Old Dominion Trail. He loved biking—always had, since his dad taught him how to ride more than two decades ago. Now he could take his bike right out the back gate and was just steps away from miles of trail in either direction. It was liberating.

  Mike looked back at the dark outline of trees and smiled. No, he really didn’t mind being out here. In fact, he quite enjoyed it. Not that he planned to tell Susan. He took a last puff of his cigarette, dropped it to the ground and stamped it out.

  As he was reaching down to retrieve the stub for the trash, he heard it. The sound was clearly coming from up the W&OD trail. Curious, he walked through his backyard, past the spot where he had staked out the kids’ swing set and out the back gate. He stood on the path and looked down it.

  He couldn’t see anything, that was for sure. There were just various shades of darkness. But he could hear it—a steady pounding of hooves.