by R. L. King
“Strange?” Stone leaned in closer. “In what way?”
“His face. There wasn’t a lot of light, but it was…like it wasn’t quite finished. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but—”
“No. It does.” A chill settled over Stone. Her description sounded exactly like one of Archie’s dust constructs. “Please, go on.”
“He didn’t say anything, or come after me…he just stood there, watching me. And the longer I looked at him, I started feeling like something was…wrong with him. I know this is going to sound unbelievable, but I felt like he wasn’t human. Like God was warning me about him.” Her gaze flicked up as if gauging his reaction to her words.
“What did you do?” Stone asked.
“I said a prayer,” she said. “And I ordered it away, in the name of God.”
“And that worked?” Stone couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice. While he had met at least one strongly devout mage, the idea of a mundane human driving off a spirit with nothing but faith just wasn’t plausible in his experience.
Her eyes flashed. “Don’t look so surprised. I told you, God is real. My faith isn’t something I just do when it’s convenient.”
“I’m sorry. Please go on. So you drove it off?”
“No. It…spoke to me.”
“What did it say?” Stone had forgotten about his coffee now.
She took a few more deep breaths, and her voice shook. She had all the outward symptoms of someone who’d experienced a profound shock and hadn’t yet recovered from it. “It said…‘You shouldn’t have talked to Stone. That’s not a healthy thing to do.’ And then it pulled out a knife and ran toward me.”
“Bloody hell,” Stone murmured. “What did you do—did you run away?”
Grace swallowed and shook her head. Her expression took on more resolve. “No. You don’t run away from things like that. If you do, they’ll never stop chasing you. I was so scared, but I knew God would protect me.” She fingered her crucifix. “I held this up, and I rebuked the demon in the name of Jesus.”
“You…rebuked it.”
She nodded. “There’s a prayer for that—several, actually. I rebuke and cast out every unclean spirit to the pit and command them never to return in the name of Jesus. That’s the one I used.”
“And…that worked?” Stone stared at her in frank amazement.
“It stopped moving. It just stood there, holding the knife for a long time, like it couldn’t make up its mind what it wanted to do. And then it turned around and ran off.” She paused for another sip of coffee. “After that, I felt relieved, like God was telling me I’d done the right thing. I went in to check on my grandmother, and then I called you.” Her gaze sharpened. “Why would a demon tell me not to talk to you, Dr. Stone? What do you know about this?”
Stone didn’t answer for a long moment. This situation was getting worse by the day. Now Archie and his dust-devils were even targeting people who talked to him? And somehow this young, unassuming-looking woman had been able to send it away with nothing but words? “It’s…a long story.”
“It has to do with those murders, doesn’t it?” she asked. “This demon—is it committing them?”
“I think so,” he said heavily. “That thing you faced—it wasn’t a demon. Not exactly. The demon is creating them, and I believe they’re the ones committing the murders under its command.”
She studied his face. “How…do you know this?”
“That’s an even longer story,” he said. “And honestly, one I’m not prepared to go into right now. But this disturbs me. I never meant to set this thing on you. I had no idea that merely talking with you would cause this, or I never would have agreed to it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Demons do what they do. It probably wants you to feel guilty. But I don’t know what—” She stopped suddenly, fear flashing across her face.
“What is it?” Stone glanced quickly over his shoulder to make sure nothing was sneaking up on them.
“Father Reed,” she whispered, gripping the table.
“What about Father Reed?” Stone tilted his head. She wasn’t making sense.
“That thing—the demon, or whatever it was—said I shouldn’t have talked to you…that it’s dangerous to do it. But Father Reed talked to you too.”
Damn. She’s right. “But he’s at the church, isn’t he? This thing does seem to respect holy ground.”
“But he’s not,” she said. “Not tonight. He’s gone out to visit Mr. Juarez. He does it twice a month. It was on his schedule.” She leaned forward, her eyes getting big. “Dr. Stone—I have to check on him. To make sure one of these…things…isn’t after him too.”
Stone pulled out his mobile phone. “Do you have the number? Can you call him?”
“Mr. Juarez doesn’t have a phone. He’s old and sick—that’s why Father Reed visits him, to pray with him and make sure he has what he needs.”
This was absurd. There was no reason to believe that just because Archie had sent one of his constructs after Grace, he’d send another one after Father Reed just because they’d briefly met today. But if he knows what you’re up to…he might know what you’re doing now. Bloody hell, we might be giving him the idea!
He stood up quickly, tossing a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Where is he?” he demanded.
She got up just as fast. “Are you going there? If you are, I’m going with you.”
“Ms. Ruiz—” If he had to use magic, the last thing he wanted was another mundane around that he’d have to look after. Even if she’d driven off one of the constructs once, there was no guarantee she’d be able to do it again.
Her eyes flashed. “I’m coming with you, Dr. Stone. If you won’t let me, I won’t tell you where he is.”
They didn’t have time for this. If she was right and Archie had sent one or more of his constructs against the Father, they might already be too late.
“Fine,” he snapped. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
They drove in tense silence, except for Grace occasionally giving directions. Stone noted they were heading further into east San Jose, to an area he’d never visited before.
The surroundings grew more rundown the farther they went, and by the time they turned down the narrow street where Mr. Juarez lived, the area featured more abandoned, graffiti-tagged houses and dusty, weed-choked yards than occupied residences. Most of the street lights were out, and the few cars parked along both sides were either beaters or nonfunctional. Stone’s gleaming black BMW sedan looked as out of place here as…well, as he did.
“Down at the end of the street,” Grace urged. She leaned forward, clutching the dashboard as if she could somehow make the car go faster. As they approached, she pointed at an old Nissan parked in the driveway of a ramshackle house. Beyond the house, a reflector-studded wooden barrier separated the street from a dark expanse of vacant lot. From the street, nothing seemed out of the ordinary: no flashes of light, no sudden screams or lurking figures.
Stone pulled into the driveway behind the Nissan. Grace had already popped her seatbelt and was shoving open the door. “Wait,” he ordered, opening his own door.
“Something’s wrong,” she said, her expression troubled. “Come on!” She hurried up the walkway.
Stone caught up with her and grabbed her shoulder. “Ms. Ruiz, wait! You can’t just go running in there.” Magical sight revealed nothing amiss, but it wasn’t foolproof.
She glared at him, shook free, and continued up the cracked walk to the door. She knocked three times. “Father Reed?” she called. “Mr. Juarez?” When there was no answer, she turned the knob, panting with frustration. “Locked! We’ve got to get in there! I know something’s wrong.”
“Here—let me.” Stone pushed past her and, shielding the knob with his body, used a f
lick of magic to unlock it. He shoved it open. “Father Reed?” he called, louder than she had. “Are you in here?”
“How did you—” Grace started, but cut off abruptly when a weak cry came from somewhere in the back of the darkened house. “Father Reed!” Before Stone could stop her, she ran inside and started down the hall on the other side of the tiny living room.
Stone overtook her halfway down. Light shone from behind the half-closed door at the end of the narrow hallway. He got a brief impression of threadbare carpeting, a few family photos hung along the hall, and the lingering smell of musty disuse and stale urine before he wrenched open the door the rest of the way.
“Madre de Dios,” Grace moaned from behind him.
Stone took in the scene in a quick glance: the narrow bed in the middle, the overturned checkerboard on the floor, the mismatched, secondhand furniture and stained walls. All of this was only a backdrop, though, to the figures sprawled across the bed.
The one beneath, an elderly Latino man with wispy white hair and a plaid pajama top, was barely visible. His eyes were wide with terror, his hand scrabbling at the edge of the bed in a futile attempt to grasp something.
The one on top was Father Reed. The priest lay across the old man in a protective pose, his arms spread wide, a large crucifix clutched in one hand. His back, striped with bloody wounds, rose and fell with his labored breathing.
“Oh, mother Mary,” Grace cried, trying to push past Stone to get to the stricken figures.
He stood firm, blocking her entrance to the room as something rose from the far side of the bed: a leering, grinning figure, its grotesque, molded-clay parody of a human face alight with glee as it flung something at Stone.
He barely got his shield up in time to block the handful of knives. A few slammed into it and bounced off, while others buried themselves in the wall, quivering in the dim light of a small nightstand lamp.
The figure laughed and ducked away again.
Father Reed moaned and shifted position, his grip tightening on his crucifix even in his semiconscious state.
“Dr. Stone, what’s going on?” Grace demanded, her voice stronger now. “Let me in there!” She shoved him again with strength borne of panic, knocking him off balance.
“Look out!” Stone didn’t have time to extend the shield to cover her before another figure charged out of a tiny bathroom he hadn’t spotted and lunged toward her.
He acted instinctively—no time for carefully considered plans. Pointing both hands at the second figure, he focused his mind on the pattern and flung a tight concussion spell.
It threw itself to the side at the last moment, shrieking. The beam missed the center of its chest, hitting it instead at the junction between its torso and right arm. The arm tore free, thrashing and turning to dust, while the rest of the creature crashed into the back wall. The room shook, old plaster raining down from the ceiling. The lamp on the nightstand teetered and crashed to the floor along with several medicine bottles, plunging the bedroom into darkness.
Stone raised a hand and summoned a light spell around it. He knew it would make him a target, but better him with his shield than Grace or the two men.
A low murmuring voice rose to one side, and he realized it was Grace, praying. “Get out of here,” he ordered her.
The murmured prayer didn’t stop, and neither did she do as he said, even as she stared at the light shining around his hand in something between horror and amazement. She was backed into the corner, clutching her crucifix with one hand and pointing toward the bed with the other.
The first creature, the one that had flung the knives, leaped up again, vaulting over the bed and crashing into Stone’s shield, driving him back through the open door and into the hallway. The second creature followed more slowly, its gait awkward and lurching as it compensated for its missing arm, which was already beginning to grow back.
Stone lost his balance and toppled, landing on his back. The two creatures, their slit-mouthed, burning-eyed faces identical in their maniacal glee, piled on top, pounding at the shield with clenched, gray-skinned fists. They looked like a couple of angry children trying to punch their way into a fishbowl.
“Get the hell off me!” Stone yelled. He let the light spell go and threw a wider concussion spell at an angle, shoving them up and back toward the end of the hall. He scrambled back up before they could recover, glancing into the room to make sure no more of them were coming out of the woodwork.
Were there more of them here? The two at the end of the hall disappeared around the corner, leaving Stone a choice he didn’t want to make: did he stay here to protect Grace and the two fallen men against potential additional threats, or did he go after the two he knew were here? If they got away, they could do anything: run, circle around the back of the house and go back in through the window, or come after him again when he wasn’t expecting it.
“Ms. Ruiz!” he called. “Help the Father! If you see more of them, yell!”
“I will!” she called back. Her voice shook, but she sounded a lot more together than he expected, given what she’d just seen.
Stone took off down the hall toward the front of the house, light spell back up and shield ready. Damn, he wished these things had auras so he could see them in the dark!
Something large and heavy crashed hard into his shield as he entered the living room, driving him sideways into a wall and filling his vision. What had they hit him with? His head pounding with psychic feedback from the sudden assault, he rolled to the side just as something else equally massive slammed down into the spot where he’d just been.
Equally massive—and covered in a tacky floral print?
Bloody hell, they’re throwing the furniture at me!
If he weren’t so concerned about what these things might do to Grace or the two men if he didn’t take them down, it would almost be funny. What was next, the kitchen sink?
What wasn’t so funny was that his shield was taking a beating—and so was his brain. Smaller hits, like fists or even single bullets, he could shrug off, dissipating them over the shield’s surface area to bleed off the damage. But the barrier wasn’t indestructible, and direct hits from something as large and heavy as the old man’s ancient recliner produced a backlash that turned the magical energy back on him. He couldn’t take too many more like this.
He jumped up, using the toppled chair for cover. One of the creatures disappeared through another doorway, presumably into the kitchen. The other one held another chair over its head.
Stone threw himself sideways again as the thing threw the chair, aiming another concussion spell at the creature’s midsection as he went. It glanced off, hitting it in the side instead of dead on, but that spoiled its aim enough that the chair landed to Stone’s left, crashing down on the floral recliner.
At least the thing was running out of furniture to throw. That was the good news.
The bad news was that the second one ran back in, both hands full of knives.
Stone ducked behind the floral recliner, trying to bolster his shield in spite of the pounding pain in his head. He popped up and threw another concussion spell, hoping to at least knock one of the things off balance. He could use more powerful magic if necessary, but all his elemental spells—fire, lightning, ice—had the potential to do major damage to the old man’s house. He’d use them if he had to, but he’d taken these things out before with focused concussion beams before. He could do it again, if he could just get a good shot at them. As long as nothing else went wrong, he had this.
The sound of glass breaking came from the bedroom, followed by Grace’s terrified voice. “Dr. Stone! Help!”
It was a good thought while it lasted.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Stone leaped up from behind his cover, telekinetically snatching the topmost chair and sending it spinning across the room toward the two creatures. “Comi
ng!” he yelled, and ran for the hallway.
The creatures apparently hadn’t expected to get hit with their own missiles. They scrambled out of the way, one letting loose with a handful of knives. Several of the missiles lodged in the back of the chair, while a couple smacked into Stone’s shield as he retreated down the hall. He didn’t want to leave them there—they’d be on his heels soon enough—but he had no choice.
He skidded to a stop in the doorway of the bedroom, taking in the scene in an instant. Another creature stood on the far side of the bed, where it had obviously just crashed in through a broken window. Jagged shards of glass hung in the frame and littered the floor.
Grace stood at the bed’s foot, shoulders square, arms trembling as she held her crucifix out in front of her. She didn’t look at Stone; her gaze was fixed on the creature. Her lips moved in silent prayer.
The new creature hesitated, not wanting to approach Grace, but then its resolve seemed to firm. It sidestepped away from her and lunged at Father Reed and the old man on the bed.
But this time Stone knew what was coming, and he had a clear shot. He gathered magical energy and focused a beam on the center of the creature’s chest. Before it could reach Reed and Juarez, he let the spell loose.
It reeled back, its weird, muddy voice shrieking in pain or anger, and slammed into the far wall. It had barely hit before it exploded into dust that sprayed across the threadbare, glass-strewn carpet.
Stone allowed himself just a second to relax. His head was pounding hard, and he could feel his shield weakening. He shifted it to the single crystal he had—his purple-stone ring—which helped a little.
