Homecoming (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 1)

by Scott Langrel

  Rolling away from the demon’s clutches, McCoy sprang to his feet, ready to work the banishing spell and put an end to this nonsense. The entity, however, had refocused its attention on Amanda. She was still swinging wildly with the cane, but her blows were bouncing harmlessly off the demon’s muscled shoulders and torso.

  “Amanda!” McCoy shouted. “Get back! Get out of there!”

  Whether she didn’t hear or chose to ignore him, Amanda wound up for another mighty swing.

  The demon, however, had recovered for its initial surprise. It easily dodged Amanda’s strike and backhanded her with enough force to send her flying. She crumpled to the ground and lay unmoving.

  “No!” screamed McCoy. The banishing spell forgotten, he rushed in, meaning to put himself between the fiend and the fallen Amanda. But the demon was ready for him. It spun and launched itself at McCoy, hitting him low and buckling his legs. He felt the left one break with a sickening snap.

  McCoy hit the ground in a blinding flash of pain. Large, black orbs danced before his eyes and obstructed his field of vision. He tried to rise to one elbow but the demon pushed him back, its wicked claws piercing his skin and drawing blood.

  “It seems the day is mine, after all,” the entity cackled. “I told you your time was done!”

  With a shrill laugh, the demon reared back and prepared to deliver the death blow.

  ***

  “They’re coming!” Deidre cried. She squeezed off a round from McCoy’s 9mm and a Sluagh hit the ground dead, its body reverting to its former human form.

  The Sluagh had finally destroyed all of the poppets, but at a great cost to their numbers. Between the poppets and the battle with the demon, perhaps twenty to thirty of the evil fairies remained. With McCoy and Amanda gone, it was left up to John and Deidre to protect the Barachecks and destroy what remained of the horde. With the ammo that they had, it was going to be a tall order.

  “Keep behind us,” John told the father and daughter. He looked toward the spot where McCoy and Amanda had gone, but he couldn’t really see anything in the gloom. Shapes, maybe, but it was difficult to tell what was happening.

  “Can you make them go away?” Deidre asked Cynthia.

  The young woman shook her head. “They won’t listen to me now. I’ve betrayed them. They’ll kill me just as quickly as the rest of you.”

  “No one’s going to die,” Baracheck assured his daughter.

  “I hope you’re right,” John said. He fired a round from his shotgun and managed to take down two of the Sluagh.

  “How’s your ammo holding out?” Deidre asked.

  “I’m down to six shots, I think. Maybe five. You?”

  “One clip after this one.”

  “Make them count, then.”

  They eased backwards, across the field and toward the road. The Sluagh followed at a respectful distance, since they had seen that the humans’ weapons could actually kill them. John had hoped that since there were so few of them left they might flee back into the woods, but the little fairies seemed to be more determined than ever.

  “Which way?” Baracheck asked when they reached the road. “Back to the truck or back toward town?”

  “Neither,” John replied. “We don’t know if we could get the truck started. And McCoy and Amanda are out there somewhere. We’re not leaving without them.”

  “So we just stand here and wait for them to attack us?”

  John looked at the sky, which was beginning to brighten along the eastern horizon.

  “What will they do when the sun rises?” he asked Cynthia.

  She shrugged. “They want blood. I don’t think the light will stop them.”

  “I wish we had that other shotgun,” Deidre said.

  “So do I,” John agreed. “I lost it in the excitement. Maybe McCoy or Amanda has it, I don’t know.”

  “There’s a fog rising,” Baracheck said, indicating the field. “I don’t like it.”

  John looked out over the field. Sure enough, a white mist was blowing in rapidly from the direction of the woods. It was covering the field too quickly to be a natural occurrence.

  “Something’s happening,” he whispered.

  The Sluagh seemed to sense it too. They repeatedly glanced behind them, and they began to chatter amongst themselves in hushed but urgent tones.

  “We should go,” Baracheck said.

  John shook his head stubbornly. “I told you, we’re not leaving without the others. McCoy’s the only reason we’ve made it this far. I’m not going to leave him behind.”

  Suddenly the argument became moot. The Sluagh, having come to some mutual agreement between themselves, charged the group. The deputies, caught off guard, were slow to raise and fire their weapons. Nonetheless, between the two of them they were able to drop nearly a dozen more of the creatures before they reached the group.

  They went for Deidre first, avoiding John because of his size. Several of them managed to get under her feet and trip her up, sending her tumbling to the pavement. She struck her head on the hard surface and went limp.

  One of then climbed on her chest and went for her exposed throat, but in a single stride John was there. He grabbed the creature by the scruff of its neck and pulled it off the fallen woman. It turned on him, clawing and biting, but then it seemed to get a whiff of something. Its expression went from rage to bewilderment and then, finally, to terror. Instead of trying to attack John, it began to struggle to get away from him.

  John gripped the Sluagh tightly as it tried desperately to escape. Suddenly, a purplish fire sprang from his hands and engulfed the terrified creature. It gave a final wail as the flames consumed it, then it fell from John’s grasp. It hit the ground, little more than charred flesh and bones.

  John stared dumbly at his hands. The fire was gone. The remaining Sluagh regarded him with awe and horror. Almost as one, they turned tail and scurried back up the road, away from town.

  “Fairy fire!” Cynthia gasped, her expression unbelieving. She looked at John. “You’re Fey!”

  John shook his head violently. “No!” he said. “I don’t know what that was, but I’m not anything! I’m just me!”

  “You wield the fire!” Cynthia insisted. She shrank back against her father, who was eying John with suspicion.

  John took a step toward them, palms out, and they both retreated. Baracheck defensively pulled his daughter closer.

  “You’ve got to believe me,” John pleaded. “I don’t know what that was, but it’s never happened before. I’m as human as you. I grew up here, went to school. I’m not a monster!”

  Cynthia looked into his eyes and seemed to relax a little. “Maybe not a monster,” she said. “But not human, either. Not fully.”

  “It’s not possible,” John said, still looking down at his hands.

  “Did you know your parents?” Baracheck asked. “You weren’t adopted, were you?”

  “Adopted? No. My mother passed away several years ago, but my Dad still lives in town. Over on Greene Street. He’s as normal as anyone, and so was my Mom.”

  “Still,” Cynthia said, “you have the fire. Humans don’t.”

  John shook his head again. He didn’t have any answers. He didn’t feel any different than he had five minutes ago, other than being scared to death.

  Deidre let out a low moan. John turned to her, cursing himself for having forgotten about his fallen comrade. He rushed to her side just as her eyes flitted open.

  “Ow, my head,” she mumbled. She looked up at John. “What did I miss?”

  John turned and looked at Baracheck and Cynthia, his eyes pleading.

  “Nothing, really,” Baracheck said. “They were attacking, then something scared them off. Don’t know what.”

  John shot the man a look of gratitude. He didn’t want anyone to know about this, least of all the people he worked with.

  “Think you can walk?” he asked Deidre. “We need to find the others.”

  “I think so. Anyone
know where they are?”

  As if in answer, an unearthly scream split the early morning silence.

  It had come from the mist-shrouded field.

  ***

  McCoy blinked furiously as he tried to clear his vision. If this was the end, he at least wanted to see it coming.

  At first, he thought that maybe he’d gone blind. That wasn’t right, though. Everything was white, not black. If he’d gone blind, everything should be black. Then he realized he was looking into a dense fog. That was strange. He didn’t recall the fog being there only moments ago, but then most of his attention had been focused on his broken leg and pierced chest, so it was entirely possible that he could have missed something.

  He realized that he actually should be dead by now and wondered what the demon was waiting for. Was it simply toying with him? Probably. Demons were like that, after all. Damn, his leg hurt.

  There was a sudden scream from somewhere very close by. McCoy’s first thought was of Amanda. Could that be the reason that the demon hadn’t finished him off yet? Was it torturing Amanda, intent on forcing McCoy to witness her demise before receiving his own?

  With a grunt of agony, he rolled over and forced himself up on his elbows. Between the pain and the fog, he was unable to get his bearings. Still, he couldn’t just lay there and do nothing. He began to crawl awkwardly into the mist, eyes searching and ears straining to hear the slightest sound.

  From his left came another howl, followed by the sound of someone or something thrashing about. McCoy veered in that direction, going as fast as he could but still moving at an agonizingly slow pace. If the demon had hurt Amanda, he was going to kill it. He wasn’t sure how, given his present condition, but with God as his witness he would find a way.

  He was close now. He could hear movement just ahead of him, the sounds of struggle. At least Amanda was fighting back. McCoy redoubled his efforts. He could not bear to lose her, though he had no idea how he might be able to save her.

  The fog suddenly thinned, and McCoy beheld a sight which he had never dreamed of witnessing, not if he lived a thousand years. There before him was the demon, its limbs and head entangled in a swarming mass of roots and branches, which were slowly but surely pulling the fiend into the soft earth. The entity shook as it tried in vain to free itself and gave off weak bursts of hellfire, which were ineffective since there was no human soul to consume.

  McCoy’s head was spinning, both from the pain of his injuries and the spectacle before him. On a small stump beside him, a face appeared briefly. It gave him a wry smile, then vanished.

  The dryad gave a sudden, violent jerk, and the demon disappeared into the earth. Nothing remained to suggest it had ever been there.

  McCoy rolled onto his back and chuckled softly. The whole thing was ridiculous. He had just been saved from a demon—by the Fey. If he had looked up and seen a herd of pigs flying overhead, he would not have been surprised.

  Something moved beside him, but he didn’t have the energy to turn and see what it was. There was a gasp, and then Amanda’s face loomed over him. Her cheek was red and already beginning to bruise, and her expression was one of shock and concern.

  “Finn? Oh my God! Finn, can you hear me?”

  “See them pigs flyin’?” he asked. His leg had gone numb, but he was having trouble breathing. He thought that a lung might be punctured.

  There was the sound of hurried footsteps approaching, but he couldn’t see who it was. There was some loud discussion that he couldn’t seem to make out. Something about a hospital, maybe. His vision was fading, but suddenly Amanda’s face came into view again. She was leaning close, and she had tears in her eyes.

  “Don’t you die, you big galoot,” she said. “Hang on. Hang on for me. I love you.”

  He guessed he had known it, but it felt good to hear it, just the same.

  “I love you, too,” he whispered, and then the world faded away to black.

  Chapter Fifteen

  McCoy woke to a very bright light, but the strong smell of ammonia and other disinfectants assured him that he was in a hospital, not the hereafter. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust and focus. When they did, he saw Big John Talbot grinning at him.

  “Well, look who’s awake,” the big man said. He moved closer to McCoy’s bed, trying to hide his concern under an outwardly jovial manner. “I was starting to think you were going to sleep for a week.”

  “How long was I out?” McCoy asked, or tried to. His voice was raspy and his throat was raw. Evidently, something had recently been stuffed down his gullet.

  “Two days,” John replied. “Doc says the chest wounds are nothing to worry about. Superficial scratches, mainly. The leg’s a mess, though.”

  “You’re putting me on.”

  “Amanda’s been here since we brought you in. I finally convinced her to go get something to eat.”

  McCoy nodded. “Good. We need to talk, anyway. I didn’t really get a chance to go over the cover story with you.”

  John held up his hand and shook his head. “Already taken care of. We were lucky. A few of the bodies we recovered of the…Sluagh, I think Amanda called them…were of folks who had disappeared recently, within the past several months. We placed those in a few strategic spots and blamed the whole mess on them.” The happy look he’d been forcing for McCoy’s benefit vanished, replaced by a frown. “It worked, the state boys bought it. But I’ve got to tell you, I’m not thrilled about placing the blame on innocent people. I mean, it’s got to be hard on their families.”

  “I understand,” McCoy said. “When I get up and about, we’ll pay a visit to those families, talk about the influence of cults, and tell them their loved ones were most likely drugged and not acting on their own volition. I know it’s not much, but it’s about all we can do.” He gave the big man a long look. “To tell the truth, I’m kind of surprised you went along with the whole cover-up thing.”

  John looked away. Under normal circumstances, he would have balked at lying to the state police, much less being actively involved in a cover-up. But the event with the fairy fire a few days ago had changed things. He could not afford to go blabbering about evil fairies and other supernatural stuff when there was a real chance that he harbored a dark secret of his own. He didn’t want anyone to find out, and the way things stood presently, he didn’t think they would.

  “Amanda talked me into it,” he said. “She told me about the truce you made with the Fey. I’m just acting in the best interests of the people I’m sworn to protect.”

  “Any sign of Lyle?” McCoy asked.

  John shook his head. “Not a word. He’s dead, I know. I should feel bad, but I don’t. Not really. Not if he was in league with those monsters.”

  “Do you think he was?”

  “I’m pretty sure he was. It all adds up. The council will appoint an interim sheriff soon. Some folks think it will be me.”

  “I’m sure it will,” McCoy said. “I’ll vouch for you.”

  John smiled. “Thanks. It will mean a lot, coming from you.”

  “I don’t know about that,” McCoy said.

  “Oh. I forgot. You don’t know how big of a hero you are. Pretty much saved the day single-handedly.”

  McCoy groaned. “What have you done, John?”

  “Just told the truth,” the big man grinned. “Omitting, of course, any mention of fairies and magical dolls and demons.” His eyes went wide as he remembered something. “That reminds me. How did you know the demon was in Kenner?”

  “I didn’t, not until we were riding out to meet the Sluagh, when he was sitting beside me in the truck. I’d been too distracted to notice. But when he started grilling me on how I could sense things, I began to put two and two together. The way he was still walking around with an obviously mortal wound, for instance. I’d had a run-in with the same demon a day or so before, and it had promised me it would be there when I met my end.” He looked down at the bandages covering his chest and his battered l
eg, which was in a cast and raised on a pulley. “It almost fulfilled that promise.”

  “What happened to the demon?” John asked. “It was gone when we got there.”

  “I managed to banish it,” McCoy lied. Big John would be learning a lot in the weeks to come, and the last thing he wanted was for the big man to think that the Fey had any capacity for kindness. The dryad had saved McCoy because it needed him for something else, nothing more. It had not been an altruistic act on the fairy’s part.

  “What happened to Dave and Cynthia?” McCoy asked.

  “Gone. They lit out yesterday. I think they were planning on going back to Knoxville, maybe. Try to start again where no one really knows them.”

  “I hope it works out for them.”

  “Me too.”

  The door opened and Amanda walked in looking weary and haggard. When she saw that McCoy was awake, she dropped her purse and ran to his side. She grabbed his neck and hugged him tightly. It hurt like hell, but McCoy stifled a yell and managed to escape with a soft grunt.

  “Sorry!” she said as she let go of him. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. I’m good,” he lied again.

  “Oh, Finn!” Tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t know how worried I was. I thought I was going to lose you. What were you thinking, tackling that demon the way you did?”

  “What was I thinking?” McCoy asked incredulously. “Who was the one swinging my walking stick like Babe Ruth?” He looked at her face. She’d covered it with makeup, but he could still see the bruising underneath. His tone softened. “You can’t be doing that, Amanda. If that thing had used its claws instead of the back of its hand…I don’t even want to think about it. I couldn’t lose you, either. It would be the end of me.”

  Her lower lip started trembling, and he braced himself for another hug attack. Sure enough, it came, knocking the wind out of him. He hugged her back though, as best he could, and it felt wonderful.