“Broke you?” Wraith asked. “What do you mean? Why did I make you? Why did I lock this place away and leave you to guard it?”
Nightstick sighed and shook his head. “No one could handle something like that alone, how could a child?” He looked at her, his eyes pleading. “I tried the best I could, but I was broken, you see? Tainted by the same darkness I tried to hold back.”
“What are you talking about?” Wraith asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It did so much damage, and I think I might’ve done some myself, but I can’t remember.” He bent down and picked up a book, but when he opened it, the pages fell to dust.
Something drove her to reach out and take a book herself. She picked one off the shelf and examined it. It had a brown leather cover but no title. She opened it and words were overwritten, as if the pages of a different book were printed over them. She flipped through it slowly and carefully. Some pages were missing, in part or in whole, while others had been inserted. Some pages had been written over so heavily she couldn’t read anything at all. On one page, the text was merely faded and a clean replacement was written above each line. She read the page, and a memory flooded over her.
She was twelve. Billy, the most handsome boy she’d ever seen, was leading her behind the old barn. She couldn’t believe he was really going to kiss her! When they were out of sight of anyone who might wander by, he turned her so her back was to the barn and stepped close.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
She did, alight with anticipation.
Then the first handful of manure hit her, right in the face.
She opened her eyes and saw Billy and his friends laughing.
“Why—”
They all began pelting her with clumps of wet, foul-smelling muck. She fell to her knees, hand covering her face and eyes as tears poured down her cheeks. The onslaught didn’t slow, and soon they were throwing rocks too. She cried out, pleading with them to stop, to let her go.
They just kept laughing and taunting her.
“Please,” she begged. “Just—”
Wraith tore her eyes from the book.
“No, that’s wrong,” she said and looked at Nightstick. “It felt wrong, like it belonged to someone else.”
Nightstick nodded at the book.
She looked back at the page, but this time carefully ignored the notes, lines, and additions. She read only the printed words. Another memory washed her away.
She was eight, and the sun was shining. She could smell fresh-cut grass and hear children laughing. Her father was pushing her on a swing.
“Higher, Daddy,” she said, gripping the chains as tight as she could.
“Okay!” he said. “Hang on!” He heaved and she soared up higher and higher.
It felt like she was flying. In that brief moment when she reached the top of the arc and hung in the air, she saw her mother. She was beautiful, and she was smiling.
The world lurched, like she’d hit a wall, and Wraith was back in the church. She looked up from the book, tears running down her cheeks.
“These are my memories,” she said softly, looking from one book to another.
Nightstick nodded solemnly. “But not just your memories anymore. The others’ too.”
“Others?” Wraith asked. “What others? What are you talking about?”
“The whispers and screams of the shades in your head,” Nightstick said. “But the trust is still locked away, and you can’t have it without the key. That’s the rules.”
She looked from book to Nightstick. “What are you talking about? Who did this? Was it me?”
“I can’t tell you,” he said. “I made a pinky swear, and you can’t break that. But I can say, it’s all part of the same corruption you see around you.” He looked away from her. “So many memories from so many scared children; they all began to blend together. I tried to save them, to save yours, but there was just too much, you see.”
When he looked up, her knees went weak and a heavy sob racked her body.
He nodded again, smiling sadly. “Yeah, you wanted me to look like your father.”
Wraith swallowed. “But you’re not him.”
Nightstick shook his head. “No. I’m sure there’s part of him in here, but I’m not him.”
Wraith looked back to the books, and she had to lean on what was left of a pew to keep standing. So many books had crumbled to dust, been burned, ripped to pieces, or just had their pages torn out and thrown about. She wiped her eyes and looked at Nightstick.
“These memories” she said, gesturing to the ruined books. “Are they—?”
He swallowed. “They’re gone.”
Wraith clenched her fists and screamed. The sound of it echoed through the church, shattering the silence that had permeated it.
When she’d gotten her rage under control, she looked at him. “Why would I make you and tell you to lock all my memories up?”
“You didn’t want me to lock up the memories,” he said. “But to lock up what you wanted me to, they had to come too. Unfortunately, that kept the memories close to the dark power. That made them easier to destroy and corrupt.”
“Where did that dark power come from?” Wraith asked. “It wasn’t always there, was it?”
At that moment, the church began to rumble and she saw shadows begin to emerge from the cracks in the stone floor.
Wraith’s blood ran cold and she took an unconscious step back. “The snatchers?”
“No,” Shadow said from behind her. “Not really.”
Wraith turned to see SK, Fritz, and Shadow standing beside her.
“These are shades born from fear, anger,” Shadow said, “and the power that feeds on them.” She shook her head. “A side effect of everything that’s gone so terribly wrong.”
“I’m tired of riddles and half-truths,” Wraith said. “Can’t you just tell me?”
“No,” SK said.
“It’s in here,” Nightstick said, tapping his chest.
“What is?” Wraith asked.
“The answer,” Nightstick said. “The truth, kept as safe as I could make it.”
Wraith looked from him to her friends and back. “Then give it to me.”
He sighed. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Wraith asked, her patience faltering.
“I don’t have the key,” Nightstick said. “I’m just the lock.”
Wraith opened her mouth, but then she figured it out. “There is no key, is there?”
He shook his head.
“I have to destroy you if I want to know,” she said. “I made it so it wouldn’t be easy.”
“We tried to talk you out of doing it that way,” Shadow said.
“You were quite stubborn about it,” Fritz said. “As you were about a great many things.”
“It’s okay, kid,” Nightstick said. “It’s time to put this old dog down. You’re ready to know. You deserve to know.”
Wraith looked at her friends, but none of them would look at her. She turned back to Nightstick. He took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, then pulled it open to expose a chest covered in horrible burns and scars.
She flinched away.
Nightstick glanced down, then nodded at the writhing shades. “Yeah, they worked me over pretty good,” he said, then smiled. “But I gave right back. You’d be proud.” He draped his jacked over the pew, then his shirt, smoothing them out. He drew in a slow breath, then turned to face Wraith. “Now, let’s do what needs doing.”
Wraith lifted her shaking hand, and without knowing how, the drill appeared in her palm. Only now it was clutched in her hand and the needle was facing out. She turned the drill to point at Nightstick.
No one moved. Even the motes of dust hung still in the air.
Wraith
closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t—“
“It’s okay,” Nightstick said, smiling sadly. “I understand.” Then he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward.
“No!” Wraith shouted and tried to pull back, but Nightstick held her fast.
The drill whirred and bit into him, but instead of blood, gray mist poured from him.
He didn’t make a sound, but Wraith shook with sobs as tears ran from her eyes.
“I’m sorry, doodle-bug,” Nightstick said in a voice that wasn’t quite his, and evaporated.
“Daddy!” Wraith yelled and fell to her knees.
Around her, the world shifted and the books began to shake on their walls. A large book, bound in black leather, sat before her, right where Nightstick had been standing. She stared at it through tear-filled eyes, terrified to touch it, terrified of what lay inside.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The book sat still, and after what felt like ages, Wraith reached a hand out. The cover flew open and the pages flipped to the middle, all on their own.
Memories rose up around Wraith, surrounding and enveloping her, then pulling her into them.
Wraith was cold, and the stone floor she sat on only served to drain the remaining warmth from her. She was hurting all over, and so hungry.
“Slipped away again?” Shadow asked.
Wraith blinked, pulling herself from the memories of the tormented dead that now resided in her head. She pushed the insistent voices back with gentle reassurances. She couldn’t speak, so she just nodded.
“Were you someplace nice?” SK asked. “Warm sandy beaches, all of us enjoying umbrella drinks and all you can eat buffets?”
Wraith shook her head. “No.”
When she opened her eyes, Wraith and her friends were still in their cage. The prison cell was little more than a spot carved from the stone all around them. The opening was a wall of bars and a door. She lifted her head, which was filled with lead, both from exhaustion and from the drugs the Order kept her on. She looked at her friends. Shadow, SK, and Fritz were pale, dirty, and wasting away from hunger. Toto’s emaciated form lay across Shadow’s lap, and she absently stroked his head.
Her stomach convulsed with a racking hunger. How many days had it been since she’d eaten? She could hear the screams, those outside her head, but she’d grown so used to them that their terrified cries of pain and desperation were just white noise. So many crying out, some inside her head, some outside; it was getting hard to tell them apart. And with every child the Order killed, the screams became worse.
“How long was I out this time?” Wraith asked, her tongue thick and unwilling to form words.
“Not long,” Fritz said. “Couple hours maybe.”
“Sorry,” SK said. “I forgot to wind my watch.”
Despite it all, when Fritz smacked SK’s head, Wraith smiled. A little.
“After everything they’ve done, you’re still a smartass,” Shadow said.
“It’s my indomitable spirit,” SK said. He lifted Fritz’s hand and kissed it.
Wraith fought to quiet the cries of the dead. It grew worse every time she passed out, not least because she always woke with more ghosts in her head.
“What did I miss this time?” Wraith asked, fighting back the nausea. She could hear new voices in her head, all of them confused, hurting, and terrified.
“Three more,” Shadow said sadly.
“Three?” Wraith would’ve cried if she’d had any tears left. Three more rituals performed. That meant thirty-nine more kids tortured and killed. Thirty-nine new souls inside her, not including her own. Part of her was glad to not remember.
“They’ll be back soon,” Shadow said. “I can hear them preparing the ritual room again.”
Wraith closed her eyes against the fear, and pain, and grief of so many, forever lost. But closing her eyes just made the screams louder and harder to block out.
“We have to get away,” Wraith said. She put her hands to her head to try and keep her skull from exploding. “It’s so crowded. I can’t take anymore.”
“That’s a novel idea,” SK said. “I hadn’t thought about leaving—”
Wraith winced as power surged through her, twisting her insides. Around her, the numbers and symbols churned in a frantic pace. She tried to form a coherent formulation, but the numbers couldn’t hear her through the screams and haze that filled her brain.
The heavy metal door at the end of the prison chamber opened and closed. In answer, hundreds of desperate voices cried out from the other cells. Most were small, calling for their mothers. The older kids had learned to keep quiet, but the little ones were always overcome by fear.
“They’re coming,” SK said and hugged Fritz tight.
“No,” Wraith said, her heart breaking at the fear on her friends’ faces. “I’ve got to get you out of here—” Her eyes drifted closed and she slipped into unconsciousness.
She woke to a slap.
“Not much time now,” Shadow said and slapped Wraith’s cheek again, staring hard into her eyes. “You’ve got to push past whatever they’ve got you on. You can do it.”
The door to their cage opened.
Wraith tried to push past the cold, the exhaustion, and the fear. She reached out for the formulations, clenching her jaw. One by one, the symbols began to move into place. Agonizingly slowly, the spell took shape and power trickled through the drug-induced fog.
“Nein!” Fritz yelled.
“Get off her!” SK shouted.
“Wraith!” Shadow said. “Wake up!”
Wraith looked up to see her friends being seized by figures in dark robes. There was a growl and Toto snapped at one that went for Shadow. The robed figure sent the big dog across the cell and into a stone wall. He hit with a whimper and fell to the ground.
“No!” Wraith yelled, or tried to, but no sound came. She groped again for her magic, but it slipped through her fingers.
The robed figures wrapped thin chains around the wrists of her friends, who were too weak and beaten to resist. It was up to her; Wraith was their only hope. But she couldn’t find the strength to even speak. Her body hurt everywhere and her head felt like a thousand spikes were piercing it. Reaching through the pain, ignoring the overwhelming sense of futility, she channeled the fear and desperation. She managed a meager formulation, drawing the symbols and numbers together.
“BANG!” she said.
The blow hit the lead figure in the shoulder, but he only staggered and stumbled into the cage door.
Someone backhanded her and sent her to the ground with the taste of blood in her mouth.
She was overwhelmed by flashes of other children’s memories: playing hide-and-seek, getting a new puppy, being shoved by a bully, police taking her parents away, her big brother being gunned down as a car sped away. These weren’t her memories, but she was the keeper of them now.
Wraith pulled herself back to the present. She was being carried down the long hallway of carved stone, as she had been so many times before. She saw her friends being dragged along by the chains around their wrists. The cells were quiet now. The countless cages filled with terrified and dirty kids, all of them staring at her with pity and relief that it wasn’t them. No one made a sound, lest they draw attention to themselves. Wraith closed her eyes.
“Please,” she whispered. “Not again.” How many of these rituals had they put her through? She remembered dozens. But how many had she forgotten, or blocked out?
A familiar fear welled inside her as somewhere in the distance, she heard the voices of the Order members in their preparations. Beneath that, she heard the muffled sobs of her friends.
Wraith went still. “Shadow?” Her voice was slurred, her mouth dry.
The voices stopped and she sensed movement around her.
She remem
bered where she was, what was going to happen. A sob seized her. “Why are you doing this? Not them, please.” She begged. It wouldn’t do any good, but she tried anyway.
There was a long silence.
“I won’t fight you,” she said. “I promise. Just let them go, please.”
“This is a gift, not a punishment,” the ritual master said.
His face was shadowed by his hood, but she could see the hard line of his jaw and feel his cold, dark gaze boring into her. A faint purple glow burned from his eyes.
“You will be the first of many,” he said. “You will bring back the past humanity has chosen to forget. The age of magic will return, thanks to you.” He smiled. “And with the return of magic, our master can claim this world as his own.”
Wraith tried to rub her eyes but something around her wrists kept her arms above her head. It was cold, and it bit into her soul. Panic, anger, and fear fought for dominance inside her. She was so tired. She wanted nothing so much as for the darkness to swallow her up for good.
Then she heard her friends crying.
She reached out for the magic. Not for her, but for them. She tried to pull against the bindings, but a sharp pain tore her from the haze and the calculations around her fell apart. Reluctantly, her eyes opened and her vision came into focus.
It was the same room—a huge cave actually—the same as so many times before. She was bound to the same stone table in the center of the same massive circle, sixty feet across. She turned her head one way, then the other, to the tables that were set around the outside edge of the circle. She saw her friends bound to three of them, and others, more changeling kids she didn’t know, chained to the other ten.
Voices cried out inside her, feeding her strength and power.
Her mind reeled, remembering the previous rituals, both from her own eyes, and from the eyes of the tormented hundreds who were now inside her. She didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. But others did.
The Forgotten Page 23
