Night Latch

by Anela Deen

  And after he was cut down, I would have to preside over his death.

  “Alice,” Sam gently interrupted the silence again. “It’s going to be okay.”

  A welcome flash of irritation burned off some of the sick feeling in my stomach. “Are you trying to comfort me?”

  “You seem upset.”

  “I am thinking, not fretting.”

  He glanced between me and the road uncertainly. “So, you’re not? Upset, I mean?”

  “Should I be? All life is marked for death.”

  “Yeah, but I think we can agree the idea that I’d lived half my life by age eleven isn’t ideal.”

  I gripped the handle of the door and tried to pull myself together, unreasonably irritated with him. “Whether it occurs in a week’s time or in seventy years, the end is the always same. What’s the difference, really?”

  Sam’s tone hardened. “The difference is those seventy years are supposed to be mine and I’d like to live them. Does this really not bother you at all?” A desperate sort of demand entered his voice. “I know you’re accustomed to people dying and it’s hardly a novelty, but after everything we’ve been through, I thought I was—I thought we were at least—” He cut himself off. His jaw tightened, and though it seemed he would resume, he did not.

  I was relieved. His next words were obvious. Friends, he had intended to say, I thought we were at least friends, but friendship had no use here. Distance befit our respective roles in this matter. He was going to die. I’d known he would one day, as I’d known the responsibility of drawing his soul from his tattered mortal frame would fall on my shoulders, but I had not expected its arrival so soon.

  Better for him to think it meant nothing to me. If he knew, if he had any inkling of the loneliness that gripped me when I imagined watching him pass on while I stayed behind, he might be tempted to linger in between. I might be tempted to let him, and then what would become of my redemption? In truth, he should not wish for my friendship. The practice of my affection had always been a selfish one.

  We drove in silence then until Sam pulled into the small lot alongside a park settled close to the residential streets. Swing sets shared space with an elaborate, primary-colored playset of platforms and slides. There was a picnic pavilion set father back alongside a large sand box with toddler-sized diggers.

  Nothing but the wind moved among any of it, but in hopes of breaking the quiet between us, I asked, “I understood these missing children were twelve, correct?”

  He shifted the truck into park. “Yes.”

  “This does not look like a place that would interest boys of that age.”

  Sam followed my gaze, careful not to meet it, and shook his head. “Not the playground, but maybe the water tower up the hill.”

  I leaned down to bring the sight of its huge, round tank into the view of my window. It sat atop five long, metal stilts, easily several stories tall. Painted white with a blue strip proclaiming “Bellemer”, it did indeed seem to promise a view for miles. A ladder, covered by open bars, reached from the ground to the open deck which surrounded the tank like a metallic belt.

  Squinting, I said, “I don’t see anyone up—”

  Sam descended from the truck without a word and jogged toward it. Annoyed with me, it seemed. He was entitled. I hadn’t handled our conversation particularly well. With a resigned sigh, I got out and followed.

  The snowy hillside proved difficult to slog through, and I did not appreciate the company of the freezing wind scraping my cheeks. When at last I reached the base of the water tower, Sam had circled it twice.

  “Footprints in the snow,” he said, inspecting the ground. “Sneaker treads, too, not boots.”

  I wiped moisture trickling from my breeze-irritated eyes. “Why would they wander out here with insufficient footwear?”

  “They might be wearing their Christmas presents. The Sandersons don’t have a lot of money, and their dad told me they’d been saving up for some big-name sports shoes the twins were begging for.” He walked over to the ladder and toed a sheet of metal lying in the snow. “And someone’s taken off the ladder cover.”

  I craned my neck to look at the deck again. Once more, I saw no one. “You believe they’re still up there? They could’ve come and gone.”

  “Maybe. The cold can make the lock on the entry grate stick, especially with how old it is. The kids might not have been able to get it back open.”

  “How did they open it to begin with?”

  “City maintenance crew has a hiding spot where they leave the key. Practically everyone knows where.”

  “What is the point of a lock if anyone can get ahold of the key?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a small town.”

  “You say this with troubling frequency.”

  He dug into his jeans and took out his phone, keys, and wallet. “There’s a utility closet they might be hunkered in up there.” He held the items out to me. “I’m going to have a look. Hold these for me so I don’t drop anything on the way up?”

  He kept his face turned toward the ladder as though contemplating the climb, but I knew better. The miserable wind felt all the colder in the absence of his warm regard. Despite my earlier determination to insert distance between us, the reality of it stung unbearably.

  Just as my indifference must have done to him. No wonder he’d tried to evoke an emotion from me. How must it have felt to hear me dismiss what awaited him, as if the thought of someone extinguishing his life meant nothing? Another regret to carry with me? No, I would not allow it.

  I held out my hands for Sam’s things and closed my fingers tightly around his when he moved to deposit them.

  “It’s not true, what I said,” I told him quietly. “I only wanted it to be true.”

  His gaze searched mine. “You wanted me to think you don’t care? Why?”

  Because to care was terrifying. Indifference seemed superior to fearing for him, worrying and hoping for his well-being, for his happiness and his success, when I had no control over any of it. But that would be a lie, and to lie would fracture our partnership. Our…friendship. Any benefit of indifference paled in comparison.

  Perhaps Sam could read all this in my silence, for the distance vanished from his gaze. He gave a melancholy smile.

  “I’m scared too,” he whispered, then stepped close and pulled me into a hug.

  It still took me by surprise, but didn’t startle me this time. Though I had my hands pinned between us, clutching his things, I leaned into him, pressing my temple against the collar of his coat.

  “Don’t be afraid, Sam,” I said after a few moments filled only by the quiet winter day. “Death can be a painful horizon to cross, but it will pass.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any way around it? Just because Jo saw it doesn’t mean it’s unavoidable, right?”

  “There is no certainty where free will is involved.” Not really an answer to his question, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

  “Maybe this is about my mission, the thing I’m supposed to do and the reason I have this, er, gift.”

  “It’s possible. I have not seen what’s in store for you. I’m beginning to believe that’s intentional.”

  “If it does happen,” he tucked his chin to my shoulder, hands gripping tight, “will you be there?”

  The words to reply almost didn’t come. “I am always there,” I said, “when life ends.”

  ***

  Sam had reached the top of the ladder when his phone rang. Unfamiliar with these devices everyone seemed to own, it took a moment to determine the front from the back before I located the screen proclaiming the identity.

  Jo.

  The call Sam had been waiting for. I glanced up at his distant figure opening the grate—which naturally offered him no resistance regardless of its sticky lock—and made a decision.

  I flipped open the phone and put it to my ear. “Yes, Jo?”

  A gravid pause came from the other end.
“Who is this?”

  “I am called Alice.”

  Nothing, then, “That’s not your true name.”

  She surprised me with that. I wondered what her witch-attuned senses told her.

  “It is the name I use.”

  “Where is Sam?”

  “Sam is otherwise occupied at the moment but has been awaiting your call. I will relay your message to him.”

  “I’m not telling you anything. For all I know, you could be an enemy. Sam’s never mentioned anyone named Alice.”

  “But he has spoken of his mentor, correct? I am she.”

  Now it seemed I’d surprised her. “If you’re his mentor, he must have told you what I’ve seen?”

  “He has.”

  “Then you’ll understand I need to take precautions before giving this information.”

  I refrained from sighing. “Tell me how to convince you.”

  A faint creak from the ladder well guided my eyes back to Sam. Above, on the deck of the water tower, two new shapes had joined him. I took a handful of steps back for a better view and saw their smaller statures. The children. So, his instincts had proven right. He had a hand on each of their shoulders and appeared to be talking to them.

  “Sam has several thrillers on his bookshelf,” Jo said, drawing my attention back. “Which is his favorite?”

  I snorted. “Please, those are recent decoys he picked up. If he doesn’t have his face in a regency romance, the closest he gets to a thriller are the paranormal cozy mysteries he’s branched into.”

  A return snort came from the other end. “He reads cozies now?”

  “The Happily Forever After series.”

  Jo unsuccessfully tried to hide her laugh. “Him and his happy endings. Okay, I believe you.” Her tone sobered. “When I spoke with Sam last, I told him I would ask my coven elders about the symbol he found charred into the patio of his house. They recognized it as a hex. It matches the kind used by the Hunters and is typical of their first attempt at completing a job.”

  I exhaled slowly. “Then it is as was feared. Those of the Arcane threaten him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who are these Hunters? Can we not trace our enemy through them?” I’d heard of them, naturally, as I had ushered on the souls of their victims, but I little about how they did their work.

  “The Hunters are rogue warlocks expelled from their brotherhoods,” Jo said. “They’re more shadow than flesh by the time they earn a place among the assassin guild. We’ll never find them, but they might move on if a project proves more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “How can we inspire them to do so?”

  “A strong line of defense. I’m sending some help while I work on locating who initiated the contract, but my…friend will need a few days to get there. I’ve told Sam to salt his doorways and windowsills, and any other symbols he finds like the one this morning, but he’ll need more than that. Is there anyone close by who knows wards, or can lend him any protection charms?”

  I almost said there wasn’t. Then I remembered and tipped my head back in utter dismay. Oh, Moreau was going to be insufferably gleeful to see me walking in human form and needing his assistance to boot. Maybe I could just foist that errand off on Sam…No, better not. He had the bartering instinct of a bumblebee.

  “I’ll see that’s it’s done,” I told Jo. “Explain this first attempt. It was not a direct confrontation.”

  “No, Hunters don’t like drawing the attention of mainstream law enforcement with a physical attack. They know covens like mine have contacts within police departments to warn us when there are signs of their presence.” Jo’s tone grew concerned. “But neither is it something to ignore. That symbol is like a curse to those who live upon the stones to which it was branded. It draws catastrophe.”

  “Catastrophe,” I repeated, my gaze darting back to Sam high above. He’d ushered the children to the ladder and they’d already begun their descent. He followed after them. A low groan issued from the well. “Like accidents?”

  “Exactly like accidents, things that others would explain as wrong place, wrong time. A blown tire leading to a deadly crash, or a faulty elevator cord snapping.”

  Or an unlucky fall.

  I started back toward the ladder. “Jo, you are certain of the date of Sam’s death? It will not come sooner, correct?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m hesitant to have him repeat the spell without me there to contain it.” A pause. “Why?”

  A metallic grinding started up, like rusty screws straining in their sockets. The outer shell encasing the rungs shuddered, and one of the children shouted in alarm. They were halfway down. Still too far to survive hitting the ground.

  A motorcycle engine roared and I whipped around to see the bike tear out of the playground parking lot. It was the same one as before. The same dark clad rider, but he was leaving. Why would he do that unless…

  “Is there another way they could attempt this indirect approach?” I asked tightly. “Besides the brand Sam found?”

  “There are a hundred ways, especially if they had access to his personal things.”

  “Such as his truck?”

  “It can’t have been owned by another person, so not that. A hex can’t bind itself to a stolen object either. It would have to be something specifically his, something that is only Sam’s and used often, but discarded. An old hairbrush, a favorite mug that broke—”

  “A pair of worn out jeans he tossed?”

  Startled silence. “Yes. They’d only need a few fibers. If they could plant that on him, he’d carry the hex with him everywhere.”

  “Plant on him where?”

  “His pockets most likely. It would look like nothing. A ball of smelly lint.” Jo’s voice rose. “Alice, what’s going on?”

  “I have to go.”

  “What—”

  I snapped the phone closed.

  They would’ve done it in the driveway where I’d pursued the footsteps. Sam had followed me out there. Could the prints I’d first spotted out the window have been a lure? A way to get Sam outside to plant the hex on him? But if that were so, he’d have found it when he emptied his pockets before climbing the tower.

  His coat pockets. His pants had others. Coats could be removed, but he wore jeans all day long. Anyone who’d observed him would know that in quick order.

  A hard jolt went through the ladder. Metal screeched, then snapped. A length of the outer guard broke off just below the section they climbed.

  “Alice, look out!” Sam shouted.

  I moved aside in time to avoid where it smashed to the ground. I bent down and located one of the screws. The metal was smooth, the grooves stripped clean and red with rust. An accident waiting to happen, that’s what it looked like. Wrong place, wrong time.

  At least forty feet up, the children had halted their descent, hunching their bodies against the rungs as if that would keep them safe on a ladder that was coming apart.

  I hollered up to them, “You must keep moving.”

  The boy higher up listened immediately, but his brother stayed where he was, one arm slung through the rungs, blocking the way.

  “I’m scared,” he wailed.

  “If you remain, you will fall,” I bit out. Not exactly reassuring but far better than the frustrated tirade that sprang came to mind.

  Unfortunately, my urgent command had the effect of frightening him further. “My shoes are too slippery from the snow,” he cried, brightly sneakered feet cemented to the rungs. “I can’t.”

  Sam had reached the top most boy and twisted to see the child below. “Everything will be fine, Noah. This thing is just a little old,” he called in a tone that was somehow both gentle and convincing. “Besides, if you fall, my friend Alice will catch you.”

  Catch him? My mouth silently formed the words as I shot an incredulous look up at Sam who returned it pointedly. Ah. Encouragement was our strategy.

  “Yes, I will catch you if you slip,” I
confirmed, and placed myself directly below him, adding, “Come now. It’s cold and your parents are surely waiting.”

  “Mom and dad are going to kill us,” the boy—Noah—said, sounding as anxious about that as he had about the descent, but at last he unglued himself from his position.

  The ominous rattling from the ladder grew steadily worse the closer to safety they got. The boys, apparently buoyed by my promise to serve as their net, moved faster than before, scarcely two rungs apart. Sam followed closely behind. Something small but hard bounced off my shoulder. I scooped it up. Another screw. Several others I hadn’t noticed pockmarked the snow.

  It occurred to me suddenly that even if the date of Sam’s demise remained the same, without protections against this hex, his proximity would threaten others. His family and friends. These children. Catastrophes rarely affected only a single person.

  “Sam, stop,” I barked. To my chagrin, all three obeyed. “Stay where you are until the children get down.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “We must…spread out the weight. As you said, this ladder is old.” I couldn’t be sure how the hex would react if he tried to rid himself of it. Wiser to separate him from the children first. I motioned to the kids. “Boys. Continue.”

  Thirty feet.

  Twenty.

  I began to hope they would arrive without further incident, my body relaxing a degree. Then a clang sounded far above. Just as Noah’s brother Ethan lifted one foot and one hand to lower himself another rung, the ladder jerked violently, as if someone had reached down and shaken it. The timing seemed precise. The boy slipped with a shout, missing the rung he’d intended to grab. His feet stomped down on Noah’s gloved fingers below him. Noah snatched his hands away on instinct. It threw him off balance. He flailed for purchase.

  And fell.

  I found myself lifting my arms, bracing to catch him instead of stepping out of the way. I didn’t have time to ponder the action. The world pulled the child down with incredible speed.

  He collided against me like a boulder. His upper back impacted my chest. His skull split my lip. I stumbled backward, trying to hang on to his narrow, wriggling frame. The snowpack gave under my heel, folding my ankle the wrong direction. Pain shot up my leg like a lightning bolt and I hollered an ungraceful stream of curses as we toppled over. I managed to cradle the boy’s head against my shoulder before we hit the ground. Surprisingly, the snow that had betrayed my step offered a cushioned landing. Fickle.