by Simone Pond
“What? Don’t tell me a car accident.”
Eli stared ahead and focused on the road, so I opened the book and grazed my fingers over the raised dots on the pages, concentrating on the words. I could feel Eli’s pain sitting in the space between us and my heart ached. His hands gripped the leather steering wheel. Whatever had happened to his parents must’ve been bad. The dark storms of grief shouldn’t be weathered alone. But I understood. More than I wanted to.
The tires whooshed on the road in a continuous stream, letting me know we were on the highway heading to the other side of town. I continued reading in the stillness of the cabin, until I finally came upon something.
“Interesting,” I said.
“Hmm?”
“In addition to being able to call down lightning from the heavens, you have the ability to heal. Not wounds or anything like that. More like resuscitation. So if someone gets knocked out, you can jolt them back to life. Pretty cool.”
Eli released a long breath. “That would’ve been nice to know two years ago.”
He didn’t need to elaborate to let me know he was referring to his parents. Things got quiet again. Our hardships begging for attention. But I knew going there was dangerous. I had been to the bottom of my grief hole. Over the last few days, I had climbed out of the impenetrable darkness and I didn’t want to return. Not when I knew there was a purpose for the pain.
I risked what could’ve been a heart-smashing rejection and reached out to touch Eli’s arm. “Maybe you didn’t have these gifts yet. I didn’t receive mine until after the car accident. Hardship might be the thing that triggers them.”
The car jerked a bit.
“I thought I was the one with the live wires for fingers,” he said, laughing.
Leaning over, I kissed his cheek.
“You trying to get us killed?” he teased.
Eli pulled off the highway and turned left. He continued driving in silence, slowing down as the roads became more curvy and bumpier. The air carried a musky scent, riddled with mildew and dampness. We were near a creek. Something smelled fetid and rotten. Like this was a place where animals came to die.
“Backwoods,” he said.
“I can smell it …”
He slowed down and pulled over onto some gravel. “Before we go any further into this, we need a solid plan.”
“We’ll go sit at the bar, order something, and casually ask the bartender if he knows anything about local protest groups. That we might be interested in contributing to the cause. Meanwhile, I’ll listen for familiar voices, while you look for anyone wearing black t-shirts that say Coastview ain’t for sale. And any men carrying those half-face motorcycle helmets.”
He laughed. “Well, that narrows it down to everyone at the bar.”
“Okay, just look for t-shirts and listen for anyone talking about the vote on Monday. It’s a shot in the dark, I know. But I’m used to the dark.” I smiled.
Eli leaned across and kissed me gently. Nothing dramatic or mind-blowing, but enough to send a charge through my insides. How could I be utterly smitten with someone I had just met a day prior? I kept going with the cliché that things happen for a reason even though that isn’t something you want to hear when your parents died in a tragic accident.
“The first sign of danger, just get up and leave. I’m serious, Sibyl. No messing around. We just walk out and go straight to my car.”
“What could possibly go wrong in a motorcycle bar on the shitty side of town?”
Eli didn’t laugh as he pulled back out onto the road and drove toward the Sons of Cain.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sibyl
When I got out of Eli’s car and stepped into the gravel parking lot of the Sons of Cain, the stench of rotten garbage that had been cooking in the sun knocked me back.
“You sure you’re ready?” Eli asked.
“Not really, but the sooner we get this over with the better.”
“You keeping the sunglasses on?” he asked.
“Something you should know about me, Greased Lightning, I never take these things off. Except when I go to sleep.”
He held my hand; sparks jettisoned between our fingers. “So not never?”
“At night. When I’m asleep.”
He took a few steps forward into the blackness. I was relieved I could actually see him, and not only because he was gorgeous, but because fear was starting to cut off what small amounts of rancid air I was able to breathe in. Up to this point, we hadn’t encountered any of those evil Spirit Handlers, but once we crossed the threshold into the bar I knew the reign of peace was over.
Eli creaked open the door, and we stepped into a life-sized ashtray. Grungy music blared from some crappy blown-out speakers. This was a place I can only describe as a pit stop on the way to hell. Inside, hundreds of the black oil slicks slithered about. And though I was impervious to their touch, that didn’t mean they didn’t freak me out. Among the patrons, most were shadowy figures with flaming red, green or yellow coals burning at their core, while others had liquid fire churning in their bodies as though the lava fueled their very existence.
“You okay?” Eli whispered.
“Maybe,” I replied, deciding to close my eyes and keep them closed for the remainder of our stay.
At the bar, Eli assisted me to one of the stools and sat right next to me, maintaining physical contact with his knee and elbow. Being in this hell hole together made it a little less daunting.
“You sure you’re in the right place?” The bartender’s burly voice rumbled across the bar.
I squinted open one of my eyes to see if I could detect any of those evil Spirit Handlers lingering about the man. He was just a shadow. Not even the faint twinkle of a spirit. Like Chief Pike, he was void of anything.
“Just stopping through on our way to a concert. Was hoping to get a drink. Two Hamm’s, please,” I said.
“Mm hmm,” he grumbled.
A minute later, he slammed down two glass bottles in front of Eli and me. The skunky aroma pinched my nostrils. Cheap beer. I hoped I wouldn’t have to endure too much of it.
“Thanks,” I said, holding up my bottle and tipping it back.
We sat quietly, sipping our beers and listening. A lot of pool balls smacking against each other, glass bottles shattering on the floor or in trash-bins, and men bragging about cc’s, but no talk of the multiplex or city hall.
Without asking, the bartender slammed down two more bottles, taking away the almost empty ones. I was catching a buzz off the cheap beer, since my tolerance was zero.
“What concert?” he asked.
Not incredibly confident in my ability to concoct a feasible lie, I stayed quiet and let Eli take the floor. “In all honesty, we just wanted to get some drinks.”
The bartender let out a chuckle. “I figured as much.”
“Coastview is a little uptight,” I added.
“Like the sunglasses look,” he said.
“That’s my paranoid bird,” Eli said.
I expected the bartender to let out another chuckle, but he stayed quiet, shuffling around bottles and glasses.
“Speaking of Coastview, have you heard anything about the big vote on Monday?” I asked in what was probably the most ineloquent transition of all time.
“Vote?”
I set down my beer and played it casual. “The multiplex development. It’s causing a big uproar in town. Old timers don’t want it. Lot of people protesting. We’re thinking about joining a protest group. You know, join the cause.”
The bartender came over, snatched up our half-finished beers, and tossed them into a bin with a clang. “It’s getting late. Probably best if you head out now.” It sounded more like a warning than a suggestion.
Eli helped me off the stool and thanked the bartender. We were definitely on the right track, but where it led was unknown. As we headed toward the door, I noticed a familiar smell. Citrus and something stringent. Orange juice and grain alcohol
. The scents competed with one another as they swirled up my nostrils. I turned to follow the aroma. Across the bar, a woman with yellow fire churning at her core shouted at one of the male patrons. It was the same rude woman I encountered at the information desk at city hall the previous morning. This explained why she was so remarkably unhelpful. She was in on it.
“Hurry,” I whispered, tugging Eli’s arm.
We made it safely outside and back to his car undetected.
“What was it?” he asked, shutting his door.
“I saw the same evil thing I saw at city hall. The lady at the information desk. She’s in on it. I think we should stay here and follow her when she leaves. She could lead us to the others.”
Eli laughed. “She just has some sort of cabal sitting around waiting for her somewhere?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’ll lead to something else. No coincidences, right?”
Eli rested his head back on the seat. “What if she stays in there all night?”
“She won’t.”
“And you know this because?”
“Because she’s drinking grain alcohol. She’s gonna get tossed out or leave in a drunken stupor.”
He reached into the glovebox and pulled out the book I had been reading earlier. “I guess I better figure out how to control the lightning then.”
***
Eli read. I kept my gaze aimed toward the bar, watching for the lady of yellow fire. As Eli turned each page, the minutes ticked by. I touched my watch. Nine o’clock and she was still inside. How was she still standing up? A couple of cars rolled into the parking lot, along with a few roaring motorcycles. Their revving engines thundered like an avalanche, vibrating through my bones.
Around ten, I texted Aunt Ruthie to let her know I’d be late and not to wait up. When she didn’t text back, I figured she and Pike were either deeply enthralled with their movie or passed out, or … well, I didn’t want to entertain any other thoughts. One less problem to worry about.
Finally, at ten past eleven, the yellow-flamed lady scuttled out of the bar with a man who had all sorts of evil orange lava oozing through his body. My neck prickled.
“That’s her,” I whispered to Eli.
He glanced over toward the couple. “They’re getting into a truck.”
“Let them pull out, then follow. Okay?”
His blue eyes glinted and his usual smile had been replaced with a straight line. “You absolutely sure about this?” he asked.
“I’m not sure about anything. But I met that woman at city hall, and she’s here tonight. It’s not a coincidence. And at the moment, this is our only lead. If we can link her to the protestors, we have something solid to bring to the city manager or the police tomorrow. Whatever makes the most sense.”
Eli brushed his fingers through his hair. “Okay, then.”
“Okay, then,” I said.
Without another word, he started the car and crept out of the parking lot, keeping a safe distance from the truck. Eli gave me the play-by-play along the curvy backroads. When the truck pulled down a path, he kept going straight for a bit, then pulled off to the side of the road and parked.
We got out of the car and walked along the uneven dirt path toward where the truck had driven. The crickets chirped in orchestra. A cool ocean breeze swooped down from the hills. I shivered, squeezing Eli’s hand. I caught a whiff of burning wood.
“Smell that?” I whispered.
“Bonfire,” Eli said. “Let’s get off the road and into the trees so we’re less conspicuous.”
We crunched through the dry leaves, making our way toward the smell of burning wood, beer and synthetic apples. Perfume. Lots of it. Like someone had taken a perfume bath.
“Looks like they’re having a little soirée of their own out here,” Eli said.
“How many?”
“About ten. A little hard to get a count.”
“Let’s get closer. See if we can hear anything,” I said.
“Not sure we’ll hear anything useful, but I know you’re not backing down. So come on.”
He gripped my hand and we crept deeper into the woods. It wasn’t our footsteps breaking the stillness of the night, it was the high shrieks of laughter and bottles smashing. The women sounded like wild cats as men growled and moaned. I didn’t need my vision to discern what was going on. An outdoor orgy or maybe a sex ritual. Gross. We crouched next to a large tree and waited in nauseated silence for them to finish up their business.
We waited until my legs burned from crouching, but we gleaned absolutely no information. I touched the face of my watch and tapped Eli’s arm, motioning to go. But he held up his finger, shaking his head.
A couple of guys meandered in our direction to relieve themselves. We’d have to wait.
“Your lady is a wild little thang,” one of the guys said, laughing as he released a stream of urine into some nearby bushes.
The other man let out a huge sigh as he unzipped his jeans and let loose a torrent. “Yeah, she bottles it up all week, then lets loose like a goose on the weekend.”
“Turned out to be a real prize hog, huh? Helping us out and shit. You gonna keep her around after Monday?”
“Thinkin’ ’bout it. She’s a firecracker waitin’ to blow, that one,” the dude laughed and zipped up his jeans.
“Gotta give her credit, helpin’ us with the biggest blood sacrifice this town has ever seen. Deserves a little reward,” his friend finished off and zipped up.
“It ain’t up to me. Up to the boss.”
The two men ambled their way back to the party. Eli pulled me up, and we sprinted through the woods. Our detective work had paid off!
“Blood sacrifice?” I panted.
Eli pulled me into a jog and said, “Now we know. Let’s get the hell out of here. We’ll go to the police first thing in the morning. The bomb squad will take care of it by Sunday afternoon, and everything will be resolved before anyone gets near the city hall to vote on Monday morning. You did well, Sibyl.”
“But a blood sacrifice. This goes way beyond your typical terrorist attack. Can the police even do anything?”
He kept pulling ahead, holding my hand tighter. “This is exactly what my grandmother’s books were talking about. Supernatural warfare. It’s straight up evil.”
The truth sank in like an anchor lowering to the bottom of the ocean. This wasn’t some filthy rich developer riling up trouble in town. This was demonic.
We made it safely back to Eli’s car, and he opened the passenger side door for me. When he ran around to his side to get in, something clunked his skull with an iron-clad thump. He dropped out of my sight. I started to run over to him, but stopped short when I felt the metal barrel of what I assumed was a gun pressing against the base of my skull.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sibyl
The trigger cocked back and the clicking resonated through my ears. Definitely a gun. I raised my hands and pressed my stomach against Eli’s car. Was he dead? Or did they just knock him out? I choked from the dryness of my mouth.
“Always wear your sunglasses at night, sweetheart?” a leathery voice cooed from behind me.
The question was rhetorical and answering it would probably result in a bash to the head, so I opted for silence.
“She must think she’s a movie star or somethin’,” chortled the other man who stood over on the side of the car where Eli was standing just seconds ago.
The hollow of the man’s body burned with a green fire and he had malevolent eyes to match. He dragged Eli’s still body across the pavement and dumped him alongside the road with a resounding thump. No other noises exuded from Eli, and I assumed the worst.
I was alone.
The man with the gun patted me down, his fingers digging deep into the waist of my jeans and under my t-shirt into the cups of my bra. Finding nothing, he then yanked me around and pressed my back against the car. When I turned around, before me stood the evil man who had left the Sons of
Cain with the woman from city hall. The orange glow of lava oozed through his body and his eyes burned with white hot flames. Once again, my neck prickled.
“Let’s go, Hollywood,” he ordered.
“Which way?” I murmured.
“Where I’m pointin’. You blind?” He laughed to his friend.
“Actually, I am.”
“Take off those sunglasses,” he said.
I pulled back the sunglasses onto my head and kept my eyes open, holding my chin up high for the fiend to get a good look.
“You’re that girl from the accident,” he said, the orange lava bubbling up inside him.
The green one came around, getting inches from my face. “I ain’t never done a blind gal before. This oughta be fun.”
I put my sunglasses back on, and with the gun pressing against my back, they shoved me along the road. Not a single car whooshed by. Even the crickets stopped chirping. We walked a little ways, then turned left onto a driveway. Were they bringing me back to that bonfire? I wanted to be brave. And maybe I could handle two of these fiends on my own, but an entire group was doubtful.
We stopped walking.
“Gimme a hand,” the orange one told his friend.
They grabbed at my waist and legs, hoisting me up, then tossed me into the back of a pick-up truck. The one who had been aiming the gun cinched a rope around my waist and secured me to something in the back. The doors slammed. The engine coughed and started, and we jounced haphazardly along the road, the cold wind whipping my hair in every direction.
Every bump in the road sent me airborne, followed by a slam against the floor of the truck bed. Loose metal objects clanked and rattled at every curve. Since the morons didn’t bind my hands, I patted around for something to use as a weapon. A few sharp objects pricked my fingers. Some nails, bolts, and a bunch of screws. None of those items were very helpful. But maybe there was a tool box in close proximity. I stretched out as far as the rope would allow toward the heavy object clanging around at the very back. I lay down and reached out with my legs until my sneakers came into contact with a box. Score! Spreading my legs, I positioned the tool box between my feet and cinched them together. Slowly, I bent my knees, sliding the box closer.
