by J L Bryan
“Michael!” I started toward him, but he held up a hand.
“Melissa,” he said, gesturing at the glowing red room. “Go.”
There wasn't time to argue—plus there wasn't much I could do for Michael immediately. He seemed afraid for his sister, like maybe Nealon would get careless with that shark-tooth sword, and I can't say I found his concern irrational.
“I'll be back,” I said, and chased after Clay and Nealon, leaving Michael, Jacob, and Stacey to tangle with the dangerous ghosts of Amil and Greta.
I charged into the next room, and was immediately shocked by what I found there.
For one thing, strange symbols were painted all over the walls in heavy blacks and reds, odd twisting shapes that resembled things I'd seen in old grimoires, sigils and signs meant for the summoning of angels or demons, raising spirits, and other dark arts. They were the same species of symbols that had been painted on the fireplace in the Gatwich Inn.
Much more disturbing was the woman tied up on the floor, right in front of the fireplace. She was bound and gagged, and she'd been blindfolded, but either that had slipped or she'd managed to rub it off against the floorboards, because she was watching everything with wide, frightened brown eyes.
She was also struggling, kicking, and grunting, because Clay was dragging her toward a huge fire in the fireplace. The symbols were drawn most densely there, on the bricks of the fireplace and chimney that seemed to list to one side, not exactly up to modern safety codes.
The fireplace was big, easily as big as my coat closet back home.
Big enough to burn someone alive if you wanted to.
“Unhand her!” Nealon said, holding out his shark-tooth sword. “I command you by the orders of the western watchtower, by the keepers of the divine waters—”
“You command me?” Clay looked amused.
He made a gesture, with the same hand that wore the emerald ring.
The tied-up woman levitated off the floor, like an old-time stage magician's trick; I half-expected him to run a hoop over her to prove there were no strings holding her up.
She went stiff with fear, as if realizing the impossible thing that was happening to her.
She was floating a few feet off the floor...and she was moving quickly toward the flames.
Nealon moved in on Clay, with the shark sword high, ready to strike at Melissa's throat.
“Don't hurt her, Nealon!” I shouted, trying to remind him not to harm Melissa, but he didn't seem to hear me, or maybe didn't care.
I ran toward the levitating lady—who, to her credit, was back to kicking and struggling now—and tried to pull her back from the fire, but some force, perhaps Amil, resisted.
I thought I could see what Clay was doing here. If burning a few rats had helped enable him to gain control of little Greta's soul and take it with him, then maybe a full-on human sacrifice would help him with something much larger...like controlling the horde of Peshtigo ghosts he'd brought here, hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand or more.
Nealon charged with the shark sword, but Clay danced aside easily. Even without any supernatural advantage, Melissa's body was athletic, well-trained in actual dance as well as sports.
A flame formed in the air above Melissa's fingers.
“By all that is holy, come out of this woman, you unclean spirit!” Nealon shouted.
As he said it, he splashed Melissa's hand with the flask of blessed water from the Chalice Well. This had been concealed in Nealon's non-sword hand; the attempted stab with the sword had apparently been a distracting feint, which had maneuvered Clay toward the holy water.
And, wow, how Clay screamed when that water hit him. It was like battery acid had been poured over his fingers.
The bound woman ceased to levitate all at once. I'd been trying my hardest to pull her back and away from the big fire; now she slammed into me, and together we crashed to the loose, rattling floorboards. She was on top of me, momentarily pinning me down.
Well, at least she wasn't on fire. That could change anytime, though, in this firetrap of a house. The previous room was probably already catching.
Clay held up Melissa's hand and studied it in shock. Steam rolled up around it, as if the holy water had burned him, though maybe it had just doused the supernatural flame at his fingertips and then turned to steam.
Regardless, something was happening, Clay was hurt, and Nealon was moving in as if for the kill.
“Wait,” I grunted, meaning to shout it out, but I didn't have enough air because of the lady lying across me. I pushed her off me, rolling her to one side. “Sorry,” I said, and I took a moment to pull out the rag that was gagging her mouth. She drew in a big, relieved breath.
I jumped to my feet.
Nealon's hand was already closing around Melissa's. The water hadn't just doused the flame and put a little bit of a hurt into Clay. It had also lubricated his borrowed fingers, and the ancient ring he wore.
Nealon pulled at the ring, and it came off easily. It had been designed for a man to wear, no doubt a man with thicker fingers than Melissa.
It came off too easily, in fact, and tumbled high in the air above both their heads.
I had to admit that Nealon's skills were finally impressing me here. I was beginning to understand why Lachlan had recommended him.
Clay was looking up, his borrowed eyes locked on the shining ring. He reached up with his dry hand, ready to catch the ring when it came down again.
Nealon was also watching, reaching, waiting.
I figured that if I tried for it, too, we might have a Three Stooges moment, colliding together and falling apart, and the outcome would be unpredictable.
So instead I lowered my head and charged, and I tackled Clay.
His hatred contorted Melissa's features as he glared at me. We crashed to the floor, and I pinned him down, bracing for the burn that would inevitably come.
“Eleanor,” he said. “You're getting in my way.”
“That's what I came to do,” I said. “And I'm all out of bubblegum.”
His features creased in confusion. Apparently he hadn't taken time to watch They Live since arriving in the modern world. Shame. Jacob would have gotten the reference.
The ring plinked as it hit the floor, Nealon having missed it. It rolled, but not toward us.
Nealon pursued the ring and stomped it down, flattening it to the floorboard.
Then he grinned.
“It's all mine,” he said. “The power. Thanks for putting it together for me, Mr. Clay.”
“Give it!” Clay snarled. He shoved me off, his hands burning hot, but he was too distracted to really put any power into his attack on me. He was saving it up for the exorcist.
A girlish giggling sounded in the air, and Nealon was shoved back against the wall. He was also, very suddenly, engulfed in flames, and he howled in pain.
“Greta!” I shouted. “Clay doesn't have the ring. You don't have to serve him.”
The giggling sounded again.
“I told you,” Clay said as we both got to our feet. “Greta's my new favorite girl. Who do you think set the fire in that hotel, when she saw Mother and Father arguing over Mother's old boyfriend? It was so easy to overturn candles and lanterns. Dear, sweet Greta loved watching them all burn. She loved it so much she giggled as she burned to death herself. A true kindred spirit.”
The girl flickered into visibility, a more fully formed apparition now, more horrific. The flames within her eyes burned brightly, and I could see the shape of her skull through her translucent skin. She flickered out of sight again as quickly as she'd appeared.
Clay and I raced for the ring. My foot, dressed only in a sock that had gotten quite dirty in recent minutes, reached it just before his hand. All I could do was kick it away, toward the door through which I'd entered the room.
That door had closed again. I realized then that it was on fire, too, along with a lot of the sagging, dry gray wood of the wall on either side of it.
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At least one fire had already started in that room before I'd left it, and there had been quite a lot of burning candles in there.
Judging by that door and that wall, there was a good chance the whole room had been filled with fire already.
“Michael!” I screamed, running toward the burning door. “Stacey! Jacob!”
I had to stop short, though, because there was no sense burning myself alive. The ring had rolled somewhere into the flames.
“That's all right, Eleanor,” Clay said.
I turned to where he stood over the burning form of Tucker Nealon, slumped and curled against the wall. The guy had fallen silent, and maybe died. I felt a shudder of horror and sickness at the idea, and fought against sudden dizziness. The poor guy. What a terrible way to go.
“I don't actually need the ring at the moment,” Clay continued. “All I need is to complete the sacrifice.” He grabbed up Tucker's smoking body and smiled. “You'll do.”
Then he pitched the man into the fireplace.
The flames spiked up when Nealon landed on them, probably amplified by Clay's ability. Fortunately, the guy was not conscious at the end, but Clay's casual choice to burn him to death sickened and infuriated me.
A scream filled my ears. It was the lady on the floor, of course. Another innocent life Clay was preparing to take.
I dropped to my knees and sawed at the rope binding her hands with a Swiss Army knife, so she would have some chance of escaping the burning house. I kept my eyes on Clay, who moved toward a window with no glass and a couple of skeletal shutters.
The burning door, and my friends who might be hurt or dying, lay in the opposite direction, right behind me.
“Come along, Eleanor,” he said, climbing up onto the creaking remnants of the windowsill. He kicked one shutter, knocking it completely off the house, then the other, creating a small doorway out. “You can save yourself. Simply leave your friends behind to feed my fire. I will carry pieces of them with me, always.”
Then he left through the window.
“You should go,” I told the lady, and I handed her my knife. “Cut yourself loose.”
I ran to the fireplace and pulled Nealon out. He wasn't moving, and I didn't know what to do about it. I could drag him across the floor, but I couldn't lift him up and out the window.
“Thank you,” the woman said, shaking as she cut herself free. “Have you seen my kids?”
“Kids? No, sorry, I don't know anything about that.”
“What...what is all this?”
“That girl is possessed by a dangerous old ghost who's managed to get drunk on power,” I said. I searched among the loose boards of the wall, looking for a halfway sturdy one.
“Ghost?” She frowned. “I don't believe in...”
“It's okay. You should head out that window. I have people to help this way.” I ripped a long board loose, took a deep breath, and charged at the burning door.
The old, burning door didn't so much swing open as break apart into chunks on impact.
The room beyond was filled with heavy smoke. I couldn't see anything. I shouted my friends' names and pointed my flashlight into the smoke, hoping to get some idea of where to go. I didn't hear any of them respond, though. For all I knew, the old roof trusses had already collapsed on them
A hand grabbed my shoulder, and I turned, ready for a fight.
It was just the lady, though.
“You shouldn't go that way,” she said.
“My friends could be in danger. I'll meet you outside, okay?”
“Then I'm coming with you. You people saved me. And, uh, I don't really want to go the same way that my kidnapper went. That girl is weirdly strong.”
“The girl is a victim,” I said, while looking along the burning baseboard next to the door. “She's possessed.”
“I don't understand, but okay.”
“We'll talk about it later.” My eyes found the glint of the ring. I grabbed it up, but it was extremely hot metal and burned my palm. I dropped it in my jacket pocket to cool off, and I smelled burning leather in there. “Can you go grab the exorcist's shark-tooth sword? And if there's any holy water left in that flask, sprinkle it on the blade.”
“You want me to...?” She shivered, looking at Tucker's facedown form, his singed cowboy hat next to his head. “The dead guy?”
I took a breath. She obviously wasn't accustomed to death being up in her face like this. “Never mind, I'll do it. Stand here and yell for my friends.”
The shark-tooth sword was partially trapped under Nealon's body, so it took a few precious seconds to pull free. I spent a few more precious seconds upturning the flask with the blessed water, and was rewarded with some drops on the front few teeth of the sword.
I wasn't sure whether this supposed “water weapon” was really going to be effective against Clay, but the water had sure helped, so maybe Nealon had a clue what he was doing.
Then again, I'd just taken these weapons off Nealon's dead body, so maybe he wasn't such a master at this stuff, after all.
I steeled myself as I plunged into the next room, calling for Michael and the others. The woman followed close behind me, shuffling numbly as if in shock.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
There was nothing to see but burning heaps of wood all around. I could barely even see those through the smoke, which grew denser and hotter as we advanced.
A floorboard snapped beneath me and my foot plunged through. The woman saved me, catching me under my armpits, a smart move considering my hands were occupied with the sword and my flashlight.
“Thanks,” I said, coughing as I regained my feet. My eyes were burning and watering, but I moved forward anyway, squinting them almost shut. I called my friends' names again.
My flashlight didn't reveal much, but I was using it to poke my way forward through the smoke, feeling ahead for burning furniture. Or people. I didn't see anyone, but I didn't trip over anyone lying dead on the floor, so that was something.
I had to hope they'd escaped already. If they were still in this room now, it meant they were unconscious or dead, because they certainly weren't making any noise. All I could hear was the greedy slurping of the fire, growing and spreading as it devoured the old wood.
We reached something solid—a wall, possibly an outer one, flames twisting through cracks and knotholes in the wood.
The smoke seemed thinner to my left, so I went that way. I was rewarded with the sight of some broken-down shutters, which I quickly smashed open with my tactical flashlight. Smoke rushed out around us, and I felt slightly cooler air on my face.
“You go first.” I holstered my flashlight and took the lady's hand, then helped her over the windowsill. I intended to turn back and look for my companions once she was in the clear, but I didn't want to tell her that.
Bangs and crashes sounded overhead, and big burning chunks of trusses and beams tumbled all around me. The roof was caving in. It was almost as if Clay had willed the house to come crashing down around me, to burn and crush me just when it seemed like I would escape.
If so—if he'd meant for me to die as my penalty for trying to recover the ring and my friends—he hadn't counted on his kidnapping victim. She'd already turned and reached across the sill to help me over, though she could have taken off and run for safety. When the roof came crashing down, she pulled me out of the way, out through the window and onto the porch. I'm not sure I would have survived it without her.
We staggered across the porch as the house's burning roof collapsed into the room where I'd been standing...then plunged right through the room's floorboards, the whole fiery mess going down into the cellar to create a big firepit.
“Keep moving!” the woman shouted.
She didn't have to tell me twice, or even once, really. The porch roof was coming down around us, almost as fast as the floorboards beneath us were going up in flames.
The porch looked oddly different, more intact, with no plants growing through br
oken boards. It really looked like a different building than the one I'd entered, but I didn't have much time to reflect on that.
We raced across the collapsing porch. I'd dropped my flashlight somewhere. I gripped the shark sword handle in both hands, like I assume a ninja or samurai probably would, and cut open a path through the burning porch railing.
We jumped to the sawdust street, and I barely managed to avoid skewering myself on the stupid shark teeth on my stupid weapon, which I had a feeling was going to fail me as badly as the Mati Price lullaby gambit had.
Regaining my balance, I looked back and saw the building continuing to collapse inward, the flames leaping higher. There was no chance of going back inside to search for my friends. There was no “inside” at all, really, just a giant pyre that had already spread to the trees around the house. My heart beat faster as the wind whipped the flames.
I hoped history wasn't going to repeat itself in the woods around Peshtigo tonight.
One burning building after another appeared, as if stage lights were coming up, revealing an immense but empty stage set. The wooden structures lit up the night around them, flames pouring out of their windows. Wooden walkways ran in front of them, and flames were climbing up between many of the boards.
“What is this?” the woman whispered.
“Time slip,” I whispered back, as we walked up the street of burning buildings, slowed by our uncertainty about which way to go.
“Don't tell me we went back in time.”
“No. It's a mass memory so powerful it can sometimes overtake the present.”
“Is it real?”
“I...don't know, honestly. But assume everything you see can kill you.”
There were no people in the burning town as we moved up the street. We'd been displaced in space, too, back to what French Street must have looked like in the 1800s, crowded with wooden buildings that had been turned into infernos, whipped up by the constant wind.
The ghosts of the town were recreating their experiences, reliving them again and again, as ghosts tend to do.