“It’s probably related to what I do.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything for several moments. Then, “So, you’ve Restarted,” he said. “How is it, having access to magic?”
I shook my head. “Not great.”
I told him what happened when I used my powers for the first time.
“Unfortunate. Too much at once, you think?”
“Definitely.”
He chuckled. “We got way off track there. Continue telling me about the Shadow Prophet.”
I half smiled. I hadn’t minded telling him about my past, and that surprised me. I was uncomfortable talking about that aspect of my life with pretty much everyone.
“He told me about a girl I would eventually fall in love with. He told me everything about her—the color of her hair, her favorite foods, boys she’d dated—er, courted.”
Porter grinned. “I know what dating is. What else?”
“He told me all about the different places where she’d live, and that we’d cross paths while I was a slave on the other planet.”
“So, he’s an actual prophet, then?”
“Yes. I think. I’m not sure. A lot of things he’s told me have come true, but many haven’t, and he also adds a lot of lies to manipulate me.”
“Such as?”
“He told me I would end up with Lizzie. That we would fall in love. That she’d be mine and I would be hers. He told me that over and over again until I’d fully accepted it. And then, when I asked when I’d meet her, when I’d finally leave that planet, he couldn’t answer me. I got frustrated, and he told me it didn’t matter because I would end up murdering her anyway.”
Porter glanced at me, a twinkle in his eye. “I hate to tell you this, but love and hatred frequently go hand in hand.”
“I’m not a murderer,” I said.
The moment those words were out of my mouth, an emotional war started inside me. Guilt and relief battling each other. Guilt because I really was a murderer. I’d murdered so many people. Not just the five innocent victims, but many, many evil ones too. I’d done it in such a way that it wasn’t legal, and so, it was technically murder.
The relief surprised me. Because when I’d said the words, “I’m not a murderer,” I felt deep in my heart that they were true.
I shook my head. It didn’t matter. In the eyes of the land, I was a criminal.
And I would fix that.
35
Realizing Porter was waiting for me to continue, I said, “He manipulated me nearly from the start. Telling me my family was fine and would be protected, all while planning on murdering them himself. I believed so much of what he said. I held on to it. He was my light, my candle in a horrible, horrible night.”
Porter stared out the windshield, a serious expression on his face. “I’m sorry for the heartache you’ve experienced.”
I didn’t respond for a moment. I’d known this man for maybe an hour now, and already, his apology felt more sincere than most things the vast majority of people said to me.
We didn’t talk much from then on, and it took us thirteen hours of straight driving to get there, with only a couple of pit stops for gas, food, and bathroom for me. By that point, it was three in the morning. I knew I would need rest before facing the Shadow Prophet. I’d driven straight from Florida, after all, without any stops to sleep before seeking out Porter and dealing with the Elder Thing. And yes, I’d replenished my tattoos when I’d used my powers, but still, it had been too long since I’d last slept. I wanted to go into this meeting fully prepared for any outcome, including the need to take my mom and run without stopping for several days. And so, Porter promised he wouldn’t go far, and I commanded my tattoo to let me sleep until it was full.
It took four days. In hindsight, I should have done it before picking up Porter, but Heather told me he was there, in the well, right then. I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to find him.
Regardless, Porter was hanging out, watching TV, in the hotel room.
“Ready to go?” he asked. “I hope so. You slept like a log.”
I rubbed my face and rolled to a sitting position. I actually still felt groggy—that wasn’t normal. It didn’t surprise me, though, given how much stress I’d been under. “Did I?”
“Yes. I watched TV the whole time you were sleeping. Not once did you stir, even when I shouted at the stupid people on the field.”
I gave him a half smile and got up to shower. He must’ve been watching a sport of some type.
I took my time in the water, trying to relax and let the kinks in my muscles work themselves out. So much hinged on whether Porter and I would be successful. My mom . . . I missed her very much. I hadn’t been able to spend any time with my family after I got rescued. He’d gotten to them first. I still wasn’t sure how.
“Let’s talk about the Shadow Prophet more,” Porter said once we were in the car again, and after I’d eaten.
My family home was an hour from the hotel, so we had plenty of time to talk before we got there.
“He’s pretty much invincible, as I told you. Nothing I’ve done so far has killed him.”
“What have you tried?
“Fire, guns, knives, choking, drowning—pretty much everything I can think of.”
“Who have you hired to help?”
“All sorts of assassins. None of them have been effective in any way.”
“Were any of them dead?”
I shook my head. “Nope. You’re the first.”
“Well, let’s hope I’m able to break the trend.” He patted his hip, where he kept one of his revolvers holstered. “These babies work just fine, even though I’m not alive.”
“Do they work against living people?”
“No. But they do kill ghosts. I’ve had to use them several times. Once a lawman, always a lawman.”
I wonder what happened to the people he shot. Did they die permanently? And if not, what happened to their spirits?
Porter indicated for me to continue.
“The house is surrounded by multiple spells.”
“What kinds?”
“Forgetful charms, mainly, since they’re the easiest to create. But also protection ones—the kinds that stop anyone but the person who is supposed to enter.” I glanced at him. “Be glad you’re already dead.”
“That bad, huh?”
I nodded. “Those deaths weren’t ones I’d ever like to see again.” They’d involved barbwire, acid, and boiling tar. “Once inside, he has all sorts of henchmen.”
“Living or dead?”
“Both, as far as I can tell. Many of them have died when I’ve attacked, but many have not. And when they do die, they still serve him.”
Porter glanced at me. “Interesting. I wonder how he arranged that.”
“I assumed it was common for loyalties to continue after death.”
He shook his head. “If this guy is paying them, the moment they die, they no longer can use most payments. In my experience, the vast majority of ghosts don’t choose to continue working for their former bosses. In fact, I haven’t seen it happen before except once or twice, when love was involved.”
“As in, they bargained for love?”
He shook his head. “No. They were protecting ones they loved. Love goes beyond the grave—it’s one of the most powerful forces out there.”
“Hence him being able to manipulate me.”
Porter glanced at me. “Exactly. But anyway, in order for him to get them to continue working for him, he either has close relationships with them and their loved ones, or he’s done something else. A strong magic of some sort.”
“Could he be manipulating them too? If their family was still alive when they died?”
“Of course. But that’s still an awful lot of people to control. Assuming he has a lot of goons working for him.”
“He does. A lot. But either way, he’s powerful. Very powerful. And well connected. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’s been able
to use magic on his henchmen.”
Porter nodded, but didn’t respond for several moments, and I forced myself to relax against my seat. It was nice not to be stressing about Lizzie, though I shouldn’t have felt so comfortable about it. My job, after all, was to protect her. But being away from her for as long as I had already—about a week now—helped me slip into the steady emotional rhythm I’d reached before I’d finished the fifth target.
Before Rachel, I’d been able to forget about Lizzie off and on. I’d successfully tucked her to the back of my mind where I preferred she stay until I could address her situation directly.
That wouldn’t happen until after the Shadow Prophet was dead, though. I couldn’t afford to let my feelings deepen for her in the meantime. Or die completely—I really didn’t want to kill any more innocent people. Of course, I’d said that before. But this time, I sensed a change in myself. Maybe having hope—through Porter—made the difference.
“What happens when you go through the spells?” Porter asked.
“Nothing really. It’s gross feeling, but painless.”
“That surprises me. I figured he’d be the type of person to make you weaker. Or at least to remind you of your relationship with him.”
“He does. When I get past the spells, I’m blind for several seconds.”
“Yes, that’s more what I expected.”
“I have to stand there, vulnerable, until I can see again. That part is where all the living people I’ve brought with me have died. And yes, I’ve been able to bring living people through. But again, because they’re blind once they get inside the house, they’re unable to defend themselves.”
“I believe you should be able to pull me through, and because I’m a ghost, I can be invisible to them so they won’t know to kill me immediately. I do have to wonder if I’ll be blind too.”
I shrugged. We’d be finding out soon enough.
“What happens once you’re in the house?” he asked. “Is it different every time? Do you see new henchmen or old? Does he or his men greet you at the door?”
“It’s always the same. I don’t see anyone for the first while. I go to the fridge, put a certain vial of magical essence inside it, and shut the door. At that point, he’s always standing on the other side.”
“What about his goons?”
“They don’t generally show up unless I fight. But they’re always watching too.”
“Good to know. I have to tell you, I can’t shoot when I’m invisible. I don’t know why. Maybe because it requires a bit of physicalness.”
“How long will you need to be visible before you can shoot?”
“The moment you can see me again, I’ll be pulling triggers left and right. And as soon as that fridge door shuts, your Shadow Prophet will have several bullets in him.”
Good. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, glaring out the windshield. It wasn’t the most complicated plan I’d tried, but my better ones had all failed.
Please work this time.
36
Ten minutes later, the farmhouse came into view. “You should go invisible now,” I said, “In case anyone is watching.”
“Good idea.”
Porter disappeared, and I was alone. To the physical eye, at least. I knew he was there—I could still sense him, and that made me feel better.
Knowing he could hear me, I said, “Take my hand once I put my backpack on, and I’ll pull you through the spells.”
A few moments later, I pulled into the driveway at the farmhouse. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, gathering my wits, my courage, and my determination.
I was ready.
Knowing Porter would follow, I hopped out of the car and gently picked up my backpack from the back seat, sliding it on. I always treated it with extreme care when a loaded vial was in it. Not just because I’d worked hard to get that vial and couldn’t replace it, but because of the precious life it represented.
And then I casually put my hand out for Porter to grab, feeling when he did so. I glanced back at the car, pretending to lock the doors, but really just wanting to make sure none of Porter was visible. Because that hand felt very tangible.
Only his hand was visible, and it was hidden almost completely by my own.
I tried not to shudder at the feel of that hand. It was slightly squishy. Yum.
Keeping my hand casually at my side, I reached the first of the barriers and started through, grimacing at the disgusting squeegee-like slug feeling. It wasn’t hard for me to get through because I was supposed to be able to, but I sensed it as Porter got to the first barrier. It took a bit of tugging, and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to pull him with me, but with a squelching feeling, he popped through.
The rest of the barriers went much the same way, and we reached the front door without any complications.
I opened the door, closing it behind us, then waited for my eyesight to return, releasing Porter’s hand at the same time. I trusted he would be there, ready to attack.
Once my eyesight returned, I stepped across the room to the fridge. My heart jumped into my throat, choking me, making it hard to breathe. I hadn’t been nervous like this in a long time.
I knew what the stakes were. If I couldn’t stop the Shadow Prophet right then, my mother and I would both suffer.
He wouldn’t kill my mother. I was sure of that. But he would make her life absolutely miserable, and mine as well in the process.
How was I sure he wouldn’t kill my mother? Because if he did, he’d lose his last bargaining chip. There wouldn’t be another way for him to manipulate me.
My goal was still to keep my mom alive, despite my reasoning. She was my last living family member, after all.
I opened the fridge door, slid the backpack off my shoulder, and pulled the empty vial out. I had many of them. After breaking one in my nervousness to kill the Shadow Prophet’s first target, I’d insisted on him giving me several for each target.
With a deep breath, movements slow and sure, I placed it on the top shelf. Before shutting the door, I hesitated as I always did. Regardless of the knowledge that Porter was there to fight, to kill the Shadow Prophet, every cell in my body screamed about the usual routine—seeing the heads of my family.
Cold sweat broke out and dread made my stomach turn to acid when it occurred to me that the Shadow Prophet had probably Seen all of this ahead of time.
I cursed myself for not considering that. He was a prophet, for crying out loud. He’d know if I was planning on killing him the moment I made the decision. What sorts of preparations had he taken against Porter? I should have slept those four days before picking the dead man up, not after. They’d just given the Shadow Prophet more time to prepare.
It was too late now, though, to backtrack and regroup with a better plan. There was no way I could warn Porter without the Shadow Prophet knowing.
As ready as I ever would be, and with that knot growing in my stomach, I shut the door. As expected, the Shadow Prophet was standing there.
Porter flashed into view, his guns already out. He shot with both hands.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
With a bright flash each time, Porter emptied both of his five shooters into the dead man standing opposite him.
The bullets hit the Shadow Prophet. He slammed backward into the wall behind him and fell to the floor.
I held my breath. He didn’t move. Had it worked?
Stepping to him, I prodded him with my toe, aware of Porter quickly reloading in the background.
No response.
“Oh, my gosh,” I whispered. Was I actually free of him?
I refused to allow myself to hope just yet. Still, this was the first time he’d ever not gotten up after I’d attacked in some way.
Before I could think further along those thoughts, the Shadow Prophet’s henchmen started pouring into the room with guns and knives, ready for a fight.
I jumped to the corner of the room, wanting a wall behind me, and pulli
ng my own gun in the process.
Soon, the sounds of bullets flying echoed through the room, making my ears ring. Luckily, most everyone focused on Porter, giving me plenty of clear shots to take down as many of the living ones as I could while he focused on the dead ones.
Unfortunately, Porter only had ten bullets between the two of his revolvers.
I was amazed, though, when he made the most of those bullets. Each of them found a separate target. And each of his targets fell to the ground, dead. Impressive. Very impressive.
A huge pile of bodies started forming in the middle of the room. Soon, the henchmen stopped rushing us and began resorting to more cunning means. Like attacking from outside.
Porter and I both reloaded. I assumed everything was quiet, but with my ears ringing so badly, I couldn’t hear even a loud whisper.
The windows shattered. The front door flung open when men rushed through it, banging into Porter, knocking him to the side. He kept his guns in his hands, but several of the attackers were able to shoot him before he could defend himself.
The man stayed on his feet, though. I wasn’t sure how—those bullets had come from dead men’s guns. They should have killed him as much as his bullets were killing the ones he was shooting. But still, he was standing.
More assailants attacked, and I turned my attention to them, picking them off through the nearest window. Where were they coming from? Did the Shadow Prophet have an unlimited supply of henchmen? It seemed to be that way.
The attacks from outside started slowing, and Porter and I reloaded again.
“Uh . . . What’s going on with the dead bodies?” Porter asked.
I glanced at the pile in the middle of the room and froze. The bodies were bubbling, melting, seeping through the wooden floor to the basement below.
And the ones that had fallen on top of the Shadow Prophet were moving, shifting away from him.
A sinking feeling made my stomach drop. Instead of the acid at the back of my mouth I’d experienced earlier, now I felt lightheaded and dizzy, as if I’d lost a lot of blood in a short period of time.
The bodies continue moving, revealing a very angry Shadow Prophet. The expression on his face made my blood freeze. I panicked, wishing I’d run to find my mom while I had the chance, while Porter was distracting the men.
Shadow Prophet (Midnight Chronicles Book 1) Page 15