Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles Book 2)

by Rob Blackwell

  But then it all went wrong.

  In the space of a week, she had gone from the front of the pack to the back. Kate and Quinn uncovered not only the identity of Lord Halloween, but every apparent detail about his activities over the past few years. Their scoop had been amazing—putting the Loudoun Chronicle on the map in a way that hadn’t seemed possible a week earlier.

  It had left Summer out in the cold. Her editors never upbraided her, never told her she should have had the story—and that only made it worse. She was like the proverbial KGB agent who messes up and suddenly finds himself posted to outer Siberia. No one at the Post ever got mad—they did something worse. They started ignoring her entirely. In the year since Lord Halloween’s death, she had only a handful of bylines in the Post.

  Of course they were angry. Why shouldn’t they be? Lord Halloween had been her story and she blew it. A part of her blamed Janus. It was stupid, she knew that, but his death had sent her into a tailspin of unexpected grief. If she hadn’t been so upset, she might have uncovered the truth.

  But even that was a lie she told to make herself feel better. Quinn O’Brion was Janus’ best friend and apparently he had no problem finding the real killer. Maybe he got a lucky break. Maybe Kate Tassel helped him with her blonde hair, dewy blue eyes and flashy legs. In the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was Summer’s job to get the story and she had failed.

  So why was she here now, at almost 9 p.m., near a deserted building that had probably not been visited since Lord Halloween’s death?

  Because she was going to be damned if she lost again.

  Quinn O’Brion was the Prince of Sanheim. She knew it. She felt it in her bones when he attacked the kid dressed up as the Headless Horseman. Maybe he had worked with Lord Halloween or maybe he had just caught a lucky break, disposed of the serial killer himself and then decided to create another local bogeyman. She didn’t know and didn’t care. Whatever his reasons, he was her man.

  After the interview, she had felt discouraged. Maybe her trusty reporter’s intuition had been wrong. Perhaps she had gotten played by an ex-girlfriend out for revenge. She could believe Quinn was the type to stray. She had seen how he looked at her. Men were all the same—commitment wasn’t in their nature.

  But the call last night had changed her mind. It had been the woman again—Elyssa. Only she claimed she wasn’t an ex-girlfriend of Quinn’s. She told an entirely different story than Quinn, saying that the man she had seen dressing up as the Headless Horseman was now stalking her. She said she was afraid for her life. Even more intriguing, she said she had proof this time—proof that Quinn was the Prince of Sanheim.

  She had refused to meet at her home, instead picking this location. Summer was so desperate she had agreed.

  As she waited in the dark and cool October air, she thought about what a dumb decision that was. She didn’t know anything about this woman. She had never thought of herself as particularly vulnerable—it had never occurred to her that Lord Halloween might target her, for example—but now she felt anxious. Quinn had insisted the woman bore him a grudge, and it was true that something felt off about her story. What if this was a sick joke?

  She had just made up her mind to leave when she heard movement in the forest. It was sudden and startling, the sound of something running rapidly around the side of the house.

  Summer didn’t wait to find out more. She had no intention of playing some kind of horror movie game where she wandered around the outside of an old house calling out, “Anyone there?”

  She walked the few feet back to her car, opened the door and got in. She put her key in the ignition and turned. For a moment, the car sounded like it was going to start, then she heard a horrible grinding noise and the engine failed to catch. Worse, she felt the car shake slightly, as if something were underneath it.

  “Don’t panic,” she said out loud.

  It was probably nothing. Elyssa probably had been delayed, the noise behind the house was just some squirrel and her car was perfectly fine. There couldn’t be anything down there. She was just freaked out. She pulled the key out, closed her eyes, and mentally forced herself to calm down.

  I’m fine, she thought. I’m fine. I’m going to open my eyes, put the key in the ignition and everything will be fine.

  She opened her eyes—and screamed.

  A figure stood in front of her car. She couldn’t make it out very well in the dark, but she could see enough to know it was holding a sword.

  She jammed her key into the ignition and turned, still expecting something to happen. But that same grinding came again.

  Without pausing, Summer grabbed her purse on the seat next to her and dug through it. She pulled out her cell phone, a brand new iPhone—a gift from her mom—and started dialing 911.

  When she looked at the front of the car, however, there was no figure anymore. There was nothing outside.

  She waited for the call to connect, hearing only static, hoping that maybe she was imagining things. There had been no figure, she told herself. She was just spooked.

  But even she couldn’t believe that. She knew who was out there, the Prince of Sanheim, and he meant to kill her. Her car was dead—how and when that had happened she had no idea—and her phone, she saw with growing dread, had no signal.

  “Why don’t you just come out and we’ll have a nice talk?” a voice called, and Summer screamed again.

  The voice didn’t sound right, whatever it was. It sounded high and low at the same time, as if two people were talking at once.

  Summer checked to make sure the doors were locked and then stared at her purse. She was alone and defenseless in the middle of nowhere. Or was she? Didn’t she have an old can of mace in her purse, the same one her mother had given her years ago when she went off to college? She had changed bags and purses many times since then, but she thought that had always made the transfer. “You never know when you might need it,” her mom had said. Though Summer had ignored her mother’s advice on virtually every other occasion of her life, she dug through her purse now and found she had followed through on this one.

  Her hand closed around a small cylinder.

  “Thank you, Mom,” she said quietly.

  She checked to make sure the doors were locked—and then screamed again when the back window shattered.

  She looked around frantically to see a figure coming around the side of the car, a sword in his hand. She scrambled to the passenger side as he came to the driver’s door and smashed the window.

  The figure stuck its head through. For a moment, she locked eyes with her attacker—and screamed. His face was a pale white, more like a corpse than a person. And the red eyes seemed to bore right through her.

  “Step out of the car now, Ms. Mandaville,” the thing said, and Summer instinctively flinched away, “Or I will become angry and unpleasant.”

  Summer unlocked the passenger door and scrambled to get out. She intended to make a run for it, holding nothing more than the mace can in her hand. But as she got out, she tripped, sprawling in the dirt. By the time she stood up, the thing was standing in front of her. She looked at it, gasped and looked away.

  “I know,” the thing said and the voice reminded her of nails scratching on a chalk board. “Not very pretty, am I?”

  A cold, white finger touched her cheek and Summer shrieked and pulled away.

  “Is this how you conduct all your interviews?” the thing said.

  “What?” Summer said. She forced herself to look at it.

  “I came here to talk and all you want to do is run away,” he said. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”

  “Okay,” Summer said slowly.

  What did it want? Would it help to play along?

  “Okay,” she said again. “Let me get my recorder.”

  “You don’t need it,” the thing replied.

  “Who are you?”

  “I think you know,” the thing said.

  “The Pr
ince of Sanheim,” she replied.

  The thing nodded and Summer fought not to look away again.

  “One of them, anyway,” it said.

  She had a moment to register confusion.

  “I’m here to offer you a deal,” the thing said. “I need a reporter and word on the street is you’re the second best in these parts. Or the third, depending on whether we count Kate and Quinn twice.”

  For an instant, she forgot her situation entirely.

  “I’m the best goddamned reporter in this county,” she replied evenly.

  The thing smiled—and Summer wished it hadn’t.

  “Glad to hear it,” it said, and she wanted to put her hands to her ears. The voice grated the more she heard it. “Here’s the deal. You’re going to write what I want, when I want you to. That article you were planning on exposing Quinn? That’s just the beginning.”

  “But he isn’t the Prince of Sanheim,” Summer said.

  At least she didn’t think so. She didn’t know what the hell she was looking at. Was it possible it was Quinn with makeup? She was far from certain of anything anymore.

  “Yes, he is,” the thing said. “And I need to dial up the pressure on him a bit, make him realize how precarious his situation has become. You publicly outing him is one way to do that.”

  “You have proof?”

  “I can manufacture some,” the thing said. “Enough to convince your editors. Maybe plant a little evidence to suggest he killed that banker.”

  Summer took a step backward.

  “But he didn’t, did he?” she asked.

  The thing looked surprised.

  “No, I would have thought that was obvious,” it said. “I did.”

  Summer took another step back.

  “So you want me to make up a story?” she asked.

  The thing sighed dramatically, almost comically.

  “Yes, my dear,” it said. “I do. And there’s plenty in it for you by playing along. I will give you story after story—more than enough to land you on the front page of your paper for weeks. I know every secret in this town and can help you publish all of them. You play ball with me and you’ll be a legend. That’s what you want, right?”

  She did want that. Badly. She didn’t know why, but she believed what the thing said. It was crazy, but some part of her felt the truth of it.

  “For the most part, this place doesn’t interest me,” the thing said. “I would prefer to burn it to the ground. But if you help me, you will be spared. I’m very kind to those who follow me.”

  “And Quinn?”

  “He has his options on the table,” he said. “He may join us—you two don’t need to be enemies any longer. Or he may oppose me, in which case you will have the singular joy of watching your nemesis utterly destroyed. Sounds like a win-win to me.”

  It did, didn’t it? She had to admit it—some part of her was tempted. For one, it seemed like the only way to escape here with her life. And she would enjoy watching Quinn getting his just deserts.

  But it wasn’t right and she knew it.

  “What is your answer?” the thing asked.

  “No,” Summer said suddenly, so quickly it surprised her. “I say no.”

  The thing looked taken aback.

  “I’m sorry,” it said. “I should have been more clear. If you refuse, you die. Right now. Join me and I’ll give you the world. All I ask in return is…”

  “My soul,” Summer said.

  Now that she had made her decision, it seemed obvious it was the right move. Work for this thing? No. Summer Mandaville was nobody’s damn puppet. The very idea enraged her. She couldn’t believe she had even considered it—even if only for a split second.

  “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” the thing asked. “We’re just talking about words on paper, after all. It’s not your soul.”

  “You’re not a journalist,” Summer said coldly. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  The thing still looked surprised. But as she watched, it slowly turned to anger.

  “Very well then,” it said. “There are other ways to pressure Quinn.”

  The thing brought the sword up from its side and strode toward her. But Summer was ready. She brought up her can of mace and sprayed.

  For a moment, she thought nothing would happen. The can was old and might have long since been defunct. But after a split second, it sprayed a white mist into the thing’s face and it started screaming.

  Summer didn’t wait. She saw the thing drop his sword and put his hands to his face, and she turned and ran.

  *****

  She didn’t have a plan. Instead, she ran into the woods, hoping to put as much distance between herself and that thing as humanly possible. She could still hear it screaming and the sound was almost more than she could stand. It seemed to echo throughout the forest.

  She plunged in without a sense of direction. If she had to, she could survive the entire night out here, wait until morning and then find help. Loudoun County was filled with forests, but none so deep that there wasn’t an exit somewhere nearby.

  But as she ran in the dark, occasionally stumbling, she had the disturbing sense that she was not alone.

  It couldn’t possibly be the monster she had just left—at least she didn’t think so—but it felt like something was running along beside her.

  She stopped to get her breadth. Summer tried to tell herself she was mistaken, but she wasn’t buying that. The only thing that had saved her so far was her intuition—and it told her that she was being followed. She gripped the mace in her hand, ready.

  She waited a minute, but still didn’t hear anything. The sounds of the thing back at the house had stopped, a relief but also more cause for worry. It would come after her, but how fast could it move?

  She decided to stop running aimlessly and instead walk as silently as possible. Even if there was something out here with her, she might be able to lose it.

  But as she moved, she heard something nearby. It didn’t sound human, but instead like an animal—a big one. Whatever it was matched her stride for stride. When she stopped, it stopped. When she started, it kept moving.

  Without thinking, she searched on the ground by her feet, picked up a rock and threw it in the general direction of where she thought the animal must be.

  Summer Mandaville had never been particularly good at sports, but her throw could not have been more perfect. It sailed through the underbrush, clearing multiple obstacles that should have stopped it, and connected.

  Summer heard a screech as the rock struck her target. She wasn’t sure what she hit, only that it sounded large—and angry.

  She didn’t have time to think, but started to run. Behind her she heard a hissing and then the sound of something in pursuit. She turned to look and in the moonlight saw a dark shape leap from the shadows, gaining on her.

  Summer emerged into a small clearing near a stream. Still looking behind her, she tripped and managed to regain her balance—but it was too late. The animal behind her leapt, knocking Summer down.

  As she landed, she rolled over in the mud and tried to bring up the can of mace. She sprayed—but the animal was gone again.

  She waited in the dirt, watching to see where it would come from next.

  She heard a soft rustling around her, as if it were circling her in the forest just beyond her sight. Her brain was processing the brief glimpse she had of the animal when it attacked. It looked like no animal she knew. It moved like a giant cat, but had thick fur like a bear.

  With her right hand still holding the mace, she felt around with her left for a stone or rock. When she found one, she held it—and waited.

  She saw a flurry of motion as the animal emerged from the woods, its eyes shining yellow in the dark. For just a moment, it stayed there and Summer saw it smile with a row of sharp, glittering teeth. Summer didn’t wait. She threw the rock with all her might, aiming for the creature’s large head.

  But fate was fic
kle. Just as her earlier throw had been perfect, the second went wide, landing nowhere close to the animal as it hunched down and prepared to pounce. Summer tried to bring the can of mace around, hoping to spray the thing as it landed.

  But she was too late. The animal sprang at her in a motion that was almost too fast to see and sunk its teeth into her hand.

  Summer screamed. The animal screeched in return.

  Then it grabbed Summer’s leg and dragged her into the underbrush.

  Chapter 24

  October 18, 2007

  Quinn pulled on his shirt even as the pounding on his door grew more insistent. When he opened it, Stu Redcliffe stood there, flanked by three police officers.

  “Quinn O’Brion, you’re under arrest,” Stu said.

  Quinn didn’t have time to register shock as the police officers stepped forward.

  “Please face the wall and put your arms behind your back,” Stu said.

  Quinn could hear Kate come out from the bedroom. She had quickly pulled on one of his shirts and an old pair of yoga pants. He calmly faced the wall of their apartment and put his arms behind his back.

  An officer stepped forward and cuffed him.

  He wondered briefly if he was dreaming—if this was yet another bizarre test of Sanheim’s. The cold, metal feel of the handcuffs made him realize what a forlorn hope that was.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Kate asked Stu.

  He handed her two documents.

  “This is a warrant for Quinn’s arrest and another to search this apartment,” he said. “We want to bring you down for questioning as well.”

  “For what?” Kate asked. “What are the charges?”

  Stu barely hid the smile from his face. Kate could see how much he was enjoying this moment.

  “For the murder of Summer Mandaville,” Stu said.

  Kate and Quinn looked at each other, astounded.

  “She’s dead?” Quinn asked.