“I belong with the dead,” she said.
Quinn looked at her and a strange premonition passed over him. He put his arms around her.
“God, I hate it when you say that,” he said.
She struggled to clear her mind, but she could still hear the sounds of the battle. She heard a cannon fire, the blast as it shook the earth, and then shouting. A hail of bullets seemed to come through the trees.
“Why is it that men always seem to glorify these battles?” she said to try and push the sights and sounds from her mind.
“When did I do that?” he responded.
“It’s not you, it’s the entire South,” she said. “All the towns around here still hang on to this conflict like it just happened. It’s almost wistful—as if they wish they had won.”
“Maybe some people do, but I don’t think that’s the issue for most,” Quinn replied. “You’re forgetting the enormous cost of the war. More soldiers died in the Civil War than all other American wars combined. People don’t recover from that kind of devastation easily, least of all the towns where the war was fought. Most of the soldiers who died were farmers and young kids—people who had little to do with the larger issues at stake. They were simply fighting for their homes.
“It would be better if people didn’t romanticize the Civil War for lots of reasons, or gloss over the moral abomination of slavery. But I understand why the towns around here still talk about the war. It’s not just people who have a past that haunts them—places do too.”
*****
October 23, 2007
Quinn sat at his desk trying to concentrate on work.
Their boss hadn’t talked to him or Kate since the night he came over. Quinn almost expected the police to show up and haul them both away—whether to a jail cell or a padded room, he had no idea.
Although he had put up something quickly for the website last week, Quinn had taken his time writing the full-length story on Summer yesterday. The police had declared her death an accident, the result of a random encounter with a wild animal. Sheriff Brown knew better, of course, but he was keen to avoid the panic that would result if another death were attributed to the Prince of Sanheim.
The national media, who had been obsessed with Lord Halloween, and the FBI, which had almost defiantly stayed out of the action last time, were sniffing around now about yet another killer on the loose. To date, Brown had managed to insist the situation was under control. The only death that was attributable to the Prince of Sanheim was Robertson, and it wasn’t quite enough for either CNN or the FBI to be involved. Mandaville’s death was carefully swept under the carpet, and for once, Quinn had every intention of going along with the cover-up. He knew too much about what was really happening to try to report on it.
In the meantime, Quinn sat at his desk with his stomach roiling, feeling like something was twisting in his gut.
What would happen if Sawyer made good on his threat to attack Leesburg? Would Quinn be able to stop him? And if he couldn’t, how many people would die? All those deaths would be on Quinn’s conscience. Lord Halloween had targeted Leesburg long before he knew Quinn. Sawyer was only here because Quinn and Kate were—and would attack the town because they had refused to step aside.
A shadow fell over his desk and Quinn looked up. Gerri, the front-desk receptionist, stood there.
“A gentleman popped in to give you this,” she said brightly. “Are you okay, honey?”
Her terms of endearment always sounded so sweet and innocent.
“I’m fine, Gerri,” Quinn replied. “Thanks.”
She handed Quinn a small envelope, the kind of card you attach to a Christmas present, and then walked away.
The front of the card was not addressed. Quinn turned it over and looked at it, but it had no distinguishing features—it was white and nondescript. Yet he had a feeling of dread as he opened it. He took out the card, also plain and white, and opened it up.
“Ashburn,” it said. “Tonight.”
*****
Quinn walked over to Kate’s desk, where she quickly finished her phone call. He handed her the card.
“So it’s starting,” she said.
I’m going to see if I can find out more from Gerri, Kate thought. I want to know who gave her the card.
Quinn nodded and she walked to the front of the paper. At least that was something, Quinn thought. Whether it was the ice cream or the Civil War battlefield, Kate finally seemed to have snapped out of her funk.
Kate came back and gestured to the kitchen. They walked over to make tea. They could have used their mental connection, of course, but they tried not to do so for long conversations in public. It had a way of drawing even more attention to them.
“Guy came in wearing a hoodie and glasses,” Kate said. “But judging from Gerri’s description of his general height and build, I’d say it was Kieran.”
“Which leaves us with two possibilities,” Quinn said. “He is legitimately warning us…”
“Or he’s leading us astray,” Kate finished. “It’s a distraction and Sawyer will attack somewhere else.”
Quinn thought for a moment.
“I’m inclined to believe him,” he said finally. “We know someone was trying to give us clues about the Prince of Sanheim—the graffiti on the wall.”
“And the hoodie and glasses get-up also describes who those two kids met,” Kate replied. “So you think Kieran’s actually on our side?”
“It’s possible,” Quinn said. “But why would he warn us? Why help us decode the book?”
“Sawyer seems to have a thing for mind games,” Kate replied. “This could just be one of them. Make us trust Kieran, then have him betray us.”
Quinn grabbed a chair nearby and sat down. He was looking at Kate, but his stare was far away.
“It kind of fits though, doesn’t it?” he asked. “All the other moidin seem to be just sheep. They worship Sawyer. They are attuned to his every emotion. Kieran, on the other hand, is clearly Sawyer’s right hand man, but doesn’t appear to like him very much. Or at least is pretending not to. In the car, he seemed to be baiting Elyssa.”
“So who is he?” Kate asked. “And why would he be helping us now?”
“There’s one other thing,” Quinn said. “I wonder if he was the one who left the book in Zora’s room.”
“For us? How would he even know we would find it?” Kate asked.
“No idea,” he said. “But when Sawyer asked how we found the book, Kieran looked distinctly nervous.”
“Does that also mean he killed her, or was at least there when she died?” Kate asked.
“I thought that too. He could have killed her. We know nothing about him. We know almost nothing about any of them.”
He swore under his breath.
“We’re going to get our asses kicked,” he said finally.
“Way to think positive, Quinn,” Kate said. “I’m sure that’s what Washington said when he crossed the Delaware.”
“I’m trying to be realistic,” Quinn said. “Let’s assume this tip-off is real. What then?”
“We go to Ashburn to fight him,” she replied.
“Them, not him,” Quinn responded. “It’ll be him and Elyssa at least. Exactly what the moidin do I have no idea, but there are easily three dozen of them.”
“I’m not worried about them.”
“You should be,” Quinn said. “They won’t be standing around cheerleading.”
Quinn had a sudden ridiculous image of a squad of Sawyer’s moidin doing exactly that. One of them was yelling, “Give me an S. Give me an A.”
He looked at Kate.
“Did you put that image in there?” he asked and pointed to his head.
She smiled. “What’s that spell? Sawyer!”
“Very cute,” he responded, “but I’m serious.”
“So am I,” she said. “They really don’t matter. Cut off the head and the beast dies. No matter what, we go for Sawyer. The rest are a dis
traction.”
“Risky,” Quinn said.
“So was facing the Headless Horseman by yourself,” she responded. “You did great.”
“If by ‘great’ you mean I barely survived.”
“You’re here, aren’t you? Besides, what choice do we have? Unless you want to start campaigning around the office for a few followers of our own. I’m sure Helen would join right up.”
“Fine, I’m game,” Quinn said. “But what about you? Three days ago I was almost worried you were going to jump off a bridge.”
Kate sighed.
“I’m still nervous,” she said. “But it’s time to move past this. We’ll find a nearby cemetery and plant ourselves there. I’m hoping that maybe I can…”
“Am I interrupting something?” a voice behind them said.
Kate and Quinn turned to find Tim standing behind them.
“Could I see you in my office?” he asked.
Quinn shrugged and the two of them followed Tim back. When they entered, he shut the door.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“You want my story idea list?” Quinn asked. “Or did you mean something else?”
“You know damn well what I meant,” he replied. “Whenever I see the two of you huddling, I get anxious. Very anxious. Something’s up.”
Quinn reached into his pocket and handed Tim the card. He read it impassively before looking up.
“What’s happening tonight?”
“We don’t know,” Quinn said, “but it’s not good. The people who killed Summer are planning something.”
“Have you warned the police?” Tim asked.
“I’m not sure you get it,” Kate responded. “The police won’t be able to stop this.”
“Stop what, exactly?” Tim asked.
“We don’t know,” Quinn said.
“No offense, but you seem to say that a lot,” Tim said. “Lives are at stake and you don’t want to at least warn people?”
“We can stop it,” Kate said.
“Really? You sure about that?”
“No,” Quinn said.
“There seems to be a difference of opinion,” Tim said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Quinn replied. “What would you tell the police? That you heard a crazy person might be attacking Ashburn tonight?”
“It’s a start,” Tim replied. “You have to stop thinking you can handle this all on your own. Let others help.”
“The Loudoun police weren’t what I had in mind,” Kate replied. “They didn’t help us much with Kyle, as I remember.”
“Doesn’t make them all bad,” Tim said. “We don’t have to do this officially. I can let Brown know we had an anonymous tip that something was up.”
“It could just make the situation worse,” Kate replied. “The police won’t be ready for what they’re facing. Might make more sense to have the fire department ready.”
Tim looked sharply at her.
“Why is that?” he asked.
“It’s just…” she trailed off. “When we met this guy, he threatened to ‘burn’ Leesburg. He could have said level it, attack it or any number of things. Instead, he said ‘burn.’”
“Plus, I did some reading the other night about a town called Crail in Scotland,” Quinn said. “That’s what happened there about 70 years ago when residents defied these people.”
And something must have happened about 30 years ago—another Prince of Sanheim was defeated then—but Quinn still could find no record of it. The absence of any public clash bothered him. He felt like he was missing something.
“Really?” Tim asked skeptically. “These people burned a whole town 70 years ago?”
“Last time you didn’t believe us, you ended up shooting my girlfriend at point blank range. And yet she’s still here. You want to test us again?”
“Not particularly, no,” Tim responded.
“Good,” Kate and Quinn said together.
“It doesn’t matter,” Tim said, waving his hands. “Unless you’re going to physically restrain me, I’m going to warn Brown. I won’t have some murderer running loose near here and not do a damn thing to stop it.”
“Fine,” Kate said. “Just remind them that there are two players in this game. The ones who attacked Maggie Frank—and the ones who saved her.”
“I’ll remember,” Tim said. He waved to the door in a gesture of dismissal and got on the phone. Kate and Quinn walked out.
“What are we going to do?” Quinn asked.
“Now?” she responded. “We wait.”
Chapter 27
October 23, 2007
Kate had a plan. After so many days of feeling paralyzed, it was a relief to finally be thinking again. After talking with Tim, she and Quinn headed home. She pulled up maps on Google Earth and printed off the best location.
“There,” she pointed at a small clearing near a church.
“You still think the key to this is graveyards?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s the only place it’s worked before.”
“You transformed in this apartment,” he said. “And at the Loudoun Castle. I don’t think that’s tied to a cemetery.”
“Maybe not, but spirits are,” she said. “I don’t know where else to look.”
He nodded.
“Then that’s where we’ll go,” he said.
*****
Kate stood at the edge of Ashburn Presbyterian Cemetery, pacing back and forth.
Near her, the Headless Horseman sat in the saddle of his horse motionless, unyielding. He might have been stone instead of decayed flesh. He betrayed no hint of anxiety or fear. He only waited.
Kate envied him. Not for the first time, she wished she could turn into the Headless Horseman. Instead, she was… what? She kept pondering the question over and over again. Tonight was the time to find out.
In a second, her reverie was interrupted. The Horseman’s steed flicked its ears toward the west and for the first time in several minutes, the figure moved.
They are coming, the Horseman said in her mind.
He turned and faced the woods.
She could sense them now, moving down the Washington and Old Dominion trail with incredible speed. The path was long, running for miles through Loudoun, Fairfax and Arlington counties. It also went right through the heart of Ashburn, giving Sawyer’s band a chance to avoid most major roads—and whatever police presence there might be—and launch themselves into the heart of the local population.
Go, she thought. Stop them before they can hurt anyone. I’ll follow you in a moment.
The Horseman leapt from his spot and galloped through the trees directly toward the trail. He covered the ground remarkably quickly, but whatever was out there moved nearly as fast. The Horseman burst out of the forest to find three animals had already run past him along the trail. He wasn’t sure what they were, only that they ran at a lightning pace.
The Horseman galloped to catch up. He sensed one of them looking back and starting to run even faster. The Horseman kicked the sides of his horse for a burst of speed and gained ground. The three beasts kept glancing behind them, with one finally darting off to the left side, while the other two went to the right. They cut back in a circular motion, effectively surrounding the Headless Horseman, racing around him in a circle.
The creatures were unlike anything he had ever seen before. They were large, about half the size of a grizzly bear, but their faces and haunches were closer to a puma. When one opened its mouth, he could see rows of sharp, fanged teeth.
If a person had seen them, he or she would have reversed course and started running.
But the Horseman laughed as the three beasts raced around him. He brought the horse up short, dismounted and drew his sword.
The first one jumped so quickly, an observer would have never seen it coming. But the Horseman’s lack of traditional eyesight had advantages. He sensed it before it leapt, and when it did, he swung his left arm t
o knock it away.
The second animal flew at his back in the same blurred motion, knocking the Horseman to the ground. As it clawed at him with razor-sharp talons, he reached a large, gloved hand around its neck, grasped the thing by its shaggy fur, and threw it with all his force. There was a thump in the grass and a whimper.
As he stood up again, the third creature hit him with a frontal assault. It was a fatal mistake. As it launched itself, the Horseman dodged to the side and brought up his sword, slicing the thing in half. There was a sharp cry as it slumped to the ground.
The Headless Horseman let his laugh echo throughout the surrounding forest and turned to remount his horse.
*****
Kate was agitated.
The Horseman was out there fighting and yet nothing she did made a difference. She tried to transform and nothing happened. She tried to call the dead, but heard only faint whispers. Something was wrong. Only a few minutes in and her plan was already falling apart.
In her mind, she saw him ride after the three beasts. She wanted nothing more to than to join him, but what good could she do? She was just the same Kate Tassel she always was.
She knew she could be more. Sanheim had said it and she had turned into Kyle in her apartment. It had all been so easy when she helped kill Lord Halloween last year.
Sanheim said she was holding back, but she didn’t understand how to let go.
From far away, she heard the sound of music. After a moment, she recognized the sound: someone was playing a flute. She thought of the symbol in Crowley’s books.
She heard a yelp—the sound of an animal in pain—and then a familiar cold laugh. Once upon a time, it would have filled her with dread. Now it just made her smile in spite of her frustration. Quinn had won whatever fight he was in.
She saw him ride off toward the sound of the flute. She was dangerously aware of time ticking away.
She kept thinking about her conversation with Sanheim. She had to embrace what she was, but what was the key to it all?
The moment her mind seized on it, she was interrupted by the sound of screaming in her head. Kate dropped to her knees and clutched her head.
Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles Book 2) Page 27