“Flashlights!” York shouted. “Quickly!”
One by one, flashlight beams appeared, cutting through the black. They swept across the walls of the factory, illuminating shattered windows and abandoned equipment.
“Spread out. Someone get those lights back on,” York said, then he gestured to shotgun lady and pointed at me. “Watch the heathen.”
Her flashlight snapped toward me, dazzling me with its beam. I squinted and turned away, trying to peer into the dark. My heart hammered in my chest.
Glass crunched underfoot as the cultists started to spread out through the room. With weapons drawn they moved to peer into corners and secure the exit corridor.
The factory gave another metallic groan. Several flashlight beams swept up toward the roof. I caught sight of several more patches of electric blue on the steel overhead.
“Stuckey,” I hissed. He’d disappeared amongst the shadows of furniture and cultists. “Where are you?”
“Quiet,” shotgun lady snapped. “Get down on your knees and keep your mouth shut.”
A scream rose up on the far side of the factory. An instant later it became a gurgle, and then silence. A flashlight beam disappeared. There was a thud as something heavy hit the floor.
Flashlights darted toward the scream. Several of them were shaking. I caught sight of a pair of legs on the ground sticking out from behind a table.
The next cultist didn’t even manage to scream. There was a grunt and a clatter as a body fell against an old cart. Casters squeaked as the cart rolled away.
“Light protect us!” one cultists shouted, her voice breaking. A moment later there was a faint hum, and a hiss, and a thud, and silence.
I dropped to my knees, just like shotgun lady told me to. But as soon as she spun away to stare in the direction of the commotion, I started shuffling along through the dark, heading in the direction I’d last seen Stuckey.
I had a pretty good idea what was happening. And I knew I didn’t want to stick around for it.
“Stuckey!” I hissed again. I spotted a rotund shadow crawling away from me between the tables and the legs of terrified cultists. I could hear glass crunching beneath his weight. “Stuckey, wait.”
“There!” a cultist screeched. A half-dozen flashlight beams snapped toward the sound.
I saw it, then, between the shadowed shapes of the cultists. Only for a moment. But I saw it.
It was humanoid. Sort of. Its arms and legs seemed too long for its body. It was as if someone had taken a blurry picture of a man and stretched it out in Photoshop.
It had no clothes. And, I realized, no skin, either. I could make out bone and ligaments and musculature across its body. But everything was gray and indistinct. It seemed to become even more hazy towards its extremities. I couldn’t make out the lower half of its legs. It was like I was watching it on a badly-tuned TV. Flashlights seemed to dim as their beams hit the creature.
I lifted my eyes upward, toward its head. That took effort. Real, physical effort. It felt like my soul was being sucked out through my eyes.
It had no face to speak of. Just a gray, shadowy head. And two eyes that shone like the full moon on a cloudless night. Its gaze swept across the room. As it passed over me, I felt every ounce of feeling inside me grow cold and numb.
Then it moved. It was a blur, a smoky streak across the fabric of reality. I lost track of it for a moment. So did the other cultists. Their flashlights darted about, trying to track it.
Another cultist screamed. The boom of a gunshot echoed through the room. In the sudden flash of light from the gunshot, I caught a glimpse of the creature again, no more than fifteen feet away from me.
It raised its right arm. It was holding something. A blade. A sword as gray and hazy as the rest of it.
The creature swung the blade down as the cultist fired off another shot. The bullet tore through the thing’s smoky form. But the hole that the bullet left reformed an instant later.
The blade bit into the cultist’s neck with a hum and a sizzle. There seemed to be hardly any resistance at all.
The cultist’s head hit the floor with a thud. A moment later his body followed.
More gunfire lit up the factory as the remaining cultists began to react. It was deafening in the enclosed space. Bullets tore at the creature’s form. It was as futile as stabbing the sea.
In the light from the muzzle flashes I caught sight of Stuckey again. He was under a table a few feet from me. Not hiding. Still crawling.
Toward the creature.
Lurching forward, I grabbed his ankle and pulled. He slipped on the slick floor and went down. He tried to kick out at me, but his legs were stubby and I was strong. I started to haul him back.
He shouted something at me over the roar of gunfire. It sounded like: “It’s too late!”
I ignored him and kept pulling. We were getting the hell out of here. Whether he wanted to or not.
The twin stinks of cordite and death filled my nostrils. There was a heavy thud on the table above me, and a moment later I felt something bounce off my back and hit the floor. I glanced back and found myself looking into the shocked eyes of shotgun lady. They swiveled toward me. Her mouth silently opened and then closed.
If she’d tried to say something, I didn’t catch it. Mostly because her head was no longer connected to the rest of her.
I swallowed down bile and turned away. Don’t think. Just get out. Move!
Someone was shouting over the gunfire. The shots started to die away, and I caught the sound of York’s voice. “Cease fire!”
The last shots boomed and then went quiet. Bullet casings tinkled to the floor and rolled away. Gunsmoke swirled through the dark.
I spotted York off to my right. He stood partially illuminated by a shaft of moonlight coming through the broken windows.
“Morley’s Vengeance,” he said. “We are not your enemy.”
For a few seconds, silence. Then, a voice, whispered and yet booming.
“You conceal my quarry from me,” it said, with all the charm of nails on a chalkboard. “That cannot be tolerated.”
In the dark, I couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. It sounded like it was everywhere. I grabbed Stuckey and tugged him back under the table, motioning for him to be silent.
“It was necessary,” York said, “to further Morley’s cause.”
“Thieves and monsters must be punished,” the voice replied.
“They will be.”
A cold wind passed over me. I heard a couple of the surviving cultists gasp, as if they’d felt it too. I heard a sound, like a dog sniffing out its food.
“The thief is here,” the voice hissed.
“I still need him,” York said. “Just a little longer.”
The creature growled. The whole factory seemed to rattle and groan in response.
Stuckey moved beside me. I gripped him tighter.
“Stay still,” I whispered.
He met my eyes for a moment, saying nothing. In the darkness, I couldn’t read him. Then he nodded to something over my shoulder. “Look.”
I released him and glanced back. Shotgun lady’s arm was hanging limply over the table edge, dangling down beside us. And a few feet away lay York’s sword. The blade shone in a stray beam from a fallen flashlight.
I turned back to Stuckey. “I don’t think that bread knife is going to be much use against—”
Stuckey slammed the sole of his shoe into my face.
The bastard had strong legs, I’ll give him that. His kick sent me rolling away, throbbing pain tearing through my cheek. I hit the table leg and heard it squeal against the floor.
Stuckey’s voice came to me over the pounding of blood in my head. “I’m sorry,” he said.
I blinked the blurriness from my eyes in time to see Stuckey squirming out from beneath the table. I lurched forward, grabbing for him again. My fingers closed around thin air.
He scrambled to his feet and darted off, weaving th
rough the surviving cultists. He was heading for York.
The creature gave a hissing snarl. I caught a glimpse of its hazy form carving a path through the cultists as it chased down Stuckey.
Get up! I told myself. Shaking away the after effects of Stuckey’s kick, I rolled out from underneath the table. As I stood, I grabbed the only weapon I had to hand—the sword. Not that I figured it’d be much use against the creature. If guns didn’t stop it, a few feet of steel wouldn’t. Still, I found myself wishing we’d had a fencing club at school.
It was lighter than I expected. Certainly lighter than my truncheon. That didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. Likely the thing was some cheap replica made of aluminum and balsa wood. I gripped it tight anyway. It helped keep my hand from shaking.
I got up just in time to see Stuckey collide with York. The two went crashing back against a concrete pillar. The other cultists seemed too panicked or distracted to notice.
The smoky blur of the creature streaked toward the tangled pair. The air seemed to hum as the thing moved.
It was too fast. Too fast for me to catch. I knew that before I even started running. But my legs carried me forward anyway. I shoulder-barged my way past a terrified cultist who was turning to flee, sending her sprawling to the ground. Her flashlight shattered as it hit the floor.
York was trying to struggle free of Stuckey’s grasp. Once again, though, Stuckey was proving to be stronger than he looked. Maybe desperation was giving him a little boost. The old guy wrapped York in a bear hug, bringing their heads within an inch of each other.
I suddenly saw what Stuckey was trying to do. And I saw the same realization in York’s face. His struggles became more intense. He pressed one hand against Stuckey’s face, shoving him back. There was a sizzling sound, and Stuckey let out a scream.
And then the creature was behind them. It didn’t raise its blade; it simply was raised. The weapon’s shifting, faded form hung in the air, paused for a moment in anticipation.
Then it began to swing.
I shoved aside another cultist, stumbling and nearly falling as my foot caught on his ankle. I staggered forward, raising my own sword like I was holding a baseball bat.
Too late. I was always too late.
The creature’s blade carved an arc through the air. I watched it in slow motion. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
By some small mercy, at that moment the creature’s hazy form moved between me and Stuckey. I was spared the sight of the thing’s blade cutting into Stuckey’s neck. But I heard that familiar hum. I saw the blade complete its arc, with only a small splatter of blood flung from the weapon. And I saw Stuckey’s body fall, still tangled up with York. Whether or not York had felt the creature’s blade as well, I couldn’t tell. Darkness and smoke swallowed them as they hit the ground.
This time, the creature didn’t let its victim’s head fall. As it turned, I saw the thing’s left hand clutching Stuckey’s head by his thinning hair. Stuckey’s eyes were turned away from me. Another small mercy.
Already the severed head was fading, becoming hazy and indistinct like the creature itself. With a swirl of smoke the creature seemed to tuck the head into some hidden pocket, though it wore no clothes.
Then it turned to me.
I skidded to a halt. The creature’s gaze washed over me like ice water. It seemed to drain the strength from my muscles and turn my bones to stone.
I heard that sniffing sound again. It seemed to echo in my ears. Though the creature didn’t move, I could almost feel unseen hands pawing at me, pulling at my clothes.
A black hole opened up in the creature’s head where a mouth would normally sit. Except unlike a mouth, this didn’t move when the creature spoke.
“Keyholder,” it hissed.
23
I suddenly became very conscious of the weight of the gold coins in my pockets. My hand drifted to my side. I could feel the shape of the coin Stuckey had given me through the denim of my jeans. I could also feel the protective talisman Stuckey had torn from his own skin. Useless now. It was designed to hide the bearer from whatever magic this creature used to track down its quarry. It was too late for that now.
The creature took a floating step toward me. It held out a hand. Its fingers smeared and shifted like smoke being pulled by the wind, though the air was still.
“You carry the symbols of murderers past.” Its mouth opened wider. “Give them to me.”
I returned my hand to the sword grip. Swallowing, I lifted the blade, pointing the tip toward the creature.
The thing growled, the same growl it’d made when York tried to reason with it. It was a noise that made it clear it wasn’t threatened in the least.
I suddenly became very aware of all the sounds in the factory. The squeal of door hinges further down the main corridor accompanied by pounding footsteps receding into the distance. There were other footsteps as well, less panicked but retreating nonetheless, as the cultists who hadn’t been routed managed a more organized withdrawal. I heard the squeak of my own shoes against the floor as I shifted my weight, and the crunching of glass as I stepped on a shard from the broken windows. If there were others still in the room with me, they had sense enough not to make a sound.
As I stared into the soulless eyes of the monster in front of me, I ran through my options. They were…limited.
A helpful voice inside my head told me I should’ve run when I had the chance.
“The keys,” the creature said, stretching its arm toward me.
Smart thing to do would be to give it what it wanted. Otherwise it’d just kill me and take the coins from my headless corpse. I couldn’t fight it. I didn’t even have access to any of my magical tricks. My coat and bag were still safely tucked away in a cupboard on the other side of the room. Maybe I could grab a gun from one of the fallen cultists, but I’d already seen how much use they were.
Hell, I wasn’t even sure a silver bullet would slow down this thing.
But I couldn’t just hand the coins over. This creature was Morley’s Vengeance. It had already killed Habi and Stuckey. It would be going after Holden and Ursula next. And currently, the only thing standing between it and them was the door to the tomb. If I gave it the keys, I was giving it Holden.
I just couldn’t do that.
Maybe the thing sensed my decision. Maybe it just got tired of waiting. I felt a shift in its demeanor. Slowly, it withdrew its hand and raised its ghostly blade.
In a sudden blur, it lunged toward me. Even though I’d seen the thing moving before, I was unprepared for its speed. I stepped back instinctively, turning my sword in some vain hope that I could block the swing of the creature’s blade. I braced for the strike.
The creature hissed in fury, aborting its attack and pulling back as if recoiling from a blazing fire. When it had retreated a few feet, it glared at me with its soulless eyes.
I stared back. What the hell was it waiting for?
I realized the thing was looking even more indistinct than usual. It was still blurred at the edges, but now it seemed as if its form was being sucked toward me, like smoke being drawn toward a vacuum cleaner.
No, it wasn’t being drawn toward me. It was being drawn toward the sword.
The creature growled at me. It was resisting the pull of the sword, but I could see that it took effort on the creature’s part.
My mind ran through the possibilities. Was the sword silver? Didn’t seem likely, and besides, not even vampires reacted this strongly to silver. I’d already seen the creature do strange things to metal—was this some extension of that? Or was the sword itself imbued with some kind of charm I hadn’t detected?
Keeping my distance from the monster, I shifted the sword in my grip, trying to see if there was anything inscribed on the blade or hilt that might explain its power.
As soon as I moved the sword, the creature snarled and darted forward again. One long-fingered hand stretched out for me.
I staggered back,
raising the sword to block once again. As I presented the flat of the blade to the creature, it hissed once more and recoiled as the sword seemed to tug at its substance.
I suddenly understood. I thought back to the railyard’s workshop bathroom, where Habi had been taken. I remembered the shards of a shattered mirror crunching beneath my shoes.
I thought of the abandoned car where the ghouls had found Habi’s headless corpse. And I remembered the cracked rear view mirror, its metal frame streaked with electric blue.
I lifted the sword, keeping the flat turned toward the creature. I raised it until it was at my eye level. Even in the dim light I could see my own reflection in the polished shine of the blade.
It wasn’t the sword the creature was afraid of. It was its reflection.
Gathering my courage, I took a step forward. Hissing, the monster stepped back, raising an arm as if to ward me off. Even the light of its eyes seemed pulled toward the blade.
The creature had taken pains to destroy any mirrors it came across in its hunt. There were mirrors in the bathroom here. Were they still intact? Perhaps the creature had taken the time to smash them before it attacked us. But I also knew that I had a small silver mirror in my bag over on the other side of the room. It was mostly to deal with vampires, but I’d take anything I could get right now.
I took another step forward, and the creature recoiled again. I used the moment to sidestep, trying to circle around it. I needed to get to my bag and coat.
Never taking my eyes off the creature, I slowly backed toward the cupboards. The monster followed, always maintaining several feet of space between us. I stepped carefully over the headless corpse of an unfortunate cultist. If I tripped…well, maybe they could still have an open casket funeral for me if they dressed me in something with a high collar.
Finally, I bumped up against the cupboards. With one eye still on the creature, I started throwing open cupboard doors until I found what I was looking for.
“Can you reason?” I asked the creature. “Are you sentient?”
The thing just stared at me. Still holding the flat of the blade toward it, I blindly reached into the cupboard behind me and started rummaging through my bag.
Pay Dirt (Lost Falls Book 2) Page 23