Dark Series, The Color of Seven and The Color of Dusk (Books We Love Special Edition)

by Gail Roughton

  “Blood! Blood! De power be blood!”

  The chant rose to crescendo and cut off abruptly when Cain rose to assume his position as Master of Ceremonies. The two intruders reached a hiding spot and crouched in observation. Beads of sweat popped up on Isaiah’s forehead.

  “Our enemies!” shouted Cain. “Dey be searching for us!”

  “No!”

  “Yes, I say! Yes, forever and always, de truth have enemies searchin’ for it! De white man and his white god, dey always lookin’ for ways to keep you from de truth! But dey can’t do it! No, de truth, our truth, it give us ways! I say it give us ways to protect ourselves!”

  “Yes, yes!”

  “An’ it use de enemies demselves to do it!” Cain grabbed the rough sheet covering a crude table. His sentries. Cain lifted two of the four skulls high.

  “Sweet Jesus Christ!” Paul hissed. Isaiah was speechless.

  Cain chanted, garbled and twisted words and phrases breathing darkness. Paul knew Tamara would die before she’d utter this chant.

  His hand gripped the butt of the pistol. One chance. He’d get only one chance. Isaiah’s eyes widened at the sight of the weapon.

  “There’s no other way, Isaiah,” Paul whispered. “Leave if you have to.”

  “No other way,” Isaiah whispered back. “I’s staying.”

  Cain fell to his knees while he chanted, encircled and shielded by his followers. Far in the distance, lightning flashed. Horrendous cracks of thunder shook the ground as Cain called forth the denizens Sadie claimed could pass back and forth between the worlds that ringed this world.

  Isaiah grabbed Paul’s arm in a grip of iron and pointed. Two winged shapes, bat-like of body and demonic of face, with razor-edged teeth and great, glowing golden eyes, swooped low out of nowhere and settled on the skulls Cain held aloft in his huge hands. Its brethren rained forth with the lightning cracks, as though an invisible door opened with each flash. Two others settled on the skulls sitting on the crude table.

  “No,” Paul whispered, trying to deny the sight that had unfolded in front of him.

  “Mist’ Paul, I be mighty afeard it be yes.”

  The chosen denizens settled on the skulls, folded their wings. Sending forth clouds of hissing steam, they melted into the white bone of the skulls. The crowd swayed in ecstasy.

  In seconds, the perched creatures were gone. The skulls glowed with an eerie blue light, highlighted by the red embers flashing in the empty eye sockets.

  “Our sentries!” Cain roared. He stood erect and rotated the skulls he held in his hands, sending their light out into the shadows surrounding the clearing.

  Deep in those shadows, while the light streamed from the skull, coming ever nearer to their hiding place, Paul steadied the pistol and wished like hell he’d spent more time perfecting his marksmanship.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sadie paced the parlor, wringing her hands. She wanted to moan, she wanted to scream. She wanted to tear her hair and heap curses on the force that insisted on involving her boys in this nightmare.

  Joshua lay on the couch, propped up by its pillows. Everett sat in one of the big wing-backed chairs. He envied Sadie her freedom to pace. He remained stationary by a supreme effort of will, determined not to let himself fly into a useless rage that might precipitate a stroke or heart attack.

  The knock on the door split the tension in the room, shattering Sadie’s raw and bleeding nerve endings. Everett rose to his feet.

  “Everett, you go out tonight to tend any sick folks, I’s never goan forgive you! Not never!” she spat, as he crossed the floor.

  “Woman, I wouldn’t leave you tonight to tend the damn president,” he said, and opened the door. He stared at the entity standing on the porch and then turned his head quickly to stare back into the room at Sadie. Then he looked back at the visitor again. He’d known Sadie had a twin, but he’d never met her. Sadie rushed up and pulled Tamara into the hall.

  “Whut on earth you doin’ here?”

  “Doan know. I jest know I need to be here.”

  “Oh, God! Whatever’s happenin’, it goan happen tonight?!”

  “Sadie, I doan know. I jest—”

  “Well, why doan you know? You always know! Know for everybody else, you can’t know for yo’ own family? All you can do is lay this on my boy and not give him no help?”

  “Sadie.” Everett laid his hand on her shoulder. “You know it ain’t Tamara’s fault.”

  Sadie’s face crumbled. She turned blindly and Everett pulled her into his arms, murmuring softly against her ear.

  “Don’t, honey,” he said. It was the first endearment he’d ever uttered to her in the presence of others. “Don’t. He’ll be home.”

  * * *

  Paul had Cain in his sights, a perfect shot lined up to hit his target’s brain dead center. As though the nightmare creations from beyond the door sensed Cain’s eminent danger, they swarmed, swooping and swirling in front of him simultaneously with the gun’s roar. One of them absorbed the bullet flying home to its target between Cain’s eyes. It gave a high-pitched squeal of rage. The reddened hole where the bullet entered healed over almost instaneously.

  Isaiah shouted in disbelief. Paul fired the smoking gun instinctively, expending all remaining bullets. The deadly swarm intercepted every shot.

  “Spies!” roared Cain. “Go, my peoples! Bring me de spies of our enemies!”

  “Run, Isaiah! Run!”

  The swarm of demons swooped in front of them, hissing and squealing, slowing their speed, blocking their path, obscuring their vision. Paul and Isaiah, with no words passing between them, turned at the same time to face the mob. There was no way out. Frenzied hands, fueled by the extra strength of the drugs, dragged them back to the clearing.

  “Well, well, well,” laughed Cain. “White man, you walkin’ where you got noooo business to walk. Know dat?”

  “You peoples done lost yo’ minds?” Isaiah spewed forth, attempting to reach the members of a congregation no longer his.

  Cain casually lifted his hand and backhanded the Reverend so hard he spit blood.

  “Nobody interested in whut you got to say, ol’ man. Not no mo’.” Cain didn’t shift his eyes from Paul. “You dat doctor, ain’t you? Devlin. De do-gooder. You Joshua’s Daddy? Anybody wid one eye and half-sense know dat boy half-white. Fact is, now dat I see you, you even favor some. Notice he ain’t here tonight.”

  Paul stared back at Cain.

  “Asked you a question, white man.”

  Paul stared. Cain laughed. Then he backhanded Isaiah again, so hard Paul feared the older man’s neck had cracked.

  “I say, I asked you a question, white man.” Cain lifted his hand toward Isaiah again.

  “He’s my brother.”

  “An’ ain’t nobody ever noticed, has dey? I swear, stupid as all dese niggers be, ain’t no wonder de white man runnin’ all over ‘em.” Cain stood and gazed thoughtfully at his captives. A small smile danced on his lips. “So Josh done gone runnin’ to his big brother, has he? Doan much like dat, white man. Doan nobody run ‘way from me, not once dey mine.”

  Paul stared straight back at Cain, refusing to lower his eyes.

  “An’ doan no man, ‘specially no white man!” Cain spat the words out as though they were spoiled meat. “No white man goan walk away from dis circle.” He threw his head back from his mighty shoulders and laughed. “You and yo’ brother, you mighty tight wid each other, ain’t you?”

  Paul didn’t answer. Cain lazily raised his hand towards again. Isaiah could take few more of Cain’s blows.

  “Yes,” Paul said, and elaborated no further.

  “’Course, I knew dat already, way everybody talk ‘bout how he always trailin’ after you. An’ you jest come a runnin’ you find out he been keepin’ my company. Dat boy, he do take a little mo’ pushin’ den most do. Once or twice dere, I wondered myself how he keep walkin’, much as I had to feed him. Still, you right handy, showin’ up righ
t now. I believe, yeah, I do believe, you do real well. Had me somethin’ special planned to kick off things in dis town, ain’t never tried it ‘fore, and yeah, you do real fiiiinnnne.”

  Cain laughed again. “An’ yo’ brother, I doan want him to miss de fun. An’ I sho’ can’t let him tell our secrets and think he get away wid it. My peoples wouldn’t like it. Too bad. Dat boy real bright. Mighta even had a future. Coulda taught him a lot. Not many folkses got ‘nuff sense. Let’s us see, now. You here, and he ain’t. So I jest take a wild guess he sittin’ in dat fine house of yo’s on that fancy street while his big brother take care of de bad man. Dat be right?”

  Paul, damned if he did and equally damned if he didn’t, didn’t wait for Cain to raise his hand in Isaiah’s direction.

  “No,” he said, knowing full well Cain knew exactly where Joshua was.

  “Damn, white men bad liars. Well, dat doan matter right now. I want him here.” He pointed to Isaiah and motioned to two of his older, and therefore, stronger, acolytes, Levi Thompson and Jake Milton.

  “Take him,” he said. “Middle of de circle.”

  “Jake, I pulled you through scarlet fever last winter!” Paul shouted. “My papa saved your leg when that wagon overturned on you two years ago, Levi! Isaiah baptized both of you!”

  Cain’s fist lashed out. In the first stunned seconds after its impact with his flesh, Paul was sure his jaw was broken.

  “I say, take him!”

  Levi and Jake grabbed Isaiah’s arms and pulled him forward.

  “No!”

  Isaiah turned his head and spoke over his shoulder to be certain Paul heard him.

  “Mist’ Paul, you can’t do nuttin’. You a mighty fine man, son, been proud to know you.”

  “Isaiah!”

  “Shiiiiiiittt, white man! He in better shape den you. Leastways his be quick.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Shadows hung heavy in the corners of the parlor. Tension thick as Janie’s stew vibrated in the air. Suddenly the night filled with the echoing laughter of Cain’s First Lieutenant. A dull thud sounded on the floor as he lobbed Cain’s calling card through the open window. It bounced and then lay still. Isaiah Gorley’s bloody head.

  Sadie rushed to Everett and and bracketed his cheeks in her palms.

  “Doan you dare!” she ordered. “Doan you dare give in and start rantin’ and ravin’! You have a fallin’ down fit now, I ain’t never goan forgive you!”

  Everett raised his own hands and encircled Sadie’s wrists.

  “I won’t,” he promised. “Let go, honey. I won’t.”

  Sadie wasn’t convinced but he’d reacted much better than she’d hoped. Taking him at his word, she moved toward her sister.

  “We goin’ after my boy,” she said.

  “Mama!” Josh yelled behind her. He tore off the sofa and rushed to his father. Everett, on his knees in the center of the floor near Isaiah’s head, gripped his chest with one hand. His face poured sweat and turned blue.

  “Oh, my God,” moaned Sadie, kneeling beside him. “You lied to me, Everett, you said you wouldn’t! You ain’t never lied to me before!”

  “Did not,” he managed to gasp. “Ain’t having a stroke, it’s my heart.”

  “Joshua, go get Doc Cabot!” commanded Sadie.

  “No!” Tamara moved forward.

  “Doan you tell me—”

  “Ain’t got time to argue wid you, woman! Now, you listen to me!” Tamara grabbed a throw rug. She knelt and lifted Isaiah’s head gently, placed it on the rug and wrapped the sides.

  “Doan’ mean no disrespect, I know he understand,” she said. “Sadie, you go get dat other doctor. Now. We’s got to clean dis—Joshua!” she called, but Joshua was already on his way back from the kitchen, a cleaning bucket and strips of old sheeting in his hands. He wanted to gag, he wanted to throw up, but he knew it was important Dr. Cabot not see this.

  “I’ve got it,” he said.

  “Good boy.” She turned back to her sister. “Now, Sadie, go! We get dis cleaned up, me and Josh goin’ after Paul. You hurry dere and you hurry back!”

  “Everett be by hisself!”

  “Don’t matter,” Everett panted. “Listen to her. Go.”

  “I done lost one boy, I don’t want Josh near—”

  “You ain’t lost him yet. I needs Joshua, Sadie. Everett need you,” Tamara, down on her knees, helped Joshua wipe up the bloody gore. “Now, go!”

  Sadie turned and ran.

  * * *

  Bloody cleaning chores completed, Tamara hurried to the door. Josh hung back. His nervous system, now denied Cain’s soothing concoctions for close to forty-eight hours, screamed with rage. In a fever to get to Paul, he found it almost impossible to leave his father alone on the floor, blue-faced and covered in sweat.

  “Papa,” he said softly. Tamara took his arm and gently pulled.

  Everett gasped instructions and pointed shakily to the door.

  “Son, ain’t nothing … you can do … here. Find your … brother.”

  Tamara pulled Joshua out the door.

  “Oh, my God,” the boy moaned. “I did this. All of this. Oh, God, what have I done?”

  “Son, you ain’t got time to stop and feel sorry for yo’self and I ain’t got time to soothe you down. Get in de wagon!” she commanded, striding swiftly to her small buckboard which waited beyond the wrought iron fence.

  “Horses faster,” Josh said. “I can saddle real quick—”

  “No. Might need de wagon. He probably can’t ride.”

  “’Cause he dead,” Josh spoke quietly into the night, in the lilting, flowing, hybrid speech pattern habitually employed by his mother, which, like Joshua, was neither wholly black nor wholly white.

  “We doan know dat.”

  “What you think.”

  “No, it ain’t. Ain’t a’tall. Paul’s alive yet. Cain’s waitin’ on you.”

  “Me?”

  “Why else you think he send Isaiah’s head? Wants you to know he got ‘em. Wants you dere to watch.”

  Hope surged in Joshua’s heart. Until he realized he’d left the house with absolutely no weapon. It was the first time he’d even thought of it.

  “Go back!” he shouted.

  “Ain’t got time.”

  “I ain’t got no gun! No knife, no nuttin’! Go back! If he’s waitin’ on me, we got time!”

  “Guns and knives ain’t goan do nuttin’, boy, nuttin’! An’ Cain ain’t de one to worry ‘bout. He ‘bout to start somethin’ he can’t handle. An’ when he do, he ain’t goan be able to wait on you!”

  “Then Paul’s a dead man.”

  “No, he ain’t,” said Tamara, flicking the reins and urging her horses forward down Wharf Street. “He jest goan wish he was.”

  * * *

  Cain paced the clearing impatiently. He paused occasionally to lash out with his huge hands and deliver a neck-snapping blow to Paul’s head. He was ready, damn it, ready. Paul, stripped of his shirt, was lashed bare-chested to a sturdy stake implanted firmly in the center of the circle.

  Cain paused in his long strides and struck again.

  “Well, where is he, white man? Where?”

  “Told you he wasn’t at my house.” Paul ground the words out between his swollen, bleeding lips.

  “He was! I know he was! He jest doan give a damn! Dat’s it, white man! You done give yo’ life for a boy doan give a fuckin’ damn ‘bout yours! How dat feel? Shiiiittt, maybe dat boy better den I thought! Mo’ like me den you, after all!”

  Cain paced the clearing again.

  “Shiiiitttt!! Dat’s enough! De gods, dey hungry!”

  He pulled the knife from the scabbard belted around his waist.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cain’s roar of rage trembled on the night air. Tamara and Joshua rushed toward the riverbank on foot. There was no path for the wagon. The crowd chanted, covering the sounds of the underbrush and snapping twigs.

  “Too late,” Jos
h moaned.

  “Shut up and move!” commanded Tamara. She pushed harder and gained a clear view of the circle.

  Blood ran down Paul’s chin, the product of his own gnashing teeth as Cain’s knife twisted slowly and deeply while Cain drew it lingeringly, almost lovingly, over the skin. Blood poured from two deep, wide cuts forming an X across Paul’s chest, running from each shoulder down to his belt buckle. Cain thrust his hands into the blood, held them high, and chanted.

  Tamara burst into the clearing, Joshua at her heels, knowing what she’d see, what was coming. It was written on Paul’s hand, preordained, immutable, unstoppable. One last, desperate hope remained to circumvent destiny. If she could just prevent Cain from cracking the door about to burst open—too late to save Paul entirely, he’d bleed to death before they got back to town. But he’d prefer that to the alternative.

  “You fool!” she shouted. “You doan know whut you doin’, man! Stop!”

  Cain turned. About to unleash power such as the world had never seen, and a woman dared interfere? Oh, no. He didn’t think so.

  “Take ‘em!” he shouted. A lightning bolt struck directly at Cain’s feet, knocking him down.

  Tamara groaned. Too late. The air filled with electric current flowing from the flashing lightning. The door cracked and opened to the worlds on worlds that ring this world. The air changed. It hissed, it burned, it smoldered.

  Cain’s followers fell back. Their retreat turned into a blind stampede fleeing toward town and the sactuary of the city streets. Toward sanity.

  It appeared from nowhere. One moment, nothing. The next, nightmare incarnate. It. Cain’s eyes widened. He back-propelled his body along the ground with his hands, scrambling back from the clearing.

  It was huge, ten feet or more in height. The thing from beyond the door stomped the ground of the clearing and screamed, composite of all predators on earth. Visions of a lion’s mane, a wolf’s fur, a monkey’s face, a lizard’s feet, raced across Joshua’s sight. His eyes settled on alligator-like teeth ringing an open mouth.