Insanity

by Susan Vaught

  The stones rose and fell under my palm once, then twice. The third time felt more like a sigh than a breath, and somewhere far to our left, a light flickered and came on.

  “Is this assistance, or is it a trick?” Pastor Martinez asked as he stared at the light.

  “It is what it is,” I said. “Which is more than we had a minute ago.”

  “This isn’t okay.” Trina’s voice shook as she spoke, causing her father’s spirit to turn to her and reach for her arm.

  His fingers passed through her elbow and she shuddered—but then she smiled. She sounded so much younger when she said, “Daddy.”

  “Come on,” I told them. “Let’s get a move on.”

  I whistled for Cain and walked toward the lit-up hallway without waiting to see whether they’d try to argue. After a minute, I heard them following along.

  When I got to the cages full of gurneys and wheelchairs, I felt a surge of heat in my chest. It was right here that I had lost Forest once before, when she slipped into the other side for years, trying to kill the shade of a murderous little boy. Was the asylum helping me, or trying to keep me off-balance?

  Maybe it wasn’t good to trust something I didn’t understand. I turned and walked back toward Trina and the pastor, intending to go back the way we had come, but a rattling in the drain behind me brought me up short.

  Cain growled as I turned to stare at the circular metal drain cover, which was about as wide across as a softball. The light over the drain got brighter, and it rattled again. The screws on either side loosened, and Trina and the pastor backed away.

  I pulled my knife as the cover bucked, then clattered off to the side. A tongue flicked out, then disappeared. I gripped my knife tighter as Cain crouched beside me. A large, blunt snout thrust itself out of the drain, red as flame, and attached to a wide, triangle-shaped head.

  The snake oozed upward, heaving itself inch by inch, foot by foot, into the hall. It was orange and red, with a diamond pattern so bright it glowed.

  “Kill it,” the pastor said, his tone full of disgust.

  I was just about to stab at it when Trina said, “It’s just a corn snake. Not poisonous. It eats rats and mice. All that slithers isn’t always evil.”

  No doubt Forest would argue for the snake’s life just like that.

  The corn snake made a wet slithering squelch as it stretched itself between the drain and the edge of the hall door. Another snake followed, and another, and another, and another, each redder than the last, until they formed a scaly, writhing blockade between where I stood and the direction I had been attempting to take.

  Cain backed out of his crouch and whined.

  “For, behold, I will send serpents, cockatrices, among you,” Pastor Martinez offered.

  “Your Bible’s so cheerful,” I shot back.

  The pastor actually chuckled. “A little fear is good for the soul.”

  “Says you,” Trina muttered. “Levi, I’m thinking we’re not supposed to go that way, unless you want to hack up a bunch of reptiles that don’t have any quarrel with you.”

  The light in the hallway switched off, hiding the snakes. I swept my knife toward my feet but didn’t feel any scaly bodies. The tip of the blade tapped the stone floor, and as though I had summoned it, a light in the hallway behind me switched back on, showing me that the snakes hadn’t moved.

  My breathing was a bit too loud for my pride. I slowly raised my knife as if to salute the ceiling. The walls expanded slightly, then contracted, and in the far distance, the thump-thump-thump of its eerie pulse made me swallow hard.

  I sheathed my bone knife and turned away from the snakes, leading our group in the direction Lincoln Psychiatric seemed to want us to go. We passed into the lighted hallway, and as we reached the end, the light flickered once and went dark. The long fluorescent ceiling bulb in the next hallway flared to life instead.

  We were definitely being led.

  The only question was, where?

  And what would be waiting for us when we got there?

  Chapter Forty

  “This is the place,” Pastor Martinez said as the ever-changing lighting led us into a long hallway that I recognized. He pointed down the long stretch of tile that ran past the canteen where I first saw Forest to a room used to store clothes for Lincoln’s patients.

  My chest ached from the memory of Forest’s voice.

  Stop! You with the dogs. Knock it off! Hey! Guy in the duster. I’m talking to you!

  She had caught me completely off guard and made me tell her my name. She had thought I was a patient. Not the most epic or romantic beginning, but it was something.

  “Levi?” Trina’s voice came to me from far away, and I realized I was standing in the dark with my hand on the clothing room sign.

  A sliver of light shone from beneath the door, the only break in the absolute black of the hallway, and the meaning was clear enough.

  Go inside.

  It only took a few seconds to disrupt the essence of the wooden door, let Cain in, and pull Trina in behind me. The ghost of Pastor Martinez followed easily.

  I don’t know what I expected—a blinking neon sign screaming thin spot, or some kind of spirit that could make one—but what we found was clothes. Lots and lots of clothes. Stacks of T-shirts, socks, sweatshirts, bras, underwear, dresses, and suits. Cain nosed at a rack in the center of the room that held a few nicer dresses and suits. The room smelled like perfume and laundry detergent.

  My heart sank.

  I looked around, and so did Trina and the pastor. I even ran my fingers along the thick cream-colored paint covering the cinder-block wall at the back of the room.

  Nothing.

  Not even the breathing and heartbeat of the stone walls at the front.

  Forest grabbed Decker right here in this doorway. She caught him by the ankles and dragged him back into the hallway. Then she burned me with that bracelet. The confusion of that moment—and the high of seeing her full-on for the first time ...

  Forest ...

  My fingers curled. I wanted to smash my fists through the cinder blocks and beat my way to the other side. On impulse, I drew my knife, walked to the back of the clothing room, and stabbed at the wall. Nothing happened save for the noise of the blow and mumbling from Trina and the pastor. The impact sent shocks up my wrists, all the way through my shoulders.

  “Levi,” Trina called, still from far away, but I just stabbed the back wall again. This time, I poured a little power into the blade, and the knife dug straight into the cinder blocks. Chunks of solid mortar struck the floor, sending up clouds of dust.

  A chill passed through me, and Pastor Martinez inserted his ghostly form between me and the wall. He had his hands raised, but I was already swinging the knife down a third time. The tip of it swiped him from shoulder to hip, and he stared, wide-eyed, as he came apart like a punctured balloon.

  “Daddy!” Trina screamed. “Oh God!”

  She rushed forward and shoved me aside, grabbing for the mist that was her father. I staggered and caught myself against the wall. Cain didn’t rush to help me. The barghest was backing away, his round eyes staring at the preacher’s fading form.

  Trina came away empty-handed, but she didn’t stop trying. She just kept grabbing and started to weep. “Don’t leave me again. Don’t you leave me like this! Daddy!”

  Xavier Martinez gazed at his daughter and tried to patch himself up by tugging the mist this way and that. He knew he was losing the fight, though, and soon enough he held out his arms for Trina.

  She rushed into them and passed straight through, staggering into the wall I’d been tearing up with my knife. When she turned around, she looked so sad and angry I felt like the biggest ass in the universe.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” the pastor said. “I had intended—I wanted so much to—but it wasn’t meant to be. Don’t cry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

  His voice grew more faint with each sentence.

  “Do something!” Trina ye
lled at me. “Stop this!”

  I gaped at her for a second, then tried to help as she had asked. I sent my black mist toward the specter, willing it to heal. The pastor kept right on breaking into bits and fading away. He was nothing but shoulders, arms, neck, and head now. The rest of him was vapor, blowing to nothing each time we let out breaths.

  I shed my glamour and reached out with my hands, but I couldn’t touch him. “Wait a minute,” I said. “I didn’t mean any harm. I’m sorry, sir. Please stay with us.”

  Trina tore the knife out of my grip and stared at it. The second she touched the blade, the mist of my power fell away from it. She threw it down and turned back to her father.

  His face was still there, his eyes fixed on her. “I love you,” he said to Trina. “You are an amazing young woman.”

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  And he was gone.

  Sparkles lingered in the air for a few moments, then winked out of existence. Trina lowered her head, shaking all over.

  Guilt sank into every bone in my body. What could I do? I couldn’t think of a single word to say. When I did, the best I could come up with was a lame, “I had no idea, Trina. I didn’t—”

  “Shut up!” she roared, clamping her hands over her ears until I stopped talking.

  She had her back to me when she dropped her hands to her sides and started moving, so I didn’t realize she was pulling out her last few potions and her willow charm. I didn’t even process that she was picking up my knife again until she already had it, until she held everything in her hands at once.

  “My father was right all along,” she said hoarsely as she whirled on me. “You are evil.”

  “Wait.” I held up both hands as Cain ran to me, growling.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before now.” Trina glared at me. “Darius, Addie—both gone. And now my father. Again!”

  Her hands trembled, and the glass jars holding her potions rattled. I held her gaze and didn’t argue with her. I didn’t apologize, either, because it wouldn’t have been enough.

  She started talking again, but this time, she spoke in Latin, then in French. Two of the three potions started to smoke. The third sparked when she muttered something in German.

  “You could hurt yourself,” I warned, backing away from her until my shoulders hit cinder block. Cain came with me, hackles raised, but his fire-eyes stayed on the jars in her hands. Even the barghest knew she might as well have been holding bombs.

  Trina acted as if she didn’t hear me. Her willow charm throbbed as it turned a deep, dark green. The handle of my bone blade started to glow.

  Trina’s appearance shifted. She became a woman in a purple robe, her head wrapped in silks. Then her form flowed into an old woman dressed in red, her ancient face so wrinkled I could barely see her angry eyes—her dangerous eyes—lit with the same gleam the pastor had when he stabbed me to death. Faster now, she changed shape again and again, into short women, tall women, round women, thin women, all colors, all ages. Were these her great-greats? Other witches? I had no idea.

  Cain tried to lunge for her but his body seized, turning him into an angry statue, his fanged mouth open and dripping.

  Trina’s eyes closed, and her voice got louder. She was all the women at once now. I couldn’t even make out her true face or voice anymore.

  I stood my ground, partly from determination, and partly out of certainty that I would die if I so much as twitched.

  I’m sorry, Forest.

  She was counting on me to rescue her, and I was going to let her down again. I’d never see her another time in this life, and that felt worse than anything. And Imogene—she was depending on me, too, to do her work when she finally faded out of this world. What would happen to her? What would happen to Lincoln, to Never, and everywhere?

  I’m sorry, Imogene.

  Trina’s eyes opened, only I saw no eyes. White light poured out of the spots where they should have been, and out of her mouth. She raised her potions and her charm and my knife, and hurled them all at me.

  The spelled dust and twisted willow and bone struck me full in the chest, and colored powder exploded around my shoulders and face.

  There was a sound like a truckload of dynamite hitting a bridge, then nothing, then a giant sucking-rushing-pulling that whipped me backward and smashed me straight through the cinder-block wall.

  Agony blasted through every inch of my being as my skin tore away, my bones broke, and my body blasted into pieces.

  I screamed, but all I could hear was Trina’s laughing.

  Then I was ...

  Gone.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Somewhere, bells were ringing.

  Heat burned against my cheeks. I tried to turn away from it, but it followed me.

  Light pierced my closed lids, stabbing into my eyes until I woke up hollering, swinging my arms and bucking against the ground. Pain gripped my arms and legs, and I had to cover my face before the blazing glare set my skin on fire.

  My chest crushed inward with each breath—but I was breathing.

  That thought grabbed my attention at the same moment the light blinked off like it never existed. The bells went quiet, too. When I had the guts to pull my hands away from my face, I found myself staring at my bone knife. It was driven into the dirt beside me. I struggled to sit, then I touched my nose and eyes, my stomach, and my knees—all still there. I wasn’t in pieces.

  I was whole, and I was sitting in the middle of a dirt crossroads beside a pole with a rotting head on top. The moon showed across the rounded tops of the Kentucky hills, and as clouds drifted across its face, I knew I’d come to Harpe’s Head, right about where Forest had been pulled to the other side.

  How was that possible? We hadn’t found a thin spot, and I’d hurt the pastor, and Trina—Trina had snapped. She had spelled me with all her power.

  She had killed me again.

  I died.

  That’s how I got to the other side: I came the natural way, no thin spot required.

  I didn’t remember what happened after the first time I died, the time between dying and when Imogene brought me back. Did I feel this alive then, too?

  “Forest,” I yelled, looking around. “Forest!”

  I yanked my knife out of the ground, wiped it on my jeans, and shoved it into my belt. Pine trees whispered in the night breeze, but I didn’t hear anything else.

  Where was Big Harpe? Would I be able to sense the shade if I tried?

  I reached out with my mind, but caught no hint of Forest or Darius or Addie or Big Harpe. Maybe I couldn’t sense spirits anymore, since I was dead, too.

  “But Forest isn’t dead,” I told the spooky, clouded moon. “And Darius is okay, and Addie, too. Harpe’s around here somewhere, and he’s got them.”

  I wanted to charge into the pine trees and start searching, but I could hunt for hours or days or weeks and not find a thing. I needed to think. I needed to—

  Heat touched my back, and light spilled around me.

  I froze, hand on my knife.

  The light pulsed and got hotter. It seemed to be daring me to turn, to look into it. I drew my knife and eased around—and dropped to one knee, the knife falling from my limp fingers.

  There in the distance I could see the bell tower of Lincoln Psychiatric Hospital. Not possible. But there it was, etched against the sky and hiding the stars. From way at the top came the light—and sure enough, the bells started to ring.

  The light moved away from my face to touch a pine tree near the edge of the crossroads. Next to that tree, in the white glow, I saw a path.

  Great.

  Following the asylum’s directions had already gotten me killed once today, but it had also brought me where I needed to be.

  The light touching the path pulsed, and I picked up my knife, jammed it into my belt, and started walking. As I headed toward wherever I was being led, Forest’s voice echoed in my memory.

  So, is the old asylum on
our side, or not?

  Good question.

  And one I was about to answer.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The light from Lincoln Psychiatric’s bell tower led me along the path, deeper into trees and grass of Kentucky’s rolling hills. I turned corners and more corners, until I finally came to the edge of a clearing that looked a lot like the one where Pastor Martinez had set my body on fire.

  This one was bigger, though. And darker. The second I got to the edge of it, the bell tower’s light faded and then winked out, but that was okay. I was more at home in the darkness anyway. The only thing I could make out was a black, cabin-like shape, and next to that, a fire.

  Big Harpe was standing by the flames.

  As I walked toward him, I realized it wasn’t really a fire, at least not the campsite kind. Harpe had built himself an altar out of pine branches and rocks, and he’d lit the outer branches. Forest was tied up on the altar, surrounded by the fire. The golden light she always had in my dreams—dreams that came from the other side—was barely visible in the gloom and shadows.

  That light meant she was alive. She wasn’t awake, but he hadn’t killed her yet.

  “Thought you’d come,” Harpe said. He seemed even bigger than I remembered, and he radiated a black, awful power I’d never felt in any shade before. “Thought you’d be dead, though.”

  He laughed.

  I wondered what the hell he was talking about. I was dead, wasn’t I? I looked down at myself like an idiot. I didn’t look dead, but who knew?

  “If’n I kill you here, you’ll be gone forever, and you won’t be troublin’ me when I take my kinfolk’s power and cross back to where I belong.”

  Take Forest’s power. So Imogene had been right—Big Harpe thought he could somehow steal Forest’s ability to open thin spots. But how?

  As I studied him, I could guess. I could see it in his insane eyes. He thought he could consume Forest somehow and absorb all that she was, all that she could do. Was there some ritual for that, something he learned in Witch Dance before he got cursed?