A Desolate Hour

by Mae Clair

  Anger made him turn. “What do you mean?”

  “I brought Mr. Preech here, and deposited him in the TNT.”

  “What?” Sudden heat shot up the back of Caden’s neck. How could Evening remain so calm, almost as if he’d planned the whole thing down to this millisecond in time? Hell, he probably had.

  Caden stalked closer. “Why would you do that?” He didn’t bother asking how Evening had found Shawn when half of Mason County was looking for him. Some questions weren’t worth the effort, especially when the answer was bound to be vague.

  “Preech is not the only one who craves vengeance, Sergeant.” Evening spoke sharply, his accent more noticeable than before. Somewhere, a switch had flipped, his cool demeanor replaced by a sliver of hostility. “I brought him here to end the battle begun centuries ago. He must confront the Mothman.”

  “Hell, whatever.” At last he didn’t have to worry about Shawn doing something crazy in town. “Tell me where he’s headed. You’ve got to know.”

  Evening regarded him steadily but said nothing.

  Caden swore. “Look, your father’s partially responsible for this mess. Help me out.”

  Nothing.

  Damn if the man hadn’t turned to stone. He might as well have been for the lack of emotion on his face. Caden was about to call him on it when the flecks of blue light clinging to the walls pulsed brighter. The glow intensified, creeping into the farthest corners until no hint of shadow remained. Caden tensed, uncertain what the change signified. Even Lach appeared surprised, glancing behind him, a look of wonder on his face.

  Go.

  Indrid Cold’s voice echoed in Caden’s head. The accent resembled Lach’s but carried a deeper inflection. Caden hadn’t heard that intonation since promising to safeguard the Mothman. Is that why Cold came now after all this time, because the creature’s life was in danger?

  Light bled from the wall and crept across the ground in a rickety finger of blue. It lengthened and grew, stretching in a thin line beyond the door. Caden strode to the opening, watching as the string of light disappeared between the trees, swallowed by fog.

  A path to lead him to the Mothman.

  Cold was pointing the way.

  He was halfway through the door when Lach’s voice stopped him. “The creature killed Obadiah once before, Sergeant Flynn.”

  For killing its offspring. Caden paused as the ugly reality washed over him. What would he do if someone killed his child? No wonder a storm had descended on Point Pleasant. A clash of cataclysmic proportions had been resurrected from the ash of yesteryear.

  And he was caught in the center.

  Caden slipped from the igloo into the mist.

  * * * *

  For the first time in days Shawn’s mind was astonishingly clear. Even the constant hunger that gnawed at his gut had grown quiet. The musky scent of the woods invigorated him, reminding him of something primal in a time long past. He’d hunted here, scouted for danger, and killed savages among these ancient trees. He’d butchered the creature that had taken Willa from him here, thinking it the only one of its kind.

  But there’d been another, a monster that claimed his life in a bloodbath. Just as Cornstalk had uttered a curse with his dying breath, Obadiah had vowed to return and seek retribution.

  Shawn’s grip tightened on the handle of the knife. The creature was out there, lurking in the shadows. Watching.

  Let it come. He welcomed the chance to face it. This time he would not fail, but would send the demon to the abyss of Hell from which it had been sprung.

  A steady thrum grew behind his eyes. A low-level vibration that overrode the rapid tapping of rain pattering against the leaves overhead. Tilting his head back, Shawn turned in a circle, searching the sky. Dense layers of fog made it impossible to see more than a few feet. Wet dribbled against his face and sluiced down his neck.

  “Where are you?”

  The drone grew louder, a familiar sound that made him grind his teeth. After all this time, centuries of waiting in a nether realm of darkness, retribution would be his. “Come, you demon. Come face me.”

  Releasing an ear-splitting shriek, the Mothman plunged from the sky.

  * * * *

  Caden had been following the shimmering thread of blue for approximately half a mile when an inhuman screech ruptured the air. Wrenching his gun from his holster, he bolted for the sound, fully aware he raced to a destination Lach had predicted months ago.

  The culmination of a desolate hour.

  * * * *

  Shawn tucked and rolled, buffeted by a gust of wind from the creature’s massive wings. He fought to get his feet under him, but slipped on the wet ground and crashed to one knee. A clawed hand sent him pinwheeling into a tree. The drone in his head exploded like a rocket, then plummeted into the white noise of rain. Blood oozed over his lips, dribbling from a fresh laceration on his cheek.

  Scrambling to his feet, he pressed his back against the tree. Like a phantom, the creature had struck and fled. He sensed it hidden in the fog, but the haze was too dense for him to see properly. Heart pounding, he tightened his grip around the knife. His lungs expanded with the effort to breathe. He knew the creature’s tricks, had faced it before. With effort, he forced his terror silent.

  “Come for me, demon.” Obadiah’s voice poured from his mouth, the sound strange to his ears. He remembered butchering the thing’s offspring, hacking at it until he was covered in a cobalt blue substance that could only be blood. It had shrieked and thrashed, powerful even in its death throes. He’d suffered greatly, the creature’s claws gouging strips of flesh from his chest and arms. But in the end, he’d triumphed, driving the knife cursed by Cornstalk’s blood through a single crimson eye. The creature’s wail had made him fear Hell itself had risen from the bowels of the Earth.

  Then the other had come, summoned by its cries—the thing that was out there watching from the fog. How foolish to think there’d only been one.

  Weakened from his fight, Obadiah had been no match for the stronger, larger demon. Shawn shuddered as he witnessed the brutal death of his ancestor unfold in his head. The Mothman had been ruthless, ripping his adversary limb from limb. When the creature was done, blood and organs littered the ground like offal.

  Choking on the images, Shawn breathed heavily through his mouth. He couldn’t die like that.

  Fear is the demon’s weapon.

  Yes. He couldn’t give in. Wouldn’t remember. Wouldn’t end up the same way Obadiah had.

  We are one. We fight it together.

  He licked his lips nervously. “Stop hiding.” His voice cracked. Would the knife really give him the power he needed? Before he could so much as draw a breath, the thing burst from the fog. Shawn caught a glimpse of wings and red eyes before the creature was upon him. He thrust wildly, but was battered aside like so much dung. Wings pummeled him, blotting the light from his head, battering with a force to shatter bones. Something snapped in his shoulder and he screamed. He crumpled to his knees, the knife tumbling from his fingers.

  No!

  He couldn’t lose it now. Frantically, he scrambled forward, pushing on his belly to reach the weapon. His fingers closed on the handle just as the sharp bite of claws burrowed into his back.

  Shawn bellowed in pain. His screams cut off abruptly when he was wrenched into the air. Blood bubbled into his throat, the hot metallic tang of copper flooding his mouth. Choking on the foul taste, he flailed out blindly with the knife. The blade blundered into alien flesh, met resistance, then tore free. With a hiss, the creature dropped him.

  Now. Attack it now.

  Obadiah forced him to his feet. The blade should have been lethal. It was tainted with Cornstalk’s blood. One strike should have killed the Mothman. It’s what he’d believed all along.

  “You lied to me. You said the knife would kill it.”

  Panicked, Shawn backpedaled. His head spun and the ground lurched beneath him w
ith a sickening jolt. He pressed up against a tree, feeling the rough scrape of bark against his lacerated back. Plastered in place by blood, his shirt stuck to his skin. He tried to draw a breath, but each ragged gasp for air brought fresh agony.

  Kill it! Kill it!

  Obadiah was insane.

  Shawn tilted his head and stared up into the creature’s baleful red eyes. It loomed over him, wings arched high above its back. Up close, the variations of color in its flesh stood out sharply—mottled gray leeching into charcoal and ash. Flecks of cobalt blue stippled the creature’s left shoulder below the wing.

  Blood.

  He’d succeeded in wounding it.

  “You can be hurt.” His tongue struggled to form words. His right arm dangled at his side, fingers wrapped around the knife, but he barely had the strength to lift the weapon. One feeble strike was all he’d managed. How pitiful. It sucked being the weaker opponent. Like Hanley and Suzanne. Like Obadiah.

  With a roar wrenched from his gut, Shawn hefted the knife above his head and charged. His bellow of rage became a scream of agony when the Mothman ripped his arm from his body.

  * * * *

  Caden burst onto the scene in time to see Shawn drop at the creature’s feet. It took him a second to process what he was looking at—Shawn on his back, legs curled to his chest, his left hand clamped over a gaping hole where his right arm should have been. Ragged bone jutted from the grisly cavity, a glut of blood painting the rain-sodden ground scarlet. Ten feet away, the shorn appendage lay among a snarl of brambles, Obadiah’s knife clutched in the upturned hand.

  Caden’s gut churned. Dropping into a firing stance, he unloaded six bullets into the Mothman’s back.

  With a hiss of rage the creature whirled, one wing sweeping in a deadly arc toward Caden. He dove to the side, tucking and rolling as he hit the ground. A gust of wind kept him pinioned in place as leaves and twigs rained down from the tree overhead. On his stomach, Caden dug into his pocket for more ammo. As the creature hobbled away, he flipped open the cylinder and expended the used shells.

  Shawn’s screams had died to moans. Caden propelled himself through the fog, quickly dropping to one knee beside the injured man.

  “Shawn.” The bitter reek of blood struck his nostrils. Extending a hand, he touched the younger man’s cheek. Shawn was nearly incoherent, fresh blood on his lips and chin testifying to internal injuries in addition to the maiming.

  “Make…him leave,” he moaned.

  Shrugging from his jacket, Caden glanced nervously to the trees. The Mothman was still there, hidden somewhere in the fog.

  “Obadiah,” Shawn insisted.

  Caden wadded the jacket into a ball and pressed down hard on the amputation site.

  Shawn screamed.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve got to try to stop the bleeding.” Hooking an arm behind Shawn, Caden tried to raise his shoulders. Beneath the garish smear of blood, Shawn’s lips were turning blue.

  One-handed, Caden dug his walkie-talkie from his pocket and radioed for help. He had no idea where the patrols were, but raised Morris and gave his location. “We’ll get you an ambulance, Shawn. Hang on and you’ll pull through this.” The lie sounded hollow even to him.

  Something rustled in the trees.

  Had he injured the Mothman? Had the bullets done any good?

  His arm was soaked with blood where he gripped Shawn behind the back. More of the dying man’s blood saturated his jeans. As the rain beat the grass around him, he sensed Shawn’s life slipping away.

  Caden clenched his jaw. The man had butchered Will Hanley yet he couldn’t help feeling a flicker of remorse.

  A faint smile curved Shawn’s lips. “He’ll die with me.” His eyes popped wide. Arching his back, he jerked violently upward, contorting his spine like a fish tossed onto dry land. A loud hiss of breath escaped his lips then his gaze froze in place, locked on something far above.

  Caden swore. Easing Shawn’s body to the ground, he swallowed bile. His hands were stained with blood, but already the rain washed the telltale evidence of Shawn’s death away. Locating his gun, Caden tucked the revolver into his waistband. It would do little against the creature. Six shots had proven that.

  He forced himself to walk the distance to Shawn’s bloody arm. The spider symbol was plainly evident on the handle of the knife. With a grimace of disgust, Caden bent and tugged the weapon from the upturned fingers. Touching the thing filled him with revulsion. The cursed weapon was responsible for so many deaths—Jonathan Marsh, Cornstalk, the Mothman’s offspring.

  He slipped the knife through his belt, then switched off his radio. Leaving Shawn’s mangled body behind him, he ran into the woods, reckless, welcoming the exertion. Putting as much distance between him and Shawn’s corpse as possible.

  How ironic that in the past, he had always been the one to seek the Mothman, but now the creature would seek him. He sensed it, somewhere behind and above, following at a distance. It took him fifteen minutes of running to realize the rain had stopped, that lightning no longer arced above his head. Already the mist thinned, tattered gray phantoms scattered by the wind.

  The storm was over. The clash of Obadiah and the Mothman had ended the only way it could.

  Caden burst into a small clearing and stopped. The area would serve for his needs, far enough away from the igloos and Shawn’s body that no one should find him. Winded, he doubled over and planted his hands on his knees. There was no drone or incessant humming to announce the Mothman’s presence. One moment the creature wasn’t there, and the next it stood in front of him.

  He straightened slowly, his attention drawn by the bright beads of cobalt dripping from the back of its wings. Six bullets hadn’t killed it, but he’d wounded it. Pain slammed into him, projected emotion to convey the agony it suffered.

  He staggered under the deluge. It was sheer lunacy to face a creature that could inflict pain with a mere flicker of thought. “So that’s it?” He spat the words and tried to straighten. “You’re going to kill me like you killed Shawn?” Gulping for air, he groped for his gun. Barrel down, he held it from his body like an offering, then dropped it on the ground. Acknowledgement the creature was in control.

  Slowly the pain abated, slithering away on a parting serpent kiss of fire.

  Unnerved, Caden dragged the back of a hand across his mouth. His gaze dropped to the brand on his forearm. Still black, the marks were now riddled with cracks, a few sections showing skin underneath like a scab peeling away. He rubbed his hand over the lines, sensing when the Mothman tracked the movement.

  For several seconds there was no emotion from the creature, then a barrage of exhaustion hit him in force.

  Old. Tired.

  Caden stared up into the glowing red eyes suspended above him.

  I will not see it for what it is. What it was.

  A creature he could kill, but a thing that possessed spirit and soul….

  He pulled the knife from his belt. The weapon would kill the creature not because it was tainted with Cornstalk’s blood but because the Mothman had chosen it as the weapon of its death. It would die by the same blade that had murdered its offspring. Ash clogged his throat, turned his grip slick with sweat.

  It was a sentient, intelligent being.

  It had a name.

  Drayandor.

  The droplets of blue trickling from its back were larger now, thick globules that stained the grass with alien blood. The creature folded its wings, drawing them close to cocoon its body. It stumbled backward, the light dimming in its eyes. In that instant when it touched his mind, he understood that it was already dying. Left alone, it would crawl into one of its hiding places. It might even recover, bullets alone not enough to end its life.

  But it had chosen him to do what it could not.

  Firmly clutching the knife, Caden lurched forward and plunged the blade into the Mothman’s chest.

  The weapon shattered into a doze
n pieces.

  * * * *

  Quentin drummed his fingers on his leg. When he left the TNT, he’d intended to take Sarah back to the hotel, but somehow they’d ended up at Eve’s. It worked out well as Eve had been relieved to see them. She’d been calling Sarah’s trailer all morning and was just getting ready to drive there when they pulled up in front of the house.

  After inviting them inside, she and Sarah had caught up on the events of last night and this morning. A half hour later, Ryan wandered over, helped by Katie. In no time, the group was congregated in Eve’s living room, discussing the events of the last few days.

  Quentin had tuned out the conversation when he suddenly realized the unusual dexterity with which he manipulated his fingers. Breath whistled between his teeth when his gaze dropped to his hand.

  “Quentin, what’s wrong?” Seated beside him, Sarah twisted to face him.

  Stunned, it took him several seconds to lift his hand and turn it toward her. “No scars.”

  Her mouth parted in shock. “My God. How is that possible?”

  “The Marsh family curse.” Eve was the one to piece it together. Seated near the entrance to the dining room, she leaned forward on her chair. “Something must have happened to break the curse.”

  “The knife?” Ryan guessed.

  Earlier, Quentin and the others had brought him and Katie up to date on everything that had transpired. Odd how easily Quentin fit into their group. “Shawn had the knife. At least, he did last night,” he reminded them.

  “That knife is tied to Obadiah and to Cornstalk.” Eve’s attention was diverted by the sound of car pulling into the driveway. Relief washed over her face. “Oh, thank God! Caden must be back.”

  She was halfway to the door when her husband strode inside. Quentin took one look at him and knew something terrible had happened. He wore a clean uniform, not a speck of dirt to account for the storm that had raged all morning but his gray eyes were haunted, dark as gunmetal.

  “Caden?” Eve’s brows drew together. “Where are your clothes?”

  “I changed at the station.” He closed the door behind him. “Between the rain and the TNT, I got a bit…muddy.”