Might be reading it right now, in fact.
“How do I get it back?”
The Voice did not answer for a moment. The only sound was the wind in the eucalyptus trees.
You pathetic man. It is already too late.
“I should leave, then.” Run, his mind screamed at him. Get out of here before they come for you.
Standing there, naked in the dark, he was again sixteen years old, listening to the humiliating news that Coach Salino had cut him from the varsity football team because he’d been late to practice one too many times. The same heat in his face, the same clutching sensation in his stomach, the same echoing recriminations in his mind. You’re worthless. You’re lazy. You’re weak.
The same fear of the punishment he would undoubtedly get from his father. Would it be the paddle this time? Or fists? Both had been used on him many times, the decision of which usually determined by how much his father had to drink that day. Run away. Run far away, where they can’t find you.
So he had. But they’d found him, of course they had, dragged him home despite his protests. That evening he took so many strokes of his dad’s wooden paddle across his bare ass that it was still tender a month later.
The Voice sneered at him. Stand there and face the consequences of your laziness and stupidity. Stand there like you deserve, with your little dick shriveling in the cold. The boy is gone. If you go there now, they will blame you for his disappearance.
“Gone? Gone where?”
Taken by one of the created ones. By one of the children of the mind.
“Where is the notebook?”
Beyond retrieval.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “What does that even mean? Does Ben still have it with him?”
There was no answer.
Dawning realization, and a strange quelling of his paralyzing fear. “You don’t know, do you?”
Still no answer.
Were there limits to what the Voice knew? He had only known it to be wrong once before. The Voice in the Place Where The Answers Are had told him Susan was a liar, was a cheat, would hurt him just as others had hurt him.
He hadn’t listened, and she had been none of those things, and for a while, he had not sought out the Voice. He didn’t need to. Susan’s presence was enough. But it hadn’t lasted—
Jackson.
“Susan?” There was another rush as his mind was twisted around, forced to look in a different direction.
You have a choice.
“What?” His voice sounded like a whimper in his own ears, and a memory of his father’s voice, with each stinging smack of the paddle on his skin, forced itself back into his brain. Weakling. Coward. Pussy. Runaway. Loser.
Susan’s voice was soft, comforting. This is a new world. You can start over. You do not have to be who you were. Your father and the other people of the old world are gone, and they can only torment you if you give them your permission. You were taught that strength meant denying your feelings, pretending they didn’t exist. But that was a lie.
“Feelings betray you.” His voice hissed through clenched teeth.
They only betray your humanity.
“You left me,” he snarled into the night air, and his hands curled into fists, his nails digging clefts into his palms.
I died, Jackson. It was not my choice. You must know that.
A sob welled up in his chest, caught in his throat, its claws tearing at him in its need to escape. “Your parents didn’t even tell me it had happened—Not until after—” He stopped, his own uncooperative voice unable to say the words, you were in your grave.
But that was not your fault. Nor mine. My parents are gone, too, now. All the old world, all the people who hurt you, who made you hard, who made you reject any love as weakness. All gone. There is no reason to hide from them anymore.
“But the Voice—the Voice told me that Ragnarok was coming, fire and the sword, that Surt would lay waste to the land, that I had a choice between being his priest or the first sacrifice….”
She laughed, and in that laugh was no mockery, only a gentle remonstrance that was itself almost like a caress. Did you not know? Not all voices speak the truth.
“It hasn’t lied to me—”
Nor has it spoken wisdom. Truth is deeper than facts. Truth comes from the heart. You have been misled. You must decide whether your path lies with Surt, or with Frey. You know what I mean.
“It’s too much.”
It isn’t. Your fear makes it greater than it is.
“But what about the notebook? What if they find it? Z and Lissa and all the others?”
You will explain that it came from your weakness and your hurt and your longing to know. You will tell them everything. You will swallow the bitter drink of your pride, drain the whole cup, and only then will you find out that there is no poison in it except the one you have made for yourself.
“But the Voice said—”
No. The Voice is nothing more than—
A screeching roar, almost at the upper range of human hearing, sliced through his mind, blowing away Susan’s gentle voice like a winter gale. A pair of icy hands shoved him backwards, stumbling, into the thorny branches of a bush.
Fool. Weakling. You stand here whining and trembling, talking about pity and weakness and sentiment, you have lost your chance to retrieve the notebook. It will be your undoing.
“You don’t even know where it is! You can’t even tell me how to find it, or find Ben! You said I’m worthless, but you’re the one who’s worthless!”
The onslaught was immediate. Punches from unseen fists landed on his chest, arms, face. He fought back, swinging wildly, connecting with nothing, until by some chance his fingers wrapped around a bony wrist that struggled and flailed. Jackson held on and was lifted from the ground, shaken in midair like a rag doll, as the Voice shrieked its fury into his mind.
“Jackson?” came a female voice. He had no idea from where, or whose it was, except it spoke from outside his skull, from the real world of humans, with all of their weakness and foolishness and worthlessness, and for a moment, he turned fully away from the Voice toward that voice who had spoken out of the darkness, full of fear and concern for his safety.
The arm he held collapsed into nothing. Jackson landed full on both feet, but his knees buckled and he tumbled to the wet grass, senseless.
The female voice was closer now, crying out in alarm. He could not discern any words, and after a moment gave up trying, only reached up one arm to cover his eyes and shut out the darkness.
7
THERE CAME A point when the ones left could not recall a time when they had not been journeying in the forest. The Sibyl’s words, the carven gate that let them under the eaves of the trees, even their lives before the dire changes—all seemed as myths, as stories they’d been told years before when they were little. Faces of loved ones long lost, the feel of the sun on their backs, the taste of bread and honey and wine, were tales to be wondered at. The things they told of were ghosts, such that none could say if they had ever been real, or if the only reality was the never-ending shadowed damp underneath the trees.
—
ZOLZAYA STARED AT Jeff, her mind trying unsuccessfully to make sense of what he had said. “Ben? Ben’s missing?”
Jeff nodded. “I went to his room. Well, not his room, Gareth’s up there at the moment, but the room he went to sleep in last night. It’s the little room down the hall. I thought it was weird that he wasn’t up yet, so I knocked, and then peeked in. His bed didn’t look like it was slept in.”
“And you checked the rest of the house?”
“Uh-huh. He’s not anywhere I can find. I thought maybe he’d had second thoughts about giving Gareth his room, so I went up there. I guess I woke Gareth up, but I thought it was important. Any case, he hasn’t seen Ben since last night either.” He gave her a frown. “But you said Gary just now. I haven’t seen him, neither. Him nor the Japanese girl.”
Not now. She coul
dn’t get into that now. “I’m more concerned about Ben. Gary and Mikiko are adults, they can handle themselves. Would Ben go off on his own?”
“I don’t know why he would.”
“Me, either. I wonder, though—what if he found out more about the monsters? From reading his book of mythology, maybe. What if he found something he thought could help, and decided to go off and do it all on his own?”
“That doesn’t sound like something he’d do. Not unless there wasn’t no other way. Ben’s a good boy, he knows the danger, and that we wouldn’t want him doing that. He’d wait and tell us, especially if it was important.”
“I think you’re right.”
There was the sound of footsteps, and Margo came into the kitchen. She gave Z a tentative smile. “Good morning. Are we the only ones up?”
“So far.” Z took a deep breath. “Have you seen Ben this morning?”
“Ben? No, why?”
“He’s not in the house.”
Her smile vanished. “Oh, no. If that boy went outside....” She stopped, as if unwilling to complete the thought.
“I only now found out. But you’re right. We should wake the others, form a search party.”
Lissa’s gaze met Z’s.
She didn’t even have to say it. Then it would come out that there were two others missing. But that couldn’t be helped. Maybe it would be best to tell everyone the truth about what happened to Gary in any case.
Fifteen minutes later, Gareth had joined Z, Lissa, Margo, and Jeff in the kitchen. Z made the decision to tell them about the transformation of Gary and Mikiko.
“Jesus protect us.” Jeff clutched his Bible to his chest. “I knew something was evil about that girl. Knew it the minute I saw her.”
Gareth blinked sleepily, and frowned. “So you saw them—they were doing it, and then they turned into foxes?”
“Don’t even ask me if it was a dream.” Her voice was uncharacteristically sharp. “I know it wasn’t.”
Gareth nodded, but didn’t respond.
“When we heard Z screaming, we came down, and their clothes were all over the living room floor.” Margo paused as if picking her next words carefully. “We decided not to tell anyone, mostly for Ben’s sake, but now….”
“So the real question is, how far do we search for Ben?” Lissa’s brow was creased, and she spoke quietly, hesitantly, without her usual confident stridency. “If he went outside by himself at night, something could have… you know, gotten him. One of the things we’ve seen, or something else entirely. Looking for him in that case would put more of us at risk, for no purpose.”
“What if he’s hurt?” Margo sounded aggrieved. “He could be hurt and not able to get back. We can’t sit here and let him either get back on his own, or not at all.”
“I don’t know.” Lissa held her hand up as Margo opened her mouth to object. “Margo, you know I like Ben, but this isn’t about likes and dislikes. We’re in a new world where we can’t count on anything being safe. Hell, there’s more than one creature we’ve seen in the last few days that is potentially lethal. That we’ve made it this far without one of us dying has been nothing but pure luck. I don’t even begin to know how we could search for Ben without standing a good chance of one of us being killed. Possibly more than one. Can we afford to take that chance?”
“We have to.” The other woman’s mouth set in a stubborn line.
“No. No, we don’t. The events of the last few days have rewritten the entire moral calculus.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Stop.” Z’s voice cut through the nascent argument like a knife. “Look, I’m not sure what to do either. But we’re accomplishing nothing by bickering about it. We should at least make a quick perimeter of the Ingersolls’ yard, see if we can find any trace of him. But if that doesn’t turn anything up, I’m inclined to agree with Lissa. Not knowing where he’s gone would leave us with no option but a house-to-house search, and after what happened yesterday, I don’t think we can risk it.”
Margo turned toward her, frowning with surprise, her dark eyes filling with tears. Her voice cracked. “Z, he’s a little boy—”
“I know. But he’s a smart boy, and he’s got as good a chance as any of us would, out there alone. We’ve lost three of our group in one night, and I’m not willing to take a chance we might lose more without something else to go on.”
“Two,” Jeff corrected. “We’ve lost two. Gary and Ben. The demon girl was never one of our fold.”
“Well, however you want to count it. But let’s go, as a group, and see if we can find anything—footprints, signs of a struggle, whatever—that might give us some indication of where he’s gone.”
Failing that, there was not much they could do. The way Lissa said it was harsh, but she was right. Risking the lives of the few remaining survivors to find one who had strayed was not worth the trade, however much they all liked Ben.
—
THE BACK YARD showed no sign of where Ben might have gone. The trees rustled in the light breeze, and the swimming pool glittered blue in the sunshine. Z thought about the television detectives, who could tell what direction a suspect had fled from a broken twig. Lot of bullshit, that was. Either that, or she’d never have made it as a detective.
But there was something there, and it was Gareth who saw it—the notebook, flopped open face down on the grass near the border that the Ingersolls’ yard shared with the Acostas’.
“Hey.” He stooped over and picked it up. “I found something.”
The others, looking ineffectually along the fence line that formed the back edge of the property, came up to him, curiosity in their expressions.
“What is it?”
“It’s….” Gareth looked over at the Acostas’ house, squinting against the sunlight glinting on the windows. “It’s Jackson’s notebook. The one I saw him writing in yesterday.”
“How do you know it’s the same one?” Lissa asked.
He held it out, open to a page in the middle, for her to see. Crowded lines of precise block print, almost as neat as typeset, filled the page back and front, from top to bottom and edge to edge, written with no eye to staying on the lines, driven only by a need to fill every available blank space as tightly as possible.
Gareth pointed to a word mid-page. “Ragnarok. It’s what I heard Jackson say on the porch yesterday. I told you about that, Lissa.”
Z turned and glared at them. “What? When? What happened?”
Gareth’s fair face blushed scarlet. “I’m—I’m sorry. I should have told you, too, Z. I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you. But I couldn’t find an opportunity when there weren’t bunches of other people around. So I told Lissa. I saw Jackson yesterday afternoon, sitting on the front porch of the house over there, writing in this notebook. He said that word, and he was suddenly aware of me. It was like someone had whispered in his ear that I was watching him. He turned and looked at me. It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever had happen. His expression—well, it didn’t look human.”
“Maybe it’d be worthwhile reading what’s in here,” Z said. “But not now. Not until we’ve done what searching we’re going to do. But let’s go see if Olivia and Jackson heard anything last night. As little as I like Jackson Royce, he might have some idea of what to do to find Ben.”
They crossed in front of the hedges that grew on the property line, then went along the sidewalk and up the front stairs onto the Acostas’ porch.
The front door stood wide open.
“That doesn’t look good,” Lissa said under her breath.
“Hello?” Z shouted into the doorway.
No answer.
“This feels wrong,” Margo said. “There’s something seriously wrong here. We need to get back to the house.”
“Not before I find out where Jackson and Olivia are.” Z stepped into the empty living room. The others followed, walking slowly, their movements as tremulous as frightened rabbits, likely to bolt at any
noise.
“There’s blood over here.” Jeff pointed to a line of dark spots on the hardwood floor near the bottom of the stairs.
The shards of a broken vase lay scattered nearby. But there was nothing else there to explain what had broken it, or whether it had anything to do with Jackson and Olivia’s disappearance.
“That’s not enough blood to make me think they were attacked here. Only a few drops. It looks more like someone cut their foot on the broken glass.” Z peered up the dimly-lit staircase. “I’m going upstairs to see if I can figure out what happened.”
“If they were in the house, they’d have answered,” Margo said.
“I know. But if there’s any indication of where they’ve gone, I want to know what it is. This makes five people missing in one night….”
“Four.” Thank God for Jeff. He was quickly making a name for himself as their resident scorekeeper.
“Point made. Four. But still, if we’re being picked off one by one, I want to have as much information about it as I can.”
Lissa scowled. “You and me both. I’m coming with you.”
“Do you think….” Z trailed off.
The other woman’s smile flashed out at her. “I know. I can’t run very well. But you know what they say, right? If you and a friend are being chased by a tiger, you don’t have to run faster than the tiger, you just have to run faster than your friend. Call me your life insurance policy.”
They went single file up the stairs, Lissa going last and slowest. The house was completely silent, and their footsteps clunked hollow on the wooden floors. They reached the second story, where there was a long hallway with rooms to both sides.
Two doors stood open. One was a bathroom. The other was a large bedroom, clearly the one Jackson and Olivia had occupied. Their bags were on the floor, Jackson’s laid out neatly, Olivia’s open to reveal a tangled mess of clothes and other personal items. The only disarray on Jackson’s side of the bed was the pile of jeans, boxers, and t-shirt he’d worn the previous day, evidently dropped on the floor when he’d undressed for bed.
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