I stared at the mysterious cowboy, now more intrigued with him than the Lord of the Dead. “Who are you? How do you know all this?”
“Focus on what matters.” He scooped up dirt and tossed it on Molek’s exposed face, and it stayed there, the physical realm colliding with the unseen. “You have to find your people.”
“Meaning . . .?”
“Seek out and band together with those chosen by God and destined to believe your account and join you in the mission. Together, the handful of you can turn this town around and overturn evil.”
It was like déjà vu, only I knew why the scenario felt familiar. “My father basically just told me that.”
The old man nodded, like he was one up on me again.
“I’m meeting with some church people this Sunday,” I said. “Is it them?”
Still kneeling, he looked up at me with a small yet reassuring smile. “I have no doubt it will become clear to you when you find the ones called to serve alongside you.”
What a relief. People were being divinely stirred to believe and assist Ray and me. How else would we ever convince them?
Molek groaned, drawing our attention. “We need a battalion of armored Watchmen to stand guard here,” I said. “Look what a beatdown they put on Molek. They need to strike him again if he starts to move.”
The old man stood and rubbed the dirt off his palms, the soil only a slightly darker shade of brown than his skin. “Heaven’s army dragged him and his throne off your land, outside city limits, but the beating that left him this impaired came at the hands of his own kind.”
“Are you serious?” I’m sure my eyes were wide.
“In desperation, Molek summoned wicked cosmic powers that outrank him to descend on Masonville and help him reestablish his throne here—to combine their heightened destructive powers with his and devastate the town. They came, but they punished him severely for fumbling his assignment to begin with.”
I rubbed anxious circles on my chin, staring up at the morning sky, processing things out loud. “So even though these cosmic beings hate Molek, they’re willing to team up with him to try to destroy us?”
“All wicked forces hate one another,” the man said. “It’s the nature of their kingdom. But this town is a vital territory to their global plan. Their mission demands that they work together to see Masonville fall.”
There it was again. The idea that the world’s fate was directly tied to ours.
“Who are these superior rulers?” I thought maybe he was referring to the bats.
“Rulers of satanic darkness that preside high in the atmosphere over America. Seven of them have descended on Masonville, severely increasing the intensity of their influence on the people here. They’re larger in stature than Molek and far more wicked.”
So, it wasn’t the short, squatty bats. And far more wicked? How was that even possible? Yet it fit. This had to be the greater evil Arthur’s letter had warned about. The meaning behind the shadow that had brought me to my knees and tried to suffocate me in my nightmare.
The old man nodded solemnly at the broken-down house. “More than a century ago, that sat among others just like it on your land, during Caldwell’s plantation era. Unthinkable evils were committed within those walls, but it was eventually abandoned and hauled off. Dumped out here.” He shifted his weight toward me. “Think about it: if that house was restored and occupied now by a wholesome tenant, wicked men couldn’t enter it again, but since it’s vacant, they could walk in anytime and make themselves at home—men even crueler than the ones who lived there before.”
“Okay?” He seemed to be making some kind of analogy, but I struggled to follow it.
“And so it is with Masonville.” He faced me. “It’s not enough to have driven Molek off your land and out of town. The people here are empty without the Light. So evil has come in greater strength and number to fill the vacancy. It’s how wicked forces operate, generation after generation.”
I raked my fingers through my hair, already feeling the heightened stress. “Please stay and help me.”
The old man made no commitment—or reply. Instead he led me away by the arm, turning our backs on Molek and the house. Thankfully I had enough sense to get my phone out and pin the GPS location before we got very far.
“It’s not your job to pick a fight with the seven Rulers,” he explained. “Stay focused on finding those assigned with you to the mission, and together, gather the townspeople on your land to fulfill the sacred, scriptural promise you’ve been given.”
He let go of me, and we walked side by side between rows of ripening corn. “Know this,” he warned. “If Molek regains his strength, rises from the earth, and joins the seven Rulers, they will triumph, and the decades of heightened darkness will begin—here and in regions far beyond.”
“And countless people my age and younger will pay the price,” I added. I’d already learned from my father that hell’s end goal was to wipe out my generation and the next from the face of the earth, since no generation before us was so called to expose and defy evil’s agenda. Through every twisted means possible, demonic overlords and underlings were frantically working to kill us off. And based on the ancient historic account, Molek was among the most notorious assassins of young souls.
“How can Molek regain his strength?” I asked.
“You’ll know soon enough.” He reached toward my eyes, and of course, I squeezed them shut. He cupped his hands over my eyelids. Totally weird. “Be caring, young man, and you’ll see what you need to, when you need to. You both will.”
I knew he was talking about Ray Anne.
He removed his hands. I blinked a few times and nodded, remembering a strange but proven paranormal principle: when I looked at people through eyes of compassion, so to speak, I saw hidden burdens and bondages on them that I couldn’t detect otherwise. It was totally bizarre, but then again, lots of supernatural things are—from a human perspective, anyway.
He resumed walking, a brisk stride for a man his age. I kept up, eager to learn more. Everything I could. “Where are the seven Rulers right now?”
“All over town, working to spread their own influence and outdo one another, even while on a joint mission. But more days than not, at dusk, they commune on your land. At least a few, if not all seven of them.”
“Where on my land?”
“The place most associated with death.”
No surprise. I was confident I knew the spot.
The wise old man looked up and around, a cue I recognized by now. “Don’t leave,” I said. “Please, stay and help for once.”
He shoved his hands in his deep denim pockets and grinned. “Haven’t I always been there when you needed me?”
He’d definitely saved me on more than one occasion. Most recently, he’d come to my rescue after I’d been gagged and hog-tied in the woods, freeing me just in time to rescue little Jackson from his sadistic captors. But he’d said he’d meet back up with me at the scene of the crime that night and never did. “How come you bailed on the occult ritual, when I broke up the ceremony and stole Jackson back?”
He smiled wider, showing his gleaming white teeth. “I was there.”
“Oh.” In all the chaos, I must have overlooked him.
He glanced over his shoulder. “I have to go, but I’ll see you again.” He instructed me not to follow, then turned and walked away in the middle of me asking, “What’s your name?”
I stood there all of two seconds, then dove between cornstalks, determined to follow in spite of his warning. But he was gone.
It figured. He was a marvel all his own.
I left the cornfield and drove toward Ray Anne’s house, squinting into the rising sun. She loved when I had updates, and man, I did today.
I’d just passed Masonville High and was driving alongside my wooded property when a pale-faced teenage boy came stumbling out from the tree line, holding hands with a dark-haired, olive-skinned girl, both dressed in jeans and hood
ies. In late August, in Texas.
They were both shackled. At first I thought something dark and freakish blanketed their faces, but when I looked a second time, there was nothing on them.
I circled back and pulled off the road, curious about the scary face thing and also wondering what they’d been doing in my woods. It was six-thirty on Wednesday morning, the first week of a new school year—a weird time to go walking the trails. When I parked and turned my engine off, they angled away from me, marching through knee-high grass back toward the woods, lurching forward at times like their equilibrium was way off. His blond hair pointed in every wild direction. She latched onto his skinny waist to keep her balance. They had to be freshmen. Maybe eighth graders. And both naive enough to think if they ignored me, I’d just go away.
“Hey,” I called out.
The boy looked back and mumbled something. I ran and caught up to them, planting myself in their path. “What are you guys doing out here?”
She looked up at me, but he pulled his hood down, covering half his face while tugging on her hand. “Come on, Zella.” When she didn’t move, he let go of her and strode toward the trees without her.
She was a petite girl, only as tall as my chest, with dimples that made her seem innocent, but her brown eyes were glassy and bloodshot. And roaming all over the place. “Please don’t call the cops on us.” Her eyes pooled.
I wasn’t sure why she thought I’d call the police, but before I could say anything, she turned and tried to catch up with the guy—her boyfriend, I assumed. But she tripped over her own Nikes and slammed onto the grass.
“Are you okay?” I went to her and reached to help her up, but she dodged my hand.
“We got it.” The boy sighed, turning back and working to get her onto her feet, obviously as high as she was.
“What are you guys on?” There was no sense playing dumb. I’d been around enough of my mom’s druggie boyfriends to spot users without any second-guessing.
He finally got the girl up, then faced me. “Nothing.” After that, his syllables slurred together, but it seemed like he said, “Just leave us alone.”
That’s when it hit me.
“Gentry?”
I recognized him. Gentry Wilson, Lance’s little brother—a lot taller and thinner than he used to be. I hadn’t seen Gentry in a while, not since Lance went from being the best friend I had in this town to one of my worst critics.
Gentry stared at me with an open-mouthed, blank expression, his brain clearly not firing on all cylinders. I placed a brotherly hand on his shoulder and asked again, “What are you on?”
He shrugged my hand away and stared off into the distance. “Why would you care?”
I leaned down so I could look him in the eye. “Gentry, it’s me. Owen Edmonds. Remember?”
He hardly glanced at me, but then again, his mind was frying. This wasn’t the same giggly kid who used to follow Lance and me around and try to shoot hoops with us in their driveway and beg me to drive him around on my motorcycle. The memories must have triggered compassion in me, because the next thing I knew, I had an up-close look at the most grotesque bondage I’d ever seen.
FOUR
GENTRY’S FACE WAS COVERED IN METAL—a thick mask, dark copper-brown as an old penny. Horizontal, cylindrical bars formed small slits over his eyes and mouth. At the bottom of the contraption, just above his shackle, intertwined strands of barbed wire stretched all the way down his chest to his gut, where they were attached to a dagger that plunged beneath his ribs. Into his soul.
I swallowed hard.
I guess I didn’t have the same compassion for the girl next to him—Zella, he’d called her. Her identical mask and barbed wire were faint and see-through, hardly visible to me. Just enough to know they were there.
“You guys . . .” I was at a loss.
Zella leaned and looked past me, then gasped and ran toward the woods as fast as a drug-impaired person could. Gentry was on her heels. I sighed. It occurred to me to move on. Forget about them and drive off and go see the love of my life. But since the old man had just instructed me to pay attention to the people I happened to cross paths with, I stayed put and looked around for what could have spooked them.
I spotted a white Ford Taurus that had pulled off the road behind my motorcycle. When I saw the driver, a sense of dread came over me, like a big barbell was suddenly strapped to my chest.
Detective Benny.
Good cop by day. Bad all hours of the night.
He bolted out of this car, leaving the door open, hollering Zella’s name. He glanced my way but kept moving. In spite of his protruding gut, he chased after the kids, dragging six shackle-tethered chains behind him, four cords swinging from the back of his head. He’d gained a chain since I’d first met him, and I was sure he’d keep adding more. There were no Creepers attached to him, but I was convinced it was only because his oppression went deeper. His demons were hunkered down inside, influencing him from within.
He emerged from the trees a minute later, out of breath, pulling Gentry and Zella by their long sleeves. “This deviant behavior will not be tolerated.” Detective Benny, playing the part of a model citizen. An upholder of justice and order.
He acknowledged me with a courteous nod while leading the masked kids to his vehicle, as if there was no twisted history between us and he hadn’t threatened—however subtly—to harm me if I ever came forward with what I knew.
“Where are you taking them?” This man had the connections to have me killed, but I couldn’t stay silent while he took off with two minors. For all I knew, they’d end up missing. Sold in a human auction like the one I’d spied him at, on my very own property.
The detective opened the car door to the back seat. “I’m going to see that they get home safe, where they belong.”
Safe was the last word I associated with him. That and honest.
Zella lowered herself into the car but kept her feet planted in the grass, blocking him from shutting her in. “I was on my way home, Dad. I swear.”
It was like the barbell on my chest fell and rammed my stomach. This corrupt man was raising a daughter? No wonder she was on drugs. And didn’t want me calling the cops.
Detective Benny made a sharp sweeping gesture with his head, warning the girl to move her legs. She did, and he closed the door on her and Gentry. He looked at me before sliding into the driver’s seat. “You stay out of trouble, you hear me?”
Aka, I’d better continue to keep my mouth shut. I nodded as if I hadn’t been working behind the scenes for months, gathering information so I could eventually expose every camouflaged criminal and occult member in this town. But if I wanted to live long enough to see justice served and protect my mom and the other people I cared about from retribution, I had to go about it the right way and at the right time. The local news reporter lady—my unlikely ally, Elle Adelle—was discovering and confiding in Ray and me that Masonville’s satanic society was every bit as cutthroat as the Mafia, only with a paranormal twist. They summoned powers of darkness to do most of the dirty work of harming people for them.
I knocked lightly on the door of Ray Anne’s garage-turned-apartment, hoping she was awake, knowing Jackson was probably still snoozing in his crib, nestled within arm’s reach of Ray Anne’s bed. She’d taken on an enormous responsibility when she agreed to take temporary custody of someone else’s baby—my ex-girlfriend’s son. Adding to the strangeness of the situation, Jackson’s father was Dan Bradford, the school shooter who had gunned Ray Anne down, but she never seemed to connect any dots of resentment back to Jackson.
Ray Anne opened the door with Jackson on her hip, still dressed in her pant-style pj’s, her blonde hair thrown into a sloppy ponytail that struck me as gorgeous. Even after all this time, I found myself starting to lean in, as if she’d welcome me with a kiss. Ray Anne still clung to her overachieving goal to save her first kiss for her wedding day. Hard as it was, I didn’t pressure her and had even managed to hold the
line the one time she’d let her guard down and made herself vulnerable to me. I was holding onto hope that if I just stayed the course and didn’t blow it, I’d be the one she’d marry. Then nothing with her would be off limits.
Jackson reached out with his tiny arms, straining so hard to get to me that his pacifier popped out of his mouth. He was eight months now, old enough to grin from ear to tiny ear every time he saw me. He’d also started calling me dada. What was I supposed to do? Letting him believe I was his dad seemed almost as cruel as scolding him for saying it.
I snatched him out of Ray Anne’s arms and tapped my finger on his miniscule nose. As usual, he giggled and kicked his little legs. It was weird taking care of a baby at our age, but at least Ray’s mom liked to watch him a lot and kept some playpen sleeper thing in her bedroom so my girlfriend and I could stay out late pretty much whenever we wanted. Honestly, I never thought I’d get so attached to a baby, especially one that wasn’t mine. Jackson made me want to devote every ounce of energy I had to making the world a better place for him.
Way better.
Ray Anne walked over to her laptop and typed something, already at work on her online classes, determined to earn her nursing degree. She paused to rinse a sippy cup in the sink. I lowered myself into a chair at her two-seater breakfast table and bounced Jackson on my knee, looking at the tiny, concentrated glow emanating from his heart. It’s not like he could understand my conversations with Ray Anne, but it still felt wrong to talk about invading forces of evil in front of him. But I had to get Ray Anne up to speed.
I started at the beginning, describing the details of last night’s nightmare. She abandoned her chores and sat across from me, nodding every five seconds like she always did when I told an important story. I’d gotten to the part about the swarming bats when she held a flexed hand in my face, silencing me, staring at the backside of my forearm, of all things.
“What is that?” She pointed just below my elbow.
I examined my arm, and . . . wow.
The Defiance Page 3