I chose to interpret that as her way of not blaming me for McFarland’s death.
“Trust me, Owen, I’m working on a plan to expose these people as soon as possible.”
She and I agreed she’d continue the investigative side of things while I stayed focused on the spiritual battlefront. I told her what to do to drive the nighttime intruders from her home and sent her screenshots of my note cards.
“It’s that simple?” she questioned.
“Was for me.”
I dodged explaining the rest of my unsuccessful night, just like I had with Ray Anne. It was too much to focus on at once.
“Hmmm . . .” Elle made the hum that meant she was concentrating. “Concerning the witches, do you think maybe we’re dealing with astral projection?”
“Astral what?”
She explained that people can tap into demonic powers that make it possible for their spirits to leave their bodies and go harass others.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“So . . .” I walked up and down the center aisle of the church, trying to understand. “You’re saying the human forms I saw last night could have been real people, not Creepers, whose spirits had left their bodies and actually been there, in the storage room?”
“It’s possible.”
I stopped and pondered the dreadful scenario. “That would mean Ray Anne was right, and Veronica really has been leaving the jail and stalking Jackson’s crib. And those weird letters from the jail Veronica denied mailing to me really were from her. She completely lied to you and me yesterday about having changed her ways.” I huffed into the phone. “Seriously, Elle, how much crazier can this spirit-world stuff get?”
A call-waiting beep interrupted us—and answered my question.
SEVENTEEN
IT WAS A COLLECT CALL from the Hilltop Correctional Unit. I told Elle I’d call her back.
Veronica whispered into the phone. “Listen to me. I found out someone was assigned to get inside your apartment and put a curse under your bed.”
“I don’t live in my apartment anymore,” I said, “and don’t act like you don’t know that.”
She was silent a moment, then spoke again, her voice pleading. “Owen, I just assumed it was your apartment. If you’ve moved, I have no idea where you live. I swear. But I’m telling you, someone snuck cursed objects into your bedroom. You need to go under your bed and get rid of them immediately. Take them outside and destroy them.”
I charged up the stairs and into my room, lecturing into the phone. “I know about that astral project stuff, Veronica.”
“Projection?”
“Whatever. I know you’ve been going to Ray Anne’s to spy on Jackson and coming to the church to mess with me too. And those letters—”
“What? I don’t know about any church, and I already told you, I’m done with that life. I haven’t gone anywhere near Ray Anne or Jackson.” She sounded convincing, but what else was new? “Owen, I called to help you. I meant what I said—I’m on your side.” Her voice broke with emotion. “And I could really use someone on mine.” There was a pause, then, “I’ve got to go.”
She hung up, and I scolded myself for being tempted to feel bad for her. Veronica was a wicked foe, not a friend—as slimy as the soaked strands of hair that were stuck to her astral-projecting cheeks last night. That’s why the assailants didn’t morph into Creepers when I gave the spirit-world orders: because they weren’t Creepers. They were witches and warlocks performing a sinister stunt I never dreamed was possible.
I dropped to my hands and knees and searched the dim, dusty space under my bed. Nothing there but a toppled stack of books. But when I slid the pile aside, I knew something wasn’t right.
I put my phone in flashlight mode and aimed it at an odd heap shoved against the wall. It looked like small bones bound together by a thread of bright-red yarn, placed on top of a nest of . . .
Is that human hair?
I used the corner of a book to snag the mound and slide it out from under the bed. Sure enough, there was a wad of long hairs in all kinds of shades—human hair colors. The bones looked like chickens’ wings and legs. Or maybe bats’?
In the center of the mass was an ordinary gray rock with a white pentagram painted on the smooth surface. I might have dismissed the whole thing as some stupid scare tactic had the sound of hissing not filled the air as soon as I moved the bizarre pile.
I took the plastic bin my mother had given me and dumped the contents on the floor. Then I scooped the cursed objects into the bin and hurried outside, hoping I wouldn’t run into anyone and owe an explanation.
I marched toward the pond, looking for a place where I could get rid of the objects.
I settled on drowning it.
I walked to the edge of the pond and dumped the nasty clump into the water, then used a stick to drive it down into the mud bottom.
Done.
Back in my room, there was no more trace of any snake bodies winding in the walls or the unnerving sound of hissing. Their witch-crafted nest was gone.
I glanced at my cell, wishing I had Gentry’s number to call and check on him. On the burner phone, I saw that my father had texted me: Please wait for me. I’ll explain.
Was he letting me know he was coming to Masonville?
I didn’t want to see him. At least I didn’t want to want to see him.
I didn’t text back.
I drove by Gentry’s that afternoon, and shocker, his mother said he wasn’t home, and she didn’t know where he’d gone or when he’d be back.
Finally, it was almost 7:00 p.m.—time for six local student pastors to meet up on the front steps of Masonville High with Ray Anne and me. Isolation came naturally to me, but if Ray and I were going to succeed at our mission, I had to get over that.
She and I stood side by side outside the school, waiting—hoping the pastors were already called to join us and we wouldn’t have to do much persuading. I was prepared to do most of the talking. She kept dabbing her eyes with a tissue and apologizing. “I’m so sorry, I can’t stop crying.”
I assured her it was okay and kept that same upbeat tone while explaining that, as it had turned out, she’d been right about Veronica. “It really has been her making appearances,” I said, “but there’s still nothing to fear—she’s no match for Scripture. Quote it, Ray, and she’ll run.”
She didn’t ask any questions or even nod. It was like she was too afraid to even acknowledge what I’d just said. On top of that, she changed the subject—my go-to maneuver, not hers.
“Where are all the Creepers?” she asked me. Other than an occasional fleeting glimpse, they were nowhere to be found on or around the school building.
I peered into the sky at the same spot where we’d witnessed Watchmen come pouring into our realm. “Maybe Heaven’s army is on its way, and they know it.”
The black Suburban drove slowly in front of the school, drawing our attention until it passed.
Ethan was the first to arrive, five minutes early. He managed to make Ray Anne laugh with one of his corny jokes. I wondered if she’d have laughed if the joke had come from me, but I shrugged off the pointless question.
The last guy showed up twenty minutes late, but at least all six student pastors—four men and two women—were finally here, gathered on the steps. They looked young, all but one in their twenties.
Ethan was the only person among them who had a defender seal. I was sure Ray Anne would have noticed it on him by now had she not been so anxious and distracted.
There was an awkward silence, like it was sinful for people from different churches to mingle. But that wasn’t as big of an issue as the fact that two of them were shackled. There was no way the metal-lugging lady and guy would believe what we had to say, and it’s not like they were in a position to link arms and fight alongside us. How could any shackled person be called to join us?
I was curious about how these people we
re responding to the Rulers’ intensified presence in Masonville and hoped I had enough compassion to detect it, along with any chain-links or cords—baggage of the soul—they might have been lugging around. At the moment, they all appeared fine.
We circled up, facing one another, and when Ethan offered to open the occasion in prayer, a refreshing breeze blew like some sort of divine thumbs-up. His prayer was a noble one, humble and sincere, asking God to please help us work together for the greater good.
Then I spoke up, and while I introduced Ray Anne and myself, she and I both spotted one of those massive stained-glass bowls high in the air, steadily lowering toward us—a reassuring sign that something good was about to go down.
I gave a less sensational explanation of Masonville’s current spiritual condition than the one I’d recently given Pastor Gordon, making a case for why we needed to start praying together, avoiding eye contact with the two shackled people in case those disgusting black scales covered their eyes. “I imagine you’ve noticed how lots of people around here are struggling with things like despair, strife, addiction, slumber—kind of like they’re asleep, spiritually speaking. And as you already know, pornography is a big issue too.”
Of the four males there besides me, all except Ethan lowered their heads. And the shackled woman too. Sure enough, as each of them eventually looked my way again, I saw it. Streaming movement in their eyes.
“The thing is, you guys . . .” I kept talking despite the huge distraction, fixing my gaze on their foreheads. “If we’re going to help people, we have to start with ourselves.” I swallowed my pride. “I mean, I’m having struggles myself. But it’s all intended to stop us from doing what we’re called to do, especially the mission to work together to transform our town.”
It took me off guard when the shackled lady came and stood beside me, announcing we were all invited to attend and bring students to a concert her church was hosting. Then she returned to her place—the open cuffs on the ends of her chains slamming the cement steps—and smiled at everyone, as if that one church event was the answer to everything.
Ethan spoke up, agreeing we should start praying together as a group—now but also weekly, suggesting Masonville High as the location since the students were our biggest concern. But another guy, Brandon, shot the location down, insisting his church would be more comfortable than an outdoor spot with no AC. Then that shackled concert girl, Shelly, said she could only commit to meeting once a month, at which point Brandon mumbled something under his breath that apparently offended Shelly; she crossed her arms and shook her head.
Out of nowhere, a guy asked the others how they go about doing Communion with their students, and the subject switched entirely to that. I tried to get us back on topic, but Brandon was dominating the conversation, breaking down the process he used to pass out wafers and juice in under five minutes.
I looked up. The stained-glass bowl was fading, disappearing into the sunny sky.
This was not going as planned. And somehow it hadn’t dawned on me that our gathering might draw major spirit-world attention. It wasn’t lower-level Creepers; they remained out of sight. The Ruler Strife rose up from beneath the parking lot, in broad daylight, and charged our way. He stared me down like he knew I’d been sipping on his toxic oppression.
Then he eyed Shelly. Her shadowy soul leaned forward, out of her face, and growled at Brandon, gums flared, before slipping back inside her skin.
I slapped my hand over my mouth. Had my soul, under Strife’s influence, been doing that same lurch-growl thing at people?
I saw the dread on Ray Anne’s face and wrapped my arm around her. She moved and hid behind me—a first for my normally daring girlfriend. But when the next being showed up, even Strife cowered like a cornered mouse.
EIGHTEEN
IT WAS ONE OF THE TWO Cosmic Rulers Ray and I hadn’t seen before. A beast all her own.
The hood on her black cloak came to a point exactly like witchcraft Creepers’, and her face was only a slightly lighter shade of green than that witch character in The Wizard of Oz. Black knotted hair draped down past her emaciated waist, and in her right hand, she toyed with what looked like a key chain of bones—the same shapes and sizes as the ones I’d dumped in the pond a few hours ago.
She didn’t walk, but sailed along the earth toward us, mumbling to herself with insane amusement. Strife stepped back, deferring to her, giving her room to close in on our group, still gathered on the front steps of the school. No wonder there were no base-level Creepers crawling outside the building. Even they feared her arrival.
As the group continued their meaningless discussion, she eyed each one of us like tasty morsels for her next batch of brew.
I could feel Ray Anne trembling against my back, tugging on the bottom of my shirt.
The witch’s eyes met mine—her irises so horrifyingly black, there was no distinguishing a pupil. She moved within arm’s length from me, proving my suspicion right—she was nearly three times my height.
I tilted my head back, and she held my gaze. “I see you.” Her voice was shrill and raspy, like grease sizzling in a frying pan. “And you see me, don’t you?” Her chapped lips parted in a predatorial grin, as if she’d been looking forward to this for centuries.
I didn’t nod, much less answer. I wasn’t supposed to communicate with her—with any demon. Plus, my jaws felt like they were locked. I was sure I could have pried them open and blasted her with the Name above all names, but first, I hoped to uncover her assignment—her strategic weapon against the people of Masonville.
I’d stood in the presence of intense hatred many times; it seeps from every Creeper, no matter its rank or assignment. But this degree of loathing rivaled Molek’s. I felt her hostility physically bearing down on me, like it might snap my spine.
I was no longer aware of the conversation around me. It was as if the evening air had become a kind of shrink-wrap, enclosing the assailant and Ray and me, isolating us from the land of the living.
The Cosmic witch extended her neck at the most unnatural, disturbing angle until her pointy noise nearly touched mine. I covered my face with both hands.
“Break all the rules, boy. Every last one of them.” Her mouth reeked beyond description, and mounds of death dust flung off her tongue onto the back of my hands and wrists. It stung.
She backed away like she was leaving, turning her back to me, only . . .
There she was again. Another version of her, on the flip side.
This side was arrayed in solid white, plump, and dressed like a nun—not the sweet, charitable kind, but a ruthless old hag with a scowl. Her hair was completely tucked away in her head covering, her pale, wrinkly face bulging out from skin-tight fabric. She wore a long necklace with ornate charms—symbols of world religions, including an upside-down cross. And in her hand, she clutched a thick, menacing paddle with a word singed into the wood: LAW.
I blinked, and she was in my face again, her eyes a captivating blue but squinting into merciless slits. She smacked the paddle hard against her blistered hand, and a wave of asphyxiating guilt washed over me, literally taking my breath away. Just like the smoky shadow in my nightmare.
“Keep the rules, boy. Every last one of them.” Cobwebs shot out of her mouth and stuck to my face, blanketing my nose and mouth. I clawed at my face, struggling to breathe, but my hands couldn’t touch the spirit-world strands.
“It’s you.” I didn’t mean to talk to her. I was only thinking out loud—marveling that I’d finally come face-to-face with the demonic creature responsible for the webs I’d seen for years, strewn all over things and people—the living and the dying. This was a black widow that veiled half herself in white, no doubt the dominant Ruler among the seven.
My hands were still stinging, and I gasped for air, but unlike my nightmare, there was no faucet to rinse my hands and no way to wake up and catch my breath.
Intuition kicked in. I turned and dropped down, shoving my face into the divin
e light around Ray’s feet. The cobwebs incinerated. Don’t ask me what the people around me were thinking as I pressed my cheeks against my girlfriend’s ankles. I didn’t care—all that mattered was that I could breathe again.
I plunged my burning hands into her aura, and instantly, the pain ceased. I was sure a prayerful plea to God would have accomplished the same thing—he is the Light—but I took advantage of the shortcut.
Apparently the two-faced Ruler didn’t like that I’d found relief. She hissed at me, extending a flapping forked tongue the length of a yardstick.
As an act of defiance, I stood and squared my shoulders, forcing myself to make eye contact. Right away, she shoved her face in mine and gnashed her rotten teeth. “Poor orphaned Owen,” she sneered.
I admit, the words sliced like razors, especially given what I now knew about my father’s neglect—that I essentially had been orphaned. But I refused to internalize the label.
The law-obsessed Ruler began moving in tight circles around Ray Anne and me, spinning faster and faster—a disorienting kaleidoscope of night and day. And she kept shouting, “Keep the rules! Break the rules! Keep the rules! Break the rules!”
I had an epiphany. The sixth and seventh Rulers were two in one. Legalistic religion and lawless witchcraft, trampling the earth with the same crushing pair of feet. Holier-than-thou saints and hell-conjuring Satanists, all brainwashed slaves of the same demonic tyrant—both camps convinced they’re far superior to the other.
She didn’t take off on a broom or disappear in a puddle of holy water. She created a dust devil that I imagined the people there could see and soon vanished in the traveling swirl of dry Texas dirt.
Ray Anne’s head pressed into the middle of my back, and she clung onto my triceps as we stood there panting, disconnected from our surroundings.
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