by Mia Sheridan
Novaatngar. It was where it had all started, wasn’t it? And perhaps it was right that it was where it would end.
Camden went down on one knee, choosing a rock from the ground around him, clutching it in his grip, and then waiting. The engine grew louder, coming closer, its headlight appearing through the trees moments before it darted out of the woods. Camden took aim and threw the rock with all of his might.
The driver jerked, flying off the bike and landing with a loud thud on the ground, the person who had been riding behind him, throwing himself off and rolling. The dirt bike continued forward, zipping past Camden on his right and soaring over the edge of the canyon. Camden stood, breathing hard, adrenalin pumping, as the man who’d been behind the driver, staggered to his feet. The sheriff. It was the sheriff. His father. Their father. The other man—Dr. Bill Woodrow Camden now saw—remained still, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, his neck likely broken. Dead. Over his shoulder, Camden heard the very distant sound of the bike hitting the ground far below.
The sheriff raised his firearm. “Raise your hands, Deputy West. It’s over. You have to take responsibility for what you did to that girl. You killed her, didn’t you? Where’d you hide the weapon, Camden? The one you used to murder her? Will we find it in your vehicle? Your house? Maybe with those friends of yours?”
He heard men crashing through the woods toward them, the light sweeping overhead but still a good distance away. The dogs were even farther back. The younger guild members would be slightly behind their fathers, slowed by the tracking hounds. How far away were they? Ten minutes? Fifteen at the most? Then there’d be thirty men, if not more. The Farrow Religious Guild, all of them.
He prayed that Mason and Georgia had hidden safely. They’d be able to use the gun for evidence later, but it would be flimsy on its own. He could think of a hundred ways the sheriff could twist things, make it look like Camden was the guilty party. They’d been doing it for centuries, and getting away with it. Justifying evil in the name of God.
No, Scarlett and now Alonzo were the only hope.
As if he’d read his mind, the sheriff said, “The dogs scented her, son. They’re on her trail. Tell us exactly where she’s headed and I’ll let you live.”
No, he wouldn’t. There was no way he could. Not now. They’d have to kill him, Camden had no illusions about that. His gut churned. The dogs scented her. They’re on her trail.
Run, Scarlett, Haddie, Millie. Please run.
“I don’t know where she is,” Camden said.
“We’ll find her, Camden. Whether you help us or not. We need that little girl to assist us in locating the devil. We need her to help us kill it so we can save our town.”
It. This man’s son, though he didn’t know it. Believed he had perished in these woods as an infant after they’d left him to die. “I came out here to search, but I didn’t find them.” All he could do now was buy time, wait for the men to bypass Alonzo so the man could slip away, and then let them do with Camden as they would.
He didn’t want to die, God, he didn’t want to die, not now when he felt like his life was truly just beginning, but he was prepared. He wouldn’t go fearfully. He’d face death the way Taluta’s warrior had done: with honor, even gravely injured, he’d carried her broken body up the side of a cliff to a hiding spot where they could die on their terms. Camden had done all he could. He had to trust that those he loved would take it from here.
The sheriff sighed, glancing behind him where the sounds of the men’s voices grew more distinct. “I wish you could understand, son. The world is a fallen place, draped in darkness. Some men are tasked by God to keep that darkness at bay. Farrow’s sons have always known this.” He swept his hand around, indicating the canyon. “It’s been that way since the township began. It’s the way it will always be. We failed but we will reconcile. We will always cast out sin. I’m sorry you couldn’t grasp that and become one of us. I truly am.”
Without waiting for a response from Camden, the sheriff raised his gun and fired. Heat blossomed between Camden’s ribs, and he doubled over, clutching a hand to his abdomen where he’d been shot. He staggered, blinking at the sheriff who stood stock-still in front of him, watching. His ears rang, the close sound of voices, the more distant barking of dogs becoming muted, then fading away completely. The sheriff raised his gun again, aiming, when a blur of movement caught Camden’s attention. He looked behind the sheriff, his eyes growing wide. The sheriff, having apparently heard the movement, looked over his shoulder, his scream rising into the night as a monstrous creature flew from the darkness, a spear raised in its hand, its horns outlined in shadow, its voice raised as it chanted the chant of the dead.
The sheriff fired wildly, the shot missing as the creature continued in its rush forward. It raised its arm and then lowered it, the spear plunging into the sheriff with a sickening sound of wetness. The sheriff emitted a yell that quickly faded into a gurgled whoosh of air. The creature kept running forward, driving the sheriff backward with the long spear as he helplessly flapped his arms, flying past Camden and directly over the edge of the cliff.
For a breathless beat, Camden’s eyes met the sheriff’s as he desperately grabbed at the spear that wouldn’t help him. The creature had let go and now stood at the edge of the cliff. They both watched as the sheriff dropped, his horrified shriek echoing, fading, and finally ending abruptly as his body hit the canyon floor far, far below.
The voices grew louder, lights brightening. Alonzo moved back and ducked near a large boulder and Camden fell to his knees, his hand still held to his wound. He was bleeding to death. He’d die here.
The men burst from the cover of trees. One of them caught sight of Camden and pointed. “There he is!” They all turned in his direction, raising weapons when a flash of lightning ripped across the sky, startling them and momentarily diverting their attention. In its wake, their light blinked out, the distinct sizzle and pop of a dying bulb rising into the night.
Several men swore loudly, but there was enough moonlight for them to see exactly where he was and they continued to advance. Thunder roared and Camden swayed as he attempted to catch his breath and rise to his feet. If he was going to die, he refused to do it kneeling before these monsters.
But before he could, a dark, horned shape rose to their right, looming. Several of the men let out startled yells, all of them whipping their weapons toward the creature. With a low growl, it ducked and ran behind a boulder, gunshots ricocheting off of the rock.
“There it is! Did you see it?”
Camden watched as the man they thought was a horned beast darted between objects, ducking and weaving, the shifting pockets of moonlight making it appear as though he was everywhere at once. He began chanting as he moved, the sound rusty and chilling, even though Camden knew the gentle source. He threw his voice in one direction and then in another so that it echoed first on one side of the canyon, and then on another. He knew this place, understood how it worked. He was everywhere and nowhere at all.
The men turned wildly, trying to figure out where he was coming from, firing haphazardly, moving as a group, first one way, then another, yelling one command, and then directly following that, another that contradicted the first.
A second blaze of lightning lit the sky, merging Alonzo with his shadow and making his moving form appear ten feet tall. One man screamed. Thunder rumbled, shaking the earth. Their voices grew higher, more unsure, and woozily, Camden drew to the side as they came closer, right to the edge of the cliff.
He’s herding them. Oh my God, he’s herding them.
With one final booming chant that ricocheted from one side of the canyon to the other, Alonzo appeared from behind a rock, fur-covered arms held wide, head lowered, charging. A few more shots went wild, as the disoriented men turned, the one closest stepping off the cliff and grabbing for the one in front of him. They grasped at each other, floundering in their panic, pulling, falling, their screams billowing upward like the ho
wls of a multi-headed devil descending to hell.
Camden let out a gasp of shock, leaning over as far as he dared and witnessing the men he’d watched rape troubled girls plummet to their deaths, their bodies bouncing off of the jagged rocks of the cliff wall before landing in a heap below.
He rolled to the side, struggling for breath. A fox sat quietly, its eyes trained on the place where the men had disappeared. It turned to him and their gazes held, its ancient amber eyes glinting in the moonlight. Camden blinked as she turned and ran toward the forest, disappearing into the shadows. A few cool raindrops fell, misting his skin.
Barking. Voices. Shouts. The dogs were still coming, being led by the smaller group of younger guild members. They were almost there, driven faster by the chorus of their father’s screams. Five minutes, if that.
Alonzo appeared, horns tilted, shoulders slumped. “Bemme,” his brother said softly, picking him up. He tossed Camden over his shoulder, grunting with the effort.
Then Alonzo ran, huffing with exertion, Camden held firmly against him, the press of his body and the leather bag he still wore staunching the blood flow, but the bouncing movement causing him immense pain. They were far enough away now that they were shrouded in darkness. He heard the sounds of dogs, of mayhem and confusion, but the voices didn’t follow.
Camden raised his head and in the glow of their own light, he saw the group of younger men, standing at the edge of the basin, peering into its dark depths. The dogs were barking, straining at their leashes, but coming up short as the edge of the cliff plunged below. The scent they’d been told to track stopped there. Alonzo had picked him up and carried him. There was no scent to follow. As far as they knew, he’d gone over the edge along with the others.
Alonzo stopped next to a large rock, going to his knees, and rolling Camden from his back. Camden hit the ground with a huff, sitting up as slowly as he could, propping himself against the rock and assessing his injuries. The gunshot wound oozed blood. He felt hot and cold at the same time, drowsy.
Alonzo sat next to him, breath coming harshly, eyes wide with uncertainty. Camden pulled himself up, reaching out and taking his brother’s hand. The slight rainfall had cleared completely, over before it really began.
His brother smiled at him. It was a tired smile, but pure, filled with the open adoration of a child. “I’m going to be fine,” Camden lied.
“Bemme.”
Camden squeezed his hand.
“Bet me,” Alonzo said more slowly, breath still staggered with all the effort he’d expended.
“Bet . . . me,” he said, a breath causing him to pause between each syllable. Bet-ah-me.
Bet-ah-me.
Better me.
Oh. Oh.
No. It was the other way around, Camden could see that clearly.
The world swam around him, and Camden felt a gurgle of blood coming up his throat. He lay down and Alonzo followed suit. Camden curled onto his side next to his twin. Perhaps they’d lain this way once before in their mother’s womb.
His hand hit the ground and his fingers curled, grasping a fistful of earth. . . . till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust and to dust you shall return.
Everything slowed. The earth. The clouds. The heavens.
He thought of the dream that was really a memory, of his mother running with him through the woods—with them, for it wasn’t a mirror he had been looking into, but the eyes of his brother. She’d somehow found them both and attempted to escape, but like them, she’d been hunted. Caught. She’d hidden her children first though, and the guild had found Camden, but not Alonzo, for they hadn’t even known to look for him. Narcisa must have handed Alonzo over to their mother and then saved him for a second time when things went so terribly wrong.
He’d never know all the answers and maybe that was okay, because he knew this: he hadn’t been abandoned. None of them had. They’d been stolen. His mother had been brave, her last act selfless. She was more than the poor choices she’d once made. So much more. It was the last thought Camden had before the world faded, the dirt falling through his fingers, grain by grain, until there was no more.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Mason sat in the small space behind the hidden wall in the storage area of the basement. He draped an arm over his knees, listening for any sound that might reach his ears from above. Nothing came except the creaks and groans that he still knew well, even after all of these years, as though he somehow shifted right along with the house. His heart beat swiftly, every nerve prickled. He’d waited for Georgia. He’d waited, but she hadn’t shown up before they did, the men of Farrow who came in cars and trucks, touting rifles and handguns, dogs barking excitedly in one of the pickup beds. They’d mobilized quickly. Mason had stood at the window and watched them unload, gritting his teeth with fear and rage, hoping fervently that Georgia had seen them driving toward the road that led to Lilith House and held back.
They’d started walking to the house, two hounds straining on leashes, and Mason had booked it to the basement where he’d holed up behind the secret wall, listening as they searched the house, and then hearing their footsteps move toward the front door and spill out into the forest. Whatever item they’d given the dogs to trace, it hadn’t been his. Apparently, they had other priorities, namely Camden and Scarlett who the dogs must have tracked to the forest. But that wouldn’t be the case for long. They’d come for him next. And Georgia. He was certain they had the roads blocked off. Just like Camden had said, there would be no leaving Farrow.
If they could manage it somehow, there’d be no entering Farrow, either.
He’d risked calling Georgia once he’d heard the door of Lilith House slam, but it went straight to voicemail again. He’d turned his off too and stuck it in his pocket, lest his phone give him away by lighting up.
Mason itched to move, to come out of hiding and search for Georgia, perhaps leave the house and make his way to the edge of the road, wait for her car. Would they have posted someone on the road? Either at the turnoff from town or at the beginning of the long driveway that led to Lilith House? Both?
As he sat there, Mason ran through escape scenarios, all his possibilities, trying to figure out the safest thing to do. There was only the smallest modicum of light in the hidden space, only enough to see the outline of his own legs, and the box that sat next to him, the one Camden had shoved in Mason’s hands. A gun. Use this if you need to.
Mason opened the box, removing the weapon, and then pushing the portion of wall aside. He climbed out of his hiding spot as quietly as he could. Would they have left someone behind to guard the house in case anyone tried to return? Likely. Maybe that person was outside, walking the perimeter? Or maybe they were stationed in the foyer, sitting as quietly as a mouse.
Mason crept through the basement, climbing the stairs noiselessly, toward the slip of light below the door. He remembered each place to step to avoid the creaky boards, just as he and Cam had done so many times in their youth for one reason or another, just as he and Georgia had done the night they broke in and tried to scare Scarlett from the crawlspaces in the walls. He couldn’t use those crawlspaces now. Camden had nailed them shut, and even if Mason tore the boards away, the nail holes and damage would expose the once-hidden entries.
With utmost caution, Mason opened the upper door, slipping into the hallway and using the back stairs to climb to the second floor, stopping every few minutes to listen to the sounds around him. He heard a series of strange squeaks and they caused him pause, but Lilith House was undergoing several structural changes, ones he’d overseen himself. Her sounds might be slightly different now than when he’d lived there, but he had no way of knowing for sure. He entered a dark second-floor bedroom at the front and went to the window, sticking the gun in his waistband, moving the heavy, moth-eaten curtain aside, and peering out.
The darkened woods spread out around him, but from this higher vantage point, he could see the dim faraway
glow of the spotlights they must be using, moving slowly forward.
He stared up at a particularly bright star and took a moment to make a silent wish for Camden and Scarlett and those two young girls, out there being hunted like animals right that very moment.
He saw movement below and moved quickly, stepping to the side of the window just enough that his body was hidden, but he could still see below. A man walked by, he couldn’t tell who it was from this angle, but he saw the rifle in his hands.
He had to do something. He had to intercept Georgia if she was on her way. Mason turned, exiting the room and walking quietly down the hall until he got to the railing overlooking the foyer, gas lanterns burning brightly. He leaned forward. Empty. He let out a long, silent breath. How long would it take him to make it through the backwoods to the main road? Thirty minutes? Mason began to turn toward the back stairs when movement to his left caused him to whirl around.
Clarence Dreschel, the head of the guild, and the man who’d been Georgia’s guardian, stood in the doorway of a bedroom across the open space, his cane in one hand, a gun held in the other. A delighted smile stretched across his angular face. “Hello there.”
Mason stared, his hand itching to move toward his waistband where he’d stuck the gun.
“We hoped you’d come out,” Clarence said, taking several steps forward, his cane tapping on the hardwood floor. “I’ve been waiting. Quiet as a mouse.” His lips stretched into the semblance of a smile. “The dogs will be tired when they return. It would be thoughtless to make them go from floor to floor searching this monstrosity of a house.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes moving across the walls. “We should have burned this place down years ago. It fostered so much evil, so much sin.”
Rage blossomed in Mason’s chest, because he knew the sin this man was referring to was not his own. The evil Dreschel recognized belonged to everyone but himself. The things he had done to Georgia . . . Mason should have exacted his own revenge on this man years ago instead of waiting for some plan between the three of them to come to fruition. He’d always talked himself out of it, saying Georgia deserved the satisfaction of the retribution they exacted. And that he’d be no good to anyone—least of all Georgie—dead or in prison. How do you kill men who think they’re gods? Who rule a kingdom of evil?