by P. G. Forte
Still, she didn’t sense any foul purpose from it, whatever it was, so she dismissed it from her thoughts. Because foul was exactly what she was searching for.
Anger. Animosity. Evil. Ill intent. It should be out here. It should be headed this way. Scout sent her mind higher, broadening her search. Until, at last, she found what she was looking for.
Surprisingly, or maybe not, there was more than she’d expected.
* * *
The heavy, dolorous smell of myrrh filled Saint Dominic’s church. It felt like years since Siobhan had been here, it felt like a lifetime. It had only been four weeks.
“Pray for us,” she murmured as, head bowed, she listened to the litany of saints:
Holy Mother of God,
Holy Virgin of Virgins,
Saint Michael,
Saint Gabriel,
Saint Raphael,
All you holy angels and archangels,
All you holy rank of blessed spirits,
Saint John,
Saint Joseph,
Saint Peter,
Saint Paul...
The list went on and on.
Pray for us. Intercede for us. Spare us, O, Lord.
She’d come here seeking comfort, seeking strength. She’d come to pray for her friends, for her sisters, for her husband. She’d prayed for Peace. She’d prayed for Hope. She’d prayed for Faith and Love. She’d prayed for Justice. Because I don’t deserve this Lord. I really don’t! She’d prayed that the fears which consumed her would prove groundless, insubstantial, false.
Hear us, Lord. Deliver us, Lord. Have mercy on us.
It had been four weeks since her wedding, since she’d stood in this place and promised a lifetime of love. She’d been promised a lifetime, in return.
Four weeks. Four weeks was nothing. Dear God, don’t let it be everything.
* * *
There were more energy signatures than Scout had expected, more people tracking each other through the winery’s grounds, more anger, more hate. And more than she could deal with on her own.
I’m going to need help with this, she decided, pondering, for a moment the best course of action.
Reaching Chay was easy. She could tell that his mind was used to receiving prompts from nature, from forces seen and unseen in the world around him. She prodded slightly at his mind. Felt him stiffen, felt his senses go on the alert as he scanned the surrounding area. Felt the surprise and faint relief that sifted through his mind. Then he slipped into the waiting shadows and was gone.
“What the fuck?” Ryan muttered a moment later, noticing the empty space where Chay had been. “Where the hell did he go? God damn it, Johnson. This is no time to be taking a leak.”
Reaching him is going to be harder, Scout thought. It was going to take something a little more obvious.
There was a shimmer of energy, not far in the distance, invisible as yet, but almost within sight. Luckily, she wouldn’t need to do more than direct Ryan’s attention to just the right place and then…
She sent her intention into the trees, alarming a roosting magpie, startling it into flight.
Ryan’s head turned swiftly in the direction of the disturbance. His eyes widened briefly, just before recognition narrowed them again. “Well, well. So, there you are, you son of a bitch.”
Scout smiled as she watched events unfold. But she knew only a few moments of satisfaction before she, too, felt the calling of an inaudible voice: Marsha’s.
* * *
Liam had been tracking Gregg for over a day; stretching his empathic abilities to their limits in the process and exhausting himself physically. Not that he cared about that. He’d have plenty of time to rest when this was over. Or else, he wouldn’t have to. Not ever again. He was just grateful that, for once, his own feelings were not an issue. They were, in fact, largely nonexistent, other than the anger which seemed to burgeon, exponentially, hour by hour.
He’d picked up nothing at first, although he’d willed himself to stay open. He willed himself to focus on Gregg with all the dispassion he could manage. And still there was nothing.
Nothing, that is, that he took to be human; just an odd chill space that seemed to move through the woods, an anomaly that he’d initially attributed to hunger and lack of sleep. Still, there was something curious about it, and strangely familiar. So, with nothing else to go by, he’d let his wandering feet carry him in its general direction, drawing ever closer.
Shortly before dark, something changed. An eagerness seemed to ripple though the atmosphere, through the dead, dry space he’d been stalking. He found himself moving faster in response, stumbling over roots in his hurry. He struggled to slow his pace even as the eagerness became more urgent, became desire.
A thought appeared in his mind, a single word: Soon. He had no idea what it applied to, no idea what it meant, but he nearly leaped from his skin in his haste now. Hurry, his mind urged. Hurry, or you’ll be too late.
His focus grew more and more narrow. He vaguely noticed that he had left the woods behind and was crossing through the rolling grounds of a vineyard. An estate loomed in the shadows before him. He sensed it was familiar, but he didn’t bother trying to place it. He didn’t care where he was, he was thinking only of his quarry, of his prey.
And then, suddenly, there it was. Poised on a slight ridge, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight. Closer, much closer than he’d realized. Gregg.
Liam stopped. Hatred and anger blazed to new heights and all thoughts of slow, painful deaths left him. He didn’t care about slow. He didn’t care about pain. It was annihilation he wanted, final and absolute. Heart pounding, he drew his gun. He was doing this for Amy. For Jack. For Cara. For himself. He was doing it for all of them. Die, you miserable bastard, he thought as he raised his weapon. Die now.
* * *
Marsha felt herself flinch when the first thought came, like a cold, cold hand stretching forth to touch her mind.
Ah, there you are, the thought seemed to gloat. You’ve come back to me at last.
Drawing a deep breath, she willed herself not to respond to it. Not yet. She had decades of practice to draw on, decades of contemplation, of meditation. Countless, countless hours she’d devoted to the task of teaching her mind to be quiet. Right now, she knew she was going to need each and every one.
More thoughts came to join the first one as the energy that spawned them crept closer. Joyful, mocking thoughts. Ugly thoughts. Thoughts of pain and retribution.
Sinead’s fear of the occult seemed more than justified now, more than understandable. It seemed, in fact, something wholly rational and sane.
The urge to shield her mind and protect herself grew stronger. Marsha took another breath. Not yet. Not yet. Wait for it. Soon.
I have years of experience, she reminded herself. I have dealt with every type of energy there is. I have known pain. I have known death. I can handle this.
Closer and closer the evil crept. And then it left off creeping and rushed in to devour her. Filling her mind with its glee. I’ve got you!
Grimly, Marsha smiled as she felt the pull – inexorable, like water down a drain. For years she’d been a channel where energy flowed freely, joyfully. Only yesterday it occurred to her what she’d become, instead. A vacuum. There was a black hole in the center of her soul right now that hungered and craved after energy. Any energy. Even this. No, actually, Gregg, I believe I’ve got you.
She sensed surprise in the mind that was linked now with hers. She was a little surprised, as well. She’d touched this same mind last October. For one excruciating evening it had held her captive. She had to wonder if her own mind had not been, in some way, cauterized by that earlier event, because she felt no revulsion as she held the energy trapped within her now. She felt no pain, no terror, though it raged inside her.
He’s a chameleon, she thought suddenly, watching as the energy appeared to change and alter. He’s a shape shifter. No wonder he was able to stay hidden for so long.
Which meant it was time to complete the task she’d set for herself. It was time to neutralize the energy, to bind it and banish it. Forever.
And for that, she’d need to communicate.
Carefully, still trying not to give her intention away, she focused her mind on those areas of the brain that controlled her speech, knowing that the energy would have to follow her attention and flow there, as well.
“Now, Lucy,” she croaked, hoping her friend would understand the instructions, would remember what they’d discussed earlier in the day. Would do as she was told—and be quick about it. “Do it now!”
An eternity seemed to pass while she waited, breathless. Then a bitter, sulphurous scent assaulted her nostrils. The fumes gagged her even as she sighed in blessed relief. The evil within the energy reacted instantly, shriveling and shrinking away as though it had been bathed in acid.
In the back of her mind she could feel Scout’s dismay, she could hear Gregg’s shriek of fury. And, then, without warning, there was pain. Hot, blinding pain that filled her mind with light, and then went black.
* * *
Liam was raising his gun when the blow came from behind. Not again, he thought in disbelief as an oddly familiar weight fell upon him and dropped him to the ground. The gun slipped from his grasp.
“Sorry, khola,” a voice gasped breathlessly from on top of him. “I can’t let you do that.”
What? No! Rage ignited in Liam’s mind, a bitter, black fury that consumed him. Reason fled and he began to struggle, fighting against the weight that pinned him to the ground. He would not be denied this justice. He would not.
* * *
The sound of scuffling off to his right startled Gregg from his stupor. Drawing his blade, he half-turned toward the disturbance but his movements felt heavy and imprecise. Something was wrong. He’d been on the verge of reaching Sinead’s mind, when, suddenly, she’d disappeared. In the same instant, he felt as though a large portion of his own mind had just gone numb. He felt drained, confused, trapped. What’s happening? He managed a single step in the direction of the struggle when another sound reached his ears; soft, but unmistakable. He froze. He’d had enough guns pulled on him, over the years to realize it had just occurred again.
“Police. Drop your weapon.”
No! Gregg’s mind shrieked in denial as a large figure stepped out of the shadows to his immediate left. No. It’s not happening. I was so close. So close.
Cold moonlight shone on the cop’s face, on the gun in his hand. “Drop the knife,” he repeated. “Hands on your head.”
Reluctantly, Gregg complied, but his thoughts shifted back toward the continuing sounds of struggle, hoping he could use the distraction to his advantage.
Obviously, the cop was worried about the same thing. “Chay! What’s going on? Everything okay over there?” he called, his eyes never leaving Gregg’s face.
The only answer was a sharp crack of bone striking bone, followed by a single gunshot. The bullet whizzed past Gregg, caught the cop square in the chest and threw him backward.
In the stunned silence that followed the cop’s fall, Gregg heard a voice groan despairingly. “Oh, fuck, no.”
And then another voice, louder, roaring in anger as it rushed toward him, “Noooo!”
With as much speed as he could muster, Gregg went into action, scrambling around on the ground, searching for the gun. Ah, fuck Too late.
A body slammed into his and knocked him flat. Air rushed from his lungs. Before he could recover, a fist smashed into his jaw. Pain tore through his head and for an instant, no longer, his mind went blank. After that came pain. And then more pain.
* * *
Chay was behind Liam by only seconds, but it was Ryan, not Gregg, for whom he was concerned. He fell to his knees by the cop’s side, relieved to find him awake and breathing. Relieved just to find him alive. A moment later, his tension dropped even more. “You’re wearing a vest?”
“Those women,” Ryan replied cryptically. “I fucking have to when they’re involved. They’re not gonna rest ‘til I’m dead.”
Chay nodded, not understanding a word he said, but not disposed to argue with him, either. “Okay, so you’re not hurt? Good. Can you move at all?”
“Yeah, I think. What the hell happened, anyway?”
“It was an accident. Guy tripped, his gun went off.”
“An accident? Oh, that’s just great. It’s amazing how many accidents just seem to happen.” Ryan started to sit up and then paused, leaning back on his elbows and frowning as he peered through the darkness. A steady stream of curses, thuds and groans could be heard coming from just a few feet a way. “Aw, now what’s going on?” he growled crossly. “Who is that?”
“His name’s Liam,” Chay said as he cast a brief glance over his shoulder. “I think you know him. He’s one of yours. He’s had kind of a rough week.”
“Well, who the fuck hasn’t?” Ryan shook his head in disgust. “Damn it, make him stop. That’s enough now.”
Chay shrugged. “No hurry, is there?”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Ryan sighed. “Look, either you make him stop, or help me up and I’ll do it myself. At this point I’m kinda inclined to shoot ‘em both anyway.” “All right,” Chay sighed as he got to his feet. “All right, relax. I’m going. I’m going, see?”
For most of the past twenty four hours – ever since he’d stopped back at Liam’s apartment to check on him and found him missing – Chay had been afraid that Liam had gone back to the cult compound, that he’d been caught in the explosion, that he was dead. He’d felt incredibly guilty about that. It had been a big relief to learn that the other man was still alive.
So yes, he’d kept Liam from shooting Gregg. There were times when you just had to save people from themselves, no matter what your personal feelings about them might be. On the other hand, he’d seen the girl Gregg had put in the hospital, he knew about the boy he’d killed, and all the animals he’d mutilated and massacred. If ever there’d been a guy who needed killing, Gregg was it. That was one point on which Chay and Liam were in agreement.
Still, Chay knew Ryan was right, as well. Much as he’d like to, Chay couldn’t let Liam kill Gregg now. And he wouldn’t. He was definitely going over there to stop him. He just wasn’t going fast.
* * *
“Marsha? Can you hear me, angel?” Sam’s voice sounded soft and worried and low. As though it were coming from a very great distance.
Where am I, Marsha wondered. Where is he? What’s happened?
“Come back now,” Sam continued to urge her. “It’s time to wake up.”
Marsha wanted to respond, she wanted to let him know that she could hear him, that she was all right... but am I all right? She could remember so little. Talking was difficult, moving was damn near impossible. She tried to nod and thought that, maybe, she’d succeeded.
Sam sighed. “That’s it. Come on, now. Open your eyes.”
Open my eyes? Marsha thought about that, and decided against it. She wasn’t ready for that. And she really wasn’t ready to move. She did try to tune into her surroundings, however. From the feel of things, she was pretty sure she was still on the floor, with her head resting on Sam’s lap. The thought made her smile... or at least, it made her want to smile. Well, no wonder I can’t move. It’s his own fault. Why would he think I’d want to?
She could hear people moving around the room. From the sound of things, it appeared that Adam was opening all the windows, in an attempt to get rid of the smell. Good idea. That stuff is vile.
“Damn it, Lucy, you could have told us what you had planned,” Adam complained. “Asafoetida – you do know what that stuff does, don’t you? You know what we’re going to have to do now?”
Lucy sighed. “Yeah, I know. We’re going to have to cleanse and purify
everything and then re-consecrate all our tools.”
“Tools? It’s not just tools that are affected. It’s everything. Charms, potions, tokens, amulets. The room. That stuff removes all magickal influences. Everything. And, damn it, I deserved to know ahead of time that you were going to use it here. You don’t burn that shit in your own house, do you?”
“Look, Adam, you know damn well why we did it here. You did want us to stop this guy from coming after Sinead, didn’t you?”
This guy. Gregg. Eventually, Marsha supposed she’d find out what had happened to him. Judging by her reaction, it was obvious he’d been hurt, somehow; probably knocked out, maybe even killed. She shuddered a little as she thought about that. Definitely too close for comfort. She wasn’t sure if she could have died, too, if he did. But thinking back on all the trouble Scout had gone through when she’d been in a similar situation – being mentally linked with someone when he died – she hoped she never had to find out.
“Besides,” Lucy continued, sounding slightly more subdued. “Nobody knew about it. Marsha didn’t want to take the chance of Gregg’s being able to pick it up from anyone’s mind.”
Marsha winced a little at that. That wasn’t quite true. Chenoa had known. But Lucy’s anyone, obviously meant Scout, who wouldn’t have intentionally given it away, of course, but since Scout had been linked to Marsha and she was linked to Gregg– Oh, no. It suddenly occurred to Marsha that her link to Scout was gone. It had been cut at the same time that she’d lost consciousness.
Her eyes flew open. Where was Scout now?
“Ahh, there you are,” Sam murmured grimly, managing to convey relief and love along with a fair amount of displeasure.
Marsha registered the look on his face with a qualm of conscience, then her eyes moved on to scan the other faces in the room; Lucy and Chenoa, both looking subdued as they packed their things away. And Scout – thank God – looking not terribly happy, but conscious and alive.
“Everything okay here?” Marsha asked, tentatively.