Slowly, I stand and go from hugging Timothy to holding his hand very tightly. Malachi gestures for Timothy to lead the way. He motions for me to keep an eye out for trouble ahead while he takes up the rear to watch our retreat. It’s difficult to tell how far we walk. All the trees look the same, especially in the darkness, and I’m convinced we’re going in circles until Timothy drags against my hand and points to an even darker area on the left.
“It’s a cave,” he whispers. “My dad used to take me to it in the real world. We can hide in there.”
I hadn’t thought much about the whole ‘Field of Reeds being a perfected replica of the dead person’s life’ thing. The Dreamside simply looked like a forest the first time around and I guessed the alternate reality for the dead myth was simply that. Now I realize this really is the Dreamside, Timothy’s version of a perfected world, a place where he spent time with his dad before he died. I have to wonder, then, if the Devourers are roaming around just Timothy’s version, or the whole plane of existence. Does it matter? Not if the Devourers are eating up souls regardless.
Following Timothy inside the cave, I don’t stop until we’re out of view. Malachi takes up position at the front, but he doesn’t look happy about the situation. “There’s no way out. We’ll be trapped if they find us.”
Timothy pulls in a little closer. “I didn’t think about that.” His voice is small, quiet, so frightened he can barely form the words properly.
Looking over at the boy, Malachi smiles. “That’s why I’m here, right? You don’t have to think of everything.” He extends his hand. “I’m Malachi.”
Hesitantly, Timothy takes his hand. “I’m Timothy.”
“Nice to meet you. You’re pretty brave being here on your own like this for so long.”
“It used to be nicer,” Timothy says. “It used to be the best place. Now it’s just…scary.”
I’m not sure how much Griffin told Malachi before we left. Morton gave permission to give him whatever he deemed was absolutely essential to the mission, and nothing more. I can’t be that cautious. “Timothy, in your notes, you said the feather mark your dad gave you shows you where souls are. Do we need to go out looking for souls?”
He freezes, terror in his eyes at the prospect of leaving the cave. “It’s too scary,” he whimpers.
“I know, buddy, but if we don’t get the souls, the monsters will, and then they’ll try to escape again and hurt you.” I know it’s a lot to ask of a little kid, way too much pressure and responsibility to dump on him. I have no other choice, though. “Malachi will be with us. He’ll keep us safe, remember?”
Timothy glances over at Malachi, clearly not convinced. “How?”
I’ve only ever seen Malachi use his Keeper sigil while protecting me. That hasn’t given me a ton of opportunity to inspect it. I’m as shocked as Timothy when Malachi turns his arm over—baring the imprinted mark of the Keeper—and consciously activates it. The red glow seems dull and strange in this place, but the power emanating from it is undeniable. Timothy reaches forward, tracing his fingers over the scarred flesh in fascination.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” I say quietly.
Malachi shrugs. “I’ve been practicing. Never know when I’m going to need to save your life. Might as well be prepared, right?”
I nod, not sure how else to respond to that. His tone is confusing, not accusatory but not that of a devotee, either.
“If we were around each other more,” he begins, hesitating when my gaze snaps up to his. “It would be, you know, just easier…to protect you.”
But harder in many other ways.
This isn’t the time or place for this discussion, though, and not just because I want to avoid having it a little longer. Gesturing at the entrance to the cave, I say, “We need to help him gather more souls. Everything else will have to wait.”
Malachi’s emotions shutter, and I feel guilty for sidestepping him, but he shakes it off a moment later. “You’re right,” he says. “Wait for my signal, then follow me out.”
I watch his measured steps as he approaches the entrance. Fear crawls up into my throat, making it hard to breathe, but he’s gesturing for us to follow before I can really freak out and I carefully lead Timothy back out into the open. Malachi waits, watching the forest, his shirt sleeve rolled up so his sigil is fully exposed. Once he’s sure we’re not in any imminent danger, he looks to Timothy.
“Where to, little man?”
Timothy smiles, just a little, at the nickname, then hesitantly points ahead and to the right. Malachi nods and we start walking. All three of us are staring into the trees for any sign of an approaching Devourer. I spare just enough focus to say to Malachi, “Morton is wrong about you.”
“Senior or Junior,” he grumbles, the least polite tone reserved for Griffin.
“Senior,” I say.
“Yeah? In what way?” Malachi’s gaze shifts to the left, eyes narrowing for half a second before relaxing.
“He thinks you’re a liability because you’re bound to protect me over anyone else.”
Malachi scoffs. “I am.” When I glance over at him for a quick second before returning my gaze to the trees, he clarifies. “Bound to protect you over everyone else.”
“That doesn’t mean you won’t find a way to protect Timothy too,” I say. “He’s wrong that you can’t do your job while emotionally involved, too.”
For several seconds, Malachi doesn’t respond. We’ve cleared the heavier forest to an area with younger, thinner trees that are easier to see around. “Did you tell him that?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say. “I know we’re kind of messed up right now, but I have faith in you, Malachi. I know we’re supposed to be together, at least in that sense. The rest…”
I trail off, worrying I’ve offended him or opened the door to a fight again. All Malachi says is, “We’ll figure it out.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, we fall back into silence for a while. It’s eerily quiet, no sounds beneath our feet as we walk through fallen leaves or the usual hum of wind or animal movement. The absolute silence wears on me the longer we walk.
“It’s over there,” Timothy whispers. His timid finger lifts and points at a copse of matchstick-thin trees twenty feet from where we’re standing.
I don’t see anything shiny or bright. Timothy keeps pointing, adamant that the soul we’ve been tracking is somewhere amid the trees. I’m almost sure he’s mistaken until a shadow at the base of the tree shifts. No…the shadow doesn’t shift. The light does. I start forward on impulse, but Malachi’s hand clamps down on my shoulder.
“Wait,” he hisses. “Something’s not…”
Motion explodes out of the nearest patch of deep shadows. A piercing scream breaks the stifling silence, shocking Timothy and I into immobility. The miniscule bit of light I mistook for a break in the shadows flares to life. I don’t know what happens first. Suddenly, everyone is in motion, including the Devourer.
Timothy is no longer afraid. Instinct or purpose or something deeper than fear seems to take over and he’s hurtling toward the beleaguered soul. Malachi is already glowing a furious red, his glare sighted on the Devourer reeling the soul toward him. I…I don’t really know what I’m going to do, but I’m at least running toward the chaos. Seeing and communicating with ghosts, being a spiritual energy magnet, has in no way contributed to me being useful in a fight. At all.
I slide to the ground next to where Timothy is clawing at the soul. The poor thing is stretching or unwinding, one end in the Devourer’s hands and the other reaching toward Timothy as he tries to get the Feather activated. I’m not really sure how he’s supposed to do that. The rules of this place are a mystery to me, but I don’t hesitate to take a chance and dive in to lend my aid.
A low keening sound fills the forest the second I touch the soul. I pull back, afraid I’m hurting it, but Timothy yells for me to hold on. So I do. Cold sinks into my hands, straight through to my bones. It�
�s disconcerting, but I refuse to let go. Only when Malachi crashes into me from the back does my grip falter. Red light flares around us, painting the soul in a disturbing blood-colored mask.
Malachi is up and swinging half a second later, but the disruption lost us ground. Desperation twists Timothy’s face. I see him pull his legs up under him and I know he’s going to make a mad leap onto the soul at any second. I panic, knowing it will put him too close to the Devourer, so I act without thinking. Malachi shouts for me to stop, but it’s already too late.
Pain sears through me from my…hair? I bite back a scream and curl my body around the soul and focus everything I have on protecting it. Someone else screams, and I’m almost positive it isn’t me. The agony is crippling. The screaming continues, making every pulse of pain feel even worse. It’s all I can do to hold onto the soul and keep the Devourer from ripping it out of my hands. Even when something starts grabbing at me, I fight off the pain and hold on even more tightly. I just have to hold on a little longer. It almost seems enough until the soul suddenly starts dissolving. Right there in my hands.
“Echo,” a small voice whispers, “it’s okay. You can let go now.”
I’m not sure how long it takes me to realize it’s Timothy’s voice, or that the screaming has stopped. My fingers are stiff as I attempted to unclench them, and I wince in pain at the slightest movement of my head. Something wet and cold slithers down the back of my scalp and I try not to think about what it might be. I’m not sure what just happened, but I do manage to open my eyes enough to see only a thin tendril of the soul still clutched in my hands.
Startled by how little of it is left, I reflexively open my fingers. It slips free and floats into Timothy’s hands. Malachi and I watch as he breathes in as deeply as he can. The soul simply melts into him. Even through his shirt and partially open jacket, the outline of the feather flares a brilliant white. Timothy pulls his jacket closed as quickly as he can, then begins trembling uncontrollably.
I have him in my arms a second later, holding him until his body calms. “Thanks,” he whispers. “I hate that part.”
“Why did it make you shake like that?” Malachi asks, still standing and now watching our surroundings even more carefully.
“I have too many,” Timothy says. “I feel like I need to let them go, but I can’t. The monsters will get them if I do.”
Malachi frowns and doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. There’s nothing we can offer at this point. Solutions and answers are few and far between.
“We need to find your dad,” Malachi says to Timothy.
Timothy shakes his head as tears fill his eyes. “I’ve tried. He’s not here. He disappeared after he gave me the feather. I think the monsters got his soul.”
Anger flashes in Malachi’s eyes. “No they didn’t, but we need to find him before they do.”
Clearly startled by this news, Timothy is hesitant to believe it. Though he seems unwilling to contradict Malachi openly. Hope and fear make him cling to me. “Is it really true?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I say, not a hint of doubt in my mind. What does fill my mind is curiosity, fear, and dread of what terrors we’re going to have to face to get to him.
“But how can he know that?” he asks, even quieter than before.
“Because,” I tell him, “Malachi can’t just see the monsters. He can talk to them, too.”
16: Relentless
(Griffin)
I can admit that Dad’s dislike of Malachi influenced my opinion of the guy, though I feel justified in maintaining my belief that he’s a little immature. Who isn’t at twenty, though? Regardless, as I listen to both Echo and Malachi detail their visit to Timothy’s Dreamside I have to say Dad was wrong about his reliability and conviction. My qualms about him being involved in this case have been forced aside by practicality. Dad knows that as well, but isn’t loving the realization at all.
“You still haven’t found your grandmother’s journal?” Dad demands, catching everyone off guard by the seemingly random question.
Uncertain of the reason behind his asking, Malachi still offers up an answer. “The house is almost completely cleared out and still no sign of it. Once the people Daddy hired are done emptying it, I’m going to have to sneak back in myself and look for any hidey holes or secret spots. I can’t get in there until they’re done, though.”
“When will they be finished?”
Malachi shrugs. “Week and a half, two weeks. Why? What’s the journal got to do with Timothy?”
I think I know, and the guess is confirmed when Dad glances over at me sharply with a look that says I better keep my thoughts to myself. Sighing, I figure that’s probably a good idea. If Malachi realizes Dad still doesn’t trust him, it’s going to turn into a fight. Knowing he is actively searching for what Kyran’s connection to Echo is, which Madeline alluded to in her letter to Malachi, so he can possibly send Kyran in there with them, it’s not going to go over well.
“You never know what help it might contain,” Dad says dismissively. Neither Echo nor Malachi buy that, but they don’t have a chance to respond before Dad continues. “So Robert’s soul is still alive, or present in some way?”
Malachi nods. “Based on what the Devourers were saying, I think so.”
“Word for word,” Dad orders, “repeat what they said to you.”
Malachi’s jaw tightens, irritated by the request since he’s already repeated himself twice. “It said ‘The heir doesn’t have the key. Without the key, the vessel cannot restore the souls or enslave us again.’ Then it screamed threats at me for a while that aren’t particularly useful. Before I killed it, it threatened, ‘The Field is dying and the Ferryman can’t hide forever. We’ll find the key first and be free to join the Masters once again.’ Given that Timothy was right there with us and not hiding, and that it called him the heir earlier, the Ferryman has to be someone else. Robert Bridger. He’s alive-ish and he has something we need, though the Devourer wasn’t helpful enough to tell me what this key is that can release the souls and trap those monsters back in the Hall.”
His assessment is logical and seems to be on track. Dad takes his time considering everything before reluctantly nodding. “It does make sense that he would split up the tools needed to enslave or free the Devourers.” He frowns, eyes narrowing. “What I don’t understand is why he gave the feather to Timothy. It’s clearly the more dangerous and likely to get the kid killed.”
“Maybe not,” Echo says. “We don’t know what the key is. What if Robert is being hunted even more fiercely? They want to kill Timothy because he’s taking the souls they feed on and is part of the equation that can lock them back up again, but he doesn’t seem to be capable of doing anything to them with just the feather. Robert having the key makes him the bigger threat. Timothy may have survived this long because most of the Devourers are out searching for Robert.”
Turning to look at Kyran—the only other person allowed to participate in this discussion—I ask, “Any ideas about the key?”
He shakes his head. “Hasn’t come up in anything I’ve read so far. It could be a physical object like the feather, or power Robert holds in relation to his position and duties. I’ll dig around a little more and see what I can find.” He hesitates for a moment before asking, “Is it okay if I ask Holden for help?”
Holden was not at all happy about being excluded from this meeting. There was some jealousy over him being supplanted by Kyran as the information guy, but we’ve already brought too many people in on this as it is.
“Only so long as you don’t divulge any of the case details. Research is fine, but nothing more,” Dad says.
Kyran nods, relieved to have a little help. “Any chance I can look at Robert’s book?”
Dad and I both glance at Kyran, curious why he would ask for the book. “You have some hidden talent we don’t know about?”
Kyran rolls his eyes. “I know how to read Egyptian about as much as Malachi knows how to cook.�
�� That earns him a scowl from his friend, but he ignores it. “The images, though, they might be clues that can point me in the right direction, especially with what I have of Timothy’s stories. I’ve been studying a lot of symbology lately and maybe I’ll be able to make some connections between his stories, what Griffin has been able to explain, and what I see in the book. I know it’s a long shot, but why not?”
After a moment of consideration, Dad nods. “I’ll get you photocopies. Touching the book is too risky. Anything significant from Timothy’s stories yet?”
Kyran shrugs. “Some of them are familiar, but a lot doesn’t make sense. Part of that might be them coming from a six-year-old. Some of it’s just not part of any written mythology I’ve found so far. I’ll keep digging, though.”
Turning to face both Echo and Malachi after nodding to Kyran, he says, “You’re both going to need to go back in as soon as Timothy is ready.”
Echo squirms, uncomfortable with the idea that she’ll have to repeat hanging out in a salt circle with Malachi for half the night. Malachi’s reaction is pretty much the opposite. Echo is my concern, so I say, “Now that Timothy is acquainted with Malachi’s spiritual profile, he’ll most likely be able to find him on his own from now on.”
I get pretty much the reactions I’m expecting from both of them.
“Is there anything else?” Malachi asks tersely. “Or can I get some sleep? I have class in the morning.”
Dad says he can go and Malachi stalks out of the kitchen. Kyran sighs and stands to follow him. “Guess I’ll be going too since he’s my ride. We’ll check in tomorrow.”
Echo says a quick goodbye, her eyes following him until he’s out of earshot. Once he’s far enough away, she looks to me and asks, “Are you going, too?”
The Ghost Host: Episode 2 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 14