Chaz’s eyes drifted to the car behind her and his expression slackened. He looked around as if he were coming awake and with a shake of his head, crossed over to town hall. She didn’t watch him go, she kept her eyes—and her thoughts—on the traffic light. As it turned yellow, she goosed the BMW, and it surged into the intersection. She turned right and then left on Mill Lane—Toby’s street. Taking Mill to where Union dead-ended into it, she turned left onto Union and drove three blocks. She parked in front of a house two blocks past St. Genesius’ Sanctuary of the Holy Mother.
Thinking about being blonde and unremarkable, Shannon slumped down in the seat and prepared to wait for her cue.
23
Owen roared into Oneka Falls, both sated and satisfied. The Barrett was in the trunk, and thinking about it made him want Brigitta again. She wasn’t with him, though, which was upsetting, but she’d said she would meet him at the church.
God damn, I love this car. I love my rifle, and I love Brigitta! The thoughts made him warm and rosy. No woman had ever made him feel like that. Not even Stephanie. Not even on Stephanie’s Death Day.
He fishtailed the car onto Mill Lane, delighted with the smoking tires and the expressions on the faces of the people out walking. Gunning the accelerator, Owen raced up to Union, where he slid around the corner again, laughing.
He parked in the rectory’s driveway. The plan was perfect. No one in town would know where the fire originated—the perfect sniper’s nest. The belfry of St. Genesius’ was perfect. He’d be able to cover the entire town with the Barrett—it had more than enough range.
He got the big rifle out of the trunk and carried it by its handle. It’s my briefcase, he thought with a grin. He carried the big box of ammunition under his other arm. He climbed up to the belfry, whistling an old disco jingle from the 70s. When he got to the top, he set down the rifle and the ammo, and he opened the shutters on all four sides. It was perfect. He had clear sight lines of every place Brigitta wanted him to cover.
No time like the present, he thought and laid down on his stomach behind the rifle. It would make one hell of a noise in the belfry, but that couldn’t be helped. He scanned through the monstrous scope attached to the M82, looking for a likely target. He had the picture of LaBouche’s “partner” in his pocket, but he didn’t care if he shot that man or not. Part of him wanted to avoid it, despite what Brigitta wanted, just to spite the big yellow ape.
The hub of police activity was less than four blocks north. An old church, Brigitta had said. He did not understand why an abandoned church would interest a bunch of Statie motherfuckers, but, at the same time, he didn’t give a rip about their interests—he was interested in seeing their blood splattered on the sidewalk.
Four blocks. No challenge. Not with an M82 in his hands. Brigitta was right though. St. Genesius’ belfry was a perfect nest to shoot up that old church down the street. Hell, maybe a few shots at short range would be good. Get me warmed up, acclimated to the weapon. I could go long after that with confidence.
With a sigh, he pulled out the picture LaBouche had given him. Might as well do this one as any other. Brigitta and her father would be pleased.
24
“Here,” said Benny. “Stop here.”
Mike hit the brakes, bringing the Wrangler to a smooth stop. He killed the engine. “What now?”
“Now, we walk,” said Toby. “But before we get out, you remember what we told you, Mike?”
“It hasn’t been ten minutes since you last reminded me.”
“Then you can repeat it back,” said Benny. He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Simple, right?”
Mike’s face tightened, and a hard smile spread across his lips. He forced a laugh. “You two are as bad as a couple of old hens.” He flopped his hands in his lap. “But, whatever. Okay, there will be these things that seem like dogs, but they aren’t dogs. They don’t have eyes. They are part of Herlequin’s menagerie. Their job—”
“We think.”
“Their job, you think, is to herd the prey away from the edges of the forest, to keep them running. Herlequin is a goblin or gargoyle, but he’s a demon so he can appear however he wants. He’s a trickster; he may make us see things that aren’t real. Okay? Good enough for you two?”
“Yeah,” said Toby.
Mike snorted. “Finally. Let’s go, boys.” He sprang out of the Wrangler and walked around to the back, reaching inside and withdrawing a Remington 870 in tactical trim. He racked the slide.
Toby led the way, and as they walked deeper into the forest, an imposing darkness—a gloominess—descended. The trees loomed at them out of the murk.
“Yes,” Benny breathed. “It was like this.”
“Worse,” said Toby.
Benny shrugged. “We were kids.”
“Scared kids,” said Mike. “Fear does strange things to perception.”
They walked on, becoming ever more anxious the deeper they went into that artificial gloaming. The trees changed, becoming baleful and bleak, bald boughs bending toward them.
“Beautiful this time of year, isn’t it?” asked Mike with forced jocularity.
Toby grunted. The forest seemed impervious to the season, to weather of any kind. It’s Herlequin’s domain, and, like everything else, it bows to his wishes. His mouth filled with the tang of some sort of metal: copper or brass. Fear. When the growling started, he had to fight to keep from running.
25
Scott left McCarlson inside shouting at one of the forensic techs, arguing about the chemical testing of the wooden tables. He stood on the narthex steps, hands on his hips. He hated waiting for the shoe to drop. Benny had emphasized that he had to hide his knowledge, his awareness, of Gray, that he had to play the part, but it was much harder than Scott thought it would be.
He glanced up Union toward Main Street, his gaze scanning along the rooftops. Benny knew about Owen and his perch, but he hadn’t been able to exclude the possibility of another sniper. If Scott got hit in the same way he intended to deal with Gray…well, it wouldn’t be good for anyone.
He turned his gaze toward the other, longer leg of Union, stretching his vision to see where the road again took a ninety-degree turn, ten blocks south. Again, he skimmed the roof tops, looking for signs of another sniper. He fought to keep his eyes from arrowing in on the steeple of the Catholic church down the way, but he could feel Gray’s eyes on him, nonetheless.
26
Owen was scanning the old church through the long lens of the M82’s tactical scope when the cop came out. He double-checked the picture and then grinned. It was him. LaBouche’s partner.
He put the crosshairs of the scope on the man’s right knee. “Pow,” he breathed. He moved the crosshairs to the man’s left wrist. “Pow.” He scanned the cop’s body, making the sound of radar pings under his breath. When the scope crossed the man’s groin, he steadied it and put his finger on the trigger.
27
My turn, thought Shannon. She fixed a picture of the woman Gray had called “babe” in her mind. Long blonde hair, narrow shoulders, chiseled features, pretty blue eyes, pale skin. I am “babe.” She opened the door of the BMW and got out. I am your “babe,” and I am naked.
She walked up the block toward Play Time, moving fast. I am your “babe,” Owen. Look at me. See me. I am naked. I am waiting for you to notice me. She glanced over her shoulder at St. Genesius’ belfry. The slats of the blinds were open, and sunlight glinted off something in the gloom behind them.
See me, Owen. I’m right down here, my love. I’m naked, I want you to see my nakedness—I want you, Owen. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.
28
The growling was getting louder and louder as if more dogs were adding to the chorus. They sure as hell sound real, Mike thought. He followed Benny, who walked without doubt, never second-guessing their route. He held the Remington at port arms, knuckles white, tendons creaking, trying to see in every direction at once.
“It
’s okay, Mike,” Toby whispered from behind him. “Think of this as a welcoming committee.”
“Yeah. It’s one hell of a welcome.”
“Remember, that shotgun might knock them down, but it’s not likely to do much good otherwise. Conserve your ammunition. Only fire—”
“—if there is no other choice. I got it, man.”
“Okay, Mike. No problem.”
Ahead on the trail, a big black dog-thing stepped out in front of Benny. It turned and faced them, looking—if that term even applied to a thing with no eyes—right at Mike. Its lips curled, revealing long, sharp obsidian teeth. Its growl became a snarl.
“All part of the show,” Benny murmured. He walked right up to the thing and held out his hand as if the thing was a neighborhood dog. “Hi, there. Remember me?” he said in crooning tones. “I’ve come back.” The dog-thing turned toward Benny and cocked its head to the side, ears up like it was a normal dog. “I want to see Herlequin again. Will you take us?”
The dog-thing turned its head toward Mike, and he had the distinct impression of eyes boring into his. The snarl came back.
“Oh, he’s okay. He’s the Police Chief. Don’t you recognize him?” The dog-thing whirled and trotted off a dozen steps before stopping and turning its head back toward them.
Mike didn’t like this part of the plan at all. Why bring all these demons or devils or whatever they were back to Herlequin? Why give him minions—help—in the fight to come?
29
As Owen was tightening his finger, taking up the trigger’s slack—in preparation for putting a .50 caliber round right through the cop’s groin, a bit of yellow flashed in the bottom of his scope.
His heart swelled—it had to be her. She said she’d come and now she’s here, but why is she down there and not up here with me? Owen took his eye away from the scope and looked over the barrel of the rifle, down at the street.
Brigitta stood on the sidewalk, half a block down from the old church—and she was naked. His pulse slammed in his veins and his mouth dried. “Babe?” he murmured.
Below, she waved up at him and smiled.
“Come up, come up,” he called, but she shook her head and tossed her hair. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she was laughing. A game, then. He liked games.
At least with Brigitta.
30
Scott pounded up the stairs. The rifle was already in position, he’d set it up in the cold belfry before going into the church below him. He climbed the last set of stairs and then stood, hand on the belfry’s ladder, slowing his breathing, calming his racing pulse.
When he was ready, he climbed into the belfry, careful not to move in a way that might attract attention. But Shannon was below, on the street, exposed. If Gray saw through her trick or became suspicious, she’d be dead in seconds.
Scott climbed into the belfry on his belly and snaked his way over to the rifle. He put the stock on his shoulder, worked the bolt and sighted through the scope at St. Genesius’ steeple.
There was nothing left to do but wait.
31
Toby followed his friends—who followed the big, black dog-thing—into the sunny clearing ahead…the sunny clearing filled by the big tree…the tree with all the burls.
He had to admit that he was nervous. The tranquilizer gun was ready, magazines loaded, but still, he doubted the efficacy of the M99 against a creature as old as Herlequin must be. Bortha had been a nightmare—the M99 seemed unequal to the task, and yet Bortha was subservient to Herlequin. He shook his head. Time will tell, I guess.
Herlequin stepped from behind the tree, and when he did, a memory stole over Toby’s mind. The burls were not burls. They were faces—faces of children that had gone to live in the tree.
Herlequin laughed. “Such a face, Toby Burton.”
“Hello, Herlequin,” said Benny. “Long time no see.”
“Indeed, boyo, indeed. And you’ve brought a friend! How nice of you.”
Mike shouldered the shotgun and aimed it at Herlequin’s chest.
Again, Herlequin laughed, his leathery wings rubbing together and making the laugh sound like a thing out of a horror movie. “That pathetic toy is no use to you.” He waved his hand, and in a blur of black fur, the big, black dog-thing launched itself at Mike.
Without thinking, Toby shouldered his tranquilizer gun and squeezed the trigger. The dart hit the dog-thing mid-leap, and the thing squealed in an undog-like way. It seemed to lay over on its side, but even so, the weight of its body slammed into Mike, staggering him, and he lost his grip on the shotgun.
“I’m disappointed, Toby,” said Herlequin. “I thought I taught you better last time.”
“Just do it, Toby,” said Benny. “Do it, do it, do it.”
With a feral grin, Toby stepped forward and began firing darts into Herlequin’s chest.
32
Owen waved again, trying to get Brigitta to come up and join him. She just stood there, waving back. Why won’t she come up here? Is this like back at the hospital? Is this another betrayal? He felt guilty for doubting her right away, but the thought remained.
Well, if she’s not coming up, I might as well get busy. He resumed his firing position and put his eye to the scope. He could see the top of Brigitta’s head at the bottom of the scope, but the cop had disappeared.
A madcap exasperation slammed into his veins along with a large dose of adrenaline. Why, Brigitta? Why?
33
Scott’s finger ached with the tension of keeping the slack off the trigger. The rifle was on the cusp of firing, and if he twitched, or moved, even in the slightest, it would go off. He’d been holding the position for what felt like an hour, drawing slow, even breaths, pausing between each one so he’d be ready to fire.
When he saw the glint of reflected sunlight near the center of his crosshairs, he made a small adjustment to his aim, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.
34
Mike ducked to the left, circling out of Toby’s way. He still held the shotgun by the barrel, but only just. Reaching for the stock as he ran, he scanned the edge of the glade for more dog-things. The infernal things had shadowed their progress since the big dog joined the party, there must be more in the forest.
Toby’s tranquilizer gun spat in rapid succession. The man they called Herlequin was staggering back with each impact of the darts. Mike only had the fight with Bortha to compare it too, but he didn’t expect this fight to be this easy.
Benny was standing in front of the big, burled tree, staring at it with horror on his quivering face. He dropped to his knees and took off the backpack he carried and began rooting around inside it.
35
A rifle boomed above her, and Shannon ran into the yard beside her and around the side of the house. If Scott missed…she’d be Gray’s target.
I’m invisible. I’m invisible. I’m invisible!
And Scott had missed. She knew it the minute Gray screamed with a furor that approached madness.
36
When sweat dripped into his eye, Owen ducked his head to wipe it away, and that was what saved him. The bullet hit the inside edge of the big scope, shattering its optics, and deflected down into the breech of the M82. Owen pulled the gun over on its side and tried to work the bolt.
Owen screamed, but not in pain. “Oh, you goddamn motherfucking pissant! I never even got to shoot it!”
37
Toby circled to the right, pulling the trigger, sights centered on Herlequin’s chest. Mike was somewhere to his left, but he would have to take care of himself for the moment. With each dart, Herlequin staggered, reeled, or grunted. This is almost too easy, he thought. When the gun ran dry, he ejected the magazine and slammed another home. He brought the gun up and faltered.
Herlequin was already down on his knees. His wings flapped twice, and, as Toby’s mouth dropped open, dropped over on his face.
“That’s it? He’s down?” asked Mike.
Not taking his eyes off H
erlequin, Toby circled around behind him. “I don’t know, Mike,” he said. “Remember, he’s a trickster.”
“Not one of those dog-things attacked,” said Mike. “This was easy.”
“Yeah,” said Toby. Too easy. He prodded the big goblin with the toe of his boot, but Herlequin never moved. “Benny, let’s drain his blood. I don’t want him coming to ever again.”
Benny was kneeling in front of the tree, looking worried. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”
“What is it, Benny?” Mike asked, but Benny just shook his head. His eyes darted toward the dark forest and scanned the trees. He pulled a rope out of his pack and looped it around Herlequin’s feet. The other end, he threw over a branch of the ugly tree at the center of the glade. “Mike, help me.” Together, Mike and Benny hauled Herlequin upside down, and Benny cut his throat.
“I expected more of a fight,” said Mike.
“Yeah,” said Benny, his attention back on the forest. “Me too.”
38
Scott didn’t know if he’d even hit the bastard, but Gray didn’t return fire, and Scott took that as a good sign. Even so, he kept the scope centered on St. Genesius’ belfry while troopers swarmed toward the building. If a shadow so much as twitches, he thought. Fire free.
39
This was too easy, Shannon thought. Gray had never even fired a shot. She ducked around the back of the house and peeked at the Catholic church across the street. Nothing moved.
The troopers from Play Time were pounding up the street toward the church. “He’s up in the belfry,” she yelled.
The troopers executed a tactical entry on the church’s vestibule, and Shannon rolled her eyes. “The belfry,” she muttered.
40
A thick stream of greenish-blue blood arced from Herlequin’s neck and into the double-layered trash bag. Herlequin’s muscles twitched as his life’s blood drained, but other than that, nothing happened. It was almost boring.
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