Alistair clicked his tongue. “When did ye get to be so wise?”
Stephen laughed. “Beats me.”
Chapter 9
Charles rode an Uber down the street in Charleston, South Carolina, but it was not a street that embodied the look and feel of the Charleston most people wanted to visit. The neighborhood surrounding him looked sterile compared to the rest of the city’s grand houses rich with history and character. The buildings beyond the sidewalks were plain, two-story brick structures, likely apartments of some kind. Nothing special stood out about them except that they were starkly different from the buildings a couple streets over in any direction. This was not the better side of Charleston.
Charles didn’t like this area of town. His self-proclaimed British aristocracy didn’t like being in places he considered below his stature. Plus, he had only bad news to report—about his own son, no less.
The car slowed to a stop. “We’re here,” the driver announced.
“Here you are,” Charles said, handing the man a significant tip. “I’d like you to wait for me.”
The driver nodded as he thumbed through the bills—his eyes widening. “Sure, man! I won’t move an inch.” He reached for his phone and changed his driver setting to out of service.
Charles stepped out of the car and looked across the street at the large three-story gray building with iron bars on the windows. It had a concrete wall around it and looked more like a haunted castle than a haunted old jail. The sun had already begun to dip below the horizon, making his shadow and that of the building’s long, stretching toward the east. He noticed people staring at him as he walked toward the building. Looking down the street, he saw a group of people on the sidewalk cross the street to keep from passing by on the same side as the old jail. He walked inside the main gate and up to the entrance.
The door opened and a man greeted him. “Good to see you, Charles,” the man said with a wry grin. “Gregor is ready.”
“Good.” Charles entered and immediately turned to the right toward a spiral staircase. As he climbed the circular stairs, he grew more disgusted than he already had been. The continuing loop only reminded him of how hard it was to keep his son on track. It’s like starting over again and again.
“Bloody kid,” Charles mumbled as he stepped from the stairwell onto the third floor and into a large room where several Fallen mingled.
Continuing through the room, he recognized some of them as people he had at least known of when they were still bound to do the calling of a weak Enclave. Soon, they would all unite as one group of Mighty under a true leader.
He turned down the hall and continued until he reached what used to be the largest holding cell on the floor, back in the octagonal wing of the building. He turned and stepped inside.
His eyes had barely begun adjusting to the dimly lit room when he noticed Gregor standing at a table surrounded by several others, two of whom were Bernie and Elizabeth. He approached and gave a modest bow in respect, but never took his eyes off the taller man.
Charles had known of Gregor prior to the previous battle in the generation before. Gregor hadn’t Fallen at that time, but soon after became one the opposition’s chief leaders. When Fallen lost that battle, many thought Gregor had died. Most thought he lurked on, too broken to continue, and eventually died of old age.
Charles had been surprised to see him after Stephen’s wedding, alive and looking as young or younger than Charles himself. Now, only a few weeks later, he was certain the man had less silver in his hair, smoother skin, and a stronger frame. “Are you getting younger?” he asked the Fallen leader.
The others in the room laughed.
Gregor played it off. “Perhaps it’s the dim lighting.”
“What are you, seventy? Eighty, maybe?” Charles said.
Gregor smiled and said to the others, “Go prepare your men. You know the plan.”
The others acknowledged with snickers and left the room to prepare for whatever havoc that was to begin.
“Nice to see you again, Charles,” Bernie offered as he passed by.
Elizabeth gave him a hungry, seductive glance as she left. He found her pleasing to the eye, but was too aware of how truly dangerous she was to entertain such an idea.
The room clear, Gregor stepped purposefully into what little light they had and stood for Charles to see.
Charles gasped. “You are getting younger.”
Were it not for the unending blackness in Gregor’s eyes, they might have twinkled a bit as he smiled. Either way, Charles could see the man was pleased to hear the words.
“And soon, you’ll know all about it. I have found eternal life, a life the Almighty”—he said with distaste—“could never give.”
Charles looked down at his own wrinkled and frail hands, then over to Gregor’s strong, thick hands, desiring the eternal life that Gregor had obviously found, a prick of envy shooting through him. Then he remembered why he came.
“I-I have bad news,” Charles said in a low tone.
“Alistair isn’t ready to take his place as a leader,” Gregor stated. “He’s still willing to play second fiddle to Stephen.” He laughed. “I already know. That’s the way it should be. I want it this way for now. It will be in the end that their friendship breaks apart.”
“So you’re not worried that Stephen is recruiting Outcasts?”
Gregor’s laugh echoed throughout the building. “Not at all. It’s what I’ve planned. He must build his confidence. I’ll give him some skirmishes along the way. He’ll win them all, become more confident—arrogant even. Then, when he thinks he is invincible, we’ll crush his spirit in such a way that he’ll fall. He’ll fall so far that he’ll never see the light again.”
“If Stephen falls, the Outcasts and Mighty who remain won’t be enough to fight,” Charles replied. “The battle will be over before it has begun.” He paused for a moment, considering the outcome. “What about my son, Alistair?”
“He’s no leader, not yet,” Gregor said, his voice deepening. “You’ll take your rightful place. When your son is ready, he’ll join you.”
“You don’t seem like someone who cares much what happens to others,” Charles stated. “Why are you being patient with Alistair?”
Gregor stared at Charles for a moment, causing Charles to feel uncomfortable, doubting whether he should have asked at all. After a moment, his face softened, nearly looking like a different person altogether. Then, Gregor pulled a photo of a young girl from his wallet. “Because I had a daughter once, before Waltz took her from me. I know how a father feels—wanting to give his child the best he can. Only do what I ask, and you and your son will be safe.”
****
The morning after Stephen had spoken with Alistair, they received a tip on some Fallen activity. Having picked Jax, Edge, and Bernard to join him, Stephen now found himself running through the woods as fast as his legs would move. Trees blurred by. He zig-zagged this way and that, avoiding stray branches and stumps that littered his path. Ducking under or jumping over fallen trees added another challenge, which he managed just fine. Although he could no longer see Jax, Edge, or Bernard, he remained linked with their minds. All were still in pursuit of two Fallen.
A loud shot rang out from up ahead. Stephen rolled in time for a bullet to go whizzing by him. Mighty and Fallen almost never used guns for fear that the noise would draw too much attention to their ongoing war. Being deep in the woods must have made this Fallen feel secure enough that they wouldn’t be heard. Or maybe this runner was so scared that it didn’t make a difference to him.
Stephen’s head filled with questions from his team. They were worried about him. I’m good, he assured them.
Up ahead, he saw a flash of blue—blue hair and blue clothes. He was gaining on his target not far ahead of him. He darted after him. Jax, where are you?
I’m almost there, came the reply.
Ahead and to the right, the sound of rustling leaves crescendoed, accompan
ied by a fast-moving silhouette, sending up forest floor debris in its wake. Soon, a mishmash of black and blue tumbled through the woods. Stephen caught up to them in seconds to find Jax and a Fallen wrestling on the ground.
“Get off me, Jax!” the young man yelled. He sent Jax into a nearby tree.
Stephen grabbed the man by his blue hair before he had time to make a break for it and snapped him up to his feet. The man’s gun fell to the forest floor. Next, Stephen took hold of the man’s wrists, pinning both arms behind his back.
Jax vaulted into the air and came down hard, slamming his fist into the man’s jaw. The man’s knees buckled. Stephen looked at Jax, disapproving of that last blow. Bernard, Edge, we’ve got ours, how about you two?
Still chasing, Bernard replied.
We’re in a residential area, Edge interjected. He’s hiding, but we’ll find him.
Stephen pulled zip ties from his cargo pocket and tied the man’s wrists together before leaning him against a tree. The man’s eyes looked void—lifeless. “Jax, you know him?”
“Yeah.” Jax spit on the ground next to the man. “This is Malcolm. We used to be friends. He’s a couple years older than me. He’s a warrior.”
Malcolm spit blood at Jax’s feet, then laughed like a man possessed. He cut his eyes up at Stephen. “You’re him—Stephen? Ha, ha. You’re what the Mighty is hedging their bets on? You’re nothing special. I’m a warrior too. Just. Like. You.”
Stephen couldn’t keep a wry grin from crossing his face as he said, “I promise you, you’re nothing like me.” Stephen allowed himself to slip into the man’s mind, looking for information about the man’s partner. “Will, huh? And he has an interesting gift.”
Bernard and Edge were still linked with him. They’d never find Will, unless they knew his gift. His name is Will, Stephen informed them. He has red hair, right?
Yeah, Bernard replied.
You’re looking for some type of mid-sized animal with red fur. He could be anything—a large dog, a beaver, a fawn . . . He’s there somewhere. You’ll find him.
Stephen turned his attention back to Malcolm. He had seen something inside the young man that caught Stephen’s attention. In a way, they were alike. Buried deep below the surface, they both were hiding a monster, only Malcolm’s monster didn’t belong to him. There was a voice inside that wasn’t Malcolm’s, the same voice Stephen had once sensed in Bernard. It forced Malcolm’s true desires to hide, imprisoned in the corner of his own mind.
“I don’t know who you are,” Stephen said. “But I’m coming for you. You’re a plague, bringing only death. For every disease, there’s a cure.”
Malcolm looked at Jax, his face a mass of confusion. “Who’s he talking to? Is he insane?”
Stephen grabbed hold of Malcolm and held him up against the tree, his own thoughts penetrating deeper into the mind of the man before him. Like a frightened child, the man’s true personality tried to remain hidden. Stephen found it anyways. There’s still hope for you, if you want it. You don’t have to be afraid. I know what you’ve done. But you don’t have to continuing hiding here.
“What are you doing?” Malcolm growled. Much like when Stephen freed Bernard’s mind, the voice in this young man’s head resisted. “Stop it.”
Stephen smiled, knowing what he had done. “It’s too late,” he said to the voice deep inside. “He’s been shown there is hope.”
“We have at least four times as many Fallen than remaining Mighty. You can’t win.”
Stephen knocked Malcolm on the head. The body went limp and slid back down the tree.
“Shut up, whoever you are,” Stephen quipped.
****
Bernard looked around and saw Edge come from around the corner of a house. “You hear Stephen?” Several dogs barked in the distance at the sound of his voice.
Edge nodded. “It sounds like nearly every home has dogs. How many do you think have a reddish coat?”
Bernard shrugged. “And how do we know for sure? He could be something else.”
“He could,” Edge replied. “If Stephen was here, this would be easier. He could find the man’s thoughts. But for now we’ll just have to spread out.”
The two men went on different sides of the street, looking inside fences and around houses for any signs of a dog or larger animal with reddish fur. Fortunately, the neighborhood consisted of only the one street. It wouldn’t take them long to search the area.
Bernard checked around the first two houses, finding only smaller yapping dogs, none of them having red fur of any type. The third house, however, had a privacy fence. He approached the fence, listening for any sound indicating the presence of a dog. Dogs barked in the distance—likely due to Edge’s investigation. Inside the privacy fence, however, there seemed to be nothing . . . but he had to be certain.
Bernard jumped the fence. A red retriever slept on the back porch. Bernard approached, trying to remain silent. He stood next to the dog before he said a word. “Hey,” Bernard said in a low soft voice. The dog didn’t move. “Hey!” he said louder.
The dog jumped up and started barking, baring its teeth. His fur stood up.
Bernard stared at the dog’s eyes a moment, then looked at the animal’s frame. How do I tell? he wondered.
The dog snapped and stepped closer.
At that moment, the back door of the house swung open. A man came out with a ball bat yelling, “What are you doing? You better get outta here!” He patted the dog on the back. “Watch ’em, boy.”
Bernard knew then that this dog was a dog. “Sorry, sir. My dog’s missin’. I’ve been checking around to see if he got through someone’s fence.”
“I don’t recognize you,” the man belted. “You aren’t from this neighborhood.”
“No, I’m not. My friend and I were hiking when my dog got away. He’s got a red coat, like your dog here. Are there any more in the neighborhood that you know of? I don’t want to get confused.”
The man kept his bat held in offense, but answered, “As far as I know, I’ve got the only one with a red coat. I suggest you knock on peoples’ doors though. We don’t take kindly to strangers around here.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Bernard turned and jogged to the fence, hopping it with ease.
As quick as he could, he checked the remaining houses on his side of the street, confirming there were no other dogs with red coats. Beyond the short residential street, woods covered most of the area. However, the street emptied onto another road that ran alongside a large area of pasture. Horses fed on the grass not far from the wooden fence. Bernard looked at the horses. They were too large to be the man in disguise. He leaned against the fence, waiting for Edge, who soon appeared from around the last house looking quite disheveled—one pant leg torn.
“You all right?” Bernard asked.
“Chihuahuas, a pack of them,” he grumbled. “I hate Chihuahuas.”
Bernard laughed.
Edge didn’t, but joined Bernard at the fence. “What do we do now?”
“I’m not sure, I guess we head back.” Something tugged at the back of Bernard’s shirt. He turned to see a horse. “Hey, buddy.” Most of the horses had made their way over to the fence.
“Do you see that?” Edge asked.
“See what?”
Edge pointed into the field, where a lone Shetland pony colt stood—his fur was a shiny solid reddish hue. “Wouldn’t you say that’s about the size of a large dog?”
“Yeah,” Bernard admitted. “Maybe an extra-large dog.” He turned away from the pony, being careful not to pay it too much attention.
Edge did the same. “You think you can make it to that pony in one jump?”
“Yeah, I reckon I can. What about you?”
“No. But I’m fairly fast. I’ll get there quick enough. Just hold onto him as best you can until I get there. I’ll use my special gift to subdue him.”
Bernard hadn’t been aware that Edge had a special gift. But his interest was now
piqued. “You’ve got me curious.” With that, Bernard leaped high into the air, twisted and turned to see the pony, and landed with a ground-rattling thud. He grabbed hold of the pony, struggling to keep his hands on it. It was strong, but it was the impact of the hooves kicking against his ribs that finally caused him to let go.
As Bernard stumbled backward, Edge bounded past and touched the Shetland on the head. The pony slowed to a stop and laid down. The form morphed, changing into the man they had chased through the woods.
“It’s too late,” the man said, fighting the sleep forced on him. “London is falling. You’re . . . too late.”
Chapter 10
The purple mist deposited Stephen and Bernard in the underground Outcast safe house in London. Stephen wasn’t sure how long the tunnels were. He had only been to one specific room when he last met with Max, Zander, and the first group of Outcasts. He recognized the mildewy smell of the damp air. The stone walls were moist with dripping water.
“You think Jax and Edge will be all right?” Bernard asked.
Stephen started down the tunnel, letting his mind reach out to find anyone he could. “They’ll get Malcolm and the other to Enclave just fine,” he replied.
The two continued. The trickling of water and sloshing of puddles beneath their feet were the only sounds when they weren’t talking. The dim lighting made it hard to see much. His eyes were still adjusting to the artificial light from the well-lit sky in the south after having just left Edge and Jax to escort their two captives to Enclave. They moved with caution as the air seemed to thicken with tension . . . or perhaps it was just the moisture.
“You know, this could be a trap,” Bernard suggested.
“Yeah, that thought occurred to me,” Stephen replied.
“Before we got here?”
“No, just now, but we’re already here.”
“True, but where’s everyone else?”
“I’m wondering the same thing.”
“If Fallen did send people, maybe they recalled them when their two friends didn’t show back up.”
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