“Jesus. Is your insane boss trying to get you killed?”
A ghost of a laugh escaped her. “Never. Or you. We’re just trying to fix . . . something that could destroy . . . more than we could imagine.”
“According to Bishop.”
“Well, he’s usually right, especially . . . about . . . stuff like this.”
“I think he has you all hypnotized into believing that.”
“Can’t hypnotize a psychic. You know that. We need to move. Now. And you might want . . . to make sure I stay conscious. Not sure I can hold this on automatic.”
Luther swore again, this time not so quietly, but turned away from Callie and walked beside Cesar as the powerful dog resumed pulling the litter carrying his mistress, and the silent group of man, woman, and dogs moved deeper into the forest toward the cabin rented by what had once been a man named Cole Jacoby.
And was now something so dark and twisted there was only one word to describe it.
Evil.
* * *
HOLLIS AND DEMARCO were out of the Jeep and walking toward the third compass point, south, a point that fell between the stable complex and the extensive “rear” gardens of Alexander House, when Hollis stopped abruptly and half turned to look behind them.
“Oh, wow,” she murmured. “Creepy. Very creepy.”
With the minutes counting down in his head, DeMarco turned to look as well, but all he saw was the slightly winding flagstone path that allowed the more athletic of guests to walk from the house to the stables, through the gardens that would be beautiful in spring and summer. Beyond that lay the covered pool and surrounding recreation areas, deserted to his eye, and beyond those the house itself.
DeMarco saw nothing unusual or out of place.
“What?”
Hollis cleared her throat. “They’re . . . all looking this way. The spirits. In the gardens, around the pool, at the tables. Everywhere I can see. They’re all just . . . standing there. Looking this way. Watching us.”
DeMarco imagined that would look creepy. “Are they moving toward us?”
“No. Just facing this way. Like they’re waiting. To attack. Like a zombie apocalypse. Man, I’ve gotta stop watching horror movies.”
“Why would you?” DeMarco asked as he got them moving again toward the third compass point. “You basically live in one.”
“Don’t remind me. Okay, concentrating . . . This is getting easier. I see the doorway.”
“Same as the first two?”
“Pretty much.”
“Okay. Soon as we get close enough, stop and do your thing.”
“How close are we on time?”
“We should hurry,” DeMarco answered calmly. “We’re not even sure exactly where in the basement we’ll find the final doorway, so we need to reserve some time for that.”
Hollis stopped. “Here. About three feet away.”
He saw nothing but didn’t let that bother him. “Go ahead. I’ll know when it’s open if your aura becomes visible again. But say it’s open anyway, in case this doorway is different.”
Hollis focused, concentrated. And just as he watched her aura flare brightly around her and felt the now-familiar warmth from their clasped hands creep up his arm, she said, “Open.”
DeMarco automatically kept time in his head, watching her aura pulse with power, the steely sheen intensify in her once-blue eyes.
It hadn’t faded away after the second doorway had been closed.
He hadn’t told her about that.
Consequences. There are always consequences. Maybe Bishop’s right and this will stabilize her brain so there are no more surprise psychic abilities. Maybe some of us will be able to stop holding our breath for fear the next new ability will be too much for her.
And maybe this will only make things worse.
Calmly, he said, “And . . . five . . . four . . .”
Maybe channeling so much energy will destroy her.
“. . . three . . . two . . .”
Why the hell don’t I stop this?
“. . . one.”
“Closed,” Hollis said. She turned her head and looked up at him with a faint smile. “And on to door number four.”
He turned and led her briskly back toward the Jeep. “How do you feel now?”
“Like I could run a marathon without breathing hard. Jesus, it’s weird. This feeling. I think I could be a superhero. Seriously.”
“You’d hate the tights.”
“I could have a cape. I’ve always wanted to swirl a cape.”
“Pictures of you on the news, on YouTube. People asking for autographs. You’d hate it.”
“I don’t know. It has its appeal.”
He knew she wasn’t serious.
But her eyes were even more metallic, and he didn’t know what that meant, whether it was a good thing or a bad one.
* * *
CALLIE WAS SO focused on projecting her shield outward and maintaining its strength, so determined to safely deflect away whatever negative energy might be directed at any of them, she almost missed something else.
But Cesar didn’t. They were just over halfway to Jacoby’s cabin when he stopped, turned his head toward the slope above them, and whined softly. And, as usual, Callie heard his voice clearly in her mind.
Girl. Near.
Since she was facing back the way they’d come, more or less, Callie could see that Jacoby’s dogs also reacted, though in their case it was a matter of tucked tails and visible uneasiness. Whatever canine thoughts they had were too unfocused for her to pick up, but Cesar’s mind-voice remained clear and steady.
Pieces. Cut her up. Grave.
It was almost impossible to keep her focus as coldness rushed through Callie, but she hung on grimly to the only means she had of protecting all of them.
“What is it?” Luther asked, stepping back so he could see her face. “It’s not like I’m leading him, but I’m assuming Cesar wouldn’t have stopped without good reason.”
Callie had sensed more than seen or heard Luther’s determination to walk steadily even though his leg must have been giving him hell. She had also sensed his wired alertness and the frustration he struggled to hide at not being a hundred percent in a situation this deadly.
“Callie?”
She drew a breath, fighting to keep her focus. And to weigh her words carefully, because if Luther became too distracted here and now the consequences could be disastrous for more than just them. “Cesar is very good at finding things. Bombs. Drugs. Bodies.”
Luther looked at Cesar, then turned his own head to look up the mountain slope above them. “Bodies. Are you saying Jacoby has killed someone?”
“We didn’t get this far before. Cesar and me. I mean the last time. Since we found the blood. I didn’t tell you because there was nothing we could do about it, but I trust him more than a blood test kit. That blood was human. Female. And the girl it came from . . . is buried somewhere upslope. Cut up in pieces.”
THIRTEEN
The western compass point was reached, and this time Hollis found the doorway hovering just in front of a very tall granite boulder.
“Got it,” she told her partner.
His rather coldly handsome face was, as it was much of the time, impassive, even enigmatic, but Hollis had been conscious even through her concentration on the doorways of his anxiety.
He was worried about her.
As they got out of the Jeep quickly without breaking physical contact, this particular art mastered by now, she briefly considered and then rejected bringing up the subject.
No time.
Besides, she was reasonably sure she knew why he was concerned. She had turned herself into a conduit to channel and even absorb raw energy—and much of it was dark energy.
She wasn’t sure he knew th
at, though he might by now suspect as much. Bishop hadn’t described it so, had in fact stated that the negative energy was on the other side of the doorways, the other side of the vortex, but Hollis had been a medium long enough to know that even the strongest mediums had little control over what came through an open doorway.
Bishop most certainly knew that.
Bishop had told her to open and then close these doorways. To channel the energy, releasing most, retaining some. And he had sent her and DeMarco here knowing this was the end game. He hadn’t explained his reasons for choosing her over more powerful mediums in the unit, other than to say that this could help “seal” her abilities just as she was closing and sealing these doorways.
He’d said this might fix her.
Not in those terms, of course, but Hollis got it. She knew DeMarco got it as well. Maybe he even believed it, or had. Until he saw visible evidence of the energy she was channeling and absorbing into herself. Until he got some notion of the magnitude of the power.
But he still didn’t know just how much of that energy was dark.
And even though Hollis had recognized it with the first doorway and that sly urging to ignore her partner’s voice calling on her to close the door, she hadn’t told him about it.
That hadn’t been anything of her, that voice. It had been the energy. It had been the evil. And she was strong enough to resist it.
They were approaching the fourth door, and even though Hollis knew there was no time for a discussion, she also knew that there was a danger in allowing DeMarco to even begin to question what they were doing.
It struck her only then, and forcibly, that she was aware of what he was feeling—and it was a one-way connection.
He wasn’t reading her.
At all.
She wasn’t broadcasting. Her energy contained? New energy providing a kind of shield for her? There was no time to find out for sure.
Pushing that aside to deal with later, if necessary, she said calmly, “It’s not that this will fix me, you know.”
“What?” He almost stopped them.
But Hollis kept steadily approaching the fourth door.
“Why Bishop sent us here. Sent me, knowing this is what I’d have to do. It’s not about fixing me.”
“It’s about closing this vortex.” There was, in his voice, something of the tension and anxiety she felt in him. And the awareness that there was no time to fully discuss this. For which he blamed Bishop.
Oh, Bishop, so many people are going to be pissed at you the next time you see them.
“Closing the vortex, certainly. But there’s a reason he wanted it to be me. And it isn’t about fixing me.”
“You’re not broken.” His voice roughened on those words, then steadied. “Then why you?”
“He knew it couldn’t corrupt me.”
“What?”
“The dark energy. The evil.”
DeMarco did stop them then. He stared at her, and even though she could literally hear the seconds ticking away in his mind, he made time to say, “Dark energy. If it’s dark, why does it . . . why does your aura sparkle? You said the spirits here had dark auras, but yours isn’t. I can see it now. I watch it while you channel the energy. It’s bright. It’s light, not dark.”
“What you see is what I’m releasing. Like . . . dirty water through a filter. I’m the filter. It goes in dark and comes out light.”
He stared at her, frowning. “If you’re the filter, what happens to you?”
“I told you. I’m stronger. More powerful.”
“But if that’s from dark energy—”
“That’s why Bishop sent me. Dark energy, evil, can’t corrupt me, Reese. I’ve already faced it. And survived it. Years ago. Evil did its best to destroy me, and it failed.”
He drew a quick breath and let it out more slowly. “Are you saying evil only gets one shot?”
“I’m saying evil can only win if it deceives. If it hides behind something we aren’t afraid of. It can’t do that with me. I smelled the brimstone. I heard its voice. I saw its face. Not with these eyes, but with this mind, this understanding.” She saw something in his almost impassive face, and felt more.
“Hollis—”
“It’s all right, you know. That these eyes have changed. That they look so different right now. Maybe they’ll . . . unnerve other people if they stay this way even after we’re done here, but for the first time, they feel like my eyes. Not the eyes of a stranger. I can see, Reese, as well as or better than I ever have. I hope I keep that at the end of the day. I really do. Even if the cost is eyes that look like shiny dimes.”
“You feel they look that way?”
“I know they do. For now, at least. Maybe forever. And I don’t mind at all.”
After a moment, he nodded, and they continued the remaining few yards toward the fourth doorway.
“Tinted contact lenses,” he said.
“That could work,” she agreed.
“You’re sure you can handle this?”
“Absolutely. And, you know, it might just fix me. Ultimately.”
“You aren’t broken.”
“A debate for another day.”
“There’s no debate. You aren’t broken.”
Hollis stopped just about three feet from the fourth doorway. She felt herself smiling. “Okay. Ready?”
“Have at it.”
* * *
LUTHER WAS CLEARLY disturbed by the knowledge that Jacoby—or the dark energy controlling him—had committed murder, especially given the brutal disposal of the body. But he was also clearly anxious to get Callie safely into the hands of a doctor as soon as possible.
“How many times has he killed?”
Callie shook her head. “I have no way of knowing that, though given how long he’s been up here, I can’t believe he had enough time to kill more than once.” It was the torture that fed the evil, and torture takes time.
But she didn’t say that out loud.
“When it’s all over and Jacoby is dead or in custody, we’ll make sure this whole mountainside is searched. For her. For the place where she was held and hurt. And for any others he may have killed.”
“There’s no time,” Luther said, mostly under his breath.
“I know. We need to go.” She looked at her watch. “It’s being distracted now. Being given something else to think about. Besides us. We need to take advantage of that. We need to keep moving. Cesar knows where we’re going. And he’ll take the most direct route possible and still avoid the cabin.”
“You’re sure he—it—is in the cabin?”
Callie drew a breath, trying to ignore the increasing pain of her wound. Ignoring the weakness. “All I can tell you for certain is that the dark energy that was trying to touch us not long after we left my cabin isn’t trying right now. But that doesn’t mean it won’t again.”
After a moment, Luther turned and began walking again, even as Cesar continued. Jacoby’s dogs followed the litter closely, almost stepping on each other’s paws they were so close. Silent and still visibly anxious.
“Stop trying to protect me,” Luther said suddenly, his voice low. “I can see what it’s taking out of you. You need to conserve your strength, Callie.”
All too aware that she was weakening fast, she replied, “You know what it can do.”
Luther paused briefly and then continued walking, this time beside the litter. “Believe me, I remember. But I don’t believe it could control me like that again. Not like that.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe because I’d recognize the trick this time.”
“And would you?”
“Yes.”
Callie bit back a sound of pain as the litter moved over a rougher patch of ground and she was jostled a bit.
Sorry.
/> It’s okay. Just keep going, Cesar.
“What if you don’t recognize it?” she asked Luther.
“I will. Just stop trying to shield me.” He hesitated, then added, “But if I do get taken over again, do us both a favor and shoot me. I’d rather die on this mountain than live knowing I hurt you. Or worse.”
Callie knew very well that he wasn’t being dramatic or even especially heroic. He was the kind of man to whom losing control of his own actions would be a special kind of hell, as would harming an innocent.
She responded by saying calmly, “Well, the thing is, if I shoot you, it’s probable neither one of us will make it off this mountain alive. Cesar can’t drive, and by the time we get there, if we get there, I won’t be in any condition to myself. So let’s not let evil win this time, huh? I’ll try to keep a patch on that crack in your shield, but the rest is up to you.”
Luther nodded, but he was also frowning. “That may be the best thing I can use to protect my own mind,” he said. “The knowledge that losing control of it dooms all of us.”
Callie opened her mouth to say something, but then paused as she became aware of a distant dark flicker.
“Luther—”
“I know. It may be distracted, but us escaping isn’t part of its plan. I can almost see it reaching for us.”
“Stay aware of that. It can only get in by deception.”
“You might have mentioned that sooner.”
Callie almost laughed. “Sorry. A recent realization, I’m afraid. This is not a kind of evil I’ve faced before, but . . . it’s always a trick. How evil takes hold. How it attacks and controls the unwilling.” She realized it was getting harder to breathe, but tried to ignore that. “Evil . . . is deception. It can’t be stared in the face, its real face. Except by someone . . . who understands . . . what it is.”
“Callie?”
Her eyes were nearly closed. “Even . . . when I . . . sleep. My shield. Even when I sleep. It protects me. But not anyone else. Not you.”
“Dammit, Callie.”
Her eyelids flickered, and she sent a last glance up at him, murmuring, “It doesn’t want me. I’m weak. I can’t do anything . . . for it. Except . . . distract you. Don’t be distracted. Know it for what it . . . is. Stare it . . . in the face.”