Eleventh Grave in Moonlight

  “No, Dutch,” he said sadly. “They’re not.”

  Time slingshot back into place just as, yep, a hand whipped across my face. At least they were back to hitting me with an open hand.

  They picked up exactly where they left off. I waited for Angel to let me know when to move. If Reyes could walk, he could get to the gates and open them while I led them in the opposite direction, not that I had any idea where the gates were. But the car had left tracks in the dirt. That was enough to figure out which way not to go.

  One of the men holding Reyes spoke up. “Did you hear that?”

  They stopped. Everyone stood still and listened.

  “What?” Mr. Foster said.

  The man shrugged. “I thought I heard…”

  “They’re about two miles away,” Angel said.

  While their attention was elsewhere, I shot to my feet and ran. Or, well, stumbled to my feet and did an interpretive dance of autumn leaves dying and falling off a tree.

  I’d expected to let them chase me. To lead them away from the front gates so the local law enforcement could get in. What I hadn’t expected was the loud crack that split the air and echoed against the walls. A searing pain that burst in my back. What seemed like a hundred white-hot pokers stabbed me from behind, and I tripped, skidded onto my knees, and pitched forward, ending up barely twenty feet from where I’d started.

  Reyes jerked in his constraints, but I shook my head. He had to see this through. To finish it.

  But I hadn’t expected them to finish it first. I lay on the ground, bleeding out, and watched as they put the shotgun to Reyes’s chest.

  I cried out in horror. Had he been wrong after all? Could he die? It was simply not worth the risk.

  Fear consumed me to the marrow of my bones.

  Blood pumped into my stomach and lungs and throat.

  A pain like an inferno spread through me, but all I could think about was Reyes.

  A microsecond before they pulled the trigger, Mr. Foster shushed them again. Sirens could be heard in the distance, prompting the Diviners into action.

  “Close the gate!” he yelled.

  Reyes and Angel had been right. My plan had sucked. The Diviners scrambled to get to the gate before Reyes could get there.

  Mr. Foster turned and nodded toward his man. The shotgun exploded. Buckshot plowed into Reyes’s chest at point-blank range. He shuddered and coughed before going still.

  I covered my mouth with both hands. This was not happening. Blood pumped out of him in a slow and steady stream.

  “You have to know,” he said. Just like he had before. “Dematerialize.”

  “I … I can’t.” My chest ached, but not from the buckshot. “I have holes.”

  The grin that slid across his face was a most wicked thing. “I know. I like your holes.” He really was evil. The Fosters were right! “Do it, Dutch.”

  “But the holes. The ones in my back.”

  “Dutch…”

  “All right. Holy crackerjacks.”

  But before I could act, his lids drifted shut. And for a split second, I studied his face. Beaten and bloody but serene. No, accepting. Just like in that picture. He’d resigned himself to his fate as though … as though he deserved it. The Fosters did that to him. Earl Walker did that to him. Made him feel less than he was.

  The anger that truth evoked was the catalyst I needed. I dove inside myself, struggled past the drugs, dug my heels in and forced my molecules apart.

  The world exploded. Storms raged around me in both the celestial realm and the tangible. I made the Earth quake and tremble, as though trying to shake some sense into it. I bent the winds to my will, forcing them to twist and curve and spiral. Forcing them to do my bidding.

  Then I saw everything. I saw the Diviners arming themselves and running for the gate, trying to close it before the cavalry arrived. I saw others barricading themselves inside the main building. I saw people running and stumbling, trying to get away from the tornado. From my tornado.

  I ripped the gate from its hinges. Tore the doors off the main building. Threw men into trees and onto roofs.

  Then I turned back to the barn. I lay Shawn gently on the ground and knelt beside my husband. His eyes were open and he seemed to be looking at me with something akin to admiration.

  I knelt beside him and punched him as hard as I could. Not really. But Hard.

  “You didn’t die.”

  “God,” he said by way of an explanation. When I rolled my eyes, he added. “You’re so gullible.”

  I did a full-body scan. My sweater was a goner, but I was still alive and kicking. “I’m alive!” I said, raising my arms in victory. Then I looked back at Reyes. “Your turn.”

  “Not just yet. Remember, this has to look good.”

  I gave him a once-over. “It looks good. A little too good. As in, they may wonder why you’re still breathing. Please, Reyes.”

  “Dutch, I’m fine. Promise.”

  Finally able to touch him, I put my hands on his face. “Why did you let them do this to you?”

  “I told you—”

  “I don’t believe you.” I set my chin and glared, but only a little. “I think you wanted to be punished. For some idiotic reason, I think you wanted them to do this. And worse.”

  His smile held more sadness than humor. “So, was the plan to run and stumble and get shot in the back or to call out your inner tornado? Either way, I’m impressed.”

  “Do you remember what they did to you?” I asked, ignoring him. “As a baby?” The very thought broke my heart. “Please tell me you’re not lying.”

  “Have I ever lied to you?”

  I closed my eyes in a pathetic attempt to block out the truth. He did remember. At some point over the last few weeks, probably when he learned his godly name, he became like me. He remembered everything.

  He raised up until his mouth was at my ear and whispered, “Don’t.” Then he moved his mouth to my other ear. “Don’t you dare.”

  I filled my lungs and helped him to a sitting position. “So, yeah, the tornado thing was kind of plan B. If the cops know there has been a crime committed, they don’t have to wait for paperwork and the likes, right? They can just come in? Because the gate is kind of nonexistent at this point, so nothing but Johnny Law stopping them.”

  “Far as I know.”

  Angel popped back in. “There’re here.”

  I nodded and brushed my mouth across Reyes’s.

  Then I stood and ran to the opening of the barn.

  People were running from one building to another, carrying weapons and supplies. One guy fell out of a tree with a loud thud. My bad. And in the distance, lights flashed as cars sped toward us.

  The Diviners scattered like cockroaches as official vehicles stormed in one after another. And someone invited the National Guard. Those guys were always trouble.

  Most of the parishioners ran for the main building, which would lead to a similar situation. Despite the fact that I’d ripped off the doors, crazy people were still barricading themselves inside. Those things never ended well.

  Cruisers and official SUVs skidded to a halt inside the compound, stirring up enough dust to give all the members time to run and hide. The officers opened their vehicle doors and took cover behind them, aiming their guns.

  An ambulance waited in the wings.

  “Well, crap,” I said to Angel. “I’m all better. I don’t have a scratch on me.”

  “But your clothes look messed up. Bad.” Angel gave me a thumbs-up, then disappeared into the melee.

  I ran back to my husband. “Reyes—”

  “Behind you,” he said softly.

  Only this time, instead of getting bludgeoned, I shifted as the butt of a rifle slammed toward me. The man, the beefy one, almost fell forward when it passed clean through.

  I stood and faced him, ignoring the confused expression on his face. “That is enough.”

  When he went to hit me again, Reyes was there. He ha
dn’t dematerialized. He’d broken the ropes, as he could have done hours ago, walked behind the man, grabbed his jaw and the back of his head, and twisted.

  A crack proved that he’d broken the man’s neck. I’d tried to warn them. He crumpled to the floor. Then another crack, only from gunfire, echoed around us, and another, but not from any of the guns outside. These were coming from inside the main building. But they weren’t firing at the cops outside. They were firing inside.

  “Oh, my God, Reyes. They’re killing them!”

  I ran forward before Reyes could stop me and sprinted across the compound, yelling to Uncle Bob. “They’re killing them! Uncle Bob, hurry!”

  To the surprise of the other officers, Uncle Bob scrambled from behind a cruiser and followed me, as did Garrett, who’d apparently tagged along. I slammed against a bookcase blocking the entrance, but Reyes was right behind me. He pushed me back into Uncle Bob’s arms and said, “Hold her.”

  With one solid thrust, he broke down the barricade and dove into the darkness inside. Two more shots sounded as I struggled against Ubie. Then nothing.

  I pushed out of Uncle Bob’s arms and rushed inside, but Garrett hurried past me to lead the way, flashlight on, pistol at the ready.

  People were huddled in corners and underneath tables, while a woman, a teenaged boy, and two men lay dead. Rifles lay beside the two men. The woman and teen had been shot in what could have become one of the worst mass shootings on American soil. I could only assume they didn’t have time to mix the Kool-Aid, so they were taking out the members with bullets one by one.

  The men had clearly had their necks snapped, compliments of my husband.

  I ran to the woman and boy and knelt beside them. Feeling for any sign of life. There was none.

  Reyes came back through a doorway and did some kind of military gang signs to Garrett, sending him into the room he’d just come from.

  “Reyes.” I rushed to him but took great care when I walked into his arms, trying not to cling. Failing as my arms locked around him. As my fingers curled into his shirt.

  He seemed completely unfazed by his injuries as he stared down at me.

  “The Fosters?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “They’re here somewhere. They have to be.”

  Damn it. I’d lost track of them when I went all tornado. Which, who knew that was possible? Show of hands.

  Uncle Bob raced in then with several uniforms. They checked the bodies and began assessing the other Diviners.

  Ubie took Reyes’s hand in a firm shake. “You’ve looked better.”

  “So have you,” he teased.

  “Hey,” I said, interrupting, “where the hell are we?”

  They both grinned. “We’re near a town called Datil,” Ubie said, “just west of Socorro.”

  Socorro was south of Albuquerque. That part I knew. Had been to the pretty town many times. But Datil? “There’s a Datil, New Mexico?”

  “There is. Your dad never told you about it? The area is gorgeous. Your dad wanted to put in a ski resort and call it Ski Datil. Get it?”

  I laughed into Reyes’s shirt, and he pulled me closer, wrapping a large hand around my head and kissing the top of it.

  Uncle Bob cleared his throat and placed an uncomfortable gaze on my husband. “I hate to be a downer, Farrow, but did you get shot?”

  He shrugged and pulled me tighter. “I wasn’t the only one.” When I signaled him with a look of panic, he gestured toward the back room, and said, “There are three more victims in there.”

  “Damn,” I said. “How many did they kill before you got to them?”

  “Five.”

  “Any…?” I lowered my head. “Any children?”

  He gestured toward the teen. “Besides that kid, no. It looks like some of the adults were protecting them.”

  My heart broke. Odds were most of those people just wanted a home. A safe place to live and raise their children. They probably showed up with only the clothes on their backs, and the Fosters took advantage of that.

  Medical swarmed in, and we were officially on active duty as Uncle Bob supervised the rescue efforts. We began ushering people out. I leaned down and helped an elderly woman to her feet, then I recognized her as the one who’d been holding Dawn Brooks.

  “Where is Dawn?” I asked her.

  Shaking a fragile finger, she pointed to a cabinet. “I stashed her in there when the shooting started.”

  “Bless you.”

  Reyes took hold of her arm as I dove for the cabinet.

  “I didn’t even know they had guns here,” she added.

  I opened the cabinet door and peeked inside. Huddled in the farthest corner was a tiny ball of curls. “Dawn?” I said gently. She shook and was crying into her dress. “Dawn Brooks? I’m here to take you home.”

  She dared a peek at me, her face hopeful. She wanted to trust me, but she’d been through a lot. I didn’t rush anything. I sat beside the open cabinet and gave her time to adjust to my presence. After a few moments, I held out my hand. She eyed it, then slowly reached out to me. I pulled her out of the cabinet and lifted her into my arms.

  “Are you uh angel?”

  I laughed softly. She did have a gift. The Fosters were right. “I get that a lot. But, no, I’m not. I’m just a girl like you.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t fink so.”

  Oh yeah. She rocked.

  She wrapped her arms around my neck and refused to let go the rest of the night, even as I saw after Shawn, made sure he was the first one taken to the hospital. Even as I asked Diviner after Diviner where the Fosters were. None of them knew. Well, almost none. A couple of the higher-ups knew more than they were letting on, but short of torturing them with a three-year-old in my arms, I saw no way to get the information out of them.

  They were devout. Not to their faith or their religion. To the Fosters. Getting information out of them would take some time.

  I called Cookie, who was frantic. Worried sick. At her wit’s end. And I’d better not forget it. I’d taken ten years off her life. Ten good years she could have used to explore Europe. But all that was null and void because I’d shaved those years right off.

  I loved that woman so.

  By 2:00 A.M., things were not calming down at all. It seemed like every emergency services vehicle in a five-hundred-mile radius was on scene as well as reporters and the average lookie-loo. A small hotel-slash-restaurant from Datil, the Eagle Guest Ranch, provided coffee and water and sandwiches to the emergency crew, and a church group from Socorro provided blankets to the Diviners since they couldn’t go back inside to get their things.

  Ubie walked up to me. “Pumpkin, you’ve had a long day. Maybe you should go home.”

  I was still holding Dawn. We’d wrapped her in a blanket, and she’d fallen asleep, her head on my shoulder, her warm breath on my neck. I doubted I’d ever get the feeling back in my arm again, but it was so worth it.

  “I will,” I said, rubbing the doll’s back, “but first, how were you able to just come in? I thought you’d need a warrant or something.”

  “Not when you have the permission of the owner,” he said, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “This guy’s apparently a client of yours?”

  I looked over to see Shawn Foster walking forward. After a stunned moment, I rushed toward him. His face was swollen and his lip split open, but he looked good considering what he’d just been through.

  “Shawn, how are you here? I thought an ambulance took you to the hospital?”

  “I came back. I’m so sorry, Charley.” He glanced around in shock. “If I’d had any idea they would do this…”

  “Shawn, this is not your fault.”

  “No, I should have warned you. I’m no longer involved in my parents’ delusions, but I have people inside who keep me informed. I knew they were stockpiling guns. I just had no idea.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t believe the Fosters, the people who raised you, w
ould do such a horrible thing to you.”

  “Yeah, that’s why they’re called fanatics.”

  “But how are you up and walking and talking and—”

  “Well,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable, “I heal pretty fast.”

  “Of course. You’re Nephilim.”

  “How did you—”

  “Actually, it was Reyes.”

  The two of them shook hands. Shawn seemed a little star struck. I could hardly blame him.

  “You gave permission for the authorities to come in?” I asked him.

  “I did. Weeks ago. The FBI has been investigating the Diviners for years and, technically, it’s all mine. The land. The buildings. Everything.” He turned bitter. “Dear old Dad didn’t want anything in his name, so he put it all in mine years ago.”

  Sounded like him.

  “Do you have access to the paperwork?” I asked, praying there’d be something about the fake adoption agency the Fosters had set up.

  “Every forged document.”

  With that paperwork, we had a chance of getting the charges against Veronica Isom dropped.

  “What about your par … the Fosters. Any idea where they went?”

  He shook his head. “I do know they were building something in the main barn.”

  “Building something?”

  “I don’t know what. My contacts weren’t in the inner circle, but they did say the guys were spending a lot of time in there.”

  “Thanks. I’ll check it out.”

  I strolled that way, trying to steer clear of the emergency crew as Uncle Bob spoke with Shawn. I hadn’t noticed any new construction in the barn, but I’d been pretty out of it.

  “Want me to take her?” Reyes asked, scanning the yard for any sign of danger.

  “I’m good.” I hugged her to me, seemingly unable to put her down. I buried my face in her curls and breathed in her scent before asking, “Do you feel them?”

  “The Fosters? No. But there’s a lot of emotion here to sort through.”

  “True.”

  However, the moment we walked into the barn, we felt them. They were hiding like little rats, and I realized the bales of hay in the corner were covering something up. The Diviners had built a hidden room.