CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ezra and his smothering
hands were knocked away by a mass of sticky, foul-smelling demon.
No, not a demon. Even before she’d fully recovered her breath, Sam
realized exactly what—or who—had tackled Ezra to the
ground.
It was Stephen in his
other form. She could see the strange resemblance now. Even when he
was covered in oozing yellow slime, she recognized her brother.
Those were the hands that had held hers when she was first learning
her way around Southie. That was the mouth she’d felt a hundred
times when she’d reached out to see if the too-quiet man next to
her on the couch found what they were watching as funny as she
did.
She’d had to feel his
upturned lips to know if he was enjoying the scathing satires she’d
been addicted to for most of her teen years. He never laughed out
loud. Not once.
But then, she hadn’t
been laughing either.
They’d always been
quiet. Both of them. Holding in their thoughts, keeping their
secrets, hiding from each other. But at least Sam had tried to let
Stephen know who she was and had been honest about what their
horrific past had done to her. Stephen couldn’t say the same. He’d
lied to her, deceived her, and now she knew he’d done things she
would never be able to forgive, no matter what the
reasons.
Stephen was as good
as dead to her. As much of a liar and betrayer as the man he
fought.
Sam didn’t wait to
see who was going to win out in the end, whether Stephen would
subdue Ezra and Sunshine—who had leaped upon his back and was
striking him with a statue she’d seized from a nearby exhibit—or if
Sunny and her ex would beat Stephen into submission. She just
struggled to her feet and staggered away, moving more slowly this
time, reaching her toes out in front of her before she
stepped.
She had a little more
time now that her captors were otherwise engaged. If she could put
some distance between them without leaving a trail of destruction
in her wake, maybe she could find a place to hide. Maybe she
could—
The now-familiar
chill of the demons swept inside her before she could finish her
thought, banishing her hopes of flight, assuring her there was
nowhere to hide. They must have realized that she might actually be
able to escape. Their energy was stronger now, a fierce, clutching
wave that fisted around her mind and sucked her under, promising
pain if she didn’t submit. They swirled through her body—their
actions an assurance that they would find her no matter where she
went. They were connected, intimately bound by what her parents had
offered them all those years ago.
Now Sam could feel
the linking of their energies in a way she never had before, the
connection magnified by the closeness of the box. She could hear
their strange, feral thoughts and sense the even stranger pulsing
energy of the box nearby.
Her parents had given
her to that box and the creatures it housed and protected. They
believed that gave them certain rights.
Rights the demons
meant to claim.
Sam stumbled as the
demons surged deeper and deeper, filling every ounce of available
space, chilling the backs of her eyes until she feared they would
freeze and crack, shattering like glass. It hurt…. God, it hurt
more than anything she had felt in a long time, and the demons
enjoyed her pain.
They wanted to hurt
her, to frighten her, but they … couldn’t … they
couldn’t….
They couldn’t
kill her. They needed her alive. Sam
felt that truth deep in her gut even as the demons pushed and
shoved inside her, making her ears ache and her temples throb. The
fall down the stairs had been a mistake. They didn’t want to truly
do damage. They had been trying to scare her, to show her what life
would be like for those not under their protection … so they could
convince her to do what the other woman had refused to do … what
her brother was too afraid to do….
To take up the box
and invite them inside … and then she wouldn’t feel any more pain,
any more fear. She’d finally be able to see, and see more than any
other human on earth. She’d be strong, powerful, indestructible,
immortal…. Wouldn’t she like that? Not to fear even death
itself?
The creatures
squirming around inside her mind couldn’t communicate with
words—they didn’t possess human language— but Sam felt the message
just the same. The demons wanted her to ceremonially lay hands on
the box and invite them to possess her. If she did, they would
reward her.
If she would help
them, the demons would make every dream she’d ever had come true.
They would take away the pain and the fear forever, if only she
would relax and let them take what they needed.
“Get out! Get out!”
Sam screamed, fists balled tightly at her sides. She wanted to claw
through her own scalp, reach inside her ears, and rip the voices
out of her mind, but she couldn’t. She didn’t believe it would do
any good.
There was nothing she
could do to stop the demons from invading her. The pathway had been
laid when she was just a little girl, and now they could wiggle
around in all those places they had visited before, tormenting her
with their cold evil, taunting her with glimpses of what she would
be seeing if the ritual hadn’t stolen psychic energy from her eyes
years ago.
Sam tried to run, but
her eyes suddenly flashed on her reflection in a glass case with
pottery inside. She spun away just in time to avoid a collision. As
she turned, the tangle of people on the ground came into view. They
were still fighting, but it looked like Stephen was winning. There
was blood again, but it wasn’t clear who it belonged
to.
Good. She didn’t want
to know who was bleeding. She didn’t care. She just wanted out of
here.
No, she wanted
them out. If she could just get
outside, get away from the box, hopefully the demons would lose
some of their power. The box was making the demons stronger. She
could feel the artifact’s energy throbbing in the air.
We need you and will reward you. Come, take up the box,
take it and finish what you—
Sam growled low in
her throat, panic and frustration nearly overwhelming her as the
temptation slithered into her mind like a snake hunting in
water—swift, passionless, merciless, adrift in a world where
gravity was no longer the rule. She was the mouse that had fallen
into the shallows, whose tiny feet were unsuited for swimming. It
was all over. Her death was assured. Only the mercy of the snake
could save her.
We will be merciful. Simply deliver yourself unto us. Come
and— “No, no,” Sam chanted, her words a desperate plea to
every god she’d ever studied in her World Religions
class.
Feeling the demons so
deep inside her was terrifying, more awful than anything she’d ever
imagined. It incited a despair that was strangely seductive. No
matter how the rational part of her mind screamed for her to run
away, something else within her wondered if it might not be best to
lie down with the evil and let its cold tongue slip into her
ear.
The world tilted on
its axis as she spun again, back the way she’d come, but veering
just far enough to the right to steer clear of the case she’d
nearly hit the first time. She’d taken half a dozen steps before
the demons lifted the veil behind her eyes again, this time only
seconds before she plowed into a wall.
Sam gasped and lunged
for an open doorway a few feet away, trying to memorize the layout
of the room she’d just entered before her sight was stolen once
again. She was certain she’d seen daylight coming from the left, so
she hurried in that direction even when the darkness fell. It was
brighter in the next room over, bright enough that she could see
the dark, hulking shapes of a large statue and the smaller shadows
of display cylinders.
The world retained
its customary darkness as she raced into the next room, but that
was fine. She could smell freedom. There was a door to the outside
somewhere close by. The smell of old rain and dirty streets and the
faint, musky scent of the ruins that always lingered in Southie
drifted through the air. Sam sniffed deeply and hurried in the
direction she guessed the smell was coming from, heart racing as
her walk turned into a run.
She knew she should
slow down and be careful—her hands were still tied behind her back,
and if she hit something, it was going to be a full-frontal
assault—but she was too desperate to be away from this place. The
demons’ presence had grown less intrusive as she fled, convincing
her that she was headed in the right direction, away from the box
and the—
Sam tripped and went
sprawling, hitting the ground with her right shoulder hard enough
to make her scream. She’d run into some kind of platform, stumbled
over the step leading up to one of the larger exhibits. It was
bound to happen, but still she cursed herself and the demons and
the museum and half a dozen other things as she tried to regain her
feet.
It wasn’t easy with
her arms tied behind her. She flopped on the ground for several
seconds, something wet on the floor making her slip and slide—each
movement triggering a fresh wave of agony in her bruised
shoulder—before she finally managed to get to her
knees.
But there wasn’t time
for a celebration of her small victory. The full power of the
demons slammed down all around her, pinning her in place, making
her mouth drop open in pure shock.
She’d never felt
anything like this. Never. She’d never known fear could hit so hard
that it made you numb, calm, ready to accept death with a peaceful
smile—just like the Ju Du quills she’d barely avoided less than a
day and a half ago would have done.
Had it really been
less than a day and a half? It seemed like forever since she’d
slept, an eternity of painful, futile minutes spent struggling
against a fate she could see now was inescapable. She was meant to
fulfill her destiny here in this room, kneeling at the foot of the
bed where the box had waited patiently.
Her eyes cleared,
revealing the ornate bed and lushly decorated room she’d seen in
her vision. This was where Stephen had delivered his bloody
donation.
Sam dimly realized
that the demons had led her here, driving her like some mindless
herd animal into exactly the position they required. The circle of
blood was already drawn on the floor. She’d smeared it a bit as
she’d struggled to sit up earlier, but not enough to damage the
ritual space Ezra and Sunshine had prepared.
She knew she should
feel like a fool, but she didn’t. She was simply … relieved. It
would end now, all the pain and the fear and suffering. She would
finally be able to sleep without dreaming of dangerous shadowed
fingers, to see without being forced to watch an endless display of
horror.
It would be a
blessing to give herself over to the box and the
demons.
The urge to reach
under the bed and pull the artifact from its hiding place was
overwhelming. Sam strained against her bonds, twisting her wrists
this way and that, tearing her skin and drawing blood before she
abandoned her attempts to free herself with a sob. She’d just have
to get to the box another way. She couldn’t give up, not now, not
when she was so close to the peace she’d craved for longer than she
could remember.
Breath coming fast
and tears pooling in her eyes, Sam spun around and pulled her knees
out from beneath her. Then she scooted backward toward the bed,
every second that she was forced to be without the box in her hands
driving her desperation higher. She was frantic by the time her
questing fingertips finally felt the cool, carved wood. Thank God.
Ezra and Sunny must have removed it from the lockbox! Every inch of
her body shook with the need to hurry, to get the artifact in hand
before it was too late, before—
“Sammy! Sam!” It
wasn’t the first time he’d called to her; she could tell from the
strain in his voice, but that was okay. He wasn’t too
late.
Jace’s shout snapped
the thread connecting her to the evil pulsing in the air. He was
here. He wasn’t going to let her be taken without a fight and—now
that her thoughts were her own once more—neither was she. Sam
sucked in a breath as if emerging from too long underwater, lifting
her head and searching the room for Jace with her newfound sight,
only to have the world fall into darkness once more when the demons
realized she’d slipped from their control.
“Jace!” she screamed,
flinching away from the wicked thing she touched as if it had
burned her and scooting away from the bed. She had to put some
distance between her and the box before the demons pulled her in
again. She wasn’t strong enough to fight them, not on her own.
“Help me. I have to—”
“Hold on. I’ll be
right back.” Jace’s cry was followed by a grunt and a crash and the
shouting of men whose voices she didn’t recognize. They were
calling to one another in some kind of code, commands it seemed
they used often, but with an undercurrent of fear she instinctively
knew was unfamiliar.
A woman screamed, and
Sam heard Ezra yell for someone to let go of Sunshine, and then,
suddenly, from beneath all the noise came an unearthly howl, the
cry of a wounded animal ripped from the vocal cords of a
man.
It was Stephen, and
he was hurt. No matter what he’d done, she had to make sure Jace
and the others knew Stephen was the monster in the other room, and
do her best to ensure he was captured peaceably.
“Jace!” Sam screamed
again. “Stephen is the thing we saw in the hall, and Ezra and
Sunshine are—”
“I
know!”
“No, you don’t!”
There was no way he could know what he was up against, and his
stubborn refusal to listen to her could allow Ezra and Sunny to get
away. Or worse, allow them to hurt Jace while his guard was down.
Sam’s heart raced at the thought. “They’re the ones who summoned
the demons. You can’t trust them!”
“I
know!”
He did? How did
he—
Ezra yelled something
in a language she didn’t recognize, leaving no doubt that he was
the man who had watched her fall down the stairs. Sunshine called
back to him, and then the sharp report of gunfire echoed through
the marble halls.
“Sam, get down! Get
down!” Jace cried out.
Sam hurled herself to
the ground as guns fired again—real bullets, not stun lasers. The
reports were too loud to be lasers, but they weren’t close enough
to hurt her ears. Jace was being overly cautious. She was safe in
this room, but she knew he couldn’t say the same.
More shouts came from
the men, someone called Sam’s name, and several bursts of rapid
gunfire and the sound of breaking glass shattered the stillness of
the museum.
Shit! What were they doing? Who was shooting who?
She had to get into the other room and see what was happening for
herself. She should still be able to see her brother, Jace, Ezra,
and Sunny, which would give her an idea of how she could help, even
if she couldn’t see any of the people Jace had brought with
him.
But thank God he’d
brought backup, Sam thought, as she struggled to sit upright. There
was no way he’d be able to handle Stephen by himself, let alone
Sunny and Ezra and—
“No! Move, Sam,
hurry!” It was her brother’s voice, but the words sounded like they
were being spoken around a mouthful of water. Still, no matter what
he’d done or what he’d become, a part of her trusted him enough not
to question the urgency in his command.
She wiggled faster,
contracting her abs and rocking into a seated position before
scooting as fast as she could toward the edge of the platform. It
would be easier for her to get to her feet there than—
“Sam!” Stephen
screamed.
“No, Stephen, don’t
touch it! Not alone!” She recognized the woman’s voice calling out
the warning, but she didn’t have time to place it before something
warm and wet and repulsive crashed down around her.
Sam gasped, then
immediately realized it was the wrong thing to do. She shut her
lips, but it was too late. Her mouth was filled and she couldn’t
breathe. Panic descended and she thrashed inside a bubble,
desperate for air, but her struggles only spun her in a tight
circle, like a baby trapped in an inhospitable womb. All around her
the wetness popped and crackled, scalding her skin. It was like
she’d dived into a boiling-hot ocean.
No, not the ocean.
The ocean was salty, but it didn’t taste like this, didn’t stick
and cling and invade with such a ruthless possession. Whatever this
was, it was far worse than water. Not that it really
mattered.
Whatever this bubble
was made of—salt water or blood or worse—it was going to kill her,
while the only two people who had ever really loved her were forced
to watch.