7  

Reggie pedaled hard, racing her bike across town. It had taken her another twenty minutes to form a plan and gather all the supplies she needed, and now she feared Quinn would arrive at the theater first. She had to get there before him. Her scheme depended on it.

The Charleston Theater was located in a rundown area of Cutter’s Wedge. It was an old theater, with tattered curtains that opened and closed in front of the screen and box balcony seats. Two dollars would buy a ticket to whatever old movie was showing, and a couple hours’ respite from the summer heat in a dark, air-conditioned room. But the shady locale kept traffic to the Charleston low, if not nonexistent.

Reggie locked her bike to a bike rack outside the theater and went inside to the lobby. She glanced around. The lobby was empty except for the grizzly old man behind the concession stand. She approached the counter.

“Large Mountain Dew, please.”

He nodded and shambled over to the drink fountain, taking his sweet time. Reggie kept glancing from the wall clock, which read twenty after eleven, to the front entrance. With every tick of the second hand she expected Quinn to walk in, and her plan would be blown.

Finally the man handed her the soda and collected her money. Reggie snatched the drink off the counter, but she didn’t go into the theater right away. Instead, she headed into the women’s restroom.

It was an old-fashioned vanity, with round lightbulbs lining the mirror, but several were burnt out. Reggie locked the door and set the soda by the sink, then opened her satchel.

Inside were a bottle of pills and a carving knife.

Calmly, Reggie uncapped the bottle of her father’s sleeping pills and dumped a few of them onto the counter. Then she took up the knife and crushed the pills into a powder, using the flat end of the blade. Finally, she swept the powder off the counter and into the soda, stirring the granules into the drink with the straw.

Reggie told herself that morally, she could accept killing Quinn, a Vour. She had to accept it. But physically carrying out the act was a much different thing. The Vour would be gone, but a human body, the victim of foul play, would be left behind. A murder investigation would follow.

As Reggie saw it, the death had to look like an accident, or suicide. Since she couldn’t think of a way to make dying in a movie theater look accidental, she had decided on the latter. Quinn, like all Vours, had a wicked sweet tooth, and she was counting on the sugary Mountain Dew tempting him. She had thought about just relying on the sleeping pills to kill him, but she didn’t know how many pills that would take, and she couldn’t risk stealing too many from her father’s supply. Even he would notice an empty bottle.

Reggie went over the plan in her head again.

She’d give him just enough to incapacitate him, so that she could slit his wrists and let him bleed out. She’d wipe the knife, then wrap his hand around it so only his fingerprints were on it, and leave it with him. Then she’d take the Mountain Dew and go home. When they processed the body, tox results would show Quinn had drugs in his system, but not enough, Reggie hoped, to rule out the possibility he had taken them himself in an effort to dull the pain of the knife.

It was a desperate plan filled with holes, she knew. More than anything she wished Aaron were there, to help her with the details, to point out the flaws and how to fix them. But Aaron was in no shape to plot a murder, nor did Reggie want to endanger him in that way. He could not be party to this, in case things went wrong. Plus, once the body was found, Aaron would be cleared. With the press swarming his house, he had a solid alibi.

She unlatched the bathroom door. What would it feel like to stab someone, she thought. To leave them to die? Could she really go through with it?

At 11:29, it was too late for second thoughts. Reggie steeled herself and pushed open the theater door. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she saw that it was empty. With equal parts relief and trepidation, she perched on a seat in the back row as the movie projector sprang to life. Animated popcorn started dancing across the screen in front of her, but Reggie paid it no attention. Focus on the plan, she told herself. Focus.

The minutes passed; the advertisements and trailers ended, the feature began, and still no Quinn. Where the hell was he?

Ten minutes. Twenty. Twenty-five. Reggie’s anxiety grew—was this a trap? Had she really been so dumb as to come out here by herself?

She was about to get up when the theater door opened a crack, and a beam of light from the lobby outside shone down the aisle. Reggie pulled her satchel onto her lap and slipped her hand inside it, wrapping her fist around the hilt of the knife. A figure in a hoodie leaned heavily on the door, pushing it all the way open, then limped through.

Quinn saw her immediately and collapsed in the chair next to hers, slipping back his hood. Old rags, brown and crusty with dried blood, covered his right hand, and there was a huge gash under his left eye, in addition to the skin markings she’d already seen. Reggie stared at him in horror, and Quinn laughed bitterly.

“That bad, huh? You look even more grossed out than you did last night.” His voice was raspy and came in starts, like even speaking was painful.

“What happened?” Reggie asked, curious despite herself.

“My old buddies found my hiding spot, and they decided to stop by for a visit.” Quinn coughed and clutched his chest, then saw the large soda. “Please tell me that’s not diet.” He snatched it up, put the straw to his blue lips, and sucked down half the drink in one gulp. “Ahh. That’s better.”

Reggie eyed him as he wiped his mouth. She kept her hand on the knife, still hidden in her satchel.

“So Vours did this? Why didn’t they kill you?”

“Who says they didn’t try?” Quinn held the cold drink up to his eye. “First they played punching bag with me for a while, then Keech brought out the big guns. Or, rather, the big hatchet. Took off two of my fingers before I managed to escape.” He pointed to the bloodied bandage and smiled wryly. “Guess now my chances at pro ball are really shot.”

“Keech?” Reggie repeated. Quinn grinned, and even in the darkened theater his eyes looked keen like a wolf’s.

“Yep. Keech. It’s getting more dangerous for me. And for you. I found out his orders are to take care of us both.”

“So this is you warning me? Next time just text me or something.”

Quinn’s smile disappeared.

“I guess self-preservation brings out the dramatic in me. The only way I can survive is to destroy the Vours, and the only way to do that is with your… skills…” His voice trailed off, and he blinked.

“Why now?” Reggie pressed. She wanted to get as much information out of him as she could before the meds kicked in fully. “The Vours laid low for months. Why come after me now?”

“That’s right. Six months.” Quinn took another sip of soda. “And what happens six months after Sorry Night?”

Reggie didn’t understand at first, but then she recalled Machen’s lecture in English class. Appropriate that exams are just a week before midsummer… She shook her head.

“The solstice. The Vours have power on the summer solstice, too?”

“Usually, no. But this year is different.”

“Why?”

“This year they have you.” Quinn leveled his eyes with Reggie’s. “You changed things, Reggie. You changed the balance. When you stepped foot in that fearscape, all the rules broke.”

Reggie’s mind flashed back to the night when she’d gone by herself to the old Canfield house, attacked a Vour, and literally swallowed fear. She had ingested a solid form of the demon, made it a part of herself, and this had given her the ability to enter other people’s fearscapes. It’s how she had saved her brother.

“What rules?”

“Sorry Night’s a rule,” said Quinn. His voice was starting to sound dreamy. “We can only enter a human’s body on Sorry Night. One night a year. It’s a hell of a traffic jam getting out of our world and into this one.”

Reggie was beginning to see.

“But if it could be any day, any time of year that the Vours could inhabit humans… ,” she wondered.

Quinn nodded lazily and tapped his finger to his nose.

“Ding ding ding. That’s right. Since you broke the rules with Henry, I guess they’re looking to try and break a few, too.”

“How do I stop it?”

Quinn sighed, and his eyelids drooped. “That’s why Keech is after you. So you can’t stop it.”

“But what is their plan? How are they going to do it?” Reggie shook Quinn by the arm, rousing him. His skin was cool to the touch and thin like paper.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said, yawning. “I feel…” He glanced at the Mountain Dew, then at Reggie, and another smile stretched across his lips. “… drugged. Nice one, Halloway. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Reggie pulled the knife out of the satchel and held it to Quinn’s throat.

“Tell me what the Vours’ plan is.”

Quinn lay back in his seat.

“You know what? Just do it. It will be a relief. No more running, no more hiding. And I’m glad it’s you, and not them. You’ve earned it.”

Reggie hesitated, hovering above him, the knife between them. Quinn stared dreamily at her. Even with the bruises, his eyes were still as beautiful as the first time she’d seen them.

“I know it’s not easy for you,” Quinn continued, his words slurring together now. “It’s not easy to kill. But in war, you have to eliminate your enemy. No moral qualms. We’re generals, Reggie. We’re above that…”

His voice trailed off, his head lolled to the side, and his hand slipped off the armrest. The bandage snagged and fell off, and in the flickering light from the movie screen, Reggie saw the stumps of his ring and pinky fingers, chopped right below the knuckles. The wound had opened again and blood burbled up. She shuddered at the grotesqueness of it. Quinn was a monster, but he was still vulnerable, like a human. There was a human boy locked away inside somewhere.

He was weak now; her plan had worked. She could slice him open and leave him to die.

She dropped the knife and it clattered to the floor.

“I don’t want to be above it,” she said. “That’s the difference between you and me.”

She stood up, but just at that moment the movie projector clicked off, leaving the theater in silence and dark. The red light of the exit signs glowed eerily.

“Regina Halloway!” A leering voice echoed through the theater. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt your date?”

A chill speared through Reggie. She recognized the voice of Keech Kassner. They were here, now.

She slung her satchel over her head and felt on the ground for the knife. The tips of her fingers closed around the cold steel, and with her other hand she felt blindly forward, crawling over Quinn to the end of the row of seats. She yanked on the theater door, but it was locked.

“Not that way,” said Keech, and Reggie spun around, holding out the knife with a trembling hand. She couldn’t see a thing, and she couldn’t pinpoint where the voice was coming from. It was all around her.

“You know you won’t get out of here alive,” the voice continued, tauntingly. “You’re both going to die. A shame, too. You’re going to miss all the fireworks.”

“What fireworks?” Reggie called into the dark, her voice trembling.

“Armageddon, June twenty-first. I’d tell you to mark your calendar, but you’re going to be out of town. Or six feet under it, to be more precise. Too bad you didn’t listen to Quinn’s warnings.”

Reggie stumbled back down the back row of seats where Quinn was passed out. She didn’t like it, but she had to admit he might be her only hope of figuring out the Vours’ plans. If they could even get out of here. She shook him by the shoulders.

“Quinn, wake up,” she whispered.

“Wha? Huh?” he moaned, shifting in his seat.

Reggie dumped the remaining Mountain Dew on him and slapped him hard across the face. Blood from his wounds wet her fingers.

“Wake up!” she urged.

Quinn sat up groggily. “It’s still dark out, Mom. Not time for school…”

Reggie heaved him up out of the chair, slinging his arm around her shoulder to support him.

“It’s Reggie. We are still in the theater and Keech is here!” she hissed.

Keech’s laughter boomed through the blackness.

“Wait, did Quinn fall asleep on you? Awwkward.”

Quinn seemed to come to a little. “Keech? He’ll kill us!”

“No shit! Come on, I need you to walk.” Reggie half pulled, half dragged him into the aisle, his feet slow to respond. Together they stumbled toward the front of the theater where another red sign showed the emergency exit. Reggie held her hands out in front of her, praying they wouldn’t run straight into Keech. They reached the door, but it was locked, too.

“Not that way, either,” said Keech.

Reggie looked around, frantic. They were trapped. Quinn slumped against her.

“Reggie, did you like the flowers I sent you?” he asked sleepily.

“Not helping!” Reggie took a step and bumped into the stage. She propped Quinn against it. “We have to find another way out of here.”

She heard a noise, and a match flared at the back of the theater. Behind its glow she could see Keech’s hulking outline, stalking slowly toward her.

“Nowhere to run,” he said.

She hauled Quinn across to the other aisle, but then another match blazed, and a second figure, identical to Keech in size and shape, came forward. Keech’s twin brother, Mitch.

Reggie backed away. Keech’s match went out, and he lit another. Reggie could see his snarl, but Mitch looked stoic. Reggie shuddered at their determination.

And then, in the dim light of the matches, Reggie saw it. A ladder built into the theater wall leading up to the box seats. It was just a few feet away from her. With Quinn in tow, Reggie sidled toward the ladder, not wanting to give away her plan to the Kassners. They still approached slowly, savoring their victory, their kill.

“Quinn,” she said quietly through her teeth. “Are you still with me?”

Quinn lifted his head off her shoulder and sighed.

“Yep. I’m here. Hey, I like your hair cut like that.”

Reggie rolled her eyes and brandished the knife.

“I need you to focus,” she said, nicking him in the arm with the knifepoint. This finally seemed to jolt Quinn awake.

“Hey!”

Reggie thrust him against the wall.

“Climb!” she ordered.

Immediately, Keech realized what she was up to, and he and Mitch rushed at her. Reggie waved the knife at them.

“Back off!”

Keech laughed. It sounded like a growl.

“You can’t take us both on, Halloway. And you just sacrificed yourself for your archnemesis. You are so pathetically human.”

Quinn had reached the top of the ladder, ignoring the pain in his hand, and disappeared into the box seat. Reggie continued to swing the knife at a merry Keech and a solemn Mitch, but her mind was blank with terror. There was no way to climb without letting go of her only weapon. Fight or flee, they’d kill her.

A roar and a flash of light came from above. All three of them looked up to see the musty velvet curtain hanging next to the box seat go up in flames. The dry fabric crackled and smoked, then plummeted toward them, a giant fireball. Keech and Mitch dove out of the way, but Reggie leaped onto the ladder and scrambled up as quickly as she could, always expecting a hand to clamp down on her ankle and yank her off. Her arms shook violently with fear, and the black smoke billowing around her choked and blinded her. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. It heaved her up and over the side of the box. She collapsed on the ground, coughing, as Quinn put his lighter back in his pocket. They stared at each other for a moment, then Quinn pulled her up, and they fled the box to the open air of the theater lobby.

“Do you believe me now?” Quinn grunted as they dashed out the theater’s back entrance into the alley. He yanked the hoodie up over his head and pulled it tight.

Reggie didn’t answer—she was trying to steady her breath after taking in all the smoke from the burning curtain. Her left forearm throbbed with pain, and she looked down to see a splotch of badly blistered skin. In her rush to escape, the curtain had burned her and she hadn’t even felt it.

“I have… to get… home,” she rasped.

“Yeah, we should split up anyway,” Quinn said. His speech was slow and slightly slurred, remnants of the sleeping meds. He shook his head, trying to wake fully. “I doubt he’ll come after you at your house. He doesn’t want to be tied to any crimes. Stay there and in public places.”

Reggie’s hands shook, and she fumbled with her bike lock. Quinn took the key from her impatiently and snapped open the lock, then dragged the bike off the rack with his good hand.

“And what are you going to do?” Reggie forced herself to control her voice, and yanked the handlebars away from Quinn. She was embarrassed to appear so anxious in front of him.

“Find out what I can. Now you know the stakes, maybe you won’t come after me with sleeping pills and a knife.”

“Don’t bet on it.” As she got on her bike, Quinn was already slouching to the end of the alley.

“I’ll contact you!” he shouted over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah, and what am I supposed to do in the meantime, wait around for the end of the world?” Reggie yelled after him, but Quinn was already gone.