A Gathering of Crows

Until the man dressed in dark clothing broke into his house and confronted Jack in his chair, where he’d been doing a crossword puzzle. His hearing aids sat on the end table next to him.

“What are you supposed to be?” Jack wheezed, his hand going to his chest. Suddenly it was very hard to breathe. “A pilgrim or something?”

Jack died of fear before the intruder even touched him.

***

Hand in hand and gasping for breath, Donny and Marsha ran, turning down one street and then another, darting through backyards and alleys and glancing over their shoulders as they fled. Marsha stumbled, but Donny pulled her upright and urged her onward. Panting, she resisted and tugged her arm away.

“I’ve got to rest. Please? Just for a minute.”

Nodding, he guided her to a row of shrubbery in front of an abandoned house. They ducked down behind the untrimmed bushes and caught their breath. Their stifled gasps were punctuated by screams and cries from nearby streets.

Marsha shivered.

“Are you cold?” Donny asked.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m scared.”

“Me, too.”

“Even after . . . what you saw over there?”

“Sure. Iraq was Iraq. This is different. I lived here.”

Despite their situation, Marsha noticed that he referred to Brinkley Springs in the past tense rather than the present. She decided not to mention it. Now wasn’t the time.

Donny reached out and took her hand again.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t know. Everything. Brandon . . . He was just a kid. We shouldn’t have just left him like that.”

“No,” Donny agreed. “We shouldn’t have. It wasn’t right. But if we hadn’t, then we’d both be dead right now. I don’t give a shit about me, but I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Marsha stared at him, unable to speak. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. Then Donny cleared his throat and peered through the branches, watching the street.

“I hope my parents and my brother are okay,”

Marsha said. “They have to be, right?”

“Where were they tonight?”

“At home. Mom and Dad were watching TV and Randy had friends over—Sam and Stephanie.”

“You mean little Stephanie Hall?”

“I sure do. Except she’s not that little anymore.”

Donny grinned. “No kidding? Is he going out with her?”

“Who knows? I think she likes playing him and Sam against each other.”

“Well, that’s not right. I always liked your little brother. He’s a good kid. Little weird, what with all the hip-hop stuff, but still a good kid.”

“You don’t have to live with him. He’s a pain in the ass.” Her voice softened. “But he likes you, too. He was excited when he heard you were back. I think he hoped you’d stick around. He missed you, Donny. We all did.”

Donny didn’t reply. Instead he focused on the street again. Marsha sensed that she’d struck a nerve and decided it might be best to change the subject.

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “We should hide somewhere. I don’t reckon it makes sense to go back to my mom’s place. No way of knowing if those fuckers are still around there or not. If they are, they’ve got us outnumbered.”

“Who were they?”

“Something . . . not normal. Did you see how fast they moved? Nothing normal moves like that.”

“What are you saying, Donny? That they were demons or something?”

“Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying. I mean, I didn’t used to believe in that stuff. But I heard things. Over in Iraq. Guys talked, you know? I reckon you see enough of the worst shit imaginable, then you start to believe in evil. Real evil, like what they taught us in Sunday school when we were little. There’s so much more to our planet, Marsha. It’s a big world out there beyond these mountains, and we don’t know as much about it as we think we do.”

Marsha opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.

“Look, forget it. All I’m saying is that we need to be careful. We got lucky back there, and if we come across those fuckers again, I don’t think we’d get that lucky a second time. I need to make sure you’re safe.

I don’t know what I’d do if one of them got you.”

“Donny . . .”

He turned toward her, and Marsha saw the tears in his eyes. She reached for him, cradled his face in her hands and then pulled him toward her. He didn’t resist. Their lips met, and when Marsha closed her eyes, the darkness seemed to fade a bit.

Somewhere overhead, a bird cried out.

***

Levi stopped chanting and frowned in concern.

There had been no reaction to his summons. By this point in the ritual, the departed soul should have returned to the body, regardless of which plane of existence it now inhabited. He checked the symbols and incantations and reconfirmed that all were in place and correct. Then he addressed the corpse.

“Can you hear me? If so, then I command you to tell me who did this to you.”

The dead man didn’t answer. Levi watched the corpse’s face, looking for some sign of movement or awareness, no matter how slight, but nothing changed. The body was as soulless and empty as when he’d first found it. But why? What had gone wrong? This was simple necromancy, after all. Not a discipline to be trifled with or taken lightly, of course, but not nearly as hard as many other occult tasks. Even if the man had been dead for hours, Levi should still have been able to pull the soul back. It wasn’t until decay set in that such a summoning became useless. After all, how could a dead man be expected to answer questions with a decomposing tongue?

“Are you there? Please, I only want to help. Perhaps you are confused by your situation? Can you tell me your name? Can you tell me who did this to you?”

Silence. Levi’s frown deepened. There should have been some spark, some indication that the soul had temporarily returned to its former home. For whatever reason, he had failed. He was no closer to knowing what he was dealing with, and while his questions remained unanswered, the situation in Brinkley Springs grew more desperate by the minute. Even now, the screams drew closer. He needed to face this—whatever it was. He had to save these people. Had to defeat it. But to do that, he needed the name of the entities. He needed to know whom or what he was fighting. All power stemmed from naming.

Without a name, the situation was hopeless.

Desperate, Levi racked his brain for an alternative. His hands curled into fists and his fingernails dug into the skin of his palms. He didn’t notice the pain. For a brief moment, he found himself wishing that the Siqqusim—a race of incorporeal beings used as soothsayers by the ancient Sumerians—weren’t sealed away in the void. He could have done as the Sumerian priests used to do and cast one of the entities into the body of this dead man, thus giving it a voice. But to do so—to breach the veil—was beyond his abilities. Indeed, he didn’t know anyone on Earth who could achieve that.

So what’s the point of standing around here and mulling it over? What’s wrong with me? I’m better than this. I bested Nodens two years ago. I should be able to do this.

Think, man. Think!

“Crows,” he whispered, staring up into the sky. “Dark men dressed in black. The systematic slaughter of innocents. But why? For what purpose? Simple cruelty? What am I dealing with here, Lord? Any help you can give me would be greatly appreciated.”

The heavens were as silent as the corpse. Levi had expected as much.

“God helps those who help themselves,” he muttered. “But He sure doesn’t make it easy for them.”

Hurrying footsteps caught his attention. Levi glanced up in time to see two young people—a man and a woman—step out of the shadows. The man appeared to be in his midtwenties. He wore blue jeans and a flannel shirt, both of which hugged the contours of his body. He was in good physical shape. His brown hair was cropped close to his head and shaved down to stubble on the sides. Levi recognized the haircut. It was what members of the military called a “high and tight.” He assumed that this young man was either a soldier or a marine—or had been until recently. The woman he was with appeared to be about the same age. She was slim and pretty, with mournful brown eyes that matched her long hair, and a fair complexion.

Spotting him, they halted. The girl gasped. Both of them were obviously terrified. They glanced down at the body and then up at Levi. He held up his hands and smiled to show that he meant them no harm.

“Hmmm,” Levi murmured. “Maybe the Lord is answering prayers tonight after all.”

***

As Randy roared along behind Sam and Stephanie, he felt a sick mixture of fear, revulsion and shock. He’d turned the CD player off because it was too much of a distraction. His eyes were wide as he gaped at the destruction. He didn’t see the man who had killed his parents, nor the man’s compatriots, but the signs of their passage were visible on every street corner. Racing through downtown and struggling to keep up with Sam’s faster car, it was impossible for Randy to avoid the killers’ handiwork. Brinkley Springs was no longer recognizable as the place he’d grown up in. Fires burned unchecked in a dozen homes and businesses. Cars and trucks sat vacant along the streets and in driveways, some with their doors hanging open or hoods up, as if their owners had experienced car trouble. He thought again of when they’d first fled. Sam’s Nissan hadn’t started at first—not until Randy had leaned against it.

Corpses, both human and animal, lay sprawled in the streets, yards and sidewalks. Randy knew most of them—if not their names, then at least their faces—but he forced himself not to think about it. If he pretended that he didn’t know them, that their deaths had no more meaning than some random NPC in a video game, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad. Some of the corpses showed no obvious signs of trauma. Others had been mauled and mangled— eviscerated, torn apart, heads and limbs tossed aside with careless abandon. And a few had suffered even worse fates. A man jutted halfway through the pawn shop’s plate-glass window. Shards of glass had severed his head from the nose up. A small child lay sprawled in a plastic wading pool. The pool was filled with blood. A man had been impaled with his own arms and legs. The grisly appendages stuck out the front of his torso as if they’d grown from it. Several people had been burned alive. Their charred remains still smoked on their lawns. A red and brown and pink pile of slop next to a woodpile and a chopping block with a bloodied ax embedded in it defied description, but Randy was pretty sure he knew what it was. Bile rose in his throat as he looked away. Across the street, a woman hung from a tree limb, dangling at the end of an extension-cord noose. Her breasts had been torn off and her stomach ripped open. Her innards lay on the ground at her feet. Carved into the bark of the tree was a single word in big block letters.

CROATOAN

As he sped by, Randy wondered what it meant. It was a strange word. Certainly not one he’d ever heard before. He wasn’t even sure it was English. And who had carved it? The men in black, maybe, but how? Randy had some experience carving his initials into trees. When he was fourteen, Randy and Cathy Wilson had gone together for a whole summer. They’d had a favorite spot down along the Greenbrier River—a secluded section along the riverbank, hidden by a stand of tall birch trees. They’d gone there nearly every day and spent the afternoons swimming and talking and making out. Randy had convinced her to go skinny-dipping, but despite his best efforts, he’d never made it past third base. Near the end of the summer, he’d used the lock blade hunting knife his grandfather had given him for his birthday to carve his and Cathy’s initials— along with a big, if somewhat lopsided, heart—into the trunk of one of the old birch trees. Despite the soft bark, it had taken him all afternoon, and that was just four small letters and a crude heart. The strange word on the hanging tree was eight letters long, and each of the letters was a good ten inches high.

He promptly forgot about it as they hit a straightaway near the outskirts of town. Sam accelerated and Randy had no choice but to do the same. He glanced down at the speedometer. The needle was edging toward seventy-five miles per hour.

“Slow the hell down, Sam. It ain’t gonna do us any good if you and Stephanie end up wrapped around a motherfucking telephone pole.”

He knew, of course, that his friend couldn’t hear him, but Randy didn’t care. Hollering at Sam made him feel better. It took his mind off the horrors around them. It helped him forget about what had happened to his parents. Randy bit his lip and gripped the steering wheel hard. He moaned, long and low, and then the tears started again. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear his blurry vision, but every time he did, he saw the grotesque images. His father, bleeding from dozens of lacerations, shaking and jittering as the glass shard speared his eye. His mother, bravely holding the steak knife and trying to defend him. The way the killer’s voice had sounded when he promised to turn Randy’s mother inside out. How his ears rang and his hands grew numb when he pulled the trigger. Worst of all, Randy remembered the look on his mother’s face when the bullet passed through the intruder and slammed into her instead.

“I’m sorry, Mommy.” He wiped his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean to leave you there. I just didn’t know what else to do. And there was Steph . . .”

What would Marsha say when she found out? What would she think of him? She’d probably hate him, and she had every right to. He’d abandoned their mother. He’d shot her. It was bad enough that he couldn’t save his father, but he should at least have been able to defend his mother. Instead, he’d killed her.

Randy hoped that his sister was okay, hoped that she was with Donny. If anybody could kick these weird fuckers’ asses, it was Donny Osborne. If Marsha was with him, she’d be in good hands. She had to be. Marsha was all that Randy had left. Marsha and Stephanie . . .

They blew past Pheasant’s Garage. It was dark, just like the rest of the town. As Randy caught up to Sam, something occurred to him. They hadn’t encountered any other cars or trucks since escaping his house. Oh, they’d seen plenty parked along the street or in driveways, and they’d seen some wrecked. But nobody had driven past them. Not even a motorcycle. He wondered why? What did it mean? Surely, they couldn’t be the only ones trying to get out of town.

His thoughts returned to Stephanie. He studied her silhouette through Sam’s rear window. When this was over, he was going to tell her how he felt. Enough was enough. Life was too short. He’d never really thought about that before. Sure, he’d known people who died—his grandparents, and a friend of his had died of leukemia in the fourth grade. But those deaths were different than tonight. He needed Steph to know how he felt about her, no matter what the consequences. Hopefully, Sam would understand and be okay with it.

Just beyond the garage, they passed a Mazda pickup truck with out-of-state tags parked along the side of the road. In front of the truck was a small pile of ashes that stirred as they sped by. Randy glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the ashes swirling in his wake. He glanced forward again, practicing what he’d say to Steph—

—and then Sam’s car imploded.

It happened so fast that Randy couldn’t be sure of what he saw. One second, they were zooming toward the sign that told folks they were leaving Brinkley Springs. The next, it was as if Sam’s Nissan had slammed into an invisible brick wall. There was a shockingly loud sound of a collision, and then the car crumpled, accompanied by the tortured shrieks of metal and fiberglass—and of Sam and Stephanie. The sounds lasted only a second. By then, the engine block was shoved through the rear bumper.

Randy slammed the brakes and spun the steering wheel. He felt the truck almost tip over as it slid sharply to the side, stopping only inches from the wreckage. He flung the door open and leaped out. The car was no longer recognizable. Neither were his friends. Earlier tonight, they’d sat in his bedroom, listening to music and playing video games and laughing and talking and breathing. They’d had arms and legs and heads and hair. He refused to believe that the scraps of raw, dripping hamburger that were strewn through the wreckage was all that remained of them. He inched forward, screaming Stephanie’s name, and something crunched beneath his heel. Randy lifted his foot and glanced down. He’d stepped on someone’s finger. He couldn’t tell if it was Steph’s or Sam’s.

Randy bent over and wretched. Vomit splashed his shoes and steamed on the road. He took a deep breath, screamed and then threw up again. His stomach cramped and spasms shook his body. He vomited a third time and then gasped, trying to catch his breath. He smelled gasoline and motor oil and blood. He staggered backward, moving away from the wreckage. Wisps of white smoke rose from it . . . but then he realized that it wasn’t smoke. The shredded metal and fiberglass and rubber wasn’t on fire. These wisps were something else. There were two of them—small, ethereal puffs of white. They reminded him of the way his breath looked when he exhaled on a cold day. They drifted above the accident scene like cigarette smoke, slowly gliding upward. Suddenly, there was a flash of light that made Randy think of the bug-zapper light in his parents’ backyard. The two white clouds flattened out and then disappeared. The entire sky flashed blue, and then the darkness returned.

“What the fuck? What the fuck?”

With his throat raw and his eyes nearly swollen shut, Randy charged forward, wanting only to escape this new horror. He paused after taking a few steps. What if he slammed headfirst into the same unseen barrier that had stopped his friends?

He glanced back at the wreckage. His vision blurred and the world began to spin. Randy’s sobs finally ceased as he toppled backward, hit his head on the ground and lost consciousness.

***

Donny was thinking about the kiss. About how warm Marsha’s lips had been. How she’d tasted. How her tongue had felt sliding across his. How her breath had caressed his face. He didn’t want to; he’d been trying instead to focus on keeping them both alive, but he just couldn’t help himself. It had brought back all kinds of memories that he’d thought he buried once and for all. He was disappointed and angry with himself. As wonderful as it had been, the kiss would just make things more difficult. Marsha was already having a hard time with him leaving. He still planned on doing so, just as soon as this crisis was over.

Marsha gasped, and squeezed his hand hard.

Donny glanced at her, and then in the direction she was staring.

The first thing he noticed was the dead body lying in the middle of the street. Despite the horrific groin injury, it wasn’t as grisly as some of the corpses they’d seen tonight—but it was certainly the strangest. The body had been positioned like da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man drawing (which one of Donny’s fellow soldiers had sported as a tattoo on his bicep). Some sort of weird circle had been drawn around the corpse with chalk. The circle had four points and was decorated with bizarre symbols. Donny didn’t recognize any of them.

The second thing Donny noticed was the dark-haired man standing over the body. Donny didn’t know him, and he could tell by the look on Marsha’s face that she didn’t know him either. His manner of dress and his long, unruly beard identified him as Amish, which was strange. To the best of Donny’s knowledge, the closest Amish enclave was over near Renick. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties, although Donny couldn’t be sure. His complexion and build seemed youthful, but his eyes were older. Judging by his expression, the stranger was just as startled as they were. Then Donny noticed the blood. It was all over him, smeared on his clothes and face. His hands, especially his right hand, were stained crimson.

“Despite how this may look, I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The accent confirmed what Donny already suspected. The man wasn’t from Brinkley Springs, nor even from West Virginia. He was certainly a Yankee.

Donny detected what sounded like a Pennsylvanian accent.

“I’m inclined to believe you,” Donny said. “But there’s blood all over your hands.”

The Amish man looked at his palms and then back up at them. His expression turned sad.

“Yes, there is. Too much blood, I’m afraid. You have no idea.”

Donny nodded at the corpse. “Looks like that guy had his pecker torn off, roots and all. I don’t reckon you could have done that.”

“No, of course not. But I guess you’ve no reason to believe me.”

“I didn’t say you did it. No offense, but you don’t look strong enough to do something like that. But no, to answer your question. I don’t think you did it. We’ve seen the ones who could.”

The stranger inched. He took a step toward them, and Marsha slid closer to Donny’s side. Her grip on his hand tightened. He slid one arm around her for comfort.

“You saw who did this?” The stranger’s tone was excited.

“I’m guessing it was the same people.”

“Where? How long ago?”

Donny shrugged. “Ten minutes ago, maybe. Back that way. That’s why we’re going this way.”

“Show me.”

“Hell, no. Trust me, mister. The last thing you want to do is tangle with those guys.”

“There’s more than one?” Donny nodded.

“How many?”

“We saw two of them,” Marsha said. “Dressed all in black. They’re wearing old-time clothes, like they’re Pilgrims or something.”

The stranger frowned, as if puzzled. “Why do you care?” Donny asked.

“Because somebody has to. Because it’s my job to care about things like this.”

“What are you, some kind of cop? Because, to be honest, you sure don’t look like one.”

The Amish man smiled. “I’m not a police officer. I guess you could say that I’m more of a private detective. I specialize in what you’d probably call ‘weird’ occurrences.”

“You’re certainly in the right place tonight,” Marsha muttered.

The stranger smiled and nodded, and then wiped his bloody hands on his pants. Donny noted that the effort didn’t do much good. All the stranger succeeded in doing was making more smears.

Something bashed overhead. All three of them glanced upward, but the sky was dark again.

“Heat lightning,” Marsha said.

“Maybe,” the stranger agreed. “Or maybe it was something else.”

“What’s your name?” Donny asked.

“You can call me Levi Stoltzfus.”

That struck Donny as odd. The stranger hadn’t said my name is. Instead, he’d said you can call me. He chalked it up to just a quirky speech mannerism— perhaps something from the Amish or Pennsylvania Dutch.

“I’m Donny Osborne and this is my girlf . . . my . . . This is Marsha Cummings.”

He felt Marsha stiffen slightly next to him. She’d noticed his near slip of the tongue.

Levi tipped his hat to them. “It is very nice to meet you both. Now please, I hope you don’t think me rude, but I must know more about what you encountered. Tell me everything. Every detail, no matter how trivial or unimportant it might seem to you.”

“We stick around here any longer,” Donny said, “and I reckon they’ll find us. Trust me, you don’t want that to happen. Come on, Mr. Stoltzfus. You can hide with us.”

They started to move past him, but Levi stepped in their way.

“Do you both live around here? Are you locals?” Donny nodded. Marsha said nothing.

“Well, then,” Levi continued, “if you care about your town—if you care at all about your family and friends and loved ones—then tell me, quickly, whom you saw and how I can find them. I’m not asking you to come with me. I just want information.”

Donny sighed. “Can we at least get under cover? I don’t like standing out here in the open.”

“Of course,” Levi said. “I think that would be best.” They hurried into the nearest yard and hid in the shadows alongside a house. When they were settled, Levi nodded at Donny in encouragement.

“We were standing out in the street,” Donny began. “The power went out all across town and then all of the dogs started barking and howling at the same time. Then my cell phone wouldn’t work and my truck wouldn’t start.”

“My cell phone didn’t work either,” Marsha said.

“Does that happen often? Power outages and your cellular network going down?”

“Not that often,” Marsha replied. “I mean, our coverage isn’t the best, on account of the mountains and everything, but it’s never been like this. And I don’t just mean that the network is down. My cell phone is dead. It won’t even power up.”

“Same with everything else,” Donny added. “Flashlights—anything electronic or battery operated seems to be out. It’s like somebody set off an EMP inside Brinkley Springs. My truck was just serviced. There’s no reason it would have been fucking dead like that.”

“I saw two vehicles race by earlier,” Levi said. “A car and a truck. But otherwise, the streets have been empty of vehicular traffic.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know yet. What happened after you lost power?”

“We were . . . talking.” Donny glanced at Marsha as he explained. She lowered her gaze. “The dogs stopped howling and then everybody started screaming. We heard it coming from all over town. Gunshots, too. It sounded like there was a house-to-house battle going on. Then this weird guy appeared.”

Marsha shuddered, and Donny was surprised to find himself shivering, as well.

“Go on,” Levi urged softly. “Tell me about him.”

Donny did, recounting their escape in short, haltingsentences. He fought back tears as he told of the slaughter, and the fear and despair they’d both felt in running away and leaving Brandon and the neighbor behind. When he mentioned the strange abilities that the men in black had possessed, he assumed Levi would make fun of him, but the Amish man merely stroked his beard and listened intently, his expression showing no disbelief. When he was finished, Donny felt physically exhausted and emotionally drained. He noticed that Marsha was crying, and he slid his arm around her shoulder to comfort her. The memory of their kiss came to him again. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled like honeysuckle shampoo just as it had when they were in high school. Something stirred inside of him.

“None of this makes any sense,” Levi muttered. Donny got the impression that the Amish man was talking to himself rather than to them. When Levi looked up again, he almost seemed surprised that they were still there. “Are you sure you’ve told me everything?”

“The kiss,” Marsha said.

For a moment, Donny thought she was talking about the kiss they’d shared in the bushes, and then he realized what she meant.

“They leaned over each person as they killed them,” Donny said. “And then they kissed them.”

“Kissed them? How do you mean? A gentle kiss on the forehead to honor their victims in some way?”

“No. This was . . . obscene. It’s like they were sucking the air from their lungs or something.”

Levi became alert. His eyes blazed. Donny thought at first that he’d said or done something to anger the man.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Sucking the air from their lungs . . . or the souls from their bodies?”

Donny shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”

“It’s okay. I do. This still doesn’t make sense, but at least now I know what they might possibly be after.”

Levi placed a hand on Donny’s shoulder, and Donny was surprised at the man’s strength. He felt it radiating through him.

“Tell me how to get there,” Levi said. “The street where you first encountered them.”

“You don’t need directions. If you want to find them, just follow the closest scream.”

Something fluttered softly in the darkness. All three glanced upward and saw a large black crow perched directly above them atop the eaves of the house. It tilted its head and croaked, almost as if mocking them.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Levi whispered. “It appears that they’ve found us instead.”

SEVEN

The crow cawed again. The sound echoed through the night, loud and obnoxious. Then the bird spread its massive wings and swooped toward them. Donny and Marsha stood transfixed, gaping as it approached. Levi stepped in front of them.

“Stay behind me.”

“It’s just a bird,” Donny said.

“No, it isn’t. This is something else.”

The crow landed in the yard and then seemed to blur. It grew, changing shape, transforming into a tall man. The entire process took only seconds. Behind him, Levi heard Donny and Marsha gasp. He knew how they felt. The transformation was simultaneously incredible and terrifying. He’d certainly never seen anything like it before, and he’d seen a lot in his travels. Encountering it like this left him momentarily stunned. He knew of therianthropy and zoanthropy, of course. They were two terms that described the same thing—the metamorphosis of human beings into animals, and vice versa. His library back home was full of examples, and although he had never witnessed it personally, Levi knew associates and peers who had, and he’d heard their stories. Werewolves were the most obvious example, but the phenomena extended far beyond mere lycanthropy. In many Native American, Chinese, West African, Central American and Pacific Island cultures, there were incidents of people turning into dogs, cats, bears, boars, owls, leopards, cheetahs, hyenas, lions, lizards and even sharks. Some scholars believed that this was where stories of centaurs and mermaids had originally come from, as well as human-animal hybrid deities like Ra and Anubis, but Levi knew better. Indeed, most of what passed for mankind’s collective knowledge regarding religion, the paranormal and their own human history was incorrect. Man’s understanding of shape shifting was no different.

“Holy shit,” Donny said.

Marsha whimpered in agreement.

The figure took form, rising to its full height. It was a man, dressed in black, archaic clothes that made Levi’s outfit seem positively risqué. Looking at the Puritan-style hat, cloak and garments, Levi was reminded of the “Terror of Salem”—the Reverend Cotton Mather, scientist, theologian and witch hunter. The man’s face seemed hidden in perpetual shadow. Only his cruel eyes and crueler mouth were clearly visible. The sight filled Levi with dread.

So fast, Levi thought. It changed so quickly . . . What am I facing here? What are these things, Lord?

Whatever its identity, this was no mere shape shifter. If a human being turned into a wolf or bird or anything else and then transformed back to their human form again, they’d have an aura. All living human beings had auras. Levi had been able to see auras since birth, and his father and grandfather had taught him how to read them when he was just a child. Just like snowflakes, no two auras were alike.

Their colors varied, encompassing the entire spectrum. A trained eye could tell if a person was healthy or sick, happy or sad, just by noting the color of their aura. Different colors meant different things. Levi learned a lot about the man standing before them by reading his aura. It was black, just like the shadows concealing his face and the strange garb covering his body. Human auras were never black. That meant the man was something else.

Something inhuman.

That alone didn’t frighten Levi. He’d dealt with more than his fair share of supernatural entities over the years. Indeed, just two years before, he’d defeated Nodens, most powerful of the Thirteen, and stopped the beings’ attempt to breach the walls of this Earth and drown it in eternal darkness, snuffing out all life. Their battle had started with a confrontation much like this. Levi had encountered a seemingly human woman whose aura was black. While investigating, Levi had soon learned that the woman was nothing more than an empty shell. Her husk had been commandeered by Nodens. She was transport. Nothing more.

The entity standing before him now was different. Levi probed silently, reaching out with his mind. Although the thing—because Levi could no longer think of it as a man—radiated evil and contempt, it wasn’t the encompassing, overwhelming nihilism projected by a deity like Nodens. This was a lesser adversary. An avatar, perhaps. A psychic projection. Maybe even a minor demon. But none of those would account for the level of chaos and destruction that had been visited upon Brinkley Springs. Such lesser supernatural beings would be incapable of such transgressions—at least, without being discovered. But then again, perhaps their actions had been discovered. Perhaps they had been noticed, and that was why he’d been placed here tonight.

“You stink of magic.” The thing’s voice was a raspy, grating whisper, as if its throat were filled with gravel or dirt.

“And you stink of blood and offal.”

“Indeed. And now I’ll add yours to the stench, little thing, as well as the blood and innards of those behind you.”

“You can try, but I warn you, these two are under my protection. You will fail.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You are weak. You may know the art, but that will not save you.”

“That remains to be seen.” Levi struggled to keep his voice calm and his expression serene. “Tell me, whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

“So polite, you are. I’m impressed. Most of these creatures have simply run away from me, or screamed or tried in vain to fight back, but you seek dialogue. You, sir, are a gentleman. Since you asked politely, My name is Samuel.”

Levi paused. “Samuel?”

The creature laughed. “You pitiful bag of meat. Of course my name isn’t Samuel. Did you actually think I would give you my real name?”

“I suppose not, but it certainly never hurts to try.” Dispensing with the charade, Levi recited a passage from The Long Lost Friend, issuing a challenge of sorts. “Enoch and Elias, the two prophets, were never imprisoned, nor bound, nor beaten.”

“Is that a fact?”

Levi ignored the interruption. His voice rose to a shout as he continued. “Thus, no one of my enemies must be able to injure or attack me in my body or my life, in the name of God the Father—”

“Don’t you mean God the Destroyer?”

“—the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Ut nemo in sense tentat, descendere nemo. At precedenti spectatur mantica tergo.”

The challenge completed, Levi’s shoulders went slack. He stood, panting, covered with sweat, and waited for the adversary’s reaction. When the reply came, it wasn’t at all what Levi had expected.

“Are you quite finished, little magus?”

Levi’s stomach fluttered. He suddenly felt very cold. The creature wasn’t evil—at least, not in an earthly sense. He had faced evil countless times. He’d seen its effects, the damage it caused. He’d seen evil reflected in both human and inhuman beings. This creature, while certainly evil in both its intent and the acts it committed, wasn’t an agent of hell, nor had it been spawned in one of the nether regions. If it had originated in the Pit or been satanic in origin, it would have reacted strongly—perhaps violently— to his challenge. The fact that it had merely taunted him told Levi that this was something else, something beyond the Judeo-Christian pantheon or any other of the world’s major religions. This wasn’t just evil. This was something much worse. Levi knew of only one pantheon that fit that description: the Thirteen, a race of beings that were neither gods nor demons, but holdovers from a universe that had existed long before this one. They were the ultimate in antiquity, older than the stars. Concepts like good and evil were beneath them, inconsequential, as was human life.

Only one of the Thirteen would have reacted to Levi’s challenge as this being had. But that made no sense, either. Levi knew all of the Thirteen, and none of them matched this entity’s description. He quickly ticked them off in his mind. Ob, Ab and Api. Leviathan and Behemoth. Kandara. Meeble. Purturabo. Nodens. Shtar, Kat, Apu and—

Levi heard footsteps sweeping through the grass behind him as Donny and Marsha slowly backed away.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say?” The creature’s condescending tone dripped with impatience and boredom. “Anything at all that you’d like to add before I eviscerate you and decorate yon trees with your innards?”

“Actually, yes there is. Donny? Marsha?”

“Y-yeah?” Donny sounded as terrified as Levi felt.

“Run!”

The shadow surged forward, roaring. Marsha screamed. Levi took one step backward and then braced his feet, squaring off against the onrushing attacker. Meeting its furious stare, Levi kept his eyes wide. He did not blink. He did not dare. His heart pounded as he recited an enchantment to spellbind an enemy.

“Thou horseman and footman,” he cried, making a motion with both hands. “You are coming apart under your hat. You are scattered. With the blood of the five holy wounds, I bind thee. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, you are enchanted and bound.”

“No, little magus, I am not.”

Levi scampered backward, dismayed. In truth, he’d suspected the spell would be ineffectual against this enemy, but at the very least, it should have bought him some time. Even if only to flee. Like his challenge, the creature just ignored it.

Its terrible mouth curled into a garish smile. “Now it is my turn. Your soul will feed me well.”

“Levi!”

The shout came from behind him—Donny’s voice. What were they still doing here? He’d told them to run. Not wanting to risk taking his eyes off his opponent, Levi yelled, “Get out of here. Please, you don’t—”

The creature slashed at him with one hand, sprouting long, black talons from its fingertips as it struck. Levi grunted. The air rushed from his lungs as the sharp claws raked across his chest, shredding the fabric of his shirt. As they tore through his shirt pocket, one of the nails slid against Levi’s copy of The Long Lost Friend. There was a sharp, crackling sound, accompanied by a spark of blue-white light. The attacker yanked its hand away as if it had been shocked. Grinning, Levi breathed deep. The air smelled bitter and electric. He glanced down at his chest. The shirt was torn but his skin remained unbroken.

The shadow-man growled. “How?”

Still smiling, Levi patted his now-frayed pocket.

“Whoever carries this book with him is safe from all enemies, visible or invisible; and whoever has this book with him cannot die without the—”

The entity struck at him again, this time aiming its talons at Levi’s eyes. Levi side-stepped the charge and delivered an uppercut to the being’s abdomen. Pain raced up his arm, and his fist went numb. It was like punching a block of ice.

“C-cold . . .”

“Not nearly as cold as your corpse will be in death. And that is all that will exist of you—an empty husk of decaying flesh. And then, not even that. You will return to the dirt that spawned you. Your soul is mine to consume. You will not exist beyond this level.”

“Well, you’ll have to succeed in striking me first, and I don’t intend to let that happen.”

They stepped away from each other. Levi panted for breath. His adversary scowled, clearly unhappy with the stalemate.

“I order you to leave this place,” Levi said.

“You order me to do nothing, bearded one. My brothers and I will deal with you later. For now, I am content to turn my attention to your companions, instead.”

The thing rushed past Levi, unleashing a powerful swipe with its forearm. The blow didn’t connect, but Levi stumbled backward anyway, more from instinct than fear. The entity raced past him and charged toward Donny and Marsha, who were still standing at the edge of the yard, seemingly mesmerized by the battle.

Levi steadied himself and pointed his right index finger at the creature. Winded and half-nauseous from the adrenalin surging through his body, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His finger wavered in the air. His arm shook.

Marsha shrieked.

“Get the fuck back,” Donny shouted. “What are you doing? Get out of there.”

Levi opened his eyes again, and in a calm, clear voice, said, “Hbbi Massa danti Lantien.”

The entity slowed, as if running through wet cement. It glanced over his shoulder at Levi.

“What is this?”

“Me, going to work.” The trembling in Levi’s fingerbecame more pronounced.

Donny grabbed Marsha’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go while we can.”

“No.” She pulled away from him. “We’re not leaving anybody else. Not again.”

“Marsha—”

“I said no, goddamn it!”

The man in black turned back to them and slogged forward. It hunched over, grunting with effort, clearly exerting itself with each step.

Levi took another deep breath. With his finger still upraised, he exhaled.

“I, Levi Stoltzfus, son of Amos Stoltzfus, breathe upon you. Three drops of blood I take from you. The first from your heart. The second from your liver. The third from your vital powers. In this, I deprive you of your strength and vitality. Now crawl on the ground like the worm you are. You’ll raise no hand against us.”

The enemy collapsed on its belly, indignant with rage. It thrashed on the wet grass, but its movements were slow and lethargic.

“That will slow him down,” Levi yelled at Donny and Marsha, “but it won’t last long, and it cost me something. Go. Go now!”

“What about you?” Marsha asked.

“I’ll be fine. Like I said before, I’ve had experience in these matters.”

Donny grabbed Marsha’s arm again and pulled, leading her away. Levi saw them both glance over their shoulders as they cut across the neighboring backyard and disappeared into the darkness. Then he was alone with the thing.

“Now,” he said, his smile returning, “where were we? I believe you said something about taking my soul?”

“I’ll devour it,” the creature groaned. “If not me, then one of my brethren.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Surely you jest. You have given me your name, and you have not the sigil nor the power to make me talk.”

Levi sighed. “Fine. We’ll do this the hard way, then. Dullix, ix, ux.”

Powwow hadn’t worked against this being, and the charm to still-bind it, while effective, was already weakening—otherwise it wouldn’t have been able to thrash and roll about. Levi racked his memory, searching for something that might work. Making sure he remained out of the thing’s reach, Levi quickly tried several different spells and charms, running the gamut from snippets of the traditional Catholic Rite of Exorcism to obscure Haitian voodoo recitations, Enochian chants and various rites of the Golden Dawn. All were ineffective.

“Is that your best, little magus? You are well versed in the art. Of that I can attest. But still, you are weak. Weak!”

The creature’s movements increased. It flopped back and forth like a fish on dry land, struggling to sit up. Levi grew desperate. There was no time to create a binding circle or to invoke the Greater Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram, although Levi had his doubts now that even that would work against this enemy. Nor did he have time to construct a spirit trap. Even if he’d had time, he didn’t have a luminol light or anything else that he could use to force the entity into the trap. And again, he wasn’t sure that would work, either. Spirit traps were only useful against incorporeal spirits, and whatever this thing was, it had certainly felt corporeal enough when he’d punched it in the stomach.

The entity lifted its head free of the ground, looked up at him and smiled. “Soon, bearded one. Soon.”

Levi nodded. “I’d prefer later, if you don’t mind. We’ll get together and do lunch.”

Turning, Levi fled in the same direction Donny and Marsha had gone. His enemy’s laughter followed him. Levi cringed at the sound. His ears burned with shame and embarrassment.

“You have given me your name,” the dark figure called.

As he ran past the church where he’d tried to communicate with the spirit of the dead man, Levi noticed that the corpse was no longer there. The chalk outlines and the bloodstains were still present, but where the body had been, there was now just a small pile of ashes. The dog’s corpse, which he’d left impaled on the wrought-iron fence, was gone, too. More ashes sprinkled the ground beneath where it had dangled.

Nothing left, Levi thought. They’re consuming souls, and their victims are reduced to dust within hours. No decay. No decomposition. They just turn to nothingness. This is bad magic. This is very bad magic, indeed.

He found Donny and Marsha easily enough. They’d made no effort to hide the signs of their passage. Both were breathing hard. Their footfalls slapped the pavement as they dashed across the street. Levi caught up with them on the other side, just as they were ducking behind a vacant apartment building.

“Wait.”

Donny spun around, fists raised, his jaw twitching.

When he saw that it was Levi, his shoulders went slack.

“Holy shit! We thought for sure you were dead.”

“Not yet.” Levi wiped the sweat from his brow with his ripped shirttail. “I appreciate the two of you sticking around back there, but I really wish you hadn’t. You could have been killed.”

“What the hell happened back there, anyway?”

Donny asked. “What are these things?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I thought you said this was your job? That you deal with things like this?”

“It is my job. I’ve just never dealt with something like this—or at least, something in this particular form.”

Donny frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I have an idea—a few ideas, actually—of what we might be facing here, but I’m still not one hundred percent sure. I need to do more, in order to be positive. I need to see more.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to learn their identity. Until I do that, I’m afraid I can’t fight them.”

Marsha paled. “Then what are you going to do?”

“Get the two of you to safety first. I can do that much, at least. After that . . .”

Donny nodded. “Yeah?”

“After that,” Levi repeated, “then I guess I’ll have to face them again. And this time, alone.”

“Are you crazy? I watched that fight back there. He nearly punched your head off.”

“But he didn’t. He wanted to, but if you remember correctly, his blows didn’t actually connect with me.”

“I noticed that,” Marsha said, nodding. “He clawed your shirt. How is it that he didn’t cut you?”

“You wearing body armor?” Donny asked.

“No.” Levi smiled slightly. “He couldn’t hurt me because I carry something on my person that prevents attacks like that. Something much better than body armor. His claws cut my clothing, but they were ineffective on my body.”

“Even so,” Donny said, “you might not get so lucky a second time. You go back, then I’m going with you.”

Levi shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. I told you, I have to face them alone.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You don’t have a choice. I’m going to make sure the two of you are hidden away. I’ll provide you some safeguards that should prove effective. But then I’m going back out again, and you’re not coming with me. Your responsibility is to your girlfriend here.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Marsha said, glancing at Donny.

“Oh. I’m sorry. The two of you seemed so close, I just assumed.”

“She’s . . .” Donny paused, floundering for words.

“I just don’t—”

A crow screeched overhead. All three of them jumped.

“Come on,” Levi said. “Let’s get under cover while we still can.”

***

“Get the hell away from here or I’ll blow a goddamn hole in your belly!”

The threat was accompanied by the sound of a shotgun being pumped. The noise was muffled through the heavy wooden door, but still identifiable enough that both Paul and Gus jumped out of the way. Standing on either side of the door, safe from any potential shotgun spray, they looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Go on!” The person inside the house was clearly terrified. His voice quavered as he shouted. “Get out of here now, goddamn you. I ain’t telling you again.”

“Greg,” Gus called out. “Put down the shotgun. It’s me.”

“Me who?”

“Your brother, dumb ass. Gus. Who’d you think it was?”

Gus kicked the door with the toe of his boot, which he’d wisely changed into after taking off his Spider-Man bedroom slippers. The door rattled in its frame. An ugly brown wreath that hung askew near the top of the door swayed back and forth slightly, shedding leaves and bits of bark.

“You didn’t say it was you,” Greg hollered. “All you said was ‘it’s me.’ How the hell was I supposed to know who ‘me’ is?”

“Never you mind that. I’ve got Paul Crowley out here with me. Now hurry up and let us in before somebody sees us.”

“Paul’s here with you?”

“Hi, Greg. Yeah, I’m here. Now open up. Bad things are happening and it’s not safe out here.”

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment. Then they heard a thump as Greg sat the shotgun down. A moment later, the locks clicked and a chain rattled as it was slid across its hasp. Then the door creaked open. The battered wreath shed more twigs and leaves. Greg peered out at them.

“Take a picture,” Gus said. “It’ll last longer. Now let us in, damn it.”

The door opened the rest of the way and Greg stood to one side, letting Paul and Gus rush by him. Greg was clad only in a pair of black sweatpants and mismatched socks. He quickly shut the door behind them and then locked it again. The shotgun leaned against the wall, next to a woven floor mat piled high with work boots and dirty shoes. Greg picked it up and eyed them warily.

“Would one of you boys mind telling me just what in the hell is going on? I hear shooting all over the place and folks screaming, and the power is out and the phones are off, too. Hell, I can’t even get my weather radio to work, and that runs on batteries.”

“We don’t know,” Paul admitted. “Something bad, obviously. Like you said, there’s people shouting and lots of gunfire. The big propane tank behind the firehouse may have gone up. We’ve seen some dead folks, just lying in the street. But nobody seems real sure who’s causing it or even what exactly is happening. One fella told us it was dark people, but we don’t even know what he meant by that.”

“Dark people? Who told you that?”

“You’d recognize him,” Gus said. “Used to bring his car into the shop. I can’t remember his name. Always seemed nice enough, but Paul seems to think maybe he meant black folks.”

“Dark people?” Greg frowned. “That don’t make any sense. Why would black people want to shoot up Brinkley Springs?”

“That’s what I said, too,” Gus exclaimed.

Paul shrugged. “I ain’t saying they are. I’m just telling you what the other guy said to us. None of it makes any sense to me.”

“Come on. Let’s sit a spell. Figure this thing out.” Greg motioned with the shotgun for them to followhim. He led them into the living room and beckoned to a brown, worn-out couch. Paul and Gus both sat down, grateful for the respite. The couch springs groaned beneath them and the cushions sagged. Greg crept over to the window and pulled the faded curtains shut, stirring up a cloud of dust. The room, already gloomy, grew pitch-black.

“Hang on a minute,” Greg said, stumbling around in the darkness. “Let me light a candle.”

They sat in silence, listening as he fumbled his way to the kitchen and searched through drawers until he found what he was looking for. Then he returned with a long red candle in a tarnished brass holder. The flame glinted off the three bottles of Rolling Rock beer he clutched by the necks in his other hand. He placed the candle on the coffee table and then handed each of them a bottle. Both men accepted them without pause. The glass was cold and wet, and the sound the caps made as they twisted them off was somehow comforting—but not as much as the first sips.

Paul sighed. “I needed that.”

“I reckon so,” Greg agreed. “You both looked pretty shook-up.”

“It’s hell out there,” Gus said. “And to be honest, big brother, I was a little worried about you. Glad you’re okay.”

“Shit.” Greg patted the shotgun almost lovingly. The flickering candle flame reflected off the barrel. “I’ll tell you what. I’m the last person in Brinkley Springs they want to mess with.”

Paul took a long drink of beer and then pressed the bottle against his forehead. He leaned forward, sighed again and then looked at them both. “So, what are we gonna do? You boys got any ideas?”

“I was thinking on this while I was in the kitchen,” Greg said. “I reckon that fella you met was wrong. It ain’t black people that are doing this.”

“Who do you think it is?” Gus asked.

“That’s easy. The NWO.”

Groaning, Gus rolled his eyes. “Oh, Greg. Now ain’t the time to start with that goddamn New World Order nonsense again. I swear to God, you’re worse than that crazy Earl Harper wing nut who lives up above Punkin Center. Always with the NOW bullshit.”

“N-W-O, not N-O-W. And it ain’t bullshit, little brother.”

“The hell it ain’t. First you thought Y2K was gonna kill us all. Then you said nine eleven was an inside job. Then there was all the crap about how President Obama didn’t have a birth certificate. And then you—”

“And all of that stuff is connected. Bush and Obama are pawns of the same people. But that ain’t my point. You guys ever hear of eugenics?”

“No,” Gus said, “and neither did you until you got on the Internet. Swear to God, somebody ought to take away your computer access.”

Greg ignored the comment. “They want to control humankind through what they call selective breeding. The Nazis started it, but the NWO are continuing it. See, the only way to control the population is to first get it back down to a manageable size. They’re culling the herd, same way the game commission does when the deer population gets out of control. That’s why we’ve got diseases like cancer and AIDS. You telling me that we can put a little goddamn skateboard-looking robot on Mars and have it send back pictures, but we can’t find a cure for cancer? There’s a cure. You can bet on that, boys. There’s a goddamn cure. They just won’t release it because cancer helps cut down the population.”

Paul drained his beer and belched. The Pheasant brothers both fanned the air and frowned.

“Seems like cancer would take a long time to cull the population,” Paul said. “Wouldn’t they try something that worked a little quicker?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Gus said.

“Well, they ain’t just using cancer. That was just one example. Look at the world! We’ve got a high child-mortality rate among the poor. We’ve got war everywhere. These are all ways of whittling down the population. Another way to do it is shooting sprees. See, the CIA are in on it. So is the KGB.”

“There ain’t no KGB anymore, Greg.”

“So you say, Gus. Me, I don’t believe everything I hear from the mainstream media. I’ll tell you something. That old Putin ain’t no dummy. The KGB are still around. They’re just called something different now.”

“Look,” Paul said, “I’ve never been one to tell a man what he should or shouldn’t believe, Greg, but I just don’t understand what any of this has to do with what’s happening outside. I don’t reckon Vladimir Putin declared war on Brinkley Springs.”

“The CIA and the KGB both developed ways to control people’s minds. One morning, you could wake up and everything could be fine, and then, all of the sudden, you grab your rifle and start shooting. Haven’t you guys noticed how things like that are on the rise? Every week, we hear about a school getting shot up or some nut killing all his co-workers. It’s all just another method of population control.”

“Goddamn it, Greg.” Gus slammed his bottle down on the coffee table, sloshing beer all over his hand. “The NWO aren’t shooting up Brinkley Springs any more than that Amish fella staying at Esther’s is. That’s stupid talk, and it ain’t helping us any right now.”

“Then tell me why we haven’t heard any sirens. Tell me why the cops haven’t shown up yet. Why are the phone lines down? And none of the electronic stuff is working. This is a controlled situation, Gus. Hell, they’ve probably got the town cordoned off. Nobody gets in or out, I bet.”

Paul stood up. “I think we should put that theory to the test.”

The Pheasant brothers stared up at him. “What do you mean?” Gus asked.

“Personally, I don’t believe in this NWO stuff, but one thing’s for sure, you’re right about the police and firemen. Nobody has shown up to help, but maybe that’s because nobody knows about our situation. I think we should try to leave, try to go for help.”

“I don’t know,” Gus said. “It’s like a war zone out there. Maybe we’d be better off just staying put.”

“Screw that. People are dying outside. Our people! We saw it. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna let it end this way. Brinkley Springs may have been dying, but it doesn’t deserve to get murdered. I’m going. On foot, if I have to, but I’m going, either way. It would mean a lot to me if you guys came along. I could use the backup.”

The brothers glanced at each other for a moment and then stood up as one.

“You’re right,” Gus said. “This is too big for us to handle on our own, but that doesn’t mean we should just hide out like a bunch of kids. Let’s go.”

“Hang on a second.” Greg glanced down at his sweatpants. “I reckon I ought to change first. And maybe we should all drink another beer, just to get ourselves ready.”

“You’ve got five minutes,” Paul said. “Chug the beer while you get dressed. You ain’t gonna come back downstairs in a pair of Spider-Man slippers, are you?”

Greg and Paul began laughing. Gus shook his head.

“Fuck you both.”

Paul grinned. “I’ll remember you said that if it turns out your brother was right about the New World Order.”

“If he’s right, then I hope the NWO shoots you first.”

***

Melanie Candra peeked through her curtains and watched in terror as a tall, looming figure dressed entirely in black chased a fat man in flannel boxer shorts down the sidewalk. As she stood there trembling, the pursuer caught up with his prey, grabbed the man’s hair with one hand and yanked him off his feet. The fat man uttered a short, surprised squawk and then his attacker swung him through the air. His scalp tore free. The loose flap of skin and hair dangled from the black figure’s hand. Its owner soared halfway across the street and then slid across the asphalt on his face and chest. He quivered, but did not rise. The dark shape then raced over to him and knelt beside the body. Melanie let the curtains fall shut again and backed away from them, biting her lip to keep from screaming.

She’d moved to Brinkley Springs from New Jersey a year ago, hoping to open an equestrian center and horse farm. Real-estate prices were cheap and she’d found the small-town sentimentality a refreshing change from that of the Mid-Atlantic suburbs. She hadn’t counted on the economy changing so drastically, however, and now her dreams of running a horse farm were just that—dreams. Instead, she was stuck in a dingy little farmhouse that was drafty in the winter and filled with insects in the summer, in a town that seemed to die a little bit more each day. And if Brinkley Springs hadn’t been dying before, it certainly was now. Judging by the sounds outside, it was being murdered. Exterminated.

The street fell silent again. Still shaking, Melanie tiptoed into the kitchen and pulled a large butcher knife out of the top drawer. She’d thought that having a weapon—any weapon—might make her feel better, but instead, she wanted to puke. She crossed the kitchen and back into the living room. She glanced down at the cordless phone. The light was still off. The power was still dead. She found herself longing for the days of rotary phones. They still worked during a blackout. She wondered, however, if that would be the case in this instance. Earlier, when she’d tried dialing 911 on her cell phone, it had been dead, as well. She couldn’t even get it to come on, let alone dial for help.

She stood there in the silence, wishing for a sound. The ticking of her cuckoo clock. The ring of a phone. The engine of a car driving by. A bird chirping. A dog barking. Anything would be better than this oppressive stillness that seemed to have suddenly settled over the street. Well, except another scream, of course. She didn’t think she could handle another one of those. Maybe the man in black was gone. Maybe the fat guy in the flannel boxer shorts was dead. Maybe that was why it was so quiet out there now—the murderer had moved on to find another victim.

What if he’d moved on to her? What if she was next? What if he’d seen her at the window and was now standing on her front porch or peering in her windows? Still clutching the knife, she pulled her pink knit bathrobe tighter around her and glanced at all the windows, verifying the curtains were drawn on each.

If he’s out there, she thought, I can look through the peephole. I’ll be able to see him but he won’t be able to see me.

No, but he’d hear her. The floorboards around the door tended to creak when stepped on. She’d have to be quiet. She had a vision of some black-clad maniac driving an ice pick through the peephole right into her eye.

Trembling harder, she crept to the front door and slowly brought her face to the peephole. Then she peered outside. Melanie breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that her front porch was empty—a sigh that was stifled a moment later when she saw the man in black breaking down the door of the house across the street. He raised one black-booted foot and kicked the door in on the first try, reducing the heavy oak to kindling. Then, with a sweep of his cloak, he stepped through the wreckage and went inside. She held her breath, waiting for him to come back out or waiting for the screams to start—but neither happened. She tried to remember if the house was occupied or not. So many of them stood vacant, and more seemed to end up on the market every month. Not that they were selling. She’d pretty much had her pick when she bought this place. Melanie had intended it to be temporary—a place to live in and keep her stuff until she got the horse farm operational. Then she’d planned on fixing this place up and using it as a rental property.

Restless, she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, stopping suddenly when she spotted a blur of movement from the open doorway across the street. She’d been expecting the killer, or perhaps a fleeing resident, but what exited the home was a large black bird. Flapping its wings, it soared up above the roofs and disappeared from her sight.

She noticed that the fat man’s corpse was gone. In its place was a small pile of dirt or ash. She couldn’t tell which from her vantage point. She wondered if someone had dragged the body away, or if perhaps the man hadn’t been dead after all. Perhaps he’d crawled away, wounded.

Moments later, three men armed with guns crept past her home, moving from car to car, using the parked vehicles as cover. They seemed very intent. Their expressions were grim and serious. Melanie recognized two of them as the men who ran the local garage—they were brothers, she thought. The Pleasants? The Pheasants? She couldn’t remember which. She didn’t know the other man who was with them, but he looked like someone who could handle himself; he had a big, burly frame. She reached for the doorknob, intent on calling out to them for help, but then she paused. What if they were working with the other killer? She’d heard gunshots sporadically through the night. It had sounded like more than one person was shooting and more than one type of firearm was being used. What if these weren’t the good guys? Maybe they were some kind of domestic terrorist group or just a bunch of crazies.

She stood there, debating with herself and hating her indecisiveness, until they’d moved on, and then was overwhelmed with a sense of regret. Clenching her jaw, she decided to risk it. She reached for the doorknob again when there was a soft rustling sound from the corner of the living room. Eyes wide, Melanie spun around so fast that she almost lost her balance. Teetering, she reached out with one hand and pushed against the wall for support. The noise was coming from the chimney. It grew louder as she stood there. Dirt and flecks of debris drifted down from above. Melanie whimpered. She realized the flue wasn’t closed, but surely that didn’t matter. The chimney wasn’t wide enough for a human being to fit through.

Was it?

A black form burst from the opening, and Melanie screamed. She flung the butcher knife at the shape, realizing too late that it was nothing more than a bird—a crow, just like the one she’d seen fly out of the house next door. The knife spun end over end and then thudded softly onto the carpet. The bird paid it no notice. Instead, the crow flew up onto the mantel and perched there, staring at her with its beady eyes.

“Jesus Christ . . .”

The bird croaked in response. A second crow emerged from the fireplace and landed on the recliner. Then a third appeared and lit on the couch, followed by a fourth and a fifth.

A gathering of crows, she thought, a murder. A gathering of crows is called a murder . . .

Melanie backed up to the door. Keeping her gaze on the birds, she reached down and fumbled for the umbrella she kept in the corner next to the coat rack. Her fingers closed around the handle. She raised the umbrella and shook it at the birds. As she did, the umbrella ballooned open, momentarily blocking her view. She caught a whiff of something that smelled rotten.

“Get out of here,” she yelled, wrestling with the open umbrella. “Shoo!”

When she lowered the umbrella, the birds were gone. In their place were five identical men, each dressed all in black. They varied only in height. One of them raised his hand and spoke. His voice was like a rusty, squeaking hinge.

“Hello.”

She didn’t even have time to scream.

***

Randy woke up cold, wet and confused. His head throbbed. The pain seemed to be centered in his temples. He opened his eyes and saw the night sky. Pinprick stars stared back at him. He was lying on something hard. Pavement? Asphalt? He shivered in the damp air. What was he doing outside? And what was that smell?

Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position. His hands, pants and shirt were sticky. Frowning, he glanced down at the wetness and saw that it was blood. Then he looked up at the wreckage.

The blood wasn’t his. He was shocked by how much there was. It had come from the car, running out onto the road and . . .

And then it all came back to him.

Randy gulped cold air, buried his face in his bloodied hands and screamed—mournful, unintelligible shrieks that left his throat raw. He wished he would pass out again, but that didn’t happen, so he continued screaming. He didn’t stop until he heard something flutter overhead. Startled, Randy looked up and saw a small bat swoop overhead. Randy had seen bats in his backyard plenty of times, but he hadn’t realized they could fly so fast. This one zipped right along. Seconds later, it crashed into the invisible barrier. The bat dropped like a stone and landed on the road. It twitched once and then lay still. Even from where he sat, Randy could tell that the collision had killed it. The bat had been going too fast, just like Stephanie and Sam.

Wiping his nose, he choked down a sob. There was nothing he could do for them now. Not for Stephanie. Not for Sam. Not for his parents. Not for anyone.

As Randy watched, a tiny smoke like wisp escaped from the bat’s corpse and rose into the air. The shapeless, ethereal form hovered for a moment and was then pulled toward the barrier, as if by a magnet. There was a brief flash of light and then the white stuff—whatever it was—disappeared. He considered this for a moment and then decided that he’d probably been better off passing out. Otherwise, he could have blundered into the same thing that had just killed the bat.

“What the fuck is going on? What is this shit?”

Randy stared at the dead bat and realized something. It wasn’t the only dead animal around the base of the barrier. The ground was littered with dead birds—robins, woodpeckers, sparrows, crows, pigeons, finches and even a white duck. Not just birds, either. He saw a red fox, two groundhogs, a skunk and a mother possum with several babies still clinging to her back. All of them were stiff and lifeless. Stranger still were the small piles of ash between the bodies. He wondered what the dust was and where it had come from.

Obviously, this was not an exit. He had never been one for science fiction. He’d never read many comic books or watched horror movies, preferring NASCAR and football instead. But he’d played enough video games to know that whatever was happening, it wasn’t normal. Something had sealed off the town. If you touched it, or got too close, it sucked out your energy—or whatever those white wisps had been. He had no doubt that the barrier stretched far overhead. He wondered if it extended underground, as well, but he lacked the tools to dig down and find out. He was pretty sure such an effort would be a waste of time. They were trapped here.

He thought back to when he was younger. He and Marsha would spend their summer nights running around in the backyard, capturing lightning bugs and putting them in one of their mom’s mason jars until it was time to go to bed. Now he knew how those bugs had felt, except that he didn’t think the men in black would let everyone go once it was time to go to sleep.

He climbed to his feet and picked bits of gravel from his palms. Then he gingerly felt his scalp. He had a knot at the back of his head and another on his forehead, but the skin didn’t feel broken, and as far as he could tell, he wasn’t bleeding. Making a concerted effort not to look in Stephanie and Sam’s direction, Randy limped back to his truck and climbed inside. He took a few deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. The only thing left to do was find his sister. If he couldn’t protect their parents or his friends, the least he could do was make sure Marsha was safe. Once he found her, maybe they could try the old logging road on the back end of town. He’d taken his truck four-wheeling up into the mountains many times, and he knew that the rugged truck could handle the harsh terrain. If they were lucky, maybe the force wouldn’t extend that far. Maybe it was a way to escape. They had to try, at least, because the only alternative Randy could see was to sit down and wait to be killed—and that was no alternative at all.

Another bird slammed into the shield and was snuffed out. As with the bat, a smoky form drifted up from the corpse and was absorbed by the barrier. Randy rubbed his temples. The throbbing had subsided somewhat, but his head still hurt. He put the truck into gear. As Randy pulled away, his headlights spotlighted the still-steaming wreckage of Sam’s car. Randy swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to look away.

***

They stood over Melanie Candra’s mutilated body, which had been torn limb from limb. Her blood seeped into the carpet and decorated the walls, mantel, furniture and ceiling fan.

“I have met our adversary,” said the first. “A magus, schooled in the ways of old. His knowledge was impressive, if ineffectual. He tried a number of different schools and workings against me, and failed.”

“And you killed him?”

“No. He escaped me, but he won’t remain free for long. I’ll kill him last.”

“Are you certain of his abilities?”

“He is strong, but he cannot stand against us. He’ll be no problem. A minor annoyance, nothing more.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because the fool gave me his name. He performed a rather rustic binding spell. Simplistic and crude, but it worked . . . temporarily.”

The others interrupted with coarse laughter. “And this was how he escaped? He slowed you down?”

“I tell you it matters not! During the spell, he invoked his name and the name of his father. We have all that we need to defeat him now. Our magic is stronger.”

The fifth, who had remained quiet until now, spoke. “If what you say is true, and I have no reason to doubt that it is, then there are two magi in this town.”

The others gasped and hissed.

“Two?”

“Indeed. Two, for I encountered one as well.”

“Perhaps you were confronted by the same magus.”

“No, this was a young man who does not have knowledge of the gifts he possesses. He escaped me quite by accident. I let him go, content to save him for later.”

“I have seen this young man, as well,” said the third. “Did he flee from a home when you saw him last?”

“Yes.” The fifth nodded.

“Then it was him. I saw three young people run from a home. Are you certain he doesn’t understand his gift?”

“I am positive. Why?”

“When I saw him, he was able to start two vehicles and the three of them drove away. I assumed then that he was the magus we had sensed. I was unaware of the second.”

They fell silent and bowed their heads in thought. After a moment, the first spoke.

“Two adversaries. We must be very careful, brothers.”

“It is of no consequence,” said the second. “One does not know how to use his abilities and the other has given us his name. We will save their souls for last, and then be sated and ready to sleep again.”

“Then that will be soon,” the fourth replied, “for I sense the town is almost emptied. There are only a few left. Most are hiding together in groups, which should expedite things.”

The first raised his arms. “Perhaps we will have time to enjoy the night and revel before the dawn comes. Let us finish this task.”

EIGHT

“Look over there.” Gus nudged his brother with his elbow and nodded his head toward Axel’s house.

The three of them were huddled together behind Ray Dillinger’s old chicken coop. Ray had passed away two years earlier from diabetes-related complications and his property had stood vacant ever since, including the coop. It still smelled faintly of chicken shit. They had encountered more dead bodies as they made their way through the streets, but not as many as they had expected. Instead, they’d found small mounds of ashes scattered along the streets and sidewalks and in yards. None of them had an explanation for it, but the sight disturbed them. Even more disturbing was the silence. They hadn’t heard a scream in several minutes.

“What?” Greg frowned, glancing around in confusion.

Gus pointed again. “There’s a light on down in Axel Perry’s basement.”

Greg and Paul glanced at the small house. Sure enough, the ground-level cellar window was lit with a dim, soft glow.

“But the power is out,” Greg whispered. “How’s he got light?”

“It’s candlelight,” Paul said. “See how it changes and flickers?”

“You reckon he’s okay?” Gus asked. “I like old Axel.”

“I like him, too,” Paul agreed. “He’s a good old boy. They broke the mold when they made him.”

“We should check on him,” Greg said. “Make sure he’s alright. I mean, he’s an old man and all. He might be scared. Don’t want him having a heart attack or anything.”

“That’s a good idea,” Gus said. “Maybe we can take him with us. Get him the hell out of here.”

Paul shook his head. “We’ll check on him, but we can’t take him with us. I hate to say it, but he’d slow us down. I ain’t exactly a spring chicken anymore, and my heart’s beating so fast it’s fit to pop right out of my chest. I can’t imagine what shape Axel is in right now.”

“It don’t seem right,” Greg said, “leaving an old man behind.”

“I don’t like it either,” Paul replied, “but think about it. We may have to move fast. Run. We might have to fight or think on our feet. There’s no telling what could happen. At the very least, he’d slow us down, but if he got hurt, we’d be screwed. Better to leave him inside the house than to leave him in a field somewhere.”

Gus nodded. “That’s a good point.”

“I still don’t like it,” Greg said.

“Your vote is duly noted.” Paul stood up. “If it helps, I don’t like leaving my dogs behind, either, but there it is. Now come on. We’re wasting time. Let’s check on Axel, make sure he’s okay and let him know we’re going for help, and then move on.”

They hurried over to Axel’s house, weapons at the ready, watching the nearby homes and yards for any sign of movement. Gus stepped in one of the mysterious piles of ash. It clung to his boot and pants leg and swirled in the air around him. Gus coughed.

“Goddamn,” he wheezed when the coughing fit subsided. “Whatever that stuff is, it tastes nasty.”

“I’ve got an idea what it is,” Paul said.

“What?”

“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

“Now that ain’t fair, Paul. Tell me what you think it is.”

Paul kept his voice low as they crossed the yard. “Think about it. We’ve been seeing these piles everywhere, right?”

The Pheasant brothers nodded.

“But they weren’t around before tonight. And earlier,when me and Gus were sneaking around, we saw a lot of dead bodies. Not so many of them now though, are there? Instead, there’s just those little piles of ash.”

Gus gagged and began coughing again. He doubled over, clutching his stomach.

Greg’s eyes grew wide. “You don’t mean . . . that stuff is dead people?”

Paul shrugged, and then glanced around the neighborhood. He stepped up onto Axel’s front porch and approached the door. Greg put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, but Gus shoved him away and retched again. Greg decided to look in the other direction and stand watch. There was no answer to Paul’s repeated knocking. After a few tries, he came back down into the yard.

“That’s fucking disgusting.” Gus wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “Why did you have to tell me that shit, Paul?”

“Hey, you asked. Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that? Now quit dicking around and come on.”

Paul started around the side of the house, his rifle at the ready. Gus and Greg stared at him in confusion.

“But nobody answered when you knocked,” Greg whispered. “Where are you going now?”

“To tap on one of those basement windows. Maybe we can get his attention that way.”

They hurried along behind him. Gus continued furiously wiping at his mouth and nose, his expression one of horrified disgust.

“Jesus,” Greg whispered. “Jesus fucking Christ, what a mess this whole thing is.”

“You reckon it was death rays?” Gus asked.

“What?”

“All the bodies. What do you think it was that turned them into ash? I mean, it couldn’t have been fire. I smell smoke, but that’s from somewhere across town. If somebody had burned the bodies, we’d see little fires all over town. We’d smell gasoline and stuff. So what do you think did it? There’s no bones, no jewelry or bits of clothing left behind. What could do that to a person?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“I’m just saying, it’s mighty odd. Thought maybe you’d have one of your theories.”

“Will you two be quiet?” Paul handed Gus his rifle. Then he got down on his hands and knees and peeked through the window.

“What do you see?” Gus asked. “Is Axel down there? Is he okay?”

“He’s down there, and he’s got company. Can’t see for sure, because of the light, but I think that’s Jean Sullivan and her little boy down there with him.”

“Well, let them know we’re up here.”

Paul reached forward and rapped on the glass, eliciting frightened screams from inside the house.

“It’s us,” he called. “Paul Crowley and the Pheasant Brothers! Open up, Axel.”

After a moment, Paul stood up and brushed grass clippings from his hands and knees.

“He coming up?” Greg whispered.

“Yeah. At least, I think so. He motioned toward the stairs.”

They crept back around to the front of the house, arriving just as the front door creaked open.

“You bunch of idiots,” Axel said. “You darn near gave me a heart attack. And I think little Bobby Sullivan might have just peed himself. What were you thinking?”

“We were thinking about you,” Paul said as Axel let them into the house. “How you holding up, oldtimer?”

Axel shut the door behind them and locked it. “We’re scared and we don’t know what’s going on. Any news?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied, “but none of it is any good.”

“Come down to the basement and tell us about it. It’s safe there, if a little chilly. Damn kerosene heater is on the fritz, just like everything else tonight.”

Paul hesitated. “We can’t stay, Axel. We saw your light and thought to check on you. Maybe you should blow out the candles, by the way. You can see them from the street. But like I said, we can’t stay. We’re going for help.”

“I’ve got a bottle of whiskey down there. Don’t usually drink it myself, but I might be so inclined if you boys would do a shot with me.”

Gus grinned. “I reckon we can stay for a little bit, at least. Right, Paul?”

Sighing, Paul shrugged and followed the others down into the basement. He thought, not for the first time, of his dogs and hoped that they were okay.

***

Joel Winkler sat cross-legged in his big, plush recliner and looked around his darkened living room. It seemed so different, so strange, without the lights on. Joel always had at least one light on twenty-four hours a day, even if it was just the small night-light in the bathroom next to the master bedroom. He didn’t like stumbling around in the dark.

The lights had been just one of the things Richard liked to complain about.

He missed Richard. Not a day went by that Joel didn’t think about him, but right now, he was thinking about him more than ever.

They’d met in college. Before his freshman year, Joel had never been out of Brinkley Springs and the surrounding vicinity. Richard was from California and had traveled all around the world. They sat next to each other in psych class, formed a friendship and began spending time together. Within days, that friendship had turned romantic. After graduation, Richard had gone back to California and Joel, unable to find a job, had ended up back in Brinkley Springs. He’d been depressed and despondent until two months later, when Richard showed up at his door. The moving van was parked outside.

They’d lived together for just over a decade. Joel knew what people said behind their backs, but he didn’t care. Yes, some of the people in town were blatantly homophobic, even in this day and age, but most were just curious. As far as he knew, Brinkley Springs didn’t have any other gay couples. Not that they’d let it officially be known that they were indeed a couple. Joel had balked at revealing that, preferring instead to tell people that Richard was just his roommate. In the end, that was why Richard had left a second time—Joel’s steadfast refusal to come out of the closet and openly embrace and acknowledge their relationship.

Joel died a little more each day without him.

Feeling melancholy, Joel began humming Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind.” It had been their song.

He stared at the picture on the end table. It had been taken four years ago at the beautiful Cass Scenic Railroad State Park, near Bald Knob. In it, he and Richard were smiling, arms around each other. Behind them was a colorful kaleidoscope of fall foliage. Joel had taken the picture himself, using the timer on his camera. They’d been laughing about the mountain’s name—Bald Knob—and it had led to playful innuendos that lasted throughout the day and ended in a slow, passionate bout of lovemaking in a rented cabin atop the mountain later that night.

The shadows swallowed everything else in the living room. Once-familiar objects like the grandfather clock and the potted plants and the coffee table became unidentifiable shapes. The book he’d been reading, a lurid paperback called Depraved, was all but invisible in the darkness. Everything had changed. Muted. But the picture remained clear. Richard’s smile, his hair, his eyes, were unaffected by the gloom. Joel buried his face in his hands and could still see his lover’s face.

The town had fallen silent. The screams and gunshots had subsided. Somehow, the silence was worse. Joel hoped that it would all be over soon.

“The feeling’s gone,” he whispered, “and I just can’t get it back.”

When the window shattered and a dark-cloaked man leaped into the room, Richard didn’t jump or scream or try to run away. He simply looked up, wiped the tears from his eyes and sighed.

“You are not afraid?” The figure loomed over him, arms outstretched.

Joel shook his head. “I’m too tired to be afraid. I saw what was happening. Earlier, out in the street. I watched two of you pull a family from their car. Nobody came to help them.”

“Nobody could.”

“Is this the end of the world?”

The intruder laughed. The sound reminded Joel of a whistling tea kettle.

“No. Merely the end of your world.”

“Will it hurt?”

“I could make it very painful indeed. Agonizing and slow. Now are you afraid?”

Joel shook his head.

The man’s shoulders slumped. “It is better when you are afraid. It improves the taste of your soul. But no matter.”

The man in black reached for him and Joel leaned forward into the embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispered as the darkness engulfed him.

***

Kirby Fox cowered in his tree house, reading his Bible (a red, faux-leather-cover King James version that he’d been given at church after completing catechism classes a year before) and begging the Lord not to let what had just happened to his parents happen to him, as well.

He’d been camping out in the backyard, sleeping in the tree house—or at least that was what his parents had thought. In truth, there had been very little sleeping, as Kirby’s tree house contained a folder full of pictures printed off from a porno site. He kept the folder in the middle of an old Trapper Keeper left over from elementary school, and hid the Trapper Keeper inside a long white box of comic books. His parents had never been inside the tree house—at least, not that he knew of—but Kirby saw no reason not to be cautious at all times.

Like now, for example. He looked up from the book of Psalms, his finger frozen over a random passage. He’d had to squint to read it because his flashlight wasn’t working. The tree-house roof had a hole in it so that he could stick his telescope out of it on clear nights. Each spring, his father trimmed the branches away from the hole, providing an unobstructed view of the stars. Kirby kept a five-gallon bucket beneath the hole to catch rainwater and had a tarp he could pull over the top of it. He realized now that he’d forgotten to pull the tarp closed. The leaves rustled softly as the breeze picked up. Wind gusted down through the hole, ruffling the naked pictures, his comics and the Bible pages. The printouts fluttered across the floor. Naked women stared up at him from a dozen different poses. Kirby felt sick and guilty. The pictures had been provided by Gary Thompson. Kirby had given him ten bucks and his copy of Modern Warfare 2 in exchange for them. Gary’s parents had a color printer and unlimited Internet access. The kid had a nice business as a middle-school pornographer.

Kirby had beat off twice, guiltily wiping himself with paper towels and then tossing the evidence in the corner, and then snuggled into his sleeping bag and read some back issues of Gold Digger, Naruto, Green Lantern and Ultimate Spider-Man. At some point, probably during the issue where Doctor Octopus proposes to Peter Parker’s Aunt May, Kirby had fallen asleep.

His father’s screams were what woke him, although Kirby hadn’t realized it actually was his father at first. The cries were too high-pitched. Too strange. It was only when his father was flung through the bedroom window and landed in the yard, shards of glass sticking out of his face, that Kirby had realized the shrieks belonged to him. His father had lain there, thrashing and quivering and squealing. Then parts of Kirby’s mother had followed him out of the broken window. First had come her head. Then her arm. Then something from inside of her. Then another arm.

Kirby had been too frightened to scream. He’d simply cowered there in the tree-house door, watching in shock and horror as his father bled to death with his mother’s decapitated head and various internal organs lying upon his chest. The ground around him was soaked with blood.

After his father fell quiet and quit moving, Kirby became aware of the screams from elsewhere in town. There were too many of them. He’d sat with his back to the wood-plank wall, pulled his knees up to his chest, grabbed the Bible—and prayed. His mother had insisted he keep the Bible in the tree house; it was her idea of good luck. In hindsight, maybe she’d been right. His parents were dead but Kirby was still alive. He turned his attention back to the book and focused on a random psalm.

“He giveth to the beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry . . .”

Kirby was unaware that he was reading aloud and equally oblivious that he was crying.

“He delighteth not in the strength of the horse: he taketh not pleasure in the legs of a man. The Lord taketh pleasure in them that fear Him, in those that—”

Something warm and wet plopped onto the page and splattered against the crook of skin between Kirby’s thumb and index finger. A raindrop? Frowning, he looked up and saw two eyes staring back at him through the hole. It was a crow, he realized. A big black crow—the biggest he’d ever seen. The bird had shit right through the hole and onto the Bible.

Kirby wiped the offending substance away with his shirttail. Sniffling, he turned his attention upward again, but the bird was gone. In its place was a man, perched on the roof of the tree house and grinning wide enough that his teeth flashed white in the darkness.

Then the darkness flowed through the hole, and whatever good luck Kirby’s Bible had brought him finally ran out.

***

“Is that yours?”

Levi glanced up and saw that Donny was pointing at the buggy.

“Yes, it’s mine.”

“Where’s your horse?”

“She is safe. I have her stabled down near the river.”

“How do you know they haven’t fucked with her, too?”

“Dee has certain protections. Similar to mine. No harm will come to her.”

Marsha smiled. “Your horse is named Dee?”

Levi nodded. “Yes. And my dog, who is back home in Pennsylvania, is named Crowley.”

“Those are unusual names. Don’t get me wrong—I like them, but they’re not ones you hear every day. Around here, not too many people even bother to name their horses or dogs.”

“I named them after old friends of my family.” He paused, surveying the street. “It looks okay to cross. We’ll be safe once we get inside Esther’s house.”

“How?” Donny asked. “I mean, no offense, Levi, but I don’t see how we’re any better off inside that old bed-and-breakfast. We ought to get the hell out of town.”

“I don’t think we can leave. I don’t think they’ll let us. And as for the house, I can protect us once we’re inside.”

“The way you protected us back there, you mean?”

Marsha gasped. “Donny!”

“It’s okay.” Levi raised his hand. “He’s right. I did miserably back there. I almost failed. That won’t happen again.”

“But how are you going to protect us? I mean, no offense, Levi, but how can I be sure that Marsha is going to be safe?”

Levi smiled. “You’re a soldier. So am I. The only difference is our methods and the weapons we choose. I give you my word that she’ll be safe inside. Now come on. Let’s go, while the coast is clear.”

They hurried across the street. Marsha and Donny trotted behind Levi, hand in hand. They had just made it to the opposite side when a truck engine shattered the silence. Marsha and Donny jumped, startled by the sudden noise. Levi merely turned in the direction of the disturbance.

“Now that is odd.”

A four-wheel-drive pickup truck rounded the cornerand raced toward them. Levi frowned, staring at the onrushing headlights, and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare.

“That’s Randy,” Marsha yelled. “That’s my little brother!”

Marsha and Donny waved their hands at the approaching truck. As it neared them, Marsha released Donny’s hand and ran toward the curb. The truck skidded, the brake lights flashing red in the darkness, and then slid to a stop. Randy leaped out of the cab, leaving the engine running, and dashed toward his sister. The two embraced fiercely, as Donny and Levi hurried toward them.

“Are you okay?” Marsha gasped. “You’ve got blood all over you.”

Randy nodded. “I’m okay. It’s . . . it’s not my blood.”

He pulled back from her, and they all glimpsed the tears on his cheeks.

“Come with me,” he said. “I can get us out. The old logging road—”

“That won’t work,” Levi said. “We need to get inside.”

Randy stared at Levi, then glanced at Donny and

Marsha. “Who’s this?”

“You can call him Levi,” Marsha said. “It’s okay. He’s a friend.”

Donny stuck out his hand and Randy shook it. They embraced quickly, and Donny slapped him on the back.

“Good to see you,” Donny said.

“You, too. Thanks for taking care of my sis, yo.”

Randy reached his hand out to Levi, but Levi hesitated. He seemed deep in concentration.

“What’s up?” Randy frowned. “Do I have a booger hanging out of my nose or something?”

“Your aura,” Levi whispered. “It’s interesting, to say the least.”

Randy’s frown deepened. He glanced at his sister and Donny, but they only shrugged.

“What’s up with him?”

“Apparently,” Donny said, “he sees auras. And yeah, I know how that sounds, but after some of the shit we’ve seen tonight, I’m inclined to believe it.”

Marsha took her brother’s hand. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

Randy’s expression clouded. He took a deep breath, tried to speak and then sagged forward. Donny and Marsha caught him before he could collapse.

“Jesus,” Donny grunted.

“Randy?” Marsha patted his cheek with her hand.

“Randy!”

“He’s passed out,” Donny said. “I’m guessing shock. I’ve seen this before.”

“Is he going to be okay? He’s got a lump on the back of his head. And all this blood! What’s happened to him? Where are my parents?”

“We need to get him inside,” Levi said, stepping forward to assist them. “Quickly.”

Donny picked Randy up and gently placed the teen over his shoulders.

“Hurry.” Levi’s tone was insistent. He stared up into the sky.

“Why?” Donny glanced around but didn’t see anything.

“Because they’re coming.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

Donny carried the unconscious teen toward the house. Marsha trotted along beside him, stroking Randy’s hair and begging Donny to be careful with him. Levi ran over to the truck, shut off the engine and the headlights and then closed the door. The wind picked up and the tree limbs rustled in the breeze.

“Your will be done, Lord. All I ask for is time. For their sakes as well as mine.”

Turning, he hurried after the others. As they reached the bed-and-breakfast, the door opened and Esther stepped outside. Myrtle bustled around behind her in the doorway.

“What’s happening?” Her eyes widened when she saw Randy. “Oh, goodness! Is he hurt? Is he . . . dead?”

“He’s okay,” Donny panted. “Just passed out.”

“Well, get him into the sitting room.” Esther moved aside and let them pass. Then she beckoned at Levi. “What is happening, Mr. Stoltzfus?”

“I’ll explain what I can,” he said, slipping past her and into the foyer. “But first, I want to make sure we’re safe. I don’t have much time. Do you have a Magic Marker I can borrow, or even a pen or pencil?”

“Oh, yes. I have some in the kitchen. Which would you like?”

“It doesn’t matter. But I need one quickly.”

Nodding, Esther hurried into the kitchen. Myrtle shut and locked the door, and then she and Levi joined the others in the sitting room, where Donny had laid Randy on the sofa. The teen’s cheeks were pale in the candlelight, and his breathing was steady but shallow. His eyes flickered beneath the lids. Marsha sat beside him, stroking his hair.

“Is he going to be okay?”

Donny lifted Randy’s wrist and checked his pulse.

He nodded. “He’ll be fine. His pulse is strong, and his breathing is steady—if shallow. Just let him rest for a bit.”

Esther returned from the kitchen and handed Levi a black Magic Marker. He dashed back into the foyer. Esther, Myrtle and Donny followed him. Levi uncapped the marker and then glanced over his shoulder at Esther.

“I apologize in advance for doing this, but it’s the only way to keep us safe. This will protect us. I’ll pay for the paint and repairs later, if you wish.”

Before she could respond, he stood on his tiptoes and began to write on the wall just above the closed door. He didn’t talk, didn’t explain to them what he was doing. He seemed totally absorbed in the task.

The three could only watch him and look at one another in confusion. He wrote,

I.

N. I. R.

I.

SANCTUS SPIRITUS

I.

N. I. R.

I.

Ito, alo Massa Dandi Bando, III.

Amen J. R. N. R. J.

SATOR

AREPO

TENET

OPERA

ROTAS

When he was finished, Levi stepped back and studied his handiwork.

“Oh my . . .” Esther’s hand went to her chest.

“What is that stuff?” Donny asked. “Is that Latin or something?”

“I recognize some of it,” Myrtle said, sounding excited. “It’s a powwow charm. Isn’t that right, Mr. Stoltzfus?”

“Three different charms, actually.” Levi turned to them and smiled. “You are partially correct, Mrs. Danbury. But I must hurry. Please excuse me one moment. While I’m doing that, it might be best if you snuffed out the remaining candles.”

“But then we’ll have a hard time seeing.”

“Yes, but perhaps those outside will have a hard time seeing us, as well.”

“But you said that inscription above the door would protect us,” Esther said. “Why do we care if they know we’re in here?”

“Because I don’t want them surrounding the house. When we’re done, after I’ve rested a bit, I need to go back out there. That’s easier to do if I can sneak outside, rather than running a gauntlet.”

He turned away and repeated the inscription process over every door and window in the house, while the others returned to the sitting room. When he was finished, Levi joined them. To the others, he seemed exhausted.

“Mrs. Laudry—”

“Call me Esther, dear.”

“Very well. Esther, would you be so kind as to grant me a drink of water?”

“Certainly. We have bottled water in the refrigerator. I would imagine it’s still cold, even with the power being out. I’ll get some for everyone. Myrtle, would you help me?”

“Sure. Good thing our eyes have adjusted to the dark. I don’t fancy breaking a hip on top of everything else tonight.”

“Oh, hush.”

The two old women bustled off to the kitchen again. Marsha hovered over her brother, seemingly oblivious to anything else in the room. Donny and Levi studied each other.

“You look beat, Levi.”

“Not yet.”

“No, I mean you look tired.”

“Oh.” Grinning, Levi scratched his beard. “That I am. But it will be a long time before I sleep. I don’t think any of us will sleep before dawn—except for the boy there. His name is Randy?”

“Yeah.”

“He has . . . abilities.” Levi’s tone was flat—a statement rather than a question.

Donny shrugged. “He’s pretty good at fixing cars, but other than that, I don’t know. Why?”

“It’s . . . Never mind. We have more urgent matters to discuss. I just find him fascinating, is all.”

Donny looked over at Randy and Marsha and then back at Levi. “Fascinating?”

“He reminds me of . . . someone else at that age.”

“Who?”

“Here we are,” Esther said as she and Myrtle came back into the room, juggling plastic bottles of water. “It’s still cool. I’m sorry we didn’t pour it into glasses, but these seemed easier, given the circumstances.”

Levi smiled as he accepted one. “I’m sure this is fine. Thank you both.”

He unscrewed the cap and took a long sip while they handed bottles to Donny and Marsha. Marsha opened hers, but rather than drinking, she raised her brother’s head slightly off the couch, put the bottle to his parted lips and poured a small amount into his mouth. Randy swallowed and then smacked his lips. His eyes remained closed.

“I hope he’s okay,” Marsha said.

“Here.” Levi stood up, crossed the room and knelt by him. “Allow me.”

He took Randy’s hand in his and lightly pinched the skin between the thumb and index finger. A moment later, Randy’s eyes opened. He glanced around in bewilderment and then relaxed when he saw his sister and Donny. Levi gently released his hand and then returned to his seat.

“Thirsty,” Randy rasped, licking his lips.

“Here. Don’t try to sit up.” Marsha gave him another sip of water.

“Where are we?”

“We’re at Mrs. Laudry’s bed-and-breakfast,” Marsha told him. “You passed out on the sidewalk. Do you remember? You were getting ready to tell me something about Mom and Dad.”

His expression darkened. “Oh.”

“Randy, what happened? What’s wrong?”

He sat up slowly and stared at his hands in his lap.

Marsha put her arm around him. Donny sat down next to her on the other side of the couch and took her free hand in his. When Randy looked up at her again, fresh tears brimmed in his eyes. He spoke slowly at first, halting between words. His voice was monotone. Emotionless. But then the words began to spill out of him. He shuddered and his throat worked as if what he had to say was choking him. He told them everything that had happened—the power going out, the crow on the patio that had turned into a man, the murder of his parents, the strange effect the spilled salt had on the killer, his escape with Stephanie and Sam, what they’d seen driving through town, the strange graffiti on the hanging tree, Sam and Stephanie’s death, the invisible barrier and the dead birds. When he was finished, he broke down into uncontrollable sobs, leaned forward and buried his face in his sister’s lap. She wrapped her arms around him, lay her cheek against his back and shared his grief. Donny rubbed her back and tried to comfort them both.

“That poor boy,” Myrtle whispered. “Those poor children. Randy and Marsha are good kids, and their parents were fine people. This is such a shame.”

“It’s terrible.” Esther nodded in agreement. “What do you think really happened, Levi?”

He glanced up at them, appearing distracted.

“I’m sorry?”

“Out there. What do you think really happened with Randy tonight?”

“I think it happened exactly like he told us.”

Esther flinched. “But some of the things he said, birds changing into humans and invisible force fields . . .”

“You haven’t been outside. We have. I believe the boy is telling the truth. In fact, I know he is. We’ve seen some of the same things he saw.”

Myrtle grew pale. “Is it the apocalypse? Are these demons?”

“I don’t know what they are yet. That’s what I need to figure out.”

They fell silent again and listened to Marsha and Randy weep.

***

Levi folded his fingers into a steeple, closed his eyes and concentrated. Randy’s sudden appearance outside had badly distracted him. The youth clearly had the gift, but seemed almost completely oblivious to it. In some ways, Levi envied him for that. He thought back to when he was Randy’s age—that fateful summer when everything had changed and he’d learned just what high a price magic had—and wished that he’d been oblivious, as well. Maybe if he hadn’t known, things would be different. Maybe the girl he had loved would still be alive. Maybe he’d still have a home, a real home, with people who welcomed him and a family that he could always turn to, no matter how bad things got.

He needed to focus. Growing maudlin over the past wouldn’t help their present situation. What did he know so far? Brinkley Springs had been attacked by supernatural entities with the ability to change shape. They had appeared as both a crow and human. In their human guise, they appeared clad in antiquated, Puritan-style clothing. Their speech was a curious mix: outdated colloquialisms mixed with more modern terms and slang. They had inhuman strength, speed and abilities. They were systematically slaughtering every living thing. They devoured their victims’ souls, leaving an empty husk behind, as a locust in summer leaves its desiccated shell clinging to a tree. Their victims’ bodies turned to dust shortly after death, leaving no trace save for a small pile of ash.

Levi shuddered at the thought of such a fate. To have one’s soul eaten, to lose all sense of self or being, to not travel to the levels and planes of existence beyond this one, to become the sum total of null with no chance of ever being reborn or reconstituted— that was the worst fate he could imagine. Better to end up in hell than to be completely eradicated.

What else did he know? The entities seemed impervious to various workings and magical disciplines. His binding spell had been only partially effective, serving to slow his antagonist down rather than actually binding it to his will. They’d sealed off Brinkley Springs from the outside world by means of a mystical barrier, which would have taken an enormous force of will and an incredible amount of energy to construct. It was possible that the barrier was some sort of soul cage, though Levi had never heard of one so massive in size. It was a stunning achievement. And then, finally, there was the word Randy had seen carved into the trunk of a tree—Croatoan. It was obvious from their reactions that Randy, Marsha, Donny, Esther and Myrtle hadn’t recognized the word or its significance, but Levi did. He just didn’t know how it fit into all of this.

Yet.

Croatoan. The word had several different meanings, and not all of them were related to occult lore. At best, it was a location and nothing more, but Levi was fairly certain its association with tonight’s events was something more sinister.

He opened his eyes, unfolded his fingers and cleared his throat. The others all turned to him.

“The highway leading into town . . . How many cars and trucks use it at night?”

“Not many,” Donny said. “Traffic is usually pretty light at night. Maybe one or two cars and a few tractor trailers all night long. That’s it.”

“But a few will pass through?”

“Yeah, probably. Why?”

“I’m thinking about this barrier that Randy told us about,” Levi said. “We can’t leave—can’t contact the outside world. But if an oncoming car hits it, and the driver is uninjured or able to call for help, others might become aware of our situation.”

Myrtle sat up straight. “Can we hold out until then?”

Levi shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Does that mean you have a better idea of what’s going on?”

“Perhaps,” Levi answered. “At the very least, I’m starting to connect the dots. How many of you have heard of Roanoke?”

“I’ve been there many times,” Esther said. “They have some lovely antique shops.”

Marsha nodded. “It’s not that far from here. Just over the border in Virginia.”

“I don’t mean the city of Roanoke. I’m talking about the original version—Roanoke Island. Are any of you familiar with it?”

Donny, Marsha and Randy shook their heads. Esther frowned.

“Oh.” Myrtle snapped her fingers. “That’s where all those people disappeared, back during the colonial days, right?”

“Correct. At least, partially. This Roanoke, unlike the Roanoke you were all referring to, is an island off the coast of North Carolina.”

“I know that place,” Donny said. “It sits right off of Highway 64. We passed through there on our way to the Outer Banks.”

“And if you blinked,” Levi replied, “then you probably missed it. In many ways, Roanoke is much like Brinkley Springs. It’s small—about eighteen square miles—and it’s fairly remote, even with the highway access. I’d guess less than seven thousand people live there, and many of them are probably seasonal.”

“I don’t know,” Donny said. “I seem to remember there were a lot of tourists there when we went through. Of course, it was summer and all.”

“Oh, no doubt there were tourists. Roanoke is a historical site, after all. As Myrtle said, it was a place of some importance in this country’s past. But . . . I also think it might have some significance concerning tonight’s events.”

Marsha leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“Bear with me. It’s a long story, but I’ll do my best to be brief. Near the end of the sixteenth century, the English tried several times to establish a permanent settlement on Roanoke Island. Had their attempts been successful, Roanoke would have been the first English colony in the New World. Keep in mind that this was before the American Revolution, of course, and the English had claimed the area as their own. In fact, at the time, there was no North Carolina as we know it today. Roanoke Island was simply a part of Virginia. They named it after Queen Elizabeth I, who was also called the ‘Virgin Queen.’ “

“And was she?” Donny asked.

“Who knows?” Levi shrugged, and then continued.

“Sir Richard Grenville was the first person to attempt to create a permanent settlement on the island. In 1585, at the behest of Sir Walter Raleigh, Grenville transported a group of English colonists to Roanoke Island. He left them under the guidance of a man named Ralph Lane, and then he sailed back to England for more supplies. At first, things went well, but Grenville’s return was ultimately delayed, and the settlers reportedly found themselves running out of supplies. Soon, they were in pretty dire straits. They eventually had to abandon the colony altogether and return back to England with Sir Francis Drake, who had anchored at Roanoke after attacking the Spanish colony of Saint Augustine.”

“So the settlement failed,” Marsha said.

“Indeed. But a second attempt to colonize the island was made in 1587, and many of the original settlers returned with that second group of their countrymen, determined to make a go of it. Men. Women. Children. Families. Sadly, they fared no better. They brought livestock with them, but many of the animals died in transit. They brought seeds and tools but had trouble raising enough crops to sustain themselves. The seeds withered. The tools broke. Once again, they began to run low on supplies, so a man named John White sailed for England to retrieve more. He left behind his daughter Eleanor and her daughter, Virginia, who was the first English child to be born in the New World. She was named after the queen, I would imagine. It couldn’t have been easy for White to leave his friends and family behind, let alone his granddaughter, but apparently, he only expected to be gone three months. He told his fellow colonists that if the situation grew dire, and they had to abandon the settlement for any reason while he was gone, that they should carve the name of their new destination, and mark it with a Maltese cross under the carving so that he’d be sure to notice it. That way, he’d know where to find them upon his return. And with that final instruction, he left.”

Donny tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck and shoulders. “No offense, Levi, but I don’t see how this helps us.”

“You will in a moment. Patience. White made it back to England safe and sound, but when he got there, he found his country embroiled in a war with Spain. Despite his protestations, White’s ship was confiscated by the authorities for use in the war effort. White was full of despair, and he argued for the ship’s return, but to no avail. The settlers were on their own. He didn’t make it back to the colony until 1590—three years after his departure.”

“Three years instead of three months,” Esther said. “Those poor people. They must have thanked God when he finally arrived.”

Levi shook his head. “On the contrary, as Myrtle said earlier, the settlement was empty. There was no one left to thank God. When White stepped off the boat, he found that all of the colonists had simply vanished. Their valuables and money and clothing still remained. Indeed, in many homes, rotting food sat on cobweb-covered plates, as if the inhabitants had left halfway through their meal. But there was not a single living soul to be found. None of the inhabitants remained behind. There were no bodies and no signs of foul play. It was as if they’d disappeared into thin air.”

Esther made a noise in her throat.

“Desperate to find them,” Levi continued, “White and his men searched the colony for clues to their whereabouts. Remember what White had told them before leaving—that if they had to abandon the settlement, they were to carve the name of their new destination somewhere and mark it with a Maltese cross? Well, White didn’t find any signs of a Maltese cross, but he did find two carvings. The first was the letters C-R-O, which had been etched into a tree. The second word was carved in a fencepost. That word was Croatoan—the same word Randy saw carved into a tree tonight.”

“Cro,” Marsha said. “Crow?”

“Perhaps,” Levi said, “or maybe we’re seeing connections where there are none. But it is curious, don’t you think?”

“But what’s Croatoan?” Randy asked, sitting up. “What does it mean?”

“It is a name for many different things. White knew it as the name of an island to the south of Roanoke. Today, that island is called Hatteras, but back then, it’s name was Croatoan, and it was inhabited by a friendly tribe of Native Americans. Based on this, White logically assumed that his people had decided to take shelter with the natives until his return, though his assumption didn’t account for the half-eaten meals and other signs that the colonists had left in a hurry. Convinced they were at Croatoan, White intended to go after them, but he was delayed yet again. Several hurricanes prevented him from reaching the island, and he had to return to England instead. He never made it back to the New World, and the settlement remained abandoned. It’s said that he went mad with grief and guilt.”

“So the lost colonists settled Croatoan . . . Hatteras?” Myrtle asked.

“No. White, and all of the historians, archeologists and scientists who have come along since then and assumed the same thing, were wrong. The truth is not widely known, other than to certain individuals like myself, but it’s a truth nonetheless.”

Esther frowned. “Individuals like yourself?”

“Magicians. Powwow doctors. Priests. Warlocks. Witches. Call us what you will. They are different names for the same thing. Our disciplines and methods may differ, but in the end, we’re all on the same path.”

“So, you’re not Amish?” Esther’s expression was one of disappointment.

“No, I’m not Amish. I was at one time, but not anymore.”

“I see.” Her frown deepened. “Myrtle and I discussed it, when you were upstairs in your room. I just assumed, judging by how you dress and the buggy outside, that you were either Amish or Mennonite. I would certainly never have pegged you for a . . .”

“A what? A pagan?”

“That’s a nice way of saying it.” Esther looked away. “Sounds like Devil worship to me.”

“I’m not a Satanist, Esther. I was once a part of the Amish faith, but I was forced to leave the community many years ago. What you need to understand is that the decision wasn’t mine. I still hold on to my moral upbringing. I’m not Amish or Mennonite, or Protestant or Catholic. But really, those are just labels. If you need me to explain my beliefs, I’m just trying to live my life right and do God’s work, the way that feels right to me.”

“By using witchcraft.”

“I told you before,” Myrtle said, “it’s not witchcraft. He’s using powwow.”

“Not just powwow,” Levi corrected her. “Powwow is ineffective against the things outside. The wards I placed over the door, for example, are powwow based but infused with other disciplines, as well.”

“What kind?” Myrtle’s eyes shone, and Levi cringed at the eagerness in her voice.

“I’d rather not say.”

“Powwow,” Esther said. “Witchcraft. Seems like the same thing to me.”

“Be that as it may,” Levi said, “right now, it’s the only thing keeping us alive.”

“God is keeping us alive, Mr. Stoltzfus.”

“You’re a religious woman, Esther. I’m sure you prayed tonight. Has it occurred to you that perhaps God sent me to safeguard all of you? Perhaps I am the answer to your prayer.”

“I don’t—”

“Look,” Donny interrupted. “I don’t reckon this is the time for a religious debate. Those things are still out yonder, and I for one would like to know what we’re dealing with. I don’t know shit about magic, but I do know what I saw tonight, and I do know that Levi saved our asses. I’d like to hear him out.”

“Yeah,” Marsha agreed. “Me, too. Finish the story. What happened to the colonists, and what does it have to do with tonight?”

“The settlers never went to Croatoan. In fact, they never abandoned the colony. Something else happened to them—something far worse than simply running out of supplies. I told you that Croatoan has different meanings. Among them, it is also one of the names of an entity known as Meeble.”

“Meeble . . .” Donny frowned. “I’ve heard that name before. In Iraq, I think. Can’t remember where or why, exactly.”

“It’s certainly possible,” Levi said. He was about to continue, when his attention was drawn to the window. He sensed a presence outside. He stood up, walked to the window and looked into the darkness. Seeing nothing, he returned to the chair and sat down again.

“What is it?” Esther asked. “What’s wrong? Are they out there?”

“I believe so. At least one of them was. If my theory is correct, then they’re searching for us, and they won’t leave until they’ve killed us all. But I’ve taken steps to mask our presence inside these walls. We’ll be safe. They can’t enter. Not without my permission.”

“But why do they want to kill us?” Marsha’s tone was exasperated. Panic flashed in her eyes. “I don’t understand this.”

“I don’t either,” Levi admitted. “At least, not all of it. At this point, I’m still just connecting the dots and seeing what picture they make. All I have is a theory, and that theory is tied into Croatoan, Meeble and the lost colony of Roanoke. As I said before, the settlers never abandoned the island. What White didn’t know—and couldn’t have known—was that after his departure for England, five of the colonists began dabbling with the occult. Keep in mind, they were in an already-bad situation. The crops were failing, much of their livestock was dead or sick. Things looked grim. Perhaps these five men prayed to God for help. Perhaps, when their prayers weren’t answered to their satisfaction, they turned to other means and methods. Other gods. Perhaps they prayed to someone else, all in an effort to help their fellow man.”

“How is that any different from what you and I do?” Myrtle asked.

Levi hesitated. He wanted to tell her that there was a world of difference between what he did and her crystal-gazing, pseudo-New Age nonsense, but this was neither the time or the place. Instead, he simply smiled as politely as he could and continued.

“It’s not any different, except that these men were amateurs. They didn’t understand the forces they were dealing with, nor how to bend them to their will. In the end, they didn’t even invoke the right entity. Instead of summoning a nature spirit or something helpful, they accidentally began worshipping something else, and eventually, they brought that something else into our world.”

“A demon,” Donny guessed. “Meeble.”

“It was indeed Meeble, but Meeble is not a demon. He’s something different. And here is where things might get difficult for you to believe—especially for you, Esther. All I can say is that I believe them with the utmost sincerity.”

Randy laughed. “Shit, dude. I saw what these fuckers could do with my own eyes. I’ll believe pretty much anything at this point.”

Donny and Marsha nodded. Esther scowled. Myrtle leaned forward, staring at him with rapt attention.

Levi took a deep breath and exhaled. “Much of what we think we know about the history of our planet and the development of the human race is wrong. Our history books and oral traditions are full of inaccuracies. This is especially true of our religious texts. The primary doctrines of Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Jainism, Hinduism, Shinto, Satanism, Wicca and all of the others have been tampered with and rewritten by mankind so much over the years that none of them reflect the original works. Instead, they are filled with inaccuracies and falsehoods. It takes many years of study and searching to learn the real truths. You might believe, for example, that the Bible is the inspired word of God, but it isn’t. You’ve been taught to believe that it is, but what you believe is a lie. The Bible is not God’s word. Neither is the Koran or the Torah or any of the other holy books.”

“Then whose word is it?” Esther challenged.

“They are the words of men, edited, parceled, snipped and changed countless times to reflect the will of the men in charge, rather than God’s will. If you truly want to know God’s word and seek His will, then you’ve got to look beyond the Bible, because the book we’ve been taught to call the Bible is not the complete text. Do you know how many books and scrolls and interpretations were excised over the years? Hundreds. It’s not the inspired word of God. It is composed only of the books men decided should be in it. It doesn’t give us the complete picture. For that, you have to turn to other texts. Perhaps they aren’t in the canon, but they were written at the same time and they are just as valid. Those texts give us a true understanding of God. For example, the Bible we all grew up reading tells how God created the universe, but it says nothing about the universe that existed before ours, or about the enemy that came from that other universe.”

“You mean Satan?” Myrtle asked.

Levi shook his head. “No, I mean the Thirteen. In the beginning, the entity we know as God or Yahweh or Allah, or hundreds of other names, created the heavens and the Earth. That much is in the Bible. What the Bible doesn’t tell us is that in order to create this new universe, He needed a lot of energy. So God destroyed the universe that existed before ours. He reduced it down to the very last atom and utilized the harvested energies as building blocks to create our universe. The old universe ceased to exist and ours was born. However, in addition to God, there were thirteen other denizens of that previous universe who somehow escaped the destruction. Nobody knows how. Suffice it to say, when our new universe sprang forth, they were still here, and they were enraged by what had happened. These entities are collectively known to us as the Thirteen, and they’ve been the enemies of God and all of His creations— human and otherwise—ever since. They’ve sworn to destroy anything created by God. After all, He destroyed their universe. Perhaps they merely seek revenge, or maybe they plan to build a universe of their own—a third universe, in which they are the ones in charge. Whatever the case, they are not gods or demons, though they’ve often been mistaken for such. They are not susceptible to all of the same magicks, workings and laws that govern, banish or bind demons, angels and other supernatural entities. Very specific—and dangerous—magic must be used when confronting them. That magic is known only to a few, of which I am one.”

“And this Meeble dude is one of the Thirteen,” Randy said. “Right?”

“Exactly!” Levi couldn’t hide his enthusiasm. His impressions about the boy, founded when he first saw Randy’s aura, had been correct. Despite having no teaching, or indeed, any inkling of his gifts, the boy was attuned.

Randy grinned, clearly pleased with himself despite the evening’s grim events.

“Meeble is indeed one of the Thirteen,” Levi continued. “He is not as calculating as Ob, the Obot, who commands the Siqqusim, nor is he as big as Leviathan, Lord of the Great Deep, or as powerful as He Who Shall Not Be Named, but Meeble is just as dangerous, cruel and committed to our eradication as any of them. His physical form is bestial. He appears as a hulking, white-furred cross between a cat and an ape and stands almost sixteen feet tall, according to those few who have seen him and lived to tell about their encounter. While the rest of the Thirteen seem to focus their destructive energies on a global scale, Meeble seems to delight instead on destroying humanity one town at a time. That’s what happened at Roanoke. And until tonight, I and many others like me assumed that’s what was happening in many of the cases where entire populations seemingly vanished overnight—ghost towns out west and such. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“But I thought you said Meeble was behind this?” Marsha clenched the sofa cushion tightly with both hands. “Now you’re saying he might not be?”

“Perhaps not directly. This is still all just a theory. There’s one more piece of the puzzle to put into place.” He stood up and placed his hat back on his head. “And so, I’ve got to go back out for a little while.”

“Like hell,” Donny said, jumping to his feet. “If you’re going back out there, then I’m going with you.”

Marsha reached up and grabbed Donny’s arm.

“Oh no you’re not.”

Donny pulled away. His eyes remained focused on Levi. “Seriously. You can’t face those fuckers by yourself.”

“I’m not. God is on my side.”

“You just got done telling us that God blew up an entire universe of people to make this one instead.”

“Indeed. Can you think of a more powerful ally to have standing with you?”

“Even so, I’m coming along.”

Marsha protested again, and the others all began to talk at once. Levi whistled, getting their attention.

“It’s not open for debate, Donny. I appreciate your offer. I really do. But somebody needs to stay behind and watch over the others. Randy is still weak, and—”

“I am not.” Randy swayed as he tried to stand.

“Look, I’m fine.”

Myrtle wagged a finger at Levi. “That’s a very sexist thing to say.”

“I’ll have you know,” said Esther, slowly rising to her feet, “that I knew how to shoot a rifle before I learned to read. I used to go hunting with my father all the time, Mr. Stoltzfus. That was how things used to be in these parts. I reckon I’m capable of defending myself. Myrtle and Marsha, too.”

“You people seem to think I’m making a request. I’m not. This is an order.”

“I’m not in the army anymore,” Donny said. “And I don’t take orders.”

“No?” Levi glanced at Marsha and then back to him. “Would you like to know what I think, Donny? I think you’re afraid to be left alone with Marsha. I think there’s something unsaid between the two of you, and whatever it is, it scares you to death.”

Donny opened his mouth to respond, but said nothing. He stared at Levi. The tips of his ears turned red.

“I want all of you to remain here. Remember, as long as you stay inside the house and don’t try to leave, you’ll be safe. You have my word on that.”

Before any of them could argue anymore, Levi turned and hurried into the foyer. Sensing nothing outside, he opened the door, stepped outside onto the porch and closed the door behind him. The coast was clear. He whispered a fervent prayer, reciting from memory a benediction against enemies, sickness and misfortune that his father had taught him long ago.

“The blessing that came from Heaven, from God the Father, when the true living Son was born, be with me at all times. The holy cross of God, on which He suffered His bitter torments, bless me today and forever. The three holy nails which were driven through the holy hands and feet of Jesus Christ, bless me today and forever. The spear by which His holy side was pierced and opened, protect me now, today and forever. May the blood of Christ and the Holy Spirit protect me from my enemies, and from everything which might be injurious to my body and my soul. Bless me, oh you five holy wounds, in order that all my enemies may be driven before me and bound and banished. All those who hate you must be silent before me, and they may not inflict the least injury upon me, or my house or my premises. And likewise, all those who intend attacking and wounding me either spiritually or physically shall be defenseless, weak and conquered. The cross of Christ be with me. The cross of Christ overcomes all water and every fire. The cross of Christ overcomes all weapons. The cross of Christ is a perfect sign and blessing to my soul. Now I pray that the holy corpse of Christ bless me against all evil things, words, and works.”

When he was finished, Levi made the sign of the cross four times, to the north, south, east and west.

“Guide my hand. Your will be done, as always.”

He took a deep breath and stepped off the porch.

He felt naked and exposed. The prayer was the last of his powwow. From this point on, to defeat his enemy, he’d have to rely on methods and benedictions that were far older and far less holy than the one he’d just used.

***

Marsha slowly unclenched her fist and let go of Donny’s arm. He winced. She glanced up and gasped. She hadn’t realized it until just now, but her fingernails had dug into his skin, leaving angry red marks.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay.”

The group stared at each other in silence for a moment.

Then Myrtle tiptoed over to the window and cautiously looked outside.

“Is he gone?” Esther asked.

“I think so,” she whispered. “I don’t see him, at least.”

“Well, good riddance then.”

Myrtle let the blinds fall closed and spun around.

“Esther! There’s no call for that. He’s your boarder.”

“And he can leave here come sunup. I won’t have him under my roof another night.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Marsha bristled at this. “He’s fighting for you. For all of us. How can you say that about him?”

“Because he’s not doing this for us. You get to be as old as me, Marsha, and you’ll see. I know how people are. I see through them. That man may think he’s fighting for us, but if you really look at him, you’ll see he’s fighting for himself—and the way he’s doing it is simply un-Christian. I won’t have it here. Better to end up dead than in concert with the Devil. I know that you’ve been through a lot tonight, but trust me. Levi would sacrifice every single one of us if it meant defeating the enemy. I can see it in him.”

“Listen to you,” Myrtle said. “Do you hear yourself? This is a far cry from what you were saying about him earlier.”

“Earlier, I didn’t know. He’s not what he seems.”

Myrtle shook her head. “But he was praying, right before he left. I heard him whispering a prayer to God—the same God you believe in.”

“Not my God.”

“Fuck this shit.” Donny started for the foyer. “I don’t need to hear this crap.”

“What are you doing?” Marsha grabbed for him again, not caring if she hurt him or not, but Donny shrugged her off. When he responded, he didn’t look at her.

“I’m going with him. Somebody needs to watch his back.”

Marsha put her hands to her face and stared at him, the realization sinking in.

“He was right, wasn’t he? Levi was right. You’re afraid to be left here with me.”

Without a word, Donny strode toward the foyer. Seconds later, they heard the door open and close.

“It doesn’t matter,” Randy said. His tone was sullen. “None of us are gonna escape anyway. Nobody ever gets out of this town. Not before, and especially not now.”

With Donny’s silent departure confirming her question, Marsha collapsed onto the couch and put her arm around Randy. They comforted one another as best they could and waited to see who would return— Levi, Donny . . . or the crows.

NINE

The darkness deepened. The moonlight dimmed. Thick, sluggish clouds crawled across the sky, blocking the feeble stars. Gone were the gunshots and screams. Gone, too, were people fleeing down the streets or across yards and vacant fields. All across Brinkley Springs, the dwindling number of survivors huddled in their homes and basements, tool sheds and root cellars, storefronts and barns, cars and trucks, praying for help and waiting for the inevitable.

And one by one, the inevitable found them. The shadows arrived . . . hungry.

Stu Roseman was pulled, kicking and screaming, from beneath his queen-size bed before being disemboweled. Mara Dobbs was yanked from her closet, where she’d hidden beneath a pile of blankets and towels, and was then drowned in her own toilet. Don and Jamie Mahan cowered inside their Ford Explorer, desperately trying every few minutes to start the unresponsive vehicle until both it and them were torn apart. Jerrod Hintz and Scott Balzer were discovered hiding in the butcher shop’s walk-in freezer and were clubbed to death with half-frozen slabs of meat. Candy Winters ended up with her head sticking out of her vagina. Toby Paulson was suffocated with his own severed penis. Bob Parker was strangled with his own intestines. Rocky Quesada and Joy Oliva had their heads repeatedly bashed together until both were nothing but paste. Aaron Milano was impaled on a flagpole. His two cats were impaled above him. Jeremy Garner, Peggy Stanfield and Michelle Broadhurst were discovered cowering in a far, dark corner of Herb Swafford’s hayloft. They were stabbed, cut, chopped and impaled by a variety of Herb’s farm tools—pitchforks, axes, shovels and rakes. Herb’s head and entrails lay in the mud outside the barn. His pigs would probably have eaten the scraps if the pigs hadn’t been killed, too. So were his cows, sheep and one lone horse.

No matter where they hid, no one was missed. No matter how desperately they tried to escape or how valiantly they fought to save their lives, the end result was the same. Everyone had their turn. Everyone died. The shadows were as methodical and precise as they were ravenous and cruel. Human candles were snuffed in the night, never to shine again, and after their souls were devoured, the shadows moved on, leaving corpses in their wake.

A small few died of natural causes. Keith David, Rebecca Copeland and Bobbi Russo all died of heart attacks brought on by fear and stress. Tim Draper and Perry Wayne suffered massive strokes that left them paralyzed and unconscious, and ultimately breathless. Don Hammerton tripped while running down the street and cracked his head open on the curb. Robin Clark suffered a seizure, bit through her tongue and bled to death. In each of their cases, their souls drifted slowly upward, flaring brightly but briefly as they were absorbed by the invisible barrier.

Regardless of how they had died—murder or something more natural—the corpses didn’t last long. There was no slow progression of decay and decomposition. Shortly after their death, the people of Brinkley Springs returned to the ashes and dust from which they had originally sprung.

And then, eventually, even the dust disappeared.

***

Donny stood beneath the tree in Esther’s front yard and looked both ways down the dark street, trying to figure out which direction Levi had gone in. Nothing moved. Even the wind had stopped. He listened for footsteps, or any other sound that would give away Levi’s presence, but there was nothing. The silence made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He’d been scared and nervous many times in Iraq. Hell, he’d been scared every day. But those fears were nothing like what he felt tonight.

And not all of it had to do with what was happening in the town.

He glanced back at the bed-and-breakfast, hoping to see Marsha peeking out the window at him, but the curtains remained closed. His heart sank, but what had he expected? He wished he could tell her how he felt, wished desperately that he could find the words to explain his revulsion from Brinkley Springs and his steadfast refusal to linger here any longer than he had to—even if it meant never seeing her again. But every time he tried to tell her, all it did was lead to miscommunications and further hurt feelings. It would be better for her if he just left again. She was stronger now. It wouldn’t affect her the way it had the last time he’d left. She’d get through it. She was older now, and she had Randy and her—

Well, she didn’t have her parents anymore, did she? After tonight, she didn’t have anybody left at all, other than her little brother . . . and him.

Something twisted in Donny’s gut. He felt a hot flush of anger and resentment that his decision to leave had now been made even more difficult. How could he abandon her now, in the aftermath of all this? He hated himself for feeling that way and would never have admitted it out loud to anyone, but the emotions were there all the same. What the hell was wrong with him? Had the last few years fucked him that goddamned bad? Was he so self-fucking centered that when his ex-girlfriend’s parents were murdered, the only thing he could think of was how inconvenient it was for him?

Ashamed, he had a sudden urge to run back inside, take Marsha in his arms and apologize to her.

What was he doing out here, anyway?

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Donny gasped but did not scream. He was too startled to scream. He spun around quickly, pulling his arms in tight over his midsection and kicked out with his foot. The blow swept by Levi but didn’t faze him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, dude! You scared the shit out of me. Don’t you know not to sneak up on someone like that?”

“Language. I don’t mind cursing, but neither do I appreciate you taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Sorry. You just really spooked me.” Donny straightened to his full height again. “So, what . . . ? You can read minds, too? How did you do that?”

“I have my ways.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have crept up like that. I mean, damn . . . I could have killed you just now,

Levi.”

“No, you couldn’t have.”

“You sure are a cocky bastard, Levi.”

“I’m not cocky. I’m confident. Arrogance is a sin. Being prepared isn’t. Now what are you doing out here? I told you to stay inside the house.”

Donny grinned. “And I told you I don’t take orders anymore.”

Levi stepped closer, until his forehead was only inches from Donny’s chin. As he stared up into the younger man’s eyes, Donny saw the anger in his expression—and something else, too. Fear. Levi was afraid, he realized, and that only increased Donny’s own uneasiness.

“Do you think this is a game? This isn’t some comic book or movie fantasy, where we defeat the bad guys with no consequences during the battle. I meant what I said, Donny. I can’t protect you out here. I need you to go back inside, for my own sake as well as yours.”

“I can handle myself, Levi. Trust me on that.”

“I know you can. I have no doubts about your abilities, and I’m sure you’d be good to have at my side in a tough situation, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what are you talking about? What do you mean when you say for your sake as well as mine?”

Levi’s voice softened. “I . . . I have enough blood on my hands. Enough ghosts following me around. I don’t need to add any more.”

“Me either, Levi. You think I don’t know about guilt? You think I don’t know what it’s like to kill somebody—I mean, what it’s really like? That feeling you get in your stomach. The way it follows you through the day. Or how it feels to lose a friend—to watch them die right in fucking front of you— while you go on living? I reckon I know how that feels better than you think.”

Levi stared at him for a moment. His expression changed, and for a moment, Donny thought the older man was going to cry. But then his features smoothed out again.

“Okay,” Levi said. “I’m still not sure I understand your motivations, especially when you have a fine woman waiting inside who clearly loves you. In truth, though, I appreciate the company. It’s not often somebody walks this road with me. But understand me, Donny. Your fate rests squarely on your shoulders. I can’t protect you beyond the house. I can mask our presence somewhat, so that we can move about unmolested. But we’re not going to be evading them for long. I need to confront them. That’s the only way I’ll get the information I need to stop this.”

“Well, let’s get to it, then. We can go find them or we can stand around here talking all night long. Which is it going to be?”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of course I’m afraid, Levi. I’m fucking terrified. And so are you. I can see it on your face. But if you think you’ve got a way to stop these . . . whatever they are, and I can help you do it, then I say we do it already.”

Levi nodded. “Let’s go. I have to find something first.”

Donny followed him across the street, resisting the urge to glance behind them and see if Marsha was watching. A part of him hoped that she wasn’t, but an even bigger part of him would have been disappointed if he turned and didn’t see her. He hesitated, his steps faltering. His legs felt heavy.

“Do you happen to know which—?” Levi paused, noticing Donny’s discomfort. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“No,” Donny insisted. “I’m fine. What were you doing out here, anyway? Myrtle looked outside right after you left, and said she didn’t see you. We thought you’d gone.”

“I was, but then I remembered that I had to do some shopping first.”

Donny frowned. “Shopping?”

“Yes, in a way. I was trying to figure out which one of these homes belonged to Myrtle. I’m certain that, given her proclivities, she probably has what I need.”

“Proclivities? You mean all that New Age stuff?”

“Yes.”

“So why not just knock on the door and ask her?” Levi shrugged. “At the time, I was worried that if I returned, I’d have to argue with you about not coming with me again. But now that you’re here anyway . . .”

Donny pointed across the street. “That’s her house, over there.”

“You don’t want to go back to Esther’s either.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“It is to me,” Levi said as they crossed the street.

“And to Marsha, I would assume. And to anyone else who has eyes and has ever been in love.”

Donny’s ears began to burn. His skin felt flushed. “I don’t mean to pry,” Levi continued, “but it’s clear to me that you love her as much as she loves you. What’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to hurt her anymore.”

“You hurt her once? Infidelity?”

“No, nothing like that. I’d never do that to Marsha. It’s just . . . it’s complicated. I don’t like it here. I never have. This town . . . it weighs on you. It eats away at people. You know what I mean? It just never felt like home to me.”

“So you ran away?”

“Yeah, I reckon so—if you call joining the army and going to Iraq running away.”

“And did you find what you were looking for overseas? Did war feel like home?”

“No. It felt like hell.”

“So you returned.”

“Not by choice. Believe me, this was the last place I wanted to come back to. But my mom got sick. Cancer.”

“Where is she now?”

Donny sighed. “She passed. I stayed long enough to take care of her estate. Put the house on the market. Made sure the funeral director was paid. I was leaving tonight, in fact. A few minutes earlier and I wouldn’t have been here when all this started. I’d have been on the road and miles away.”

“Where were you going?” Levi asked as they approached Myrtle’s front door.

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead, to be honest. Anywhere, I suppose. Anywhere that felt right, you know? Some place where I could find myself.”

“Well, you’re here now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You telling me this is all fate?”

Levi shrugged. “Fate. God’s will. Call it what you want. Some people think the universe is chaotic—that there’s no rhyme or reason to why things happen. I think they’re wrong. There’s a specific order to things. We don’t always like how things turn out, but they turn out that way for a reason. You were going out to find yourself, but maybe your self was here all along.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m still not sure I understand your hesitation to get involved with Marsha, though.”

“The first time I left, Marsha got so depressed that she dropped out of college and tried to kill herself. That’s my fault, you know? I don’t want to let her in, because I’m gonna leave again and I don’t want to put her through that once more.”

“I see. That’s a heavy burden for a young man like yourself.”

“You’re telling me.”

Levi fell silent and cocked his head, as if listening. “You hear something?” Donny whispered after a moment.

“No, I was just making sure the coast was clear, and it is. Let’s go inside.”

“I reckon the door is locked. Brinkley Springs may be a small town, but folks still tend to lock their doors when they leave.”

“That’s okay. I have a key.”

“Myrtle gave you her keys?”

Levi shook his head. Then he grasped the doorknob with his right hand and closed his eyes. As Donny watched, he took a deep breath, held it for ten seconds or so, and then exhaled. Levi opened his eyes as the latch clicked. He turned the knob and the door swung open.

“How the hell did you do that?”

Levi winked. “How do you think? Come on.”

They went inside, Levi first, with Donny following close behind him. Myrtle’s house was a dusty, spider webbed monument to clutter. Every inch of available shelf space or tabletop was piled high with a bewildering array of items—stacks of magazines and paperback books, vials of scented oil, votive candles, potpourri, incense burners, crystals, beads, pewter fantasy figurines, tarot cards, ceramic unicorns and dolphins, assorted knickknacks and more. One bookshelf was stuffed with Myrtle’s self-published books, and next to the shelf were six open cardboard boxes filled with more. A large angel figurine perched precariously atop the television. Donny didn’t like it. Rather than being comforting, the angel seemed somehow sinister, as if it were watching them reproachfully. The air in the house was thick with the competing smells of various incense that made him half-nauseous.

“Crap,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Levi said, eyeing a shard of quartz that was lying on the coffee table. “A lot of it is. Most of it, in fact. But hopefully she has a few things here that are worthwhile.”

“So what are we looking for, anyway?”

“Two things. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and find us some salt. Doesn’t matter what kind. Table salt. Sea salt. Iodized salt. They’re all fine. Get all the salt she has—as much as you can carry.”

“Salt?” If not for the seriousness of their situation, Donny might have thought that Levi was fucking with him. “What do we need salt for?”

“It’s a weapon. You heard what Randy said. The thing that killed his parents had an aversion to salt.

Many supernatural entities do, at least when they’re in corporeal form. Salt is always a good magical failsafe.”

“And here I just thought it made food taste better.”

“It does that, too. Now, go on. I’ll poke around in here and see if I can’t find us some sage.”

“Sage?”

“Yes. I have a small quantity with me, here in my vest pocket. But we’ll need a lot more.”

“Personally, I’d be more comfortable with an M16.”

“But we already know such a weapon would be useless against our foe. Salt and sage are what we need.”

“If you say so.”

Levi nodded, his attention focused on the clutter. Shaking his head, Donny went into the kitchen and poked around in the dark. He found a salt shaker on the table and slipped it into his pocket. Then he opened the pantry door and found a large canister of salt on the top shelf. When he returned to the living room, Levi wasn’t there.

“Levi?”

“I’m upstairs,” he called. His voice was faint. “I’ll be down in a second.”

Donny waited. He sat the salt canister down on the table and flipped through a towering stack of magazines that leaned against the wall in one corner of the room. The titles were ones he’d never heard of before—Fate, the Fortean Times, Angels, the Coming Changes, Conscious Creation, Lightworker Monthly and others. Levi bustled around above him. Donny heard footsteps creak across the ceiling, followed by the sound of a drawer opening. He picked up an issue of the Fortean Times and flipped through it. There was a lengthy feature article about mermaids, including a report of a supposed mermaid sighting off the coast of Haifa, Israel the previous year. Most of the other articles seemed to be culled or clipped from various newspapers and magazines from around the world. All of them focused on the odd or paranormal— ghosts in London’s Highgate Cemetery, a man in Beijing falling seventeen stories and living, sightings of everything from Bigfoot to panthers in Manhattan, a rain of fish in a small French town, a Vietnamese man who had grown horns from his head and more. Each story was stranger than the previous, and all of them were supposedly true. Although Donny had never heard of the magazine, he certainly recognized some of the credited sources for the reports— the Associated Press, the Times of London, the Washington Post and others.

Donny suddenly felt lightheaded. The room began to spin. His pulse throbbed in his ears. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. It was all so bizarre. Most of the time, he felt like a young old man. He’d seen things—done things—that the rest of his former friends in Brinkley Springs would never do or understand, but even after seeing as much of the world as he had, he was faced now with the realization that he knew nothing and had seen nothing. There was an entire other world that existed in the shadows of the real world, a world populated by people like Levi and creatures like the ones outside. Skimming the articles in the magazine had just made the realization more concrete.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, breathless. “Jesus fucking Christ . . .”

He heard footsteps on the stairs. Donny composed himself. Seconds later, Levi appeared, carrying a small bundle of what looked like dried-up hay. He waved it as he approached.

“I found some. I just knew she’d have some on hand. Even an amateur knows about the properties of sage. Now we’re ready.” His gaze darted down to the magazine still in Donny’s hands. “Oh, the Fortean Times. That’s one of my favorite magazines.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. I read it every month.”

“I should have figured you would.”

Levi feigned offense. “I’ll have you know that I also read everything from National Geographic to Soldier of Fortune.”

“How about Penthouse?”

“Only for the articles.” Grinning, Levi pointed to the magazine in Donny’s hand. “That’s an old issue. If I remember correctly, there’s an interesting article about Namibian bloodsuckers in it. Very thought provoking, since the classic chupacabra legends originated in South America.”

“I don’t know about that.” Donny’s mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. “I didn’t read anything about bloodsuckers. I saw a big piece on mermaids.”

“Ah, mermaids.” Levi nodded. “Leviathan’s handmaidens. Beautiful and utterly evil. They’re vampiric, as well, though not in a sense that you’d probably understand. Nasty creatures, to be sure, but not nearly as bad as what we’re facing tonight.”

“Are . . . are the crows vampires?”

Levi frowned. “No, I don’t believe so. They’ve given no indication of such. Something similar to vampires, perhaps, given that they seem to feed on the souls of living things, but I’m not sure yet.”

Donny didn’t respond. With one trembling hand, he put the magazine back on top of the pile.

“What’s wrong?” Levi asked. “You’re sweating.”

“Levi . . . how long have you been involved in this?”

“In what?”

“This.” Donny made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “All of this fucked-up occult stuff.”

Levi lowered his head and stared at the floor. When he looked up again, his voice was softer and his air of self-assuredness was gone. He looked and sounded tired.

“All of my life. I was born into this. My father, Amos, practiced powwow, as did his father before him.”

“So, your dad taught you how to do these things?” Levi shrugged. “Some of them. He certainly taught me powwow, but his lessons—and tolerance— stopped there. He didn’t approve of the other methods I learned. He didn’t see that they were essential for battling the very things we were supposed to be taking a stand against.”

“He wanted you to grow up to be just like him.”

“In a sense. Although, to be honest, I think my father would have been happiest had I grown up to be just another farmer like my brother. I couldn’t, of course. Magic would have found me whether I’d been taught or not. The same can be said of Marsha’s brother.”

“Randy? Is that why you were acting so weird about him? But Randy’s not magic. Trust me, I’ve known that kid since he was little. He’s just a yo-boy. There’s nothing magic about him, unless you count how he can keep his pants from falling all the way down when he walks.”

“I’m not sure what a yo-boy is,” Levi said, “but trust me when I tell you that Randy has the gift. He was born with the abilities. They’ve just never been awoken in him. Probably because there’s been no one in his life who recognized his talent. I would guess that he’s had moments of luck—like tonight, when the vehicles started after he touched them. Little bits of synchronicity such as those are very much part of what we do. The trick is to recognize them when they happen and harness or control them, bending them to your will. Had he been properly taught, he’d be formidable against our foes.”

“Is that what you’re going to do? Train him?”

“No!”

Levi said it so strongly that Donny took a step backward. At first, he was afraid that he’d somehow offended Levi. The older man stood stiffly, his expression serious and grave.

“No,” Levi said again, softer this time. “I’m sorry. That came out sounding harsher than I meant. But no, I won’t teach Randy. I won’t teach anyone.”

“Why not?”

Levi paused. At first, Donny didn’t think he was going to answer the question. He stuffed the sage in his pocket and glanced around the room. Then he looked back up at Donny.

“When I wanted to learn about other disciplines— other workings—my father balked, so I went elsewhere. In my former faith, young people are given a year to explore the outside world and determine if they really want to commit to the Amish way of life. I used my year to learn. I went outside of our community on a pilgrimage of sorts and sought out the training of others. I was young and arrogant and brash, and so certain that I was better than my father or anyone else.”

“You said earlier that arrogance is a sin.”

“And it is,” Levi said. “I was sinful. I didn’t see it that way at the time, though. I was so righteous in my desire to be one of God’s chosen warriors, using the enemy’s own tricks against them. And I was right. Powwow wouldn’t have been effective against some of the foes the Lord has led me to face over the years. I’ve had to use other methods. My father thought that me learning those methods was a blasphemy against God, but I disagreed. I learned those methods to further God’s will. Eventually, my insistence led to my downfall. I was cast out of my community, disowned by my family and forced to leave the only home I’d ever known. Sent out to live among the English—our term for the outside world. I was just about Randy’s age when this happened.”

“When what happened? They disowned you just for learning magic?”

“No. At least, not just for that. Something else happened.”

“What was it?”

Levi didn’t respond.

“Levi, why did they kick you out?”

“There was a girl. Her name was Rebecca. I . . .”

“Yeah?”

“I loved her. I’d known her all my life. We grew up together, much like you and Marsha. She was . . . impacted . . . by something I did. Something decidedly darker than powwow. Something I’d accidentally unleashed. And when I tried to undo what had happened, Rebecca . . . she . . .”

“Go on,” Donny urged. “I’m listening.”

“Never mind. We don’t have time for this now.”

Levi strode toward the door. His expression was grim and purposeful. Donny reached for him as he passed by, but Levi shrugged him off. He reached the door, paused, tilted his head and then opened the door. He hurried outside. Donny rushed after him.

“Hey.” He grabbed Levi’s elbow. “Listen, man. I’m sorry if I pissed you off back there.”

Levi smiled sadly. “You didn’t. It’s just been a very long time since I’ve had to talk about it—Rebecca and everything else. Doing so feels like ripping a scab off before the wound has healed. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does. Believe me, I know the feeling. And for what it’s worth, Levi, I’m sorry you lost your home.”

Levi patted his hand. “Well, let’s just make sure we save yours. I know you said that you don’t think of Brinkley Springs as your home, but ask yourself this: If this isn’t home, then why are you fighting for it? If you’re not fighting for the town, then who are you fighting for? Are you doing this for Marsha? If so, then perhaps she is your home?”

Donny opened his mouth to respond, but Levi silenced him with a finger.

“No,” he said. “Don’t answer me. Just think about it. It’s like the old saying goes—home is where the heart is. What you need to ask yourself, Donny, is where does your heart lie?”

***

Once Greg, his brother and Paul were safe in Axel’s cellar, they’d recounted everything they knew, sparing Jean’s son the gorier details. After that, they’d grown quiet. Greg kept expecting Paul to urge them back outside again, but he seemed to have abandoned his insistence that they go for help, opting instead to just stay where they were. So they did. Bobby huddled in his mother’s lap. Jean kept one arm wrapped protectively around her son. Axel hummed a tuneless version of “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” Gus just stared straight ahead at the wall. Paul breathed heavy through his nose, and at one point, Greg thought the mountain man had fallen asleep.

Eventually, Greg broke the silence by saying, “I reckon the Mountaineers are going to have a good season this year. Might go all the way.”

He paused, waiting for a response, but Gus, Paul, Axel, Jean and Bobby only stared at him. He couldn’t really see them all that well in the darkness because Paul had made Axel blow out the candles after their arrival. But Greg didn’t need to see them to know that they were staring at him. He could feel their eyes upon him. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling foolish.

“Well, that’s what I think, at least. They got a fella from New Jersey. A good Christian boy. Come out of the ghetto in Newark and has one hell of an arm on him. Studying to be a horticulturist or some such thing.”

Gus stirred. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me? I’m just talking college football. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“How can you be talking sports at a time like this? How in the world would you think that’s appropriate, Greg?”

Greg shrugged and propped his feet up on the kerosene heater. Axel had told them that the unit wasn’t working, so Greg wasn’t worried about burning his shoes.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It was just so quiet. We’re all sitting here and ain’t none of us talking. I just thought some conversation might lift our spirits.”

“He’s right,” Paul murmured.

“You want to talk sports?” Gus sounded incredulous.

“No, I don’t mean that. I couldn’t care less about football right now. But Greg is right about it being quiet. There hasn’t been a sound from outside in quite a while.”

“Do you think it’s over with?” Jean asked. “Could they be gone?”

“Maybe,” Gus said, “but I ain’t sticking my head out there to see.”

“One of us should,” Axel replied. “It doesn’t make much sense for us to be sitting down here freezing our butts off in the dark if the danger is over with. At the very least, we’ve got to alert the authorities like you boys had originally planned.”

“Still do plan on it,” Paul said. “Soon as we get out of here.”

“You didn’t seem in a hurry to leave,” Greg pointed out.

“Neither did you,” Paul snapped. “And besides, I figured we could use a rest.”

“Well . . .” Greg sighed. “We got one. And our situation ain’t changed none while we were sitting here on our asses. I reckon Axel is right. We should go check.”

“You go right ahead,” Gus said. “I’m staying down here.”

Paul stood up. “We’ll all go. That’s the safest way.” Jean hugged her son tighter. “Bobby’s not going anywhere until we know for sure it’s safe.”

The men glanced down at her and then back to Paul.

“She’s right,” Greg said. “Don’t seem right to send the boy outside with us.”

“No,” Paul agreed. “I don’t guess it does. Jean and Bobby, you stay here. We’ll let you know if the coast is clear.”

Gus and Greg got to their feet. Groaning, Axel did the same. He put his hands on his hips and arched his back. His joints popped loudly.

“Damn arthritis,” he muttered. “Sitting around in this damp basement hasn’t improved it at all.”

Bobby reached for Axel. “Mr. Perry, I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay here with me and Mommy.”

Greg noticed the emotion on the old man’s face as he turned to look at the boy. Axel looked happy and sad all at the same time. He shuffled over to where Jean and Bobby sat and handed the boy his gnarled old walking stick.

“Here.” Axel handed the boy the cane. “You take this. You remember what I told you about it, right?”

Bobby nodded emphatically. “Yes, sir. You said it was magic because it came from Mrs. Chickenbaum.”

Axel laughed. “That’s right. Mrs. Chickbaum. Now, we’ll only be gone for a minute. We’re just gonna creep upstairs and have a look-see—make sure all of the bad men are gone. While we do that, you just hold onto this old stick. It will keep you and your mother safe. Okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Axel patted his shoulder and then turned toward them. “All right, let’s go see what’s what.”

The four of them hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, each one waiting for someone else to go first.

“Age before beauty,” Greg said to Axel and Paul as he made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “You two were the ones who wanted to go.”

Grumbling to himself, Paul started slowly up the stairs. Gus followed him. Greg and Axel stared at each other.

“Go ahead,” Axel said. “I insist. I’m old and I’ll only slow you down.”

Greg followed along behind his brother. He heard Axel creeping along behind him. The wooden stairs creaked beneath their feet and the handrail shook slightly. Greg worried that the stairs might collapse under their combined weight. After all, the house was nearly as old as Axel was. There was no telling how much damage time and insects had done over the years. That would be a hell of a way to go— surviving the massacre outside only to break their backs in Axel Perry’s basement.

When they reached the top, Paul opened the door. They turned around and glanced back down the stairs. Jean and Bobby stood at the bottom, staring up at them from the darkness. Greg raised his hand and waved.

“You guys be careful,” Jean called. “And please hurry back?”

“We will,” Axel said. “And Bobby, you just hold on to that walking stick. Okay?”

“Okay, Mr. Perry.”

“We’ll be right back. I promise.”

As they crept through Axel’s house, Greg turned to the old man.

“You shouldn’t tell the boy that old stick is magic.”

“Why not? It makes him feel better—safer. Where’s the harm in that?”

Greg shrugged. “I guess.”

“And besides,” Axel continued, “how do you know it’s not magic?”

Greg shook his head. “Crazy old man.”

“I’m not the one who thinks the NOW controls the world.”

“It’s NWO, not NOW. How many times do I have to tell you people that before you’ll listen?”

Paul and Gus crossed to the windows and peeked outside.

“See anything?” Greg asked.

“Nothing,” Paul said. “Even the bodies are gone now. It’s like nothing happened.”

“Well, that’s the worst part, isn’t it?” Gus turned away from the window. “Not really knowing what’s happening? I mean, if this was a tornado or a blizzard or a flood, we’d know what to do. We’d know how to protect ourselves. But after everything that’s happened tonight, we still don’t have the faintest fucking clue what we’re dealing with here.”

Greg walked to the front room. The others followed him. When he began unlocking the front door, his brother stopped him.

“You sure about this?”

“Sure I’m sure,” Greg replied. “You and Paul looked through the windows and didn’t see anything, and it’s quiet now. I reckon that whatever happened, the worst is over now.”

The locks clicked open. Greg turned the doorknob and opened the door—

—and something tall and black and foul-smelling grabbed his face and yanked him outside. Smothered, Greg was unable to scream.

The others did it for him.

***

“So,” Donny asked as they walked along, “if you’re not Amish anymore, then what’s up with the clothes and the beard and the hat? Couldn’t you dress a little more . . . I don’t know, modern? Stylish?”

Levi sighed and tried to conceal his annoyance. He’d been asked questions like this hundreds of times, and his answers always remained the same.

“I’m single,” he said. “I thought that women might be attracted to the beard. All of the magazines and talk shows say that beards are back in style now. And as for the hat, I wear it for the same reasons anybody else wears one—to keep the sun out of my eyes and the rain off my head. And to hide my bald spot.”

“Shit, Levi. Just get hair plugs.”

“Haven’t you ever read the story of Samson? Mess with a man’s hair and you take away his power.”

Donny chuckled nervously. Levi could tell that the younger man wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, and that was fine by him. In truth, Levi privately wished that Donny would stay quiet. Even though they were currently shielded from the enemy, there could be other dangers around, and there was no sense in advertising their presence. Plus, he needed to think and he could do that better if Donny was silent.

“What about the buggy? Why do you drive a buggy if you’re not Amish?”

“Have you seen the price of gas lately?”

“Good point.”

Finally, Donny stopped talking. Gritting his teeth, Levi tried to focus. He sensed the soul cage overhead, just as Randy had said it was. The boy hadn’t known its true name or purpose, of course. He’d thought it was merely a prison to keep them from leaving the town. In truth, it was a construct of great willpower and malice, a mystical barrier designed to capture the souls of all living things that came into direct contact with it. Judging by the amount of energy it was giving off, the cage had captured many souls indeed. Levi wondered if he could dispel it before the soul cage’s creators had a chance to feed off its contents, but then decided against doing so. Better to save his strength for the main task, rather than wasting it on the cage. If he was successful, the souls trapped in the cage would be free. He only wished it wasn’t too late for those the entities had already fed on directly.

The corpses that had filled the streets earlier were missing now. A few small piles of dust remained behind, but most of these had vanished, as well, eradicated by the cool, swift breeze. Levi slowed their pace as they passed by the hanging tree that Randy had mentioned. The carving was still there, stark against the bark: CROATOAN.

How was it connected to what was happening here? The methods and goal—eradicating every living thing in an entire town—were those of Meeble, but their adversaries obviously weren’t him. What did it all mean? Levi couldn’t help but picture their dilemma as a puzzle spread out on a tabletop. In the center of the puzzle was a hole, and until he found that missing piece, the full picture wouldn’t be revealed. Somehow, the entities stalking Brinkley Springs were connected to Meeble and the Thirteen. The question was, how?

His thoughts turned to revenants and shades. Could the black figures be one of those? Shades were spirits, the shadowy ghost of a dead person. The term stemmed from several sources, including Homer’s Odyssey and Dante’s Divine Comedy. In Greek mythology, the dead lived in the perpetual shadow of the underworld. The Hebrew version of the shade—the tsalmaveth—translated as death-shadow. While the entities certainly had shade like attributes, he didn’t think that was what they were. Likewise, they didn’t seem to fit the definition of a revenant. But then again, many of those definitions were faulty. The term had been assigned to creatures that were not revenants, but Siqqusim, a race of beings able to inhabit the bodies of the dead. In Akkadian literature, when Ishtar and Ereshkigal threatened to “raise up the dead to eat the living and make the dead outnumber the living,” they were referring to casting Siqqusim into corpses. They were zombies, rather than revenants, but it was a distinction that was lost on both.

Medieval revenants were more similar to what he faced now. Levi considered the Anglo-Norman legends and folklore of that time—the documented accounts of William of Newburgh, the chronicler Walter Map, the Abbot of Burton and the bishop Gilbert Foliot, and the later writings of Augustus Montague Summers. Though the accounts varied, all had agreed that revenants who returned from the dead were wicked and evil while alive, and that the only way to destroy one was through exhumation, followed by decapitation and the removal and subsequent immolation of its heart.

Was it possible that his foes were some new form of revenant, a type thus far unknown to occultists? If so, how was he supposed to defeat them?

He was still thinking about it when they heard the screams. Without a word, Levi and Donny ran toward the sound. Their footsteps pounded on the asphalt, punctuating the cries. They rounded a corner, emerged onto another street and found a house under siege.

“That’s Axel Perry’s place,” Donny said.

The five dark figures had surrounded the home.

Two of them were in the front yard. One had just torn the face off an unfortunate victim. The man’s body lay jittering and twitching on the wet grass. Three other men stood on the front porch, watching in terror. Levi recognized one of them as one of the two owners of the local garage.

“Oh, shit,” Donny moaned. “I think that’s Greg Pheasant lying on the ground. But what’s wrong with him? He doesn’t look right.”

Levi reached into his pocket and pulled out his copy of The Long Lost Friend. He kissed it and then handed the book to Donny.

“Here. I’m about to drop our concealment. Keep this on you and don’t let it go. And Donny, for God’s sake as well as our own, stay here and do exactly what I tell you.”

“What are you going to do?”

Levi gritted his teeth. “I’m going to pick a fight.”

Without another word, he inched toward the house.

The injured man was still twitching, but his movements had slowed. As Levi crept closer, the man’s killer leaned over and thrust a hand into his back. He could hear the flesh rip from where he stood. The killer fished around inside the body and then wrenched the spine free, snapping it off at the base of the skull and then holding it in one hand like a dead snake. The man’s movements abruptly ceased.

The man in black held the grisly trophy high over his head. “Now we’ll feed on the rest of you.”

“No,” Levi said, stepping forward. “You won’t.”

TEN

The shadowy figures turned toward the sound of his voice. When they saw the source of the interruption, they shrieked. Levi imagined that the sound was probably like what one would hear if standing beneath a jet engine. Donny dropped Levi’s copy of The Long Lost Friend, slapped his hands over his ears and shouted something, but Levi couldn’t understand him. The words were lost beneath the cacophony.

Levi tried his best to ignore the noise and focus.

Levi’s heart beat once. Twice.

Then, still shrieking, three of the creatures swept forward in human form. The other two shape shifted into crows and soared toward him. Levi stood with his feet spaced at shoulder width and his hands in his pockets. His demeanor was grim but calm. He did not speak or flinch as they closed the gap. One of the birds pecked at his cheek. The sharp beak drew blood, but Levi didn’t flinch. Its feathers brushed against his skin as it passed. They were ice cold.

The other crow swooped at Donny. He dropped to his knees and scrabbled in the yard for Levi’s copy of The Long Lost Friend, picking it up at the last instant. The bird’s attack missed. Screeching, both crows circled around again.

“Leave the youth alone,” Levi shouted at them.

“Your fight is with me now. Face me as men.”

The three human-shaped figures stopped before him, laughing.

“But we are not men, little magus,” the tallest said. “We have not been men for quite some time.”

Which means that they once were, Levi thought, fighting the urge to grin. I might have been right. They might be some form of revenant—ones with the ability to change shape.

The two birds joined their brothers and resumed human form. The five figures surrounded him, hovering only an arm’s length away.

“Your quarrel is with me,” he told them. “I bested you earlier. Let the others go unharmed and face me again.”

The tallest gnashed its teeth. “You do not give orders to our kind, Levi, son of Amos. We will do as we wish.”

“Cowards.”

“Still your tongue, bearded one. We’ll feed until there is nothing left.”

“Levi,” Donny shouted, “look out!”

The shortest of the five slashed at Levi with its talons.

He sidestepped the attack and pulled one of his hands free from his pockets. In his fist was a handful of salt. Levi tossed it into the creature’s snarling face and yelled, “Ia, edin na zul. Ia Ishtari, ios daneri, ut nemo descendre fhatagn Shtar! God, guide my hand.”

The effect was immediate and remarkable. Hissing, the shadow-man recoiled as if Levi had splashed battery acid in its face. Levi grinned as his opponent flung its clawed hands into the air and screeched—a long, warbling, tea-kettle sound that rose in intensity and seemed to have no end. The dark figure stumbled backward, colliding with its brothers, and violently shook its head from side to side.

Levi held up another fistful of salt. “Come on, then. I have plenty to go around.”

The creatures held their ground, staring at him with unbridled hate.

Levi backed up slowly, not taking his gaze from them. He stopped when he reached Donny. Without turning around, he whispered, “Move with me toward the house. Don’t panic. As long as you have the book, they can’t touch you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, dude. It’s you.”

“I’m fine. Now come on.”

He and Donny moved as one, shuffling toward the house. The three men in the doorway—Levi couldn’t remember if Donny had given him their names or not—had watched the confrontation and stalemate in horror, as if not quite believing what they were seeing. Levi and Donny moved slowly, circling around their foes. The dark figures turned with them, watching. Then, just as Levi and Donny had almost passed them, all five charged at once, flinging themselves at the men.

“Go!” Levi shoved Donny forward. The younger man stumbled but did not fall. For one terrifying second, Levi thought he might try to stay and fight, but he obeyed, running toward the house—a soldier to the end, following orders.

Heat flared in Levi’s back as one of the attackers slashed at him. The claws ripped through his clothing and into his flesh. Levi responded by tossing salt over his shoulder, and felt a vicious, satisfying thrill as the creature screamed in obvious torment. A blow landed on his left shoulder and Levi’s entire arm went numb. Moving quickly, he grabbed another fistful of salt with his good arm and spun in a circle, flinging it in a wide arc. Again, the attackers fell back.

“You don’t have an unlimited supply,” one of them croaked. “Already the bulge in your pockets lessens.”

“I have enough,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the pain in his back and shoulder. His left arm still had no feeling. It hung limp and useless. “Try me, if you like.”

“Bah.” The tallest of the five spat on the ground and the grass withered where the saliva landed. It took a tentative step toward him and Levi feinted with the salt. The creature stopped.

“You are a worthless adversary,” it taunted. “Gone are the days when any of your kind provided us with a worthy challenge.”

“Oh, I’m sure there have been many of my kind who defeated you easily enough. We’re a resourceful bunch, us humans.”

“Only the red men. Their shamans were worthy. Even still, they retreated when we carved our master’s name in a tree to glorify him. That is because they feared us—and him.”

The red men! It took all of Levi’s will to keep from smiling with glee. The entity obviously meant the Native Americans. Another vital clue and a further piece of the almost-completed puzzle.

“You are from Roanoke.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your master’s true name is Meeble.”

The creature sounded surprised. “Well done, little magus. You know Croatoan’s real name, and therefore, I must surmise that you know what he is capable of, as are we, his faithful servants. And yet still you stand against us. Perhaps you are not so worthless an adversary after all.”

It all made sense now. Levi was overwhelmed by a sudden sense of frustration. How could he have not seen it before? Five shadowy figures—the five Roanoke colonists who had worshipped Meeble, now turned into some sort of psychic vampires, eating the souls of the living and carrying on their master’s work. His theory had been correct. They were revenants of a kind, and although he still didn’t know their names (he would have, if he’d had access to his library back home) he knew how to stop them. It was important, however, that they not know that he knew. Not until he was ready.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “I can’t stand against you after all.”

He turned and fled. Laughing, the five figures raced after him, sliding to a halt as Levi abruptly wheeled around and faced them again.

“And now, for my next trick . . .”

“What—?”

He pointed his index finger and focused his will.

“Hbbi Massa danti Lantien. I, Levi Stoltzfus, son of Amos Stoltzfus, breathe upon thee.”

“No! He seeks to trick us, brothers, as he did me, earlier tonight.”

Levi scattered the rest of his salt at his feet in a wide arc, holding them back just long enough to finish. “Three drops of blood I take from you. The first from your heart. The second from your liver. The third from your vital powers. In this, I deprive you of your strength and vitality. Now crawl on the ground like the worm you are. You’ll raise no hand against me.”

All five of the creatures collapsed on their bellies, faces pressed against the wet grass and dirt. They roared in anger, struggling as their movements slowed.

“That never gets old.” Levi winked at them. Then he turned and ran for the house. “Thank you, Lord. That was close. A little too close for comfort.”

“You know this is pointless,” one of the creatures howled. “It didn’t work before. It won’t work now. You will only delay us.”

“A delay is all I need.”

Levi leaped over the dead man lying in the yard.

His face was missing, and grass clippings stuck to the glistening musculature covering his skull.

One of the men standing at the front door called to Levi as he approached. His ruddy cheeks shone with wetness and his eyes were bloodshot.

“That’s my brother.” He pointed at the body.

“Help him.”

Levi slowed as he approached them. He recognized the distraught man as Gus Pheasant, one of the brothers who operated the town’s automobile-repair shop. They’d directed Levi to Esther’s boarding house when he first arrived in Brinkley Springs—a moment that now seemed as if it had happened in the distant past.

“I’m sorry,” Levi said. “But your brother is beyond my care. He’s dead.”

“Bullshit. Donny told us you’re some kind of voodoo doctor. Make him better. Do some witchcraft or whatever it is you do.”

“I can’t. It’s beyond my ability. I really am sorry.”

Gus began to weep again. He leaned against the grizzled mountain man.

“This is Axel,” Donny said, introducing an elderly man standing in the doorway. “And that’s Paul. And you already know Gus.”

Levi nodded, rubbing his still-numb arm. “Gentlemen. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.”

“Donny says you can help us,” Paul said. His voice was gruff and serious—and tired. “I’d ask you if it was true, but I saw how you just handled yourself against those . . . whatever the hell they are. I reckon you can hold your own.”

“I can help,” Levi said. “But you need to do exactly what I tell you, and we need to move quickly. That won’t hold them for long.”

Donny handed Levi his book. “What’s the plan?”

“We need to run.”

“That’s what we were going to do,” Axel said. “Gus, Greg and Paul had a plan to get out of town.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to,” Levi said. “This town is enveloped in a soul cage.”

“I don’t know about any of that,” Axel replied.

“But I’m all for going wherever you think is best.”

“Good. We must leave right now.”

“I need to check on my dogs first,” Paul said. “We left them in the pen back at my place, before we knew exactly what was happening. I’ve been gone too long. I need to make sure they’re okay.”

Levi stared into the mountain man’s eyes and realized that, despite his no-nonsense demeanor, Paul was in shock.

“I’m sorry,” Levi apologized, “but if your dogs were alive when you left them, then they aren’t any longer. Our foes aren’t content to just kill us. They seek to snuff out every living thing in this town. I suspect that they can track us simply by our life force. They can see it the way some creatures can see in the infrared spectrum. That’s how they’ve ferreted out the survivors in hiding.”

“You don’t know my dogs. They’ve faced down black bears.”

“Our foes are not bears. I’m sorry, but your dogs’ fate is certain.”

Gus straightened up and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing his face with snot. He seemed oblivious to it. “Why are they doing this?”

“Because they can. Because it pleases them to do so. And because this is what they were created to do.” Levi glanced over his shoulder and was alarmed to see that the five revenants were already moving. “We’ve got to go. Now.”

“Where?” Donny stared at the creatures.

“Back to the boarding house. I can deal with them there.”

“I can’t run that far,” Axel said. “You boys will have to go on without me.”

Donny turned to him. “No offense, Mr. Perry, but fuck that. We’re not leaving you behind.”

“Not to mention Jean and her boy,” Paul said.

“Who?” Levi asked.

“Jean Sullivan,” Axel said, “and her young son, Bobby. They’re hiding down in my basement.”

“Can the boy run?”

“They can both run,” Axel said, “but I’ll just slow you down. I can’t walk ten steps without my arthritis flaring up, let alone run all the way across town.”

Donny gripped Levi’s arm. “Whatever you plan on doing, can’t you just do it here? Why do we have to go back to Esther’s?”

“I need to trap them,” Levi said. “The boarding house is already prepared. All it will take is a minor alteration. There’s no time to set a trap here.”

“Levi, son of Amos!”

They all stared at the revenants. One of them had regained his feet, and stood—hunchbacked and crooked, but standing nevertheless. It pointed at him.

“They’ll be free soon,” Levi said. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Perry. If we had more time.”

Axel waved a hand. “Don’t apologize, son. Just get the others to safety. I’ll fetch Jean and Bobby.”

“We ain’t leaving without you,” Paul said. “Bad enough I left my dogs behind. I daresay the same won’t happen to you.”