Darkness Returns (36 page)

The supernatural members of the Agency watched with awe as she did her work. They all seemed on the verge of asking her if she could return them, too. But they held back, knowing there was time for that later, once the wolf threat was neutralized.

The last wolf she returned had been locked in a closet by a weary trio of Agency soldiers who had managed to capture it with the intention of later interrogation. She could see in the soldiers’ eyes how desperately they wanted vengeance for the loss of their squad mates. Yet they conceded when Jessie asked them to back up and let her return the creature.

The return left behind a boy not much older than ten. Twelve at the most. He crouched in the closet, staring out at Jessie with a frightened, feral look. “Don’t you understand? I was part of the pack. I had to obey. I didn’t wanna. I had to.”

One of the soldiers shoved Jessie aside and raised his rifle to fire in at the boy, froze at the sight of him. “He’s just a kid.”

“He’s a victim,” Jessie said.

The soldier lowered his rifle, shaking his head. “If he was still a wolf, we would have killed him. We would have killed a little kid.”

“We might have already,” another member of the trio said, looking around the room at the wolf corpses mixed with their own fallen.

Four hours.

Jessie also returned the dead. It seemed the honorable thing to do.

At the conclusion of her work, little sign remained of any wolves. But there were plenty of dead. Some naked. Some dressed and equipped with military grade garb. At some point, Wertz joined her side. He walked her through the facility, both guide and protector.

He asked about Lockman.

Jessie could only manage a small shake of her head. She was certain the look in her eyes said enough.

Once all the wolves were gone, other supernaturals began to approached Jessie, lips parted—if they had lips—the question they wanted to ask stuck in their throats. Jessie contemplated organizing some kind of lineup, like Santa at the mall, all the supernaturals waiting their turn. But all the returning she’d already done left her feeling both exhausted and high at the same time, as if she’d been up for three nights straight consuming nothing but Red Bull.

Wertz saved her.

He shooed the curious approachers, then escorted Jessie to a bedroom. The gnome helped her get her boots off. He waited patiently outside the bathroom door as she forced herself to shower and scrub off as much of the day’s events as she could.

She kept picturing her future.

The one with her alone, without Mom and Dad.

The shower spray and her tears were indistinguishable.

Wertz had a fresh set of clothes for her on the bed. She changed while he waited outside the bedroom. The gnome would only ever allow one doorway between them. Once she was dressed and in bed, Wertz came in and asked if he could get her anything.

She had one sarcastic spark left in her and she spent it on an answer for Wertz. “Long list, dude. I’m afraid it would be too tall for you.”

He didn’t laugh, crack a smile, or roll his eyes. He only said, “Anything in my power, I will get for you.”

“I’m not a queen, Wertz. I don’t need the royal treatment.”

“You might not need it, but you
deserve
it. Romeo would have wanted it that way.”

Among all the returning, Jessie realized she hadn’t thought of Kress once. “He needs to get back.” She sat up, started to get out of bed.

Wertz gently pushed her back down against her stack of pillows. This close, the gnome smelled like gunpowder, blood, and that fancy cologne he always wore. “It’s too late for him.”

Jessie squeezed her eyes shut and sighed as she settled back onto the bed. “Jesus Christ, did anybody survive?”

“You did.”

The reverence in his voice made her blush. She didn’t call him on it, though. She knew she was special, particularly to supernaturals. She had a gift that could change the world. Feigning modesty at this point was…pointless.

I am the Chosen One.

I am The Return.

And as that ancient spirit had taught her, the power came from her own choice to accept her role as the Chosen. She had made her choice. She wouldn’t turn back now. Not for anything.

She owed it to Mom, Dad, and even Kress. She owed it to the supernaturals who yearned for a way home. She owed it to the mortals threatened by the darker things and no means to protect themselves from what they couldn’t understand or believe.

She owed it to herself.

She had found her place.

She only wished her parents were here to see it.

As she drifted off to sleep with Wertz standing guard right outside the bedroom door, she felt two comforting hands on each shoulder, one cool, the other warm.

Maybe they were here after all.

I’ll make you guys proud
, she thought right before tumbling into the darkness of a dreamless sleep.

Epilogue

Three years later.

Wertz walks with her as they enter the high school gymnasium. The abandoned school smells of dust and rotten school lunches. Otherwise, it didn’t look too different from the high school she graduated from last spring. It gives her a little shiver to see such a familiar, average place so empty. There’s graffiti on some walls from kids and vandals at large who found a shut-down high school too tempting a target to pass up. Some of them probably working out frustrations they suffered during their tenure at this or some school like it.

Back when Wertz, who saw himself as a surrogate parent to her, insisted Jessie reenroll in school seeing as she could no longer get a doctor’s note about being a vampire, she fought the decision.

I’m the Chosen One,
she shouted like a spoiled princess.
You can’t make me do anything.

Apparently, Wertz had pulled strings with the prez himself and obtained legal guardianship of Jessie. So, in the end, yeah, he could make her go back to school, Chosen One or not.

The guardianship expired when she turned eighteen, but the relationship remained intact. Despite the horrors she suffered in high school, she always managed to comfort herself with the notion that she knew things none of the other kids did—like vampires did
not
sparkle in the sunlight, but pixie blood did.

The gymnasium doors hang open and as they approach, Jessie can hear all the voices of a gathered crowd. They are guttural voices, most of them. Deep and craggy. It’s a blatant stereotype, but Jessie always thought their kind sounded the same, except for some quirks of speech. She couldn’t count how many times she’d accidentally called Adam by his brother’s name.

A tall ogre dressed in a suit and a tie around his thick neck that hangs too short greets them at the door. He smiles at the sight of Jessie.

“So you’re her,” he says.

“I’m her.”

Wertz, whose temples have gone gray in the last couple years, introduces the ogre as Christophe. “He’s organized this gathering. Very involved in the supernatural community at large. He’s doing great things.”

Jessie shakes hands with the ogre, her hand disappearing inside of his.

His grin widens, showing off blocks of teeth as large and white as sugar cubes. “It’s an honor.”

“If I can help your people, the honor is mine.”

She’s gotten better about accepting all the reverence. At first it embarrassed her. Then it annoyed. Now she accepts it for what it really is—a deep and true appreciation of her power.

“You’re too kind,” Christophe says. He gestures to the open doors. “Shall we go inside.”

The gym’s bleachers are packed. Hundreds of ogres. Maybe a thousand. The gym floor itself remains clear except for a small platform at the center draped in what Jessie recognizes as a religious blanket sewn by ogre shaman. The blanket and the platform aren’t necessary for Jessie to perform her work. Neither will they interfere.

All the chatter ceases as she steps up on the platform and looks around her at all the green skin and red hair. She thinks of Marty and his beautifully foul mouth. Adam and his stoic strength. At moments like these, right before beginning a return, Jessie finds herself often remembering the dead. Including her parents. She has found that those memories can fuel her power just like she feels the gathering energy around her now. Her body is already reacting on instinct, ready for what’s to come.

She nods to Wertz, who stands by the doors. He and Christophe step outside and close the doors behind them.

A growly chain of whispers rolls through the gymnasium.

They wonder what to expect next. Most are curious to see the ritual, only there is no ritual. There is only that one word.

Jessie raises her hands out to either side of her and whispers, “Return.”

The whole gym is lit up by electric blue mist.

A couple seconds later, the mist has cleared and not a single ogre remains.

This was the largest test of her power since the Agency changed its mission statement and Wertz took command. Jessie feels a little shaky, as if overloaded on caffeine, but otherwise notices no ill effects.

When she exits the gym, Wertz and Christophe are waiting for her in the hall. Christophe gnaws on the corner of his thumbnail, but drops the hand from his mouth and asks the inevitable question. “Did it work?”

Jessie nods.

“All of them?” Christophe asks, the awe in his deep ogre voice a strange contrast.

She nods again.

“How are you?” Wertz asks.

“I’m good.”

“By gods,” Christophe says and the next thing Jessie knows she’s wrapped in a bear hug and lifted off her feet by the ogre. He sets her down gently after an ample squeeze. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to. This is what I do.” She glances over her shoulder into the now empty gym, then looks back at Christophe. “How come you didn’t go along with them?”

“There are still ogres out there who want to go home. Now that I’ve seen what you can do, they’ll be easier to convince that the prophecy is true.”

Jessie fakes a smile. She has grown tired of the idea that this life was foisted onto her by destiny, but how can she explain that this life was her choice? She doesn’t try. The only one that halfway understands is Wertz, and Jessie thinks he’s probably pretending to make her feel better.

But Christophe turns out to be a perceptive ogre. Something in her face gives away her weariness. “Have I insulted you?”

Jessie shakes her head. “You’re fine. It’s a personal thing.”

“Well, Miss…” The ogre touches a hand to his lips. “My gods, I realize I don’t even know your name. How embarrassing.”

This is also not unusual. Most supernaturals are happy enough to call her the Chosen One and leave it at that. “Don’t sweat it.”

The ogre shakes his head vigorously. “No. I will not take you and your gift for granted. You must tell me your name, so I can spread the word properly.”

The little annoyances fade. Jessie smiles. She always did like ogres. What history had characterized as brutal, thoughtless apes, came nowhere near the truth about ogres. But mortal history got a lot wrong about the darker things around them—such as, not all of them were dark or evil. In fact, so many of them were not.

“I appreciate that,” Jessie says. She holds out her hand as if they were meeting for the first time.

Christophe takes her hand and smiles, playing along. “My name is Christophe Charles Anderson. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, Miss?”

“My name is Jessie,” she says. “Jessie Lockman.”

The Chronicles Continue…

The Lockman Chronicles #5